by Jerri Hines
“One of the bucks escaped. One named Thom.”
“No!” Jo cried, flashing back to the time Heyward had escaped from Hoyt Miller. Had they treated one of their slaves in the same manner? She shivered. Afraid to ask the details…afraid not to. “Has he been recaptured? What are we doing?”
“No, he is gone. I did not raise the alarm. I felt it best at this time to keep the matter quiet. With the war upon us now, I fear there will be more episodes such as this, but I do not want to give rise to more runaways,” Andrew said bluntly. “I believe it was an isolated incident and have treated it as such, but the overseer and I at White Oaks disagreed. I let him go.”
“You felt it necessary?”
“Yes, and I would like you to trust me on this, Jo.”
She studied him, serious and intent. Quite different in his approach with her than Wade would have been with this matter, Andrew had been direct and forthcoming. She was certain Wade would not have told her in an effort to protect her.
“I am going to send Barclay up to White Oaks. They will need an experienced overseer. I found a man to replace Barclay here. A Troy Gardner. A Virginian. He traveled down here in all that commotion back in the spring.
“He came to me as a patient. He had gotten injured being pushed through a window during one of the celebrations. An older man, he can’t serve in the Army now because of his injury. Cut up his hand pretty bad. Can’t pull a trigger.”
“You believe it for the best?” she asked with a sudden appreciation that it was not her decision to make. Her stomach churned with the thought of disciplining any slave in a harsh manner.
She supposed it was not business for a woman to have to deal with, given their sympathetic nature. Jo wondered whether any other Southerner felt as she—that they were caught in a web of their own making, now not knowing how to untangle themselves in the mess they were in concerning slavery.
“There is one more thing you may find more to your liking. I received confirmation that Harry Lee and Buck are in Virginia with a legion from Mississippi. With Wade gone, I wanted to give you some comfort that your cousins will not be a worry.”
Jo gave him a slight nod, but said nothing more. There would have been no need. She was certain her face betrayed relief. When she retired for the night, she felt her worries had lessened considerably. Everything Andrew had discussed seemed reasonable.
Her sole attention now would be directed on the care of the family and her son. With this hopefulness, she took up her pen and wrote to Wade.
* * * *
The stormy weather of the day before had calmed. The South Atlantic Blockading Squadron under Flag Officer Samuel Francis Du Pont had their orders. Du Pont, a cautious commander, waited until there were no unforeseen obstacles in their path before he gave the command to engage.
The fleet of seventy-seven Union vessels had disembarked from Hampton Roads ten days ago, not knowing their destination until the ships were out to sea. Secrecy being of the utmost importance, the captains of each vessel received a sealed envelope opened only after on the open sea—Port Royal, South Carolina.
Lieutenant Cullen Smythe, US Navy, first lieutenant and acting executive officer of the Bienville, doubted the efficiency of the attempt at secrecy since the New York Times had run the headline “The Great Naval Expedition” days before they departed, which gave the details of the venture, namely the seventeen warships headed south. Though, he doubted the Confederate Navy could withstand an assault even if they knew their destination.
It had been a chaotic week since their departure. A gale had splintered the convoy. Three ships had been lost, sunk or driven ashore. The gunboat Isaac Smith had to throw most of their guns overboard to stay afloat and the transport Governor went down.
A couple of days later, a vain but valiant effort by an inferior Confederate flotilla had tried to engage the force but had been driven back by the superior firepower of the convoy. It had done little to slow the expedition, but it had caused a problem to the mission.
When the Isaac Smith had thrown most of their guns overboard, the infantry had lost much of the ammunition needed for a ground assault. General Thomas W. Sherman informed Du Pont the troops would not be available for the engagement.
Cullen had slept for four hours out of the last forty-eight, but he was ready. He refused to think that he was about to fire upon the people he considered brethren. He held to the contention that the nation need not be divided, but he wondered whether men had gone mad. There would be no going back…he was about to do battle.
“We’re coming about, sir!”
