Beyond All Price

by Carolyn Poling Schriber

  The next several hours passed in a muddle of orders and counter-commands, exultation at being back on land and grief over the horrors of war, exciting discoveries and gruesome remains. As the men came ashore, officers doled out assignments that would allow the Expeditionary Force to settle into an organized camp. The worst task, of course, was the need to bury bodies and body parts as quickly as possible. To the men’s relief, yesterday’s shells had blasted the ground into sandy hills and deep pits. The burial crews had merely to toss the bodies into the deepest holes and rake the sandy hills flat again. It would be days before the soldiers quit stumbling upon the occasional finger or ear, lying blackened and dry in unexpected spots. But for the most part, the worst of the carnage soon disappeared, and the men’s spirits rose in proportion.

  Some of the Roundheads were sent on a foraging mission to see what kinds of local foodstuffs they could find to round out their sea rations. Just behind the remains of the fort, they discovered a large field of sweet potatoes and fell to digging them with enthusiasm. They so enjoyed their task that Colonel Leasure shook his head in wry despair, wondering if he would ever make soldiers out of this band of boy-farmers. Others, given the task of exploring the tents and buildings used by the Confederates, were soon happily rummaging through cupboards, chests, and barrels. The order to abandon Fort Walker had come when many of the Confederate officers were at their midday meal, and tables still displayed the remains of that interrupted meal. China plates and silver flatware spoke of the relative luxury these defenders of the coast had experienced, and the variety of dishes and condiments promised that the new inhabitants of Hilton Head would live comfortably on their stores for the foreseeable future.

  It was nightfall before Nellie and her charges arrived on shore. When their small landing craft finally reached the shore below the fort, willing hands lifted the stretchers of the patients and carried them into the waiting hospital tent. Doctor Ludington led Nellie around the tent, showing her where items had been stowed.

  “This is temporary, you understand,” he said. “General Stevens has already staked out the site of a new hospital building, down the road from where our officers are being housed. The engineers have been told to start construction immediately. Plans are to build four wards, joined around a central cloister that will provide exercise grounds, fresh air, and a kitchen garden for the hospital. The outer walls of the wards themselves will be fortified, so the hospital will be safe from attack. Stevens says we’ll be here on a permanent basis, and he’s planning a base to serve the needs of an army of occupation as well as those of a combat force.”

  “I’m amazed at how much has already been accomplished,” Nellie commented. “We just arrived, but already the men seem much at home and in control.”

  “That’s the general’s goal. He’s aiming for stability after the turmoil of the voyage. Your own tent is here, by the way, next to this hospital tent. Private Stevenson has it all set up, as it was at Kalorama.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it when I’m through getting the men settled in,” Nellie responded, already looking around for her next task.

  “Nonsense. It’s late. The orderlies can manage things here. I’m going to walk you to your quarters, and then I’ll send over a plate of supper from the mess tent. You’ve had a busy day out there on the ship. It’s time you took a breather.”

  Nellie sank onto her own camp chair with evident relief. The tin plate delivered by one of the cooks smelled divine. Whipped sweet potatoes, fresh greens, and a succulent roasted pork were such a relief after rice and beans that she was almost reluctant to eat them. Then hunger overwhelmed her, and she cleaned the plate in minutes. Her camp cot, too, was so comfortable after the board bunks of the ship that she wondered for a few minutes if she would be able to sleep. She had only time to hope the men were feeling as much at home as she was before she slipped into oblivion.

  The winter sun rose over the Atlantic, streaking the pre-dawn navy sky with ribbons of gold, coral, and rosy pink. The first beams found their way straight through the cracks in the tent flap to urge Nellie awake. She sat up, stretched with delight at how rested she felt, and then made her way to the door of the tent, drawn by those intense colors that now flooded the sky with yellow light and promised a glorious fall day.

  This was her first real look at the Hilton Head encampment, and she surveyed it slowly, marveling at the order she saw all around her. When she joined the regiment in Pittsburgh, the camp on the fairgrounds had been a maze of haphazardly pitched tents. On the heights of Kalorama, the regiments had laid out their individual claims in a more orderly fashion, but an overall plan did not exist. Here, groups of eight, ten, or twelve tents stretched out in squared-off rows, each double row separated by a roadway, with cross streets at crisp right angles. The pitch of each tent roof was exactly the same as its neighbor’s.

  Nellie headed for the hospital tent, where her charges all seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Reassured, she followed the scent of fresh coffee to the mess tent, where the Roundhead staff was beginning to assemble. Nellie tried to appear controlled and serious, but a grin kept trying to force its way through. “What a beautiful place this is,” she said as she filled her plate. “And how on earth did you all get this much accomplished in just one day?”

  “Well, Nellie, we had 12,000 pairs of willing hands, all as happy to be back on land as you apparently are,” said Colonel Leasure. “I take it you approve of your accommodations?”

