Carried Forward By Hope

by Ginny Dye

  Moses nodded. “Captain Jones said he would send some of my men out with us.”

  Carrie eyed him sharply. “You’re worried about what could happen if you went alone.”

  Moses shrugged. “Let’s just stick with what I said earlier about being smart.”

  Carrie pushed aside her uneasiness, realizing that Moses’s men were seasoned veterans who had come through the war. Surely they could protect Rose and John. “I think it’s a good idea for you to go,” she said. “You can let Sam and Opal know I will be coming home with Aunt Abby and Robert as soon as I can. If they are still there, they can help get things ready.”

  “I have a feeling they’re still there,” Moses said quickly. “Sam didn’t want to leave, and Opal is waiting for Eddie to reunite with his kids.”

  Carrie shrugged. “I’ve learned to not take things for granted,” she said with a slight smile. “Regardless, you need to go get your mama and Sadie.” She cast an eye at Jeremy. “What do you want to do?”

  Jeremy sat quietly for a moment. “This is the first I heard of them going out, but I think I’m going to stay here for a while longer and see if Thomas returns. He’ll want to know everything going on in the government. I’m the best person to fill him in. I would like to first experience Cromwell Plantation with him.” His voice thickened. “He’s told me so many stories.” He looked at Rose. “Do you understand?”

  Rose nodded quickly. “Of course! I’m glad you want to be here for him. And it makes me feel better to know you’ll be here for Carrie.”

  Carrie didn’t try to stop the tears that welled up at the thought of her father. She reached over for Jeremy’s hand. “He will be so glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  Chapter Seven

  Matthew breathed in the humid Mississippi air as he stepped from the train.

  Peter appeared in front of him almost immediately. “Welcome to Vicksburg, old man! I thought you were going to miss the excitement all over again.” His grin disappeared almost as fast as it had flashed. “How was President Lincoln’s funeral?” he asked quietly. “I would have been there, but the paper sent me down here to cover this story instead.”

  Matthew smiled and gripped his hand. “It’s good to see you, Peter. Thanks for coming to meet me.” His expression darkened. “The funeral was a fitting tribute to an amazing man. His funeral train is still winding its way through the northern states right now. It won’t arrive in Illinois until May third.”

  “Eight more days,” Peter murmured. “I’m glad so many people are able to pay their respects.”

  Matthew nodded. “It’s only right.” He glanced around the train station. “Did I get here in time to accompany some of our soldiers on their trip home?” He was caught off guard by the flash of fury on Peter’s face. “What is it?”

  Peter shook his head angrily. “Calling them soldiers almost seems a farce,” he snapped. “The men that are being loaded onto the steamboats are little more than caricatures of the soldiers they once were.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Matthew said grimly. His two times as a hostage in Libby Prison had indoctrinated him to deprivation and starvation. He barely had the strength to escape, and it took him months to return to his old self. The nightmares still haunted him, but they were fewer and they weren’t as intense. He could only hope time would heal the rest of his scars. It wasn’t something he talked about. Peter shared the second experience with him but hadn’t been confined to Rat Dungeon in the hold of the prison for months like Matthew had been.

  Peter’s shoulders slumped. “It’s bad, Matthew. It’s really bad,” he whispered roughly.

  “These men came from Andersonville?”

  “Yes,” Peter ground out. “I met with a group of men last night. They are nothing but skeletons. One man went in to Andersonville weighing one hundred eighty-five pounds. He came out weighing about eighty.”

  Matthew grimaced.

  “He’s just one,” Peter continued. “Grant arranged for the sickest ones to be released first. A lot of them didn’t make the trip here. They died on the train, or during the thirty-mile walk from Jacksonville.”

  “They made them walk thirty miles?” Matthew asked angrily. “In their condition?”

  Peter nodded, his lips a tight line. “The ones who made it are counting the minutes until they’re on a boat and on their way home. Most of them have already written letters telling their loved ones they will be with them soon.”

  Matthew took a deep breath. The war was over, but the horrors were not done. He wondered how many men would die on the boat, unable to withstand the rigors of several days of travel. His job was to tell the story of the return trip and the men who had lived to experience it. He forced himself to think like a journalist.

  “When is the next boat out?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Have any of the men already been sent home?

  Peter nodded. “Yes. The Henry Ames shipped out on the twenty-second with thirteen hundred men on board. The Olive Branch left on the twenty-third with seven hundred.”

  “Why didn’t you leave with one of them?”

  Peter grinned. “I was waiting for you,” he answered promptly. “We’ve experienced so many horrific things together. I decided it was time we experienced something good in this war. I can’t think of anything better than watching these men reunite with their families.”

  Matthew clapped his shoulder. “Thanks, old man. That means a lot.” He stepped into the waiting carriage Peter had tossed his luggage into. “What boat will we be going on?”

  “The Sultana. It just arrived in port last night.”

  “I know it well,” Matthew responded.

  “You do?”

  “I’ve had the pleasure of being onboard the Sultana about a year ago. She was just launched in January of 1863. She is one of the largest and best business steamers ever constructed,” he said enthusiastically. “She’s about two hundred sixty feet long, forty-two feet wide, and her hold is seven feet deep. She has a capacity of a thousand tons, but only trims on thirty-four inches of water. This makes her ideally suited for trade on the Ohio and the Mississippi Rivers.” He smiled at Peter’s look of amusement. “I kind of have a thing for boats.”

  Peter laughed. “I can tell.”

  “I don’t suppose we’re being lodged in one of the staterooms?” Matthew asked hopefully. “They are quite luxurious.”

