The Way of All Soldiers (Gone For Soldiers)

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  Ginger looked around again. “The Navy and Merchant Marines didn’t ask our race and we didn’t volunteer that we’re colored. They think we’re white.”

  Quincy glanced quickly at the younger woman, then smiled at Ginger. “Your secret’s safe with me, if that’s what you want.”

  “We won’t lie about it if anyone asks,” Ginger explained, “but being thought to be white has quite a few advantages.”

  “I understand,” Quincy said. He took another look at Chrissy. Her hair was straight and dark brown, her eyes were blue and she was strikingly attractive.

  She noticed his scrutiny and smiled. “Until Ginger just told you, you didn’t know that I’m colored, did you?” She had a slight southern accent.

  He returned her smile. “Even though I grew up in Texas, I don’t ascribe to the theories of race that’re common in the South.”

  Chrissy looked confused. “Pardon me?”

  “He means he doesn’t care if you’re colored or white,” Ginger clarified.

  “Where are you headed?” Quincy asked.

  “To do some last-minute shopping,” Ginger replied. “Can you come along?”

  “I don’t see why not. It’ll be several hours before all the troops are boarded.” He took Ginger’s arm, then hesitantly offered his other arm to Chrissy, who took it with a smile. “How did you two both happen to be assigned to Red Rover?” Quincy asked. “I mean, it’s quite a coincidence – both of you with the same secret.”

  “When I was applying for the nurse’s position with the Merchant Marines, I saw Ginger at the Navy Department in Washington and suspected that she was colored,” Chrissy said.

  “We shared our secret and then stayed together in the line and were assigned to Red Rover along with the male sailors behind us,” Ginger added.

  Chrissy looked up at Quincy. “Are you married?”

  He chuckled. “No. Are you proposing?”

  “Not at the moment,” she replied, “but I might. You have some interesting possibilities.”

  Ginger giggled. “Shame on you, Chrissy.”

  Chrissy looked at Quincy, who was now blushing, and began to giggle. Soon the two nurses were giggling like madwomen, to the growing embarrassment of their male escort.

  Throughout the morning, as they walked the business district of Memphis, the attraction between Quincy and Chrissy grew. He was charmed by her quick wit, the sound of her voice, her flashing eyes, and she by his somewhat overly sober countenance. By the time that they returned to the docks, the two were walking hand-in-hand and gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.

  “I’m only going to say this once,” Ginger announced at the foot of Red Rover’s gangway, “but you need to listen because I can speak with the authority of bitter experience. Mixed race love affairs are destined to cause nothing but pain. No matter how you think you feel about each other or how strong you think you are, it’ll turn out badly.” She took the packages that Quincy had been carrying for her, kissed him on the cheek and walked up the gangway.

  “Well?” Chrissy asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Do we heed her advice, shake hands and walk away? Or do we follow our instincts?”

  He looked baffled. “I don’t know. What she said makes sense, but I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “Me neither.”

  “You’re going to make me decide, aren’t you?”

  “You have to. I’m too much in love to think.”

  “Can people fall in love this fast?”

  She started to answer, then thought a moment. “Maybe it’s just lust, but whatever it is, I ache to be in your arms.”

  He tipped her chin up and kissed her, then stepped back. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I want more.” She looked back toward Memphis. “Let’s find a hotel.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re in the Merchant Marine and I’m in the Army. If we missed the fleet’s movement you’d be subject to Federal prosecution and I’d be court-martialed for desertion.”

  “What could they do to us?”

  “They could line me up in front of a firing squad,” he said. “I’m not sure about you. Probably prison for the duration.”

  “Go then.” She grabbed the package he was carrying for her, and ran up the gangway.

  December 25, 1862

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  Jack and Robert were alone in the library with a map of Virginia spread out on the reading table. “I told Burnside that those pontoon bridges were a mistake,” Jack said. “By the time they got there, any element of surprise was lost.”

  Robert was reading the War Department’s synopsis report compiled from all the commanders at the Battle of Fredericksburg. “Did you read the butcher’s bill?”

  “No. The report was delivered yesterday and I didn’t want to upset Nancy and Anna by dragging it out on Christmas Eve.”

  “Union casualties: twelve thousand, six hundred and fifty-three,” Robert said. “Confederate casualties: five thousand three hundred and seventy-seven.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  “Burnside sent seven divisions, one brigade at a time, for a total of fourteen individual charges at Longstreet’s fortified position behind a stone wall on Marye’s Heights. That cost him two thirds of his total casualties.”

  “Maybe I should have accepted a brigade,” Jack said.

  “You couldn’t have changed Burnside’s mind if Hooker couldn’t.”

  “There’s so much enmity between those two that Burnside might do the opposite of anything that Hooker suggests just for spite.”

  Robert was still reading. “The dead, the wounded and the survivors spent the entire night of the thirteenth pinned down on the battlefield. The living built fortresses with the bodies of the dead.”

  “Gruesome.”

  Robert nodded.

  “Where did Anna and Nancy go?” Jack asked.

  “They’re upstairs in the attic sorting keepsakes.”