  “Everything’s fine, Sir.”

  “After you finish your breakfast, I’ll show you the regimental headquarters and the staff housing.” Leasure’s offer was motivated only partially by kindness; he also wanted to keep her as far away from the damaged fort as possible. She was not about to let that happen.

  “I’d like to visit the fort, Sir. What direction is it from where we are? I arrived so late last night that I couldn’t see a thing.”

  “Not much left to see, I’m afraid,” said the colonel. “And we’re clearing away the damaged parts as fast as possible. We’ll have a new fort soon. There’s no need for you to visit the old one.”

  “Was there a lot of damage?” Nellie asked.

  Reverend Browne, who had been sitting quietly at the far end of the table, looked up and spoke for the first time. “Take the colonel’s advice, Mrs. Leath. You were completely right about the awfulness of warfare. We all know it now. There’s no need to wallow in repercussions or regrets over what had to be done. Leave it alone, for all our sakes.”

  Nellie might have taken offense at the words, but the tone of the chaplain’s voice was so uncharacteristically low and dispirited that she could only stare at him. This was not the fiery voice of God with whom she had often argued. This was the voice of a broken man who had aged overnight. He sat slumped on the bench. His eyes seemed to sink into the dark circles around them. He was pale, unshaven, and rumpled. And unless she had completely misunderstood him, he had just attempted an apology for his diatribe of two days earlier. She looked toward the other officers for guidance, but their gazes were averted, as if they, too, could not bear to look at Reverend Browne in his grief. Because she could not find the right words for a response, Nellie simply nodded and bowed her head. In a moment conversations resumed, and the breakfast gathering broke up.

  By the time Nellie and the colonel left the mess, soldiers were swarming everywhere, all seemingly intent on the jobs to be done. Nellie shook her head in amazement. “I can’t even begin to absorb all of this, Sir. Can you give me some landmarks to cling to? Right now I’m not sure I could find my way back to the hospital tent.”

  “Well, you are standing in the Roundhead section of the encampment, facing due north, at the corner of Wright Avenue and Sherman Avenue.” Leasure chuckled as Nellie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Yes, my dear, the command staff has already named many of the streets after themselves.”

  “But how did they know where the streets would be? Was this whole area part of the fort?”
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  “No. No. Look straight ahead of you. That bit of masonry wall you see is Fort Walker. And no, again. This is as close as I intend to allow you to get. It was really a small defensive fortification, holding maybe two hundred men. We have over twelve thousand. Our camp, which, by the way, will be named Fort Welles, will be a huge base of operations. Most of the area you see filled with tents was cleared farmland. Yesterday General Stevens had only to lay out the plan and put the men to work.”

  “I’m astonished,” Nellie said. “Do you mean he planned this whole lay-out in one day?”

  “General Stevens is a remarkable little man,” Leasure replied. “I’m sure it’s no secret I have had my quarrels with him, but I have never questioned the depth of his knowledge and military skill. When we made camp in Washington, we erected the tents first and then let the men trample out the paths that wound between them. The result, you will remember, was not pretty—or efficient. Yesterday, General Stevens held up all construction until the street layout was marked out. Then the tents, as you see, went up in orderly rows, just as he had intended.”

  “So he had a plan for the whole thing in his head before we even arrived?”

  “Probably so. He was firm in designating the areas for each facility. As the horses were unloaded, he pointed them at the stable area, which will lie well north of the old fort. The ordnance crews were sent straight to the remains of the old arsenals, where their weaponry and ammunition could be protected. He’s even designated a separate street for the sutlers and the washerwomen. It’s off to your left there, and the venders are already at work erecting their own little shops.”

  “It’s a perfect location—close to the men’s tents, but not scattered higgly-piggly among them.”

  “Yes, although I’m afraid the soldiers have already discarded Stevens’ name for the street. They’re calling it ‘Robber’s Row’, which is probably more accurate than anything the general could have come up with.”

  Nellie shared his amusement. “The name will stick, too. I’m sure of it.”

  “Now turn around and look down Wright Avenue behind you. On your left is the guard house and the provost’s quarters, followed by your tent and the regimental hospital. You’ll be conveniently located for sick call, but separated enough from the men’s activities that your patients will not be disturbed. Those two-story clapboard buildings you see between your facility and the beach are officer’s quarters. The houses are pretty utilitarian, but they are solidly built, and positioned to catch the coastal breezes. They were apparently used as summer homes by the local plantation owners. We’ve inherited their furnishings and their stores of provisions. The one closest at this end is our regimental headquarters. That’s where the staff and I will be living as long as we are here.”

  “And are we here for the duration of the war, Sir?”