A rocket zoomed high into the galvanized sky, missing its mark, but his eyes followed it as the trail of a golden shower of sparks fell short harmlessly in the water. Cullen gestured to turn to port.
The ship’s bow hammered into the rushing waves, cut in-between the other gunship to fire portside and maneuvered through the smoke streamed from the funnels of the battleships. Cannonballs arced toward their intended targets.
Counter shelling from the forts disrupted the movements of the ships, but Cullen held to his orders. He navigated his ship to fire again, far enough away from the guns of the forts. Cullen dropped his gaze inboard and watched the swirl of activity on deck. The tackle men were slewing the guns around.
The bow gun blazed; a reddish-orange tongue of flame shot across the water toward Fort Walker. Guns exploded. Another shell landed in front of the bow and sent a towering geyser of water into the air, which dowsed Cullen with salt water.
Giving no ground, Cullen stepped higher onto the ladder and yelled his orders to fire the broadside guns. He looked across the water through the smoke-whitened air; another cannon fired from the fort. The battle had only just begun.
The bombardment continued for over three hours. When the last shot fired, the Union had a decisive victory. Through an eyepiece, Cullen watched a steady stream of Confederates flee Fort Walker.
He walked up the stern to the pilothouse to inform the commander. By mid-afternoon, the Union flag had been raised over Fort Walker. Not only had the Confederates abandoned the fort, all the white folks in Beaufort had evacuated the area, in so much of a hurry that some had left their dinner on the table. When Union soldiers rolled into the streets of Beaufort, they found only one white man, a drunk sleeping in a back alley, who hadn’t a clue what had happened.
Beaufort was now in control of the Union forces.
* * * *
Within three weeks since the capture of Beaufort, the Union had discovered it had been an advantageous win in more than one way. Strange how still a vibrant town turned. The white flight had left a brilliant opportunity for the Navy. Occupation of the town by Union troops was a tremendous gain. The harbor allowed entry to the largest ships and was in a central location…perfect for the base of operation of a spy network…directly in the heart of the Confederacy.
Cullen rode along the back road into the pines. Swift-moving thunder clouds threatened what had been a sunny, pleasant day, but the weather wasn’t on his mind. He was set to meet Andrew and Mitchell at a remote cabin along the marshes northwest of Beaufort. He wasn’t alone.
The night before, Cullen had rowed over to the Wabash. He had received his orders from Commander Davis, none to his liking. But like so many other things in his life, he had no control over the situation. The orders had come down from the secretary of war, Gideon Wells, himself.
Lieutenant Hugh McFadden, who had been aboard the Ottawa, accompanied him on his journey along with an Army man, Captain Eli Claiborne, under the command of General Thomas Sherman, who now had hold of Beaufort.
Claiborne was a tall man with a scar across his face from the battles he had seen in the Mexican War. A lifer, he bore from a small town on Long Island. He had an intense love for his country and no patience for the South, feeling a firm hand needed to be shown.
In front of Cullen, the cabin came into view. Smoke filtered out of the chimney, a signal that Andrew and Mitchell had arrived.<
br />
“It was his heart,” Andrew said. “Wade was not there. He is in Hampton’s Legion and is in Virginia.”
Cullen sighed. He had received the news of his grandfather’s death, but it had not seemed real until Andrew talked to him. Death was so final…never to reconcile their differences…never to talk again to the man who had raised him.
Showing no emotions, he walked over to the rickety table and sat in the hard, straw-seated chair. The cabin was old and abandoned, filled with only broken furniture, dust, and clutter left from the previous occupant.
“I have word for Uncle William,” Cullen offered. “If you see him tell him, his home has been looted.”
“You have been there?”
“I rode out personally. The slaves have ransacked the whole house. Even with my presence, the slaves reveled with their newfound freedom. One of the blackies was playing the devil out of Aunt Lydia’s piano. Slaves dancing away upstairs…all over the house. It is the same throughout Beaufort. Debris from the homes clutters the streets.”
