Yankee Belles in Dixie

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “We don’t have any magic ink like that,” Jeff protested.

  “We can use lemon juice. I’ve already tried it, and it works real good. It’s invisible until you heat it up.”

  “Well, it might be a good idea,” Jeff said slowly. “There’ll be some things I wouldn’t want anybody to read. But what do you mean about writing sweet things?”

  “You know, tell me something about me that you like real well.”

  Jeff laughed aloud. “You are a vain little thing, aren’t you? All right, I’ll do that. I promise.”

  Standing at the train, Jeff shook Mr. Carter’s hand. Then he awkwardly shook hands with Leah. “I’ll do what I said,” he promised her. “Goodbye.”

  He boarded the train, and soon it was out of sight.

  “Hard to give him up, isn’t it, Pet?” her father said.

  “Yes, it is. I’m going to be so lonely.” She looked up at him, and tears glittered in her eyes. “I wish we never had to say good-bye to anybody.”

  “So do I, Pet. So do I!”

  6

  General Lee

  Gets Whipped

  On returning to Richmond, Jeff soon found that things had changed greatly. The excitement after the victory at Bull Run was still there to a degree, but the casualties of the battle were horrible. The Federals had 1,500 dead and wounded and had lost more than 1,400 as prisoners. These, Jeff learned, had been herded through Richmond, where crowds chanted, “Live Yankees! Live Yankees!”

  “How many did our side lose in all, Tom?” Jeff asked. The two of them were trudging along a dusty road in a column of Richmond Blues.

  It was late September now. The August heat was gone, while just over the horizon there was a hint of cold weather even this early.

  Tom glanced at his younger brother. The dust coated his dark face but did not disguise his good looks. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “we lost about two thousand killed, wounded, and captured.”

  Jeff looked up, startled, “Two thousand of our men? That’s awful!”

  “Yes, it is,” Tom agreed glumly. “We captured about six thousand small arms and fifty-four cannon, and lots of rounds of ammunition, but that doesn’t make up for the fellows we lost.”

  “I don’t see why we didn’t go on in when we won the battle and take Washington,” Jeff grumbled. He shifted his drum to a more comfortable position and looked down the long line of marching men. “Everybody says we could have done it—even Stonewall said so.”

  Tom shook his head. “I kind of doubt it. We were just about as worn out as they were. If we’d gotten to Washington, they’d have had lots of fresh troops. The thing that worries me is that we don’t seem to be taking this war seriously.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, from what I hear, the North is gearing up to make all kinds of guns, muskets, and cannons but we don’t seem to realize that we’re going to be coming up against that sort of thing. Matter of fact, from what I hear, all our leaders are doing is just quarreling with each other. Jeff Davis seems to be catching a lot of it. Not easy to be a president, I guess.”

  A flight of blackbirds flew over, making their raucous cries. Jeff watched, then put his mind back to the journey in front of them. “Where’s this place we’re going to, Tom?”

  “A place called Cheat Mountain. The Federals have taken a pass there, and General Lee says we’ve got to get them out.”

  The column marched on until the sun grew low over the hills. Then the troops broke out their gear for preparing supper, and soon the smell of cooking meat tantalized Jeff’s nostrils.

  He and five others had banded together to form a little group. One of them carried a pot, which the other squads seemed anxious to borrow.

  Charlie Bowers, at the age of thirteen, was probably the youngest drummer in the Confederate Army. He and Jeff wolfed down their portions, sitting off to one side. Charlie looked at his empty plate and shook his head. “I don’t ever get enough to eat.”

  Jeff grinned at the smaller boy. “I don’t see where you put it all. The food you eat is bigger than you are.”

  Curly Henson, a huge red-haired man, was sitting across the fire from Jeff. He had been a bully when Jeff first joined up, but the two had become fast friends when Henson saved his life. Now he said, “You two tadpoles need to be back home. This war is a job for men.”

  Jeff picked up a stone and tossed it over at him. “You watch your mouth, Curly,” he said. “You won’t be able to keep up with me on this march, hauling all that excess weight you got.”