  “That attic’s full of generations of rubbish. What will we do with it all?”

  “We could leave it there, have it moved to a rented warehouse, throw it all away or let Anna and Nancy decide.”

  Jack pointed to the report that Robert was still holding. “Where was Tom during all that? Does it say?”

  “It says that Hood’s Texans were with Longstreet on Marye’s Heights.”

  “Does it mention Buford?” Jack asked.

  “No. He and Pea must have been somewhere else.”

  “Good,” Jack said. “I hate the idea of Tom ordering his troops to fire on his own son.”

  “This is the nastiest war in history. Do you think Burnside’s finished?”

  “If not now, he soon will be,” Jack replied. “He’s planning to cross the Rappahannock south of Fredericksburg to flank Lee and send his cavalry across at Kelly’s Ford to attack Lee’s supply line. His staff officers are in near open rebellion. One of them will get the ear of the President or Stanton and that will be the end of him.”

  “When’s he supposed to do this?”

  “New Year’s Day.”

  “Don’t you find it troubling that you know all that, Jack?”

  “Of course I do, but I understand it. As you said yourself, Burnside didn’t want the command and he telegraphs his lack of confidence to his subordinates. A commander that doesn’t have the trust and respect of his officers is worthless in all manner of things. Burnside’s people talk too much and second-guess him, because they don’t trust him.”

  December 25, 1862

  Johnson’s Plantation, Mississippi

  The fleet had arrived at Milliken’s Bend above Vicksburg yesterday and proceeded up the flooding Yazoo River, where the ironclad USS Cairo was sunk by a Confederate torpedo.

  This morning the troops were debarked at the Johnson Plantation north of Vicksburg where they bivouacked and were given the balance of Christmas day to them
selves. Much of the plantation was underwater, leaving the approach to the Confederate-controlled bluff extremely narrow.

  “We’re going to pay a high price taking that, sir,” Quincy observed, pointing to the bluff.

  Sherman nodded. “I hadn’t anticipated the flood.”

  “Perhaps there’s another way.”

  “No time to look,” Sherman replied. “I’ve still heard nothing from Grant, but I have to assume that he’s depending on us to attack tomorrow.”

  Quincy hesitated. “I was wondering, sir. Does the Christmas holiday apply to us?”

  Sherman grinned. “Not to me, I’ve got too much to do. But if you wanted to take one of those rowboats over to Steele’s Bayou, where Red Rover’s anchored, I think I could spare you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Quincy wasted no time securing a boat and launching it into the slow, muddy water of the river. For the last five days, the memory of Chrissy and their one brief kiss had haunted him. The voice of reason in his head still nagged, but Quincy wasn’t listening.

  When he was nearing Red Rover, he was surprised to see Chrissy waiting at the top of the ladder. As he rowed up alongside and shipped the oars, she turned her back, climbed down the ladder and then held out one hand toward him. He caught her hand and she lithely jumped into his arms, rocking the boat dangerously. Quincy lost his balance and fell into the bow with Chrissy on top of him. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then kissed him passionately as the boat began to drift back toward the river. “Somebody’s going to see us,” Quincy gasped breathlessly.

  “I don’t care.” She kissed him again.

  He held her face between his hands. “Stop. Let me up so I can row us someplace more private.”

  “Okay.” She got off him and stepped over the benches to sit down in the stern. “I haven’t thought of anything but you since we left Memphis.”

  He unshipped the oars and pulled against the current. “After hearing you say that, a clever man would say something notable, but my mind seems to have abandoned me. Sorry.”

  She giggled. “I should be apologizing to you. I don’t usually attack men. In fact, you’re my first.”

  “I’m honored.” He looked over his shoulder to where the bayou narrowed through a bog.

  She pointed. “Can you row us into that stand of bamboo? We’d be hidden from everything but the birds.”

  “Yes.” He pulled harder on the oars.

  “Don’t wear yourself out. I have plans for you.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “I should confess right now, before you discover it on your own, I’m not a virgin.”

  “I’m not either.”

  “But I’m no expert at these things either, so be patient please.”

  He smiled at her.

  “I know. I prattle when I’m nervous. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He turned the prow of the boat toward the rushes and pulled hard once, then let the boat glide until the oarlocks were inside the bamboo thicket before pulling again.

  Chrissy looked behind them. “That’s what I call privacy.”

  Quincy stopped rowing, shipped the oars and scrambled forward to tie the bow line to a clump of bamboo. “Are you sure about this, Chrissy?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole life.” She began undressing.

  He finished tying off the boat, then returned to his place on the center seat to watch her. “Think about it before it’s too late. We don’t even know each other.”

  “If you don’t want me…”

  “No, no. I want you so badly that it’s driving me mad. But you could get pregnant and I could get killed in the upcoming battle.”

  “Then I’d have part of you for the rest of my life. You can’t talk me out of this. I made up my mind when you were walking away from me in Memphis.” She stumbled forward to the next seat. “My hands are trembling and my knees are weak. Help me get my clothes off so I don’t capsize us in the process.”

