by Kelli Estes
Morale is high after we received the news of Grant’s victories at the two Tennessee forts. Surely the tide has turned in the Union’s favor, and we now need only one major battle to end the war. A new song has reached us, and the soldiers often sing it while on the march for it makes us feel that God is on our side, or rather, that we are doing His duty. “Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.” It makes my heart doubly glad that the lyrics were penned by a woman, Julia Ward Howe.
February 25, 1862: Nashville is the first large city I have seen with my own eyes in a secessionist state. It appears untouched by war, if one ignores the thousands of Union troops patrolling the city and the many businesses and homes that have been vacated by their secessionist owners. General Buell has accepted the city’s official surrender, and now our duty will be to hold the city for the Union side. I am curious to see what that will entail.
Sad news is being reported in the newspapers. President Lincoln’s young son, Willie, has died of the same brutal affliction that took David from us. I know how it feels to lose a cherished family member, but a child? My heart aches for President and Mrs. Lincoln.
Chapter Eighteen
February 25, 1862: Nashville, Tennessee
To Emily’s surprise, her company was billeted in one of the finest buildings in all of Nashville—the Tennessee State Capitol building. It was certainly the grandest building Emily had ever set foot in. The Capitol building loomed over the city on a high hill, its Grecian columns visible for miles. Limestone flooring and marble columns inside created a cavernous feel enhanced by the lack of furnishings and drapery. No one could agree on whether the secesh had taken the furnishings with them as they fled the city, or if the building was so new, it had never had any to begin with. Emily, Ben, and Willie were quartered in a small room in the basement near the newly created armory and shared their room with three other men.
Their days varied but were always full. Some days their duty was together, some days apart, but always they came together in their little room to share stories of duty that was very different than it had been in western Virginia.
Their first few weeks of Nashville occupation involved building beds and converting city schools, homes, and churches into hospitals, many of which were quickly filled after skirmishes and battles in the surrounding area. They also were tasked with guarding supply depots along the major railway lines running through Nashville and along the Cumberland River. Without careful guarding, secesh residents would either steal the goods intended for the Army, or sabotage and spoil the food and supplies.
Tall buildings packed tightly together on well-formed streets was a mightily different sight than the trees and hills she’d grown accustomed to, and Emily enjoyed the change, especially since the city was firmly in Union control and she did not have to fear Confederate bullets. She imagined that Nashville—with its fine brick homes, stately architecture, and tree-lined streets—must surely be one of the finest cities in the nation. The weather felt mild compared to the mountains of western Virginia, and she fancied herself visiting this city again someday on holiday long after the war was over.
Emily’s favorite duty in Nashville was when she was posted somewhere in the city to enforce martial law and to keep the peace. This meant checking civilians and military personnel for the necessary passes that allowed the bearer to be in that particular location. It was an opportunity to talk with all sorts of people, and she found she enjoyed their stories. The only downside of the post was that it sometimes meant standing stone-faced as schoolchildren or even young women in hoopskirts and bonnets spat on her and called her names.
With each passing day, Emily saw more black folks from the surrounding countryside enter the city and ask the first member of the Federal forces they came across where they might be safe from their former masters. She was slowly reading the copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin that MacGregor had given to her, and she pretended that every man she helped was Tom and every woman, Eliza or Cassy. Already a large contraband—the name given to escaped slaves—camp was growing on the outskirts of the city. Some contraband worked for the Union Army, building various structures and fortifications around the city. Some contraband, Emily had heard, were returned by Union Army commanders to their owners. Her heart broke to think of the courage it had taken to run away in the first place only to be sent back.
One afternoon, she was guarding the corner of Summer and Spring Streets where General Buell had his temporary headquarters in the St. Cloud Hotel. As was happening more and more with each passing day, a young black family—a husband and wife, likely not much older than Emily, and their two small children—approached her. The father pulled off his slouching cap and looked at her feet. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Can you tell us where to go? Where we’re safe?”
Emily wondered what the man had endured that had put such a fear into him that he couldn’t even look at her. His wife stood proudly beside him, but she, too, pointed her gaze to the ground. Only their toddler looked straight at Emily and smiled. Emily smiled back, remembering when Ada was that age. Proud she knew the answer to his question, Emily pointed to the west. “Take this street about five blocks until you reach the railroad depot. From there—”
“Jedediah, what are you doing here?”
By the way the man flinched, Emily realized with dawning horror what was happening. This poor family had just been discovered, probably by the very person from whom they were running. Before the loud white man drew close enough to hear her, she whispered to the family, “Go. I’ll stall him.”
Turning to face the finely dressed man with a full beard, Emily pasted on a smile to hide the revulsion she felt. It was people like him who were responsible for this war. Men like him had killed Pa and David. Through gritted teeth, she greeted him, “Good afternoon, sir. How may I be of service?”
The man’s stovepipe hat hardly moved as he craned his neck to look past Emily. “Go on, Jedediah. Git back to Belle Meade right now, and I won’t punish you.”