  Laughter went around the campfire, and Sergeant Henry Mapes, a tall, rangy man with black hair and eyes, said, “You better save some of that for the fight that’s coming up.”

  “Why, we’ll push them Yankees right out of their holes,” Curly said confidently. “We showed ’em at Bull Run, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah! And this time we got General Lee commanding,” Jeff said.

  He had unlimited confidence in Lee, as had most of the men. Lee received his full general’s commission a few months ago and was leading the attack.

  Suddenly Sergeant Mapes said, “Look at that!”

  They all turned to look at a large man on horseback who had ridden by them, headed for the commander’s tent. As he dismounted, Sergeant Mapes said, “That’s Rooney Lee, General Lee’s second son.”

  “He’s a big’un, ain’t he?” Jed Hawkins was a small, lean man with black hair. He had brought along his guitar which was strictly against orders. He was plucking the strings lightly now. “I don’t see how he gets a horse big enough to carry him.”

  Mapes frowned. “One of the problems about this whole campaign is there’s too many chiefs and not enough Indians.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jeff inquired.

  “I mean we got four commanding officers, and that’s too many.” He named them, holding up one finger at a time. “We got General Loring, who’s supposed to be sort of head of the whole thing. Then we got General Henry Wise, who used to be governor of Virginia. And we got John B. Floyd—he’s an ex-governor too. Then, of course, we got General Lee.”

  Jed Hawkins laughed. “There’s enough generals to fight all by themselves. We ought to go back to Richmond.” He began plunking a tune on his guitar and soon raised his fine tenor voice in a rollicking song.

  “Oh, I’m a good old rebel,

  Now that’s just what I am,

  For this ‘Fair Land of Freedom’

  I do not care at all.

  I’m glad I fit against it,

  I only wish we’d won;

  And I don’t want no pardon

  For anything I’ve done.

  “I hates the Constitution,

  This Great Republic too,

  I hates the Freedman’s Bureau

  In uniforms of blue;

  I hates the nasty eagle,

  With all his brags and fuss,

  The lyin’, thievin’ Yankees,

  I hates ’em wuss and wuss.

  “I hates the Yankee nation,

  And everything they do,

  I hates the Declaration

  Of Independence too;

  I hates the glorious Union

  ‘Tis dripping with our blood

  I hates their striped banner

  I fit it all I could.”

  After the last word of the song died down, Tom came by and sat beside Jeff. The others were carrying on a card game very noisily across the fire. “Tell me again about Pa,” he said.

  Jeff had told Tom several times about his visits to his father. He shook his head, saying, “I can’t tell you any more, Tom. Just that he doesn’t look good. Of course, he’s a lot better since Mr. Carter and Leah started taking that good food in. I think he might have died if he hadn’t gotten a little nourishment.”

  Tom stared into the fire silently, occupied with his thoughts. Finally he picked up a stick and stuck the end of it in the fire until it burst into flame and held it up as he would a candle. The darkness
was falling, and his face was tense. “I hate everything about it,” he said, “but I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Well, at least we’re sure he’ll be fed.” Jeff took another bite of one of the biscuits he’d brought with him and chewed it thoughtfully. “As long as the Carters are there, they’ll see that he gets good food and warm blankets and whatever else that will make life better.”

  “I got a letter from Sarah,” Tom said abruptly. His face brightened. “I sure do miss that girl. She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Then he grew gloomy. “But she says she’ll never marry me, not with things like they are.”

  “Things are kind of upside down. Someday, though, they’ll be all right, at least that’s what we’re praying for, me and Leah,” Jeff told him.

  Tom looked at his younger brother with a warm expression on his face. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s going to take prayer to get this thing seen to.”

  The two sat for a long time, then finally rolled up in their blankets. Jeff lay awake listening to an owl calling from somewhere far away. It made a plaintive sound. He remembered what he had promised Leah and, just before he went to sleep, he prayed for his father and for Tom and for Royal and for all the family.