“What am I to tell Uncle William?”
“Tell him that he has lost everything within Beaufort by his own foolishness. Who instructed the fools to leave their homes in that manner? I know it was not cowardice.”
“It is my understanding that it was Reverend Walker,” Andrew said. “He incited fear into the community.”
“How stupid it had been for the inhabitants to leave their homes unprotected. The town has been plundered,” Captain Claiborne said. “It does not bode well for any to return.”
“Do not underestimate the people, Captain,” Cullen said in an icy voice. “They may have been ill-prepared for this fight, but they won’t make that mistake again.”
“Lieutenant Smythe, I am fully aware of the challenge before me.”
Cullen felt his bile rise. His plan had been put into place. Mitchell had been accepted in the countryside. The information gathered had already been fruitful: Mitchell had supplied the information needed for Fort Royal’s assault.
The people of Beaufort had held a belief that the forts would protect them, but in reality the defense of the harbor had been inept. Mitchell and his informants had pinpointed the weakness. The cannons mounted atop the parapet at Fort Walker had left them exposed to enemy fire. Moreover, the cannons hadn’t the range needed to do harm to the Navy’s vessel.
Mitchell discovered several flaws within Fort Walker: the cannons were poorly sighted toward the harbor, the units ill-trained, and the gunpowder was of inferior quality. Given the information, Port Royal had become the target of the Union fleet.
“Speaking of challenges,” Mitchell interceded. “Might I ask the reason for this meeting, given the need for extreme secrecy? I do not like being called away in this manner. It could raise questions.”
“It will not be done so again,” Captain Claiborne interjected and glanced over at Cullen. “All communications will go through the proper channels. This was a necessity.”
Cullen met the captain’s eye and glowered. He had a sudden dislike of the man. “This will be brief. I have been relieved of the duty of overseeing the network. It has been reassigned to Captain Claiborne.”
“He’s Army,” Mitchell said stiffly.
Cullen’s lips tightened and found it hard to say the words. “According to Secretary Wells, it does not matter. He feels it better served to have someone on solid ground to give directions to the network. All other resources will stay as they are. You have been re-designated for this assignment, Mitchell, to the Army, keeping your full rank and commission.”
“I will be overseeing any needed arrangements extended by the Navy,” Hugh offered with a sympathetic glance at Cullen.
“You?” Mitchell queried, making little effort to conceal he had not liked what he heard. “What has happened? I agreed to this mission because of Cullen. Now that it is proved its worth, the higher beings have pulled the rug out from under—”
“No,” Cullen said austerely. “I have been reassigned, too. I asked for Hugh personally. With respect, my request was honored. The network will not be affected by this change.”
“Reassigned? To where?” Mitchell’s eyebrows rose.
“The Western blockade. I was told that Flag Officer Farragut asked for me personally. I am to leave immediately.”
Mitchell turned to Cullen and ignored Claiborne. “Why? This makes no sense.”
“It seems it has been a conditional request.” Cullen shot a look over at Andrew. “For his participation in this venture. Now, if I could have a moment with my cousin… alone.”
Cullen waited until the others left the cabin. Then he turned to Andrew, who sat across from him.
“I know you are upset, but I have my reasons…good reasons,” Andrew said, not bothering to deny the accusation.
“Maybe I don’t agree with those reasons.”
“Oh, come on. I have complied with your bidding at great risk,” Andrew argued. “I have made strides to solidify the network. I sent Barclay up to White Oaks and brought in one of your men, Troy Gardner, at Magnolia Bluff. The links are in place and Mitchell has integrated well. You have your network.”
“I set it up to protect—”
“I know why you set it up, Cullen. Do you believe that Wade did not tell me? He would not have been that foolish as to have left and not protect his family. He told me you believe that Percival is your son and perceives you as a threat.”
Cullen nodded in an absent way while Andrew’s words sunk to the core of his being. Reprimanding himself for his oversight, he had not considered that his cousin would consider him a danger to those he had striven to protect. His gaze hardened.