Emily glanced back to see Jedediah duck his head in a manner that told Emily he was well acquainted with a whip. He held on to his family and was pulling them with him along the sidewalk, edging away from their former master, still with his eyes downcast. “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but we won’t go back. We’re here to get free.” He grabbed his older daughter’s hand and, together with his wife who was holding the baby, took off running down the street in the direction Emily had indicated.
“Hold on! Get back here!” the white man yelled, his face turning red. He took a step forward, but Emily blocked him.
Holding her musket across her chest, she dropped all pretense of civility. “Sir, do you have a pass?”
For the first time, the man looked at the Union soldier in front of him, but his gaze quickly returned to the now-empty sidewalk where his slaves had disappeared. “Why would they want to run away? I treat them kindly.” He shook his head, confounded. “All of my slaves are happy at Belle Meade. They’re like family.”
Emily’s muscles twitched, and she almost whacked the butt of her musket into the man’s face. “Apparently not, sir,” she managed to grind out in response. “Your pass?”
The man distractedly pulled the slip of paper from his coat pocket and presented it to her. Emily took her time inspecting the pass and saw it was good, but the image of that innocent family was still fresh in her mind. She ripped the pass into bits and dropped it on the sidewalk.
“What do you think you are doing?” the man gasped, his face darkening in anger.
Emily smiled at him innocently. “Go on. Git back to Belle Meade, and I won’t punish you for owning human beings.”
The man gaped at her, clearly shocked to have his own words used against him. She simply lifted her musket. Blustering, he turned and walked away toward the riverfront, the opposite direction from that taken by the black family.
Once he’d disappeared,
Emily felt the strength drain out of her, but soon it was replaced by a sense of elation. Where had her courage come from? In helping the former slaves, she was doing something that mattered. She’d joined the Army to stay by her brother’s side, but inside her was growing the heart of an abolitionist.
* * *
A week after arriving in Nashville, the entire regiment held its first dress parade in the city, which meant taking a bath (something that had proven tricky for Emily and Willie, but they’d managed by sneaking away to a private bathhouse that cost them two whole dollars each) and donning their full uniforms. They’d marched along the city streets and stood at attention on Nashville’s Public Square for their commander’s review. Captain Johnson had promised them passes for tonight if everyone made him proud.
Emily and Ben were the first to return to their room, having been near the front of their company in the parade. As Emily traded her formal overcoat for her more casual blouse, Ben leaned his head out into the hallway. He was acting so secretive, Emily knew that if there was a door, he would have closed it. He whispered to Emily, “I have some news.”
Emily leaned toward him. “What is it?”
An angelic smile spread across Ben’s face under the beard he’d grown since they’d left Cheat Mountain. “I’m going to ask Willie to marry me.” His eyes sparkled with his secret joy.
A stab of worry shot through Emily. “But, Ben. How is that possible?”
He shook his head impatiently. “No, I don’t mean now. I mean, I’ll ask her now but we’ll marry after the war is over.” A dreaminess came over him. “I love her, Em. I really do.”
The news did not surprise Emily. She’d seen them growing closer and closer, and she knew Willie felt the same as Ben. “I’m still worried, Brother. Your relationship could expose her secret. You need to be very careful.”
“Be careful about what?” asked Private Yardley as he came into the room and let out a loud fart. Emily had never shared quarters with anyone as vile as him, nor as dangerously inquisitive.
She recovered the fastest. “Oh, being out tonight on leave. I hear local secesh have taken to guerrilla warfare and are attacking Union troops in the streets.” She shot Ben a look.
Ben nodded. “I think we’ll be safe as long as we travel in pairs or larger groups. Right, Yardley?”
Yardley sucked in air to loudly form a collection of phlegm in his throat, which he spat onto the gleaming limestone floor. With his dirty boots on, he dropped full-length on his bottom bunk and crossed his arms behind his head. “Personally, I’d be happy getting into a fight with those lowlifes. I wish I had some civilian clothes to wear so that I could get away with more than my blues allow.”
Emily and Ben exchanged a glance. They were saved from having to respond when the rest of their roommates filed in, Willie among them. General chaos filled the room as they all readied for a night of freedom.
“Some of us are going to Smokey Row tonight. College Street.” Private O’Brien’s face turned redder than his hair, and if the others had not already known this was the address of the fancier bordellos in the nightlife district, his blushing would have given it away. “Any of you boyos want to join us?”
Yardley and Jacobs, their other roommate, agreed. Emily had been trying to think of a way to give Ben and Willie a night alone together, in whatever way possible, and decided this was as good a way as any. Besides, how could she explain a reluctance to visit a brothel without raising suspicions? She’d blend into the crowd, and no one would be the wiser. “I think Ben and Willie already have plans, but I’ll join you.”
Ben’s head snapped in her direction, but she ignored him. She could handle herself.
“What are your plans?” Jacobs, a nice boy from Ohio, asked Ben and Willie. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”
Willie retied her boot, a bored look on her face. “I was thinking of visiting the Adelphi Theater. I hear Follies of a Night is playing this evening.”