  “No, I think not. There’s a great deal of work to be done here at the moment, and every hand is needed. The general has ordered that our entire encampment, which extends over a mile on every side, is to be surrounded by a fifteen-foot ditch and a twenty-foot embankment. Our men will be shoveling dirt for weeks. But once that fortification is in place, most of us will be taking control of the other islands along the coast. I don’t know where we will be going, but I’m sure Hilton Head is only a stop-over on our journey.”

  “Then I’d better do whatever exploring I want to do right away. I’m fascinated by the strange vegetation, and I’ll bet there are some interesting animals lurking in the undergrowth, too.”

  Colonel Leasure shook his head at her, but smiled at the same time. “You and your love of animals! But be careful, my dear. At least keep a lookout for alligators in the swampy areas. They are not to be toyed with. You might want to take one of the orderlies with you if you are determined to go nosing around.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’d better be getting back.” She stopped as she caught sight of Reverend Browne making his way slowly down the road toward his tent. His back was bent like that of a much older man. His feet shuffled, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground. Nellie glanced at the colonel and saw that he, too, was watching the chaplain.

  “Is he going to be all right, do you think?” she asked.

  “All right? I hope so. No, I’m sure he will. But it’s going to take a while.”

  “Was whatever he saw so terrible?” Nellie asked.

  “No, it’s not that it was all that horrible. Our soldiers saw the same sights, and they’ve not been so badly afflicted. But for Robert. . . .” Colonel Leasure seemed to pull his next sigh from the bottoms of his boots, but he clearly wanted to talk. He perched on a nearby barrel and gestured for Nellie to join him on a nearby crate.

  “I’ve been trying to work this out for myself, and I can understand why you are worried about him. For some men—like Robert—religion provides a buffer between their emotions and the realities of the world around them. Their faith makes it possible to deal with matters that otherwise might overwhelm them. Robert deals with death every day, but he has always done so with his hand on his Testament and the standard words of consolation on his lips. He performs funerals with the deceased laid out in the family parlor wearing good clothes, eyes carefully closed as if in sleep, the unpleasant odors held at bay by flowers and burning candles. The message of Scriptures is that death is a new beginning, the goal of a Christian life accomplished. The deceased is in heaven—at peace—with his Heavenly Father. You’ve heard it all. And Robert takes as much comfort in that message as do his hearers.

  “Yesterday he saw and smelled death undisguised. He saw body parts, smashed heads, gory piles of intestines, and there was no way to hide the ugliness. He had his Testament out, but there was no one to hear his comfort, no body to bury with his rituals. For perhaps the first time, his religion failed to protect him. It was of no use, and therefore neither was he.”

  “So he’s doing what? Mourning the loss of himself?”

  “Yes, perhaps that’s exactly it. He’s having a real crisis of faith, although he probably does not recognize it as such. This is going to sound cruel, but I think he’ll begin to recover as soon as someone dies a natural death. Then he can once again take refuge in the sacraments that have always shielded him.”

  “What should I hope for? That someone dies, so Reverend Browne can feel useful again? Or that no one dies, and he continues to despair?”

  “Well, that’s a decision you’ll not have to make. Someone is sure to die. This is an inherently unhealthy climate, do whatever you will to keep your men in good physical condition.”

  Nellie stared at the colonel for a moment, recognizing the truth in what he was saying but still haunted by the fact Reverend Browne would be helped only when someone else died. “I’m glad I’ve not been taught to use religion that way.” She grimaced. “Although I probably use medicine to do much the same thing. I’m trying to hold illness at bay with my salves and tinctures. And maybe if they all fail me, I’ll be as broken and disheartened as the chaplain.”

  “We all have faith in something, Nellie, even if it’s in the necessity of doing our jobs, which, by the way, we had better be about.”

  ggg

  12

  Life and Death in the Low Country

  In the days that followed, Nellie had many occasions to remember Colonel Leasure’s predictions about Reverend Browne. Diseases spread through the camp at Hilton Head. The men had brought measles and mumps with them when they landed, and the dampness and unaccustomed heat of the sea islands seemed to exacerbate the spread of infection. No one had expected mosquitoes to still be a problem at this time of year, but they swarmed through the camp, accompanied by colonies of fleas and clouds of other tiny stinging and biting midges. The men called them “no-see-ums,” which was an accurate description. Within days, previously healthy soldiers came down with high fevers and chills that ran in cycles of three or four days.

  Doctor Ludington diagnosed malarial fevers, and he and Nellie passed out doses of quinine until suppli
es ran dangerously low. Cases of sniffles turned into the deep, wracking coughs of pneumonia, and typhoid reappeared. Adding to the crowds in the hospital tents were the injured, whose unfamiliarity with chores such as digging a fifteen-foot ditch and piling up a twenty-foot earthwork led to sprains, broken bones, wrenched backs, and nasty cuts from shovel edges. Nellie’s plans to explore the island never materialized. By the end of each day, she wanted only to fall into an exhausted sleep.