  * * *

  The battle of Cheat Mountain was a disaster from the very beginning. The Confederate force had lost many of its fighting men with measles and typhoid fever. The North Carolina Sixteenth Regiment had two-thirds of its men down, and Jackson’s Brigade was not much better.

  On the third morning of their march, Jeff had just pulled his drum over his shoulder as the men were falling in, when he heard Charlie Bowers say, “Look! There comes General Lee!”

  The general was walking along, leading his horse, stopping to talk to soldiers here and there.

  “Ain’t he the finest-looking man you ever saw?” Charlie said warmly, “And the best soldier too. Lincoln tried to get him to be commander of the whole army of the North, but he wouldn’t do it.”

  Jeff watched avidly as General Lee approached and was somewhat taken aback when he stopped directly in front of their squad.

  “Good morning, men,” he said. He had a bluff, reddish face and didn’t look as tall as he did when he was mounted on his horse. Tom had told him, “He’s got short legs, but he’s tall from the waist up.”

  Now Jeff nodded and muttered with the rest of them, “Good morning, General.”

  Lee studied the faces of the two younger boys. “How old are you two soldiers?”

  “I’m thirteen, General Lee, going on fourteen,” Charlie Bowers said.

  Jeff said, almost as if in an echo, “I’m almost fifteen, General.”

  Lee smiled and nodded his head. “We’re glad to have two fine young men like you to help us in our campaign. I trust you’ll come through the battle safely.” He looked down the line at the other soldiers, who were listening eagerly, and said, “We must do our best, men. The South is depending on us.”

  “We will, General don’t you worry, General Lee. We’ll whip ’em.”

  Cries went out up and down the line, and Lee took off his hat and waved it, saying, “I know you’ll do your best.” Then he turned and led his horse along, talking to other men down the line.

  “I feel like we can’t lose with a man like that. Don’t you, Jeff?” Charlie said.

  “Sure do! He’s something, isn’t he!”

  The meeting with General Lee was the high point of the campaign as far as Jeff was concerned. He never forgot it.

  And then it began to rain. One time Jeff saw a mule slide twenty feet down a wet, slippery slope, and the soldiers exhausted themselves trying to get it back up the mountainside.

  “I never saw as much rain as this,” Tom complained. “Rains every day. Every time you yell ‘hello’ you get a shower. Then some of the men had to shoot their guns to get the loads out. That brought on a regular flood.”

  Somehow they made their way forward but ran into such bad terrain that the cannon had to be abandoned. They spent their nights in the cold mountains. The rain spoiled their rations, the muskets were wet, and the gunpowder was ruined. The troops were forbidden to light fires.

  Jeff wrote a letter to his father. “We tried to sleep, but the rain poured so and the torrents ran down the mountains with such a flood of water, we’d have been drowned if we’d laid down on the ground.”

  Finally, however, General Lee got his forces into position. He sent out scouts, among them his son, Rooney, and a colonel named Washington. The colonel was killed, and Rooney and his riders barely escaped.

  Yet it was not the rain that cost the South the battle, but the behavior of a man called Colonel Rust. When he captured some Federal pickets, they told him such tales of Federal strength that he simply gave up.

  On the night of October 6, the Confederates heard wheels rumbling and thought that the enemy was about to attack. Jeff and Tom stood close together, drenched through, and Jeff said, “I guess they’re coming, don’t you reckon?”

  “I don’t see how they could attack in a rain like this. Not one musket in ten would go off with the powder wet,” Tom answered.

  When at last daylight came, Lee discovered that the Federals were gone. The Cheat Mountain campaign was over. Lee stayed on for a few days, but the weather was now so bitter that there was little to do.

  On the way back to Richmond the men grumbled, but when they got there they discovered that the story of the so-called battle had preceded them, and it was General Lee who took the criticism. Newspapers were calling him “Granny Lee,” saying he didn’t have what it took to be a general.