His frustrations unleashed, he stood and pushed back against the table. “Do you believe I would harm my son? Why do you believe I have gone to the lengths I have...I won’t have my son—”
“Hold that thought, Cullen.” Andrew gestured with his hand for Cullen to calm. “I do not question your need to protect those you love, but this network is not about Josephine and Percival. For this to work, it was my belief that it needed someone not personally involved to head it.”
“You question my honor!”
“Never,” Andrew answered quickly and direct. “Over the last few months, I spent a great deal of time soul searching. I have made many mistakes, but I refuse to be bullied into another.”
A scowl crossed Cullen’s face. A retort lay on his tongue, but he kept his mouth closed.
Andrew stared at Cullen and frowned. “Tell me...tell me that you would put your mission above the needs of Josephine and Percival... That is the reason I made the request because, Cullen, I will not be party to you taking a child away from his mother.”
“I would never! How dare you!”
“I dare because I know you!” Andrew’s intensity matched Cullen’s. The anger echoed in his voice, but then in the same breath, he calmed. “You cannot tell me that at the first sign of trouble you would not overreact...and put your personal interest above all others. I can’t allow that...I understand...but in good conscience I can’t...”
Andrew let his words fade and he paused. His eyes never left Cullen, though. Relentless, he went on. “He’s my brother, Cullen. He has been the perfect husband and father to a son he knows may not be his. Yes, I do realize that Wade questions, but he has given Percival a name and loves the boy unconditionally. Percival is his, and I won’t be a part of anything that will hurt him. I refuse.”
The cabin became quiet. Cullen stared at the floor. Wanting nothing more than to cry out that Jo should have been his wife...Percival should have his name...if Grandfather hadn’t interfered...if...
Slowly, Andrew shook his head. “This is for the best for everyone, including you. Percival is being well looked after. He is loved by everyone. I won’t take him from Josephine—”
“Then she can come if the need arises. I never intended to leave her—”
“She would never leave Wade. You know that, Cullen. No matt
er how bad it gets. You are just going to have to live with it. I’m sorry. For once, I’m going to do the right thing.”
Cullen cursed under his breath. “Wade has left his family...a war...a war is exploding around them...”
“That is not how he sees the situation. You need to leave them, Cullen.” Andrew’s voice softened. “They are a happy family. These are words you might not want to hear, but Josephine loves Wade. Take with you that Percival is loved greatly and lacks for nothing. Do you not know that most plantations fear rebellion with their slaves? Not at Magnolia Bluff. They would die to protect Percival and Josephine.”
“Because they know you are running a goddamn illegal railroad on the grounds…”
“For Heaven’s sake, do you take me for an imbecile? Only a few trusted know of what we do... No, it is more. It is the way she treats them...the way that Wade has. Heyward has not been forgotten, nor has Gillie. Miss Hazel has become a fixture at the plantation.”
Andrew spoke but Cullen had latched onto words that cut him deep. He said, “She loves Wade…”
“Yes,” Andrew hesitated, but stated firmly. “I believe she does. She has done what she must and you should do so, also. Cullen, you are family and will always be. It is why I tell you now for your own sake—move on. They are safe and will remain so. You can leave knowing you have done everything you can for the boy. Some things are out of your control. This is one of them...they are not your family.”
Rage erupted within Cullen. He was furious and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it...about any of it. He had no control. Damn the war. Damn the Navy. Damn Andrew...Wade and Josephine... Could no one understand his need to get his son out of this godforsaken war?
Cullen made no more arguments. It was done. He would fight the battle on a different front, but his heart would be left in Charleston.
Chapter Ten
Plantation life had changed, but had settled into a routine that gave it a sense of normalcy. Although the Yankee blockade had tightened, the war continued and had been successful for the most part. Slowly, the fear of a massive advance of the Union against Charleston eased, along with Jo’s fear that Cullen would descend and take her son away.