The Dixie Widow

by Gilbert, Morris

  But it wasn’t until late summer that he found the answer he’d been seeking—and it didn’t come as expected. For months he’d been examining his life, trying to find his way to God. At times he grew desperate, for nothing seemed to happen. Still, he had kept on, and one Sunday morning as the minister preached on the cross of Jesus, Davis was greatly moved. He said nothing to his grandfather, but walked the cold streets for an hour after returning home.

  The captain had been surprised when Davis appeared at three o’clock. His face was somewhat paler than usual, and as soon as he entered the house, he said in a tight voice, “I’ve found Christ, Grandfather!” He paced the floor as the old man waited, a broad smile on his weathered face. “I was thinking of the sermon, about the cross, and I’d just about given up on ever having any kind of real experience with God—like you had. As I was crossing Oak Street, all of a sudden, I just felt like God was there!”

  “Even more than in church, eh?” the captain nodded.

  “Yes, much more. And I just said, ‘God, I’m not sure about much, but I know that Jesus is the Son of God—and that He died for me—so please forgive me and make me what you want me to be.’ ”

  Davis was alive with excitement as he went on. “And He did it! He did it, Grandfather! Oh, it wasn’t like Paul’s experience—not like yours either—but I know Jesus came to me there on Oak Street!”

  Whitfield’s eyes were moist, his lips trembling, but he said firmly, “Davis—the devil is going to tell you in the days to come that you imagined it all. He always does! So what you better do is go back to that crossing and put an X on the spot where you called on God—and then when the devil comes, you can take him to the exact spot and tell him, ‘Right there is where it happened!’ “ He embraced his grandson, saying exuberantly, “My boy! I’m so happy for you! So happy!”

  After that, the two spent even more time together, and when Davis was baptized in the church, his parents stood beside the captain. And for all his professed agnosticism, Robert wiped his eyes as he saw the happy smile on his son’s face.

  The week after he was baptized, Davis received his orders to rejoin his company, which was being thrown into the final struggle around Richmond. Everyone knew, now that Grant had fought Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia to a standstill at the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, and Cold Harbor, that the war could have only one end. The South was fighting valiantly, but the massive armies of the North now encircled the heart of the Confederacy. Hood’s Army of the Tennessee had been destroyed at Franklin and again at Nashville, so all that kept the frail fabric of the Southern Confederacy intact was the thin gray line Grant presently faced at Petersburg. When that fell, Richmond was doomed, and when Richmond fell—the war would be over.

  “I’ve been called to join my unit at Petersburg, Grandfather,” Davis said. He stared at the summons and shook his head. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “God will be with you, Davis,” the captain encouraged. “He’s brought you this far, and He won’t let you down now.”

  “I’m not afraid of dying—you know that,” Davis told him. “But I am afraid of killing other men. I just want to be a help to the people there. How can I fight against men like Thad?”

  Davis left the next day, and the last thing he said was to his grandfather as the train pulled out of the station, “I’ll be back—but pray that God will use me!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE END OF IT ALL

  Belle had ceased to notice the rumbling of cannons that had become part of Richmond’s existence. For almost ten months, Grant had hammered at the thin line of Confederates with little success. Belle had heard her father say, “If Grant knew how thin our lines are, he’d drive through them tomorrow!”

  But Lee shifted men from place to place, often managing to strengthen a weak point minutes before the Federals attacked. Grant had grown desperate at one point during this time, and in July of the previous year had resorted to a wild scheme of Colonel Henry Pleasants’, a mining engineer in civil life. Pleasants was a member of the Forty-eighth Pennsylvania Infantry, composed largely of coal miners. They dug a tunnel over 586 feet long and laid a powerful mine directly under the Confederate position. The mine exploded, but when a poorly trained division, whose commander lay drinking in the trenches, tried to attack, hundreds died in what came to be called “The Battle of the Crater.”

  On March 25, General Lee made a valiant attack on Fort Stedman, but was driven back by strong Union reinforcements. Six days later, Grant’s hard-driving general, Sheridan, won against the Confederates at Five Forks, and Grant immediately ordered a general assault at dawn of April 2. The night the attack broke through, the Army of Northern Virginia left Petersburg and Richmond and set out on the road to Appomattox.