  ~

  It was after midnight when Chrissy climbed the ladder of Red Rover and crept past the Navy watch to the medical section’s quarters. Ginger was awake and waiting as Chrissy came into the tiny stateroom that they shared. “Do you know that you and Quincy could be arrested for miscegenation?” Ginger asked in a harsh whisper.

  “I thought you said that you were only going to bring that subject up once.” Chrissy sat on the deck to unbuckle her wet shoes.

  “When I brought it up before, I was talking about the emotional advisability of you two having an affair. Now, I’m talking about the legal issues. In Mississippi, interracial fornication is a felony.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Do you care about Quincy?”

  “I love him with all my heart.”

  “Then break it off now, before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late.”

  “If you two are exposed, he’ll be cashiered from the Army and you’ll both be prosecuted under civil law.”

  Chrissy shrugged. “We’ll take our chances.”

  Ginger pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “What if you get pregnant?”

  Chrissy looked at her. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t know how to abort a baby?”

  “No. But I’m going to tell you that I won’t help you abort your baby.”

  “I don’t believe that and I’m not sure if I’d want an abortion.”

  “Chrissy. Listen to me. You and Quincy can never be married.”

  “I have been listening to you, Ginger. I’ve heard every word you said. Do you think Quincy and I haven’t discussed the same things? We know the risks and we’ve decided to take them in exchange for a few stolen minutes together whenever possible.”

  “You’re throwing your lives away for those few stolen minutes.”

  Chrissy looked up at her and smiled. “If you knew how wonderful those stolen minutes have been so far, you wouldn’t be asking me to give them up.”

  “I thought the same thing once, a long time ago, when Samuel’s father and I were so very deeply in love. I was wrong. If I’d chosen a man of color, we would have had a life together. Instead I had a few moments of passion and got a lifetime of loneliness.”

  “And Samuel.”

  “Oh, Chrissy.”

  “I know you mean well, Ginger, but there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

  “Well then, I’ll just have to talk to Quincy tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s going into battle tomorrow.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “I’m saying it because it’s true. And if he doesn’t come back I’ll still have today to remember for as long as I live.”

  December 29, 1862

  Chickasaw Bayou, Mississippi

  On December 26th, General William T. Sherman had marched out from the Johnson Plantation to attack the Confederate fortifications at Vicksburg. On the 27th, his army slogged through the swamps to arrive at Chickasaw Bayou below the heavy defenses of Walnut Hills. Yesterday, several valiant attempts to storm the fortifications had failed. Today, Sherman began an intense artillery bombardment in anticipation of an all-out charge, and the Confederates responded in kind.

  Quincy, who had been shot above the hip yesterday, was still wearing the same bloody uniform. “Sir,” he said to Sherman over the thunder of the artillery duel, “if you’ll forgive me my opinion, I don’t think we can take Vicksburg by storm. It’s a veritable fortress.”

  Sherman shrugged. “You could be right. In fact you probably are. But we won’t know that for certain until we try with all we’ve got.”

  “It’ll cost us five thousand more men.”

  “We’ll lose at least that many before we take Vicksburg. We may as well lose them here as anywhere else.”

  Quincy looked away.

  “Grant’s depending on us. Are you up to this, Pug?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course. I just felt
that I should say something. I apologize.”

  “No, no. Your opinion’s always welcome. I meant were you up to it, in view of your wound.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, sir. The bullet went through and didn’t hit anything vital.”

  “I don’t want you going forward with the assault today. Stay back with me.”

  “I give you my word that I’m fit for duty, sir,” Quincy argued.

  “Yes, well, I accept your word. But if we fail here, as you’re predicting, it means a very long siege and in that case I’ll need you more than ever, so I can’t allow you to get yourself killed.”

  “It should be a little easier today since many of the abatis have been cleared.”

  “You’re still not going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  At 11:00 AM, the Union artillery ceased fire and the infantry prepared to move with the brigade of General Francis P. Blair, Jr. on the left, Colonel John F. DeCourcy in the center and General John M. Thayer’s brigade on the right.

  In a heated firefight with well-dug-in Confederate skirmishers, Thayer was forced far to the right of his intended route of march, and consequently lost contact with his 4th Iowa Regiment on his left. Alone, Colonel James A. Williamson, in command of the 4th Iowa, continued to his objective and put up a fierce fight until his ammunition ran out, forcing him to withdraw. Williamson would later be awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions.

  Blair and DeCourcy’s brigades were bloodied by the time they reached their objectives and simply did not have enough firepower to overcome the entrenched Rebels. A ferocious counterattack by Confederate General Stephen D. Lee pushed them all the way across the bayou with heavy losses.

  Sherman stubbornly refused to give up and sent a team of engineers to build a road on the far bank, then sent the divisions of M.L. Smith and A.J. Smith toward the hill in the center of the Confederate battle line. After the fifth charge failed, Sherman called an end to operations for the day and sent a boat back to Memphis for more ammunition.

  ~

  Quincy boarded Red Rover with the litter bearers, then walked to the rail to rest a moment as the medical team took over.

  “Tell me that’s not your blood,” Chrissy said as she hurried toward him.