  But Jeff learned what a real leader was like, for when General Lee addressed the troops, he showed no sign of disappointment. He encouraged them by telling them they had done their best. “You men proved yourselves as soldiers,” he said. “I’m proud of you, for you did all that men could do, and we will fight again.”

  Later, as Jeff and Tom took up their quarters in Richmond, Jeff said, “Well, that wasn’t much of a fight, was it? I feel sorry for General Lee.”

  Tom shook his head, “He didn’t have a chance. All those other generals messed it up. But you’ll see we haven’t heard the last of General Robert E. Lee.”

  7

  A Beautiful Spy

  My, it’s cold out here, Pa!” Leah drew her wool coat closer around her and looked up at the sky. “It’s going to snow again tonight, I believe.”

  It was the first day of January 1862, and the weather had already been harsh. The sound of the horses’ hooves was muffled by the snow underfoot as Mr. Carter drove them quickly.

  Her father agreed. “Well, starting out a new year with snow is as good a way as any.”

  They arrived at the prison, and he tied the horse to the rail. “We’ll have to make two trips this time, Leah.”

  “No, we can take it all, Pa. Here, pile it up high on my arms.”

  He grinned with stiff lips. “All right, let’s see if we can.” The two of them stacked the packages of food and clothing and blankets they had brought and were admitted almost at once.

  The guard spoke to them like an old friend. “Looks like you brought those Rebs lots of good stuff this time. How ‘bout us poor Yankees?”

  Leah smiled at him. “I did bring you a cake, believe it or not, Tommy. Let me get it.” She fished in one of the sacks, pulled out a smaller package wrapped in brown paper, and handed it to him with a smile. “There, don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  The guard whipped open the package and took a huge mouthful from the wedge of gingerbread that was inside. “Hoo-eee, this is good. Thanks a lot, Miss Leah, and you too, Mr. Carter. Go right on in. Those fellows will be glad to see you.”

  The guard was not wrong, for when the two with all their gifts were admitted into the small room, the prisoners crowded around them.

  “Looks like Christmas isn’t over yet,” Jeff’s father said. He had risen to greet them and take the thick, blue sweater that Leah handed him
. “This ought to keep me warm enough, all right.” He grinned.

  “We tried to get something for each of you,” her father said, handing out garments to the soldiers. “Nothing will fit, I suppose.”

  “Aw, that don’t matter, Mr. Carter. We sure appreciate it, Miss Leah.” A tall, redheaded soldier was buttoning up a wool coat that was at least two sizes too small. He hugged it to himself. “This will shore help on these cold nights.”

  The soldiers had learned to look forward to the visits of Daniel and Leah. It brightened their gloomy existence, for the Capitol Prison was a dismal place. Lice and bedbugs abounded, and spider webs decorated the soiled whitewash of the walls. The usual food was rank-tasting pork and beef, half-boiled beans, and musty rice. Over all was the stench of the open toilet situated behind the cookhouse in the yard.

  After speaking with the men a while, Leah said, “I’m going to take some of this food down to Sergeant Chaffee.”

  She had made a friend of one of the men in another room and left to find him. As she was walking down the hall, she met an unusual sight—a tall woman, whose smoothly parted hair was threaded with gray, was being ushered along by a civilian. She held the hand of a young girl no more than seven or eight, whose eyes were frightened.

  Leah stepped back to let them pass, and the little girl watched her carefully. When they were gone, Leah continued on down to give the food to the sergeant and his friends. Later, when she and her father were leaving, they stopped to talk to the guard who had eaten the gingerbread.

  “Did you see Mrs. Greenhow?” he asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

  “I saw a lady and a little girl,” Leah answered.

  “Well, you know who she was, don’t you?” Tommy demanded. “That’s Mrs. Greenhow, the famous Rebel spy!”

  Dan Carter looked up, interest on his face. “So that’s Mrs. Greenhow! I’ve heard quite a bit about her.”

  “Who is she, Pa?”

  “She was a very prominent social lady in Washington. She married a doctor. She’s a widow now.”

  “What’s she doing in jail? This is no place for a woman,” Leah said.