  ****

  Every bed at Chimborazo had been occupied for months, for the toll of the siege resulted in heavy casualties. When there were no more beds, men lay on the floor with blankets as cots. Even then there was not enough room. The pressure of Belle’s tasks had kept her from brooding on who was winning as she heard the rumble of the guns a few miles away, but on the morning of April 2, her routine was broken.

  That morning one of her patients, a small Texan named Sam Dempsey, asked if he could go to church. He had lost a leg at the battle of The Crater, and had healed slowly. “I promised my ma I’d go real faithful, and I ain’t had no chance to go in a long time, Miss Belle.”

  Realizing Dempsey’s condition would not be helped by the journey to church, she was uncertain. She had been on duty for over forty-eight hours, broken only by short naps in her office, and the strain had built up in her. A quick decision came to her, and she said, “I’ll have to go with you, Sam. I promised my mother I’d go too.”

  The prospect of getting the wounded man to St. Paul’s Church was difficult, but Belle managed by using a wheelchair and having Elmer Gibbs take them by wagon.

  When they arrived, Gibbs asked, “Could I go with you, Miss Belle? Reckon a little preaching might do me some good.”

  “Of course, Elmer.” She walked beside the chair as Gibbs wheeled the soldier. The church was crowded, and she hesitated when she heard a familiar voice. “Sit with us, Belle,” her father said. “There’s room in the aisle for this young fellow.” Belle felt conspicuous as they moved down the aisle to the front row where her mother and Pet were already seated—next to the President! Her lips parted in surprise. President Davis immediately rose and stepped from the pew to acknowledge Dempsey, who was speechless. He turned to Belle, saying, “God bless you for your faithful service, Mrs. Wickham,” then resumed his seat beside his wife.

  The service began, and although Belle was so exhausted she could not concentrate on it, she was gratified to see that Dempsey did. He sang the hymns lustily, though off-key.

  Belle had to strain to stay awake during the long sermon. More than once, she nodded and awoke with a jerk, embarrassed, but no one seemed to notice.

  She had just closed her eyes again when she was aware of movement to her left. A young lieutenant was handing a note to the President. As President Davis read the message, Belle could see his lips pale and draw to a thin line. He suffered, she knew, from neuralgia, and the pain was evident in his eyes. He turned and said something quietly to her father, then rose, spoke to his wife, and the two followed the young officer out.

  Belle heard the words faintly as Sky leaned over to Rebekah. “It’s the end. Lee’s army is in retreat.”

  The minister saw the impossibility of continuing his sermon, and dismissed them abruptly. Gibbs hurriedly wheeled the wounded boy out, and the Winslows followed. As Elmer assisted Dempsey into the wagon, Sky spoke. He was not flustered as most of the others seemed to be. It was as if something unpleasant, though long expected, had come—and he said as much.

  “We’ll have to be ready for hard times. The Union troops should arrive soon.”

  “What is the President going to do?” Rebekah questioned.

  “He�
�s leaving immediately—for Greensboro.” A grim look swept across Sky’s face. “He hopes to reorganize and carry on the war, and asked me to accompany him.”

  Dismayed, Rebekah groped for words. “Will—will you go, Sky?”

  “No! It’s over, Rebekah. Thank God, it’s over!” he uttered, and turned at once to the crisis at hand. “Things’ll get out of hand in Richmond. A great number of hoodlums have been gathering here, and there’s sure to be rioting. I’m taking all of you to Belle Maison.”

  “I can’t leave the hospital, Father!” Belle objected. “The war may be over, but there are still thousands of helpless men. Take Mother and Pet.”

  “I think I’d better stay,” Rebekah said. “Some of the orderlies will run when the Union troops arrive, won’t they, Belle? Sky, you take Pet—”

  “I’m staying, too!”

  Sky stared at them helplessly. “Guess we’ll all stay! I’ll have to go by the Capitol and tell the President what I’m going to do; then I’ll come.”