“Seriously?” Yardley scoffed. “That is what you choose to do on your night off duty?” He got to his feet and headed for the door. “If you change your minds, you know where to find us. 154 College Street.”
Jacobs shot Willie an apologetic look and hurried after Yardley. O’Brien used both hands to slick back his hair as he followed them out. The big sister in Emily could not stay silent, however, and as she waved goodbye to her brother and Willie, she warned, “Be careful!”
“The same to you!” Ben called back, sounding as though he was strangling on all the words he wanted to say.
Emily laughed as she hurried to catch up to the others on their way up the narrow stairs. What could go wrong?
* * *
Plenty. Plenty could go wrong, Emily realized an hour later as she watched a red-faced O’Brien disappear up the carpeted stairs with a buxom woman, followed closely by Jacobs with a woman of his own who looked like she could be someone’s grandmother.
Emily had chosen a plush seat in a corner of the bordello’s front room, where she hoped to remain invisible until her friends finished upstairs and they could all leave.
Although she’d come to the Army knowing about the activities of men and women behind closed doors, her education on the matter had grown exponentially over these last months. Men who were away from their wives and sweethearts had a way of talking around campfires that she’d bet most women never heard in their lifetimes.
But knowing what activities went on here, she had not expected the bordello to look anything like this, like an upper-class society parlor during a dinner party.
All of the women wore fine evening gowns—admittedly, many gowns came only, shockingly, to the wearer’s knees, and several necklines were cut scandalizingly low—and their hair was piled on their heads in the latest fashion with feathers or faux jewels adorning their curls. The men, most wearing Union uniforms but some in gentlemen’s evening wear, conversed with one another and the women on topics as mundane as the weather or the movement of troops in the eastern theater. Alcohol flowed freely, though not cheaply, and tuxedoed black servers weaved among the guests, offering refills and fancy pastries. A string quartet played in one corner loud enough to be heard throughout the main floor, but not so loud as to make conversation a challenge.
The room itself was quite possibly the most lavish one Emily had ever seen. The furnishings were all of the finest workmanship and crafted from gleaming woods she couldn’t begin to name. A richly carved marble mantel supported a flower arrangement that erupted from its gold vase in a riot of color and scent. Emily wondered where the flowers could have possibly come from here in the middle of winter and war.
The seats and cushions on the chairs and settees were made of fine velvet or floral jacquard, all in rich greens, golds, and reds that made each piece feel like artwork. A lovely wallpaper, lit by ornate chandeliers and sconces, depicted a country scene in leaf green and rose pink. Several elaborately framed portraits or landscapes hung around the room, each seeming to be quite proper upon first glance. It was upon second glance that Emily found herself looking away in haste from the naked and cavorting figures displayed there.
As Emily studied the lace doily on the gleaming accent table next to her, someone slapped her hard on the back, bringing tears to her eyes.
“What do you say, Wilson?” Yardley asked as he propped his hip on the arm of her chair. “Which girl has caught your eye?”
Emily had thought up her excuse on the walk over. “Oh, I’ll wait for you boys here. I don’t have the necessary funds.”
“Nonsense!” Yardley sipped from the delicate champagne saucer he held in his hand as he surveyed the room. He pointed with the glass to a woman coming down the stairs on the arm of a disheveled-looking soldier. “I bet she could show you a good time. Come on, I’ll spot you the cash. How much do you need?”
Emily pushed Yardley’s wallet away from her face. “No thanks. Yo
u go on.”
“No, no. I insist.” He forced three Tennessee dollars into her hand. “I bet you’re still a virgin, aren’t you, Wilson?”
She felt her face flame, but she refused to back down. “So what if I am? I’ve got a girl at home I’d just as soon wait for, if it’s all the same to you.” She shoved the money back at him.
He refused to take it, and she let it drop to the floor. Yardley’s face pinched, and he looked ready to explode.
“Now, boys, if you have money to throw around, I’ll take it off your hands.”
It was the woman they’d seen on the stairs. She was shorter than Emily by several inches, and her curves were threatening to spill free from her fuchsia-colored gown. Despite having just been upstairs entertaining a customer, she appeared fresh as the morning with every hair in place and her kohl-rimmed eyes and berry-stained lips unsmudged. Those red lips spread wide and revealed a row of crooked but clean teeth. She stopped directly in front of Emily and looked her up and down with her hand resting on her cocked hip. “What do you say, sweetie? You look like you could use a woman’s touch.”
Emily’s mind raced. How was she going to get herself out of this with the least amount of embarrassment to all involved, but mostly, without revealing her secret? “My friend Yardley here has the cash. He’d be happy to take you upstairs.”
The woman turned her charm on the soldier beside her. “Shall we proceed, Private?”
Yardley licked his lips in anticipation as his eyes hungrily surveyed the poor woman’s half-exposed bosom. “Absolutely,” he told her, bending to retrieve the fallen money from the floor. “But you must first see to my friend Wilson here. It’s his first time.” He took the woman’s hand in his own, kissed the inside of her wrist, and laid the three bills on her palm. “Show him how a real woman pleases a man before he goes home to a life of boring tumbles with the miss he plans to marry.”