  Sky left and the rest went to the hospital. Rebekah’s words had been prophetic, for two of the orderlies in ward 3 had already fled, according to the patients. A grizzled veteran named Sid Hawkins, with both arms bandaged, said, “They skedaddled out like ol’ slewfoot was after ’em, Miss Belle.” He lowered his voice. “Some of the fellers are a little on edge—what with the bluebellies comin’, so they say.” He looked at his arms, adding, “If I jest had one of my arms, I’d be able to help.”

  “You can help, Sid,” Belle told him. “The men trust you. Tell them I’ll be right here—and so will my parents and my sister.”

  “Is that a fact, ma’am?” Hawkins’ homely face brightened. That’ll shore calm the fellers down, you bet!” He moved around the ward, speaking to the men, and Belle did the same. The serenity of the three women relieved the panic, and Belle decided, “Let’s bring their meal now. It’ll keep their minds off the Yankees—at least today. It might be a little harder tomorrow.”

  They worked all afternoon, and at dusk Sky stopped by. “Well, the President didn’t like it—but I told him I had to do what I thought was my duty, just as he did.”

  “How are things downtown?” Belle asked.

  “Terrible!” he snapped. “It’s out of control. Mobs are rioting in the streets, plundering stores, and setting buildings on fire. Nobody to stop them.” He glanced at the wounded men and said quietly, “I hope they don’t get any idea of coming here, but I convinced a few of the militia to come with me, telling them I had enough repeating Spencer rifles for all. Guess we could put up a good fight if we had to.”

  The night passed slowly. Each minute they expected the rioters would pour in, and about midnight a tremendous explosion rent the air. “That’s got to be the arsenal,” Sky said grimly. “Nothing else could make that much noise.” The roar drowned out all the other sounds and awakened every patient.

  They moved through the wards, speaking calmly to the men. “What if the Yankees come, Miss Belle?” a young soldier asked. “What if they set fire to the hospital? Some of the fellers couldn’t get out.”

  “We’ll not let that happen, Donnie,” Belle assured, but the thought had occurred to her—and to all of them—more than once. She walked outside, scanned the troops, and moved over to where her father was standing, a pistol thrust into his waistband and another in a holster at his side. He was staring at the red sky, all lit up with flames billowing into the inky heavens. They both were pretty sure the ships and ironclads in the harbor were in flames as well, and it looked as if every building in Richmond were ablaze.

  “Do you think they’ll come?” Belle wondered.

  “I think they will,” Sky replied. “It would be better if the Federals came. Their officers would have some control over them.”

  “But Sherman didn’t stop on his march to the sea. And they burned Columbia to the ground even when they were ordered not to by the officers.”

  “This is Grant’s army, not Sherman’s. Grant’s men are used to obeying orders. But I don’t think they’ll come soon enough. They’ll be chasing Lee.” He gazed at the burning city. “The mob will soon be here, Belle. Keep your mother and Pet out of the way. A group like that doesn’t have any morals. The scoundrels would kill a woman as fast as they would a man.”

  Belle didn’t answer for a moment. Her thoughts were with the helpless men inside. Finally she said, “I never thought I’d see the day I’d pray for Yankees to come.”

  “They won’t, they’ll be chasing Lee.”

  ****

  Sky Winslow was correct. Ulysses S. Grant was chasing Robert E. Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia. The wily gray fox had never been pinned down by a Union force, but Grant was determined to surround Lee and destroy his army, and had instructed all his staff officers to let nothing prevent that.

  The Twentieth Maine, under the command of General Chamberlain, was part of the force Grant ordered to pursue the tattered remnants of Lee’s army as they moved away from Richmond. Chamberlain came back from meeting with Grant, and his staff gathered around as he relayed the order. “Lee is headed for Amelia Court House, it seems. We’re to harass the troops in every way. General Grant says Lee must not be allowed to escape.”

  “Not much chance of that, sir,” Colonel Grimes shrugged. He can’t have more than twenty thousand men, and most of them are out of ammunition. He’s in a trap this time.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s right, Colonel,” Chamberlain nodded. “But we will carry out our orders. Prepare to move out at once.”

  The officers broke away instantly, calling out loudly for the men to fall in. Chamberlain stood there, thinking of Lee’s moves, when he was interrupted by his aide.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?” He turned and saw Davis Winslow. “Well, we’re almost home, Lieutenant,” Chamberlain smiled. “Good to think that in a few more hours the war’ll be over.”

  “Sir, I want permission to accompany Colonel Sizemore.”

  The request brought a frown to the general’s face, and he asked with some irritation, “Sizemore? He’s going in to secure Richmond, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to go with him.”

  “What’s this about, Davis?” Chamberlain had been close to Winslow for some time, but since he had rejoined the Twentieth Maine after his escape, there was more substance to the man. They had seen little action, but Winslow had been faithful in every respect. Now Chamberlain stood there wondering why the request.

  “It’s going to be bad for people in Richmond—the civilians, I mean.” Davis spoke rapidly, a sober intensity in his brown eyes. “You don’t need me, sir, but I think there are some people in town who do.”

  Chamberlain knew a little of the story of the Southern branch of the Winslows, gleaned from the captain, and he thought carefully. “It would be very irregular. I don’t see how you could have any good effect if you were attached to Sizemore’s brigade.”

  “I could try, sir!”

  Chamberlain eyed Winslow intently, remembering Little Round Top. He had felt so ineffectual when he gave the order for the bayonet charge—and visualized Davis Winslow leading that charge. If Davis hadn’t gone, he thought, I think all of us would have been killed—and I sure wouldn’t have been promoted to general later if it hadn’t happened!

  “Winslow, I tried to teach you logic in a classroom . . .” He hesitated, then grinned. “Now I’m going to do something completely illogical. Don’t know what General Grant will say, but I’m going to detach thirty cavalrymen under your command. I order you to take that force, enter Richmond and secure any element that needs securing.” He slapped Winslow on the shoulder, demanding, “Is that order flexible enough for you?”

  “Yes, sir!” Davis responded. “Thank you, sir!—and would you give me that order in writing?”

  “Yes—and you be sure you burn it—after you get your business done!”

  ****

  “The mob of hooligans is coming this way, Mr. Winslow! Must
be two, three hundred of ’em!”

  Sky had come out of the hospital immediately when Belle had told him, “One of the militia men wants to see you.”

  The sixty-year-old man was out of breath, and had to pause before he could add, “They’re setting fire to every building as they come!”

  “Thanks, Jennings. Will you and the rest of the men get your rifles loaded?”

  “Why, Mr. Winslow, you don’t aim to fight them, do you?” Jennings gasped.

  “I hope not. Some of them will have more manhood than to burn a hospital.” Then Winslow said evenly, “But I’ll kill the first man who sets a torch to this place if I die for it the next second.”

  Jennings smiled unexpectedly. “Well, one advantage of bein’ old is you ain’t got a heck of a lot to lose if you get killed. I’ll get the men ready.”

  “Good man!” Sky smiled. His face sobered as he turned to Belle, looking much like his Sioux grandmother must have—stern and deadly, Belle thought. “Well, the war has come to us, hasn’t it?”

  “Father, don’t—”

  He saw her fear for him, and it touched him. “Why, Belle, how could I look your brothers in the face if I didn’t stand up for their wounded comrades?” He looked down the street, and his eyes narrowed. “That’s them, I think. Take care of your mother.”

  He moved off the porch to join the small group waiting for him. They were all old men, except for one young fellow who had only one arm. He had no rifle, but he did have two cap-and-ball dragoon pistols stuck in his belt. “You’re loaded for bear, young man,” Sky smiled.

  “Name’s Jack Post, sir. I lost this here arm at Shiloh, but I got twelve little arguments fer them fellers if they don’t behave.”

  The others laughed nervously, and Sky said, “I hope they’ll listen to reason. If they don’t, I intend to kill as many as try to attack this hospital. Now listen carefully, because we don’t have much time. Every mob like that one has a few men who keep the fire going. Wipe those out, and it’s like shooting a man in the brain.”