  Peter laughed. “My guess is we’ll be on the open-air deck with easy access to the men we’re reporting on.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Hope is a good thing,” he said lightly. “But I’ve learned to deal with reality.”

  “Were you in one of the staterooms before?”

  “Yes. I was writing a story about the steamboats transporting freight and men for the Union Army.”

  Peter whistled. “Profitable, I hear.”

  “Yes, but not without its hazards. We were part of a convoy of four other boats a couple of years ago in May. We were fired upon by a Rebel battery near Island number eighty-two right here on the Mississippi.”

  “Hit?”

  Matthew grinned. “No. Thankfully they weren’t very good shots!” Then his grin disappeared. “They weren’t so lucky that July. They were fired on again near Memphis. The Rebel’s aim was much better that time. There was a lot of damage to her upper works.”

  “It’s all been repaired now,” Peter said promptly. “She really is a beautiful boat. I felt better about my decision to stay behind when I saw her.”

  “It will be good to be on her again. If I remember correctly, she can hold close to four hundred passengers, along with her crew of eighty.”

  Peter nodded. “Don’t be surprised if they load more than that. These men are eager to get home, and the government is eager to get them there.”

  Matthew shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll set safe limits,” he said confidently. “These men have already been through so much.” He was struck by something on Peter’s face. “Do you
know something?” he asked bluntly.

  “I don’t know,” Peter replied hesitantly. “I’ve just been hearing rumors. It might not mean anything.”

  “Newspapermen live off determining if rumors are true or not. What have you heard?”

  Peter answered with a question. “Was Captain Mason on board when you traveled?”

  “Yes. He’s been the captain from the date of her launch. He’s also part owner.”

  Peter nodded. “One of my sources told me Mason is in financial trouble. He’s sold some of his rights, and rumor says he pushing hard for as many soldiers as he can get.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Matthew replied. “A full contingent of soldiers must provide a nice profit.”

  “You could say that,” Peter said ruefully. “Five dollars per enlisted man, and ten dollars for every officer.”

  Matthew whistled. “That’s a nice profit,” he admitted, “but I still don’t see the source of concern. It’s just business. It’s how Mason has made his living for the last two years.”

  Peter hesitated. “Are you familiar with General Reuben Hatch?”

  Matthew furrowed his brow in thought and then frowned. “The brother of O.M. Hatch, the Illinois Secretary of State who was a good friend of Lincoln’s and helped him win the presidency?” He sorted back through his memory of all the news stories he had heard. “Isn’t the general the one who was under investigation for fraud?”

  “That’s the one,” Peter agreed. “They eventually cleared him, but rumor has it that it was only his brother’s plea to Lincoln that got him off. The evidence was quite compelling. He’s been under investigation a few times and was made to resign once. His brother and Lincoln got him his job back.”

  “I do remember that,” Matthew replied with a frown. “Politics at work. What does that have to do with now?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Peter admitted, “but General Hatch is now the chief quartermaster for the Department of Mississippi.”

  “So he’s in charge of all these steamboats taking our men back.”

  “Yes, and while it may mean nothing, I wouldn’t put it past him to allow things that shouldn’t happen.”

  “I see,” Matthew mused. “Are you suggesting anything in particular?”

  “More a feeling,” Peter said a little sheepishly. “I also discovered this morning that repairs have just been made to the boat.” His voice was much more serious this time.

  “On what?”

  “The boilers.”

  Matthew looked at him closely. “What was the problem?”

  “That’s still somewhat of a mystery. I was near the boat yesterday when a man named Taylor came off the Sultana looking upset. The chief engineer caught up with him, talked to him for a little while, and then went back on the boat.”

  Matthew waited, knowing there was more.

  “I saw Taylor grabbing a meal in a restaurant right before I came to get you. He didn’t want to talk at first, but he finally opened up. Evidently there was a problem with one of the boilers leaking.”

  Matthew frowned. “That could be serious.”

  “That’s what Taylor said. He told Mason and the chief engineer that he had found a bulge on the middle port boiler.”

  “The left boiler.”

  Peter nodded. “Taylor told them that for safety reasons, two sheets on the boiler needed to be replaced. He also told them that if they wouldn’t let him make the repairs he thought were necessary, he didn’t want anything more to do with the Sultana.”

  “Did he fix it?” Matthew asked sharply.

  Peter shrugged. “They talked him into limiting his repairs to just a patch measuring eleven by twenty-six inches. When he got another beer in him, he also told me he had recommended forcing the bulge back on the boiler. They wouldn’t let him do it. He just put the patch over the bulge.”

  Matthew frowned, his stomach rolling uneasily. “Does he seem to think it’s safe?”

  “No,” Peter said bluntly. “He also said he had concerns about some of the other boilers.”

  “I see,” Matthew said slowly. “Will anyone else be inspecting the boat? Surely they won’t let it travel with a load of men if they aren’t confident it is safe?”

  “Here’s hoping,” Peter said ruefully, his eyes showing his nervousness more than his voice did.

  Their carriage was just arriving at the waterfront. Matthew took deep breaths of the humidity-laden air and stared out over the bustling port. The sheer pleasure of being there pushed back his feelings of uneasiness. After the grief-filled days of Lincoln’s funeral, it was good to be covering a story full of life and hope.

  “I’m sure it will be okay,” he said confidently. “Someone else will inspect the Sultana. They won’t let it leave until it passes inspection.”

  Peter smiled. “You know more about boats than I do, so I guess I’ll believe you.” He looked up as he heard his name called, and raised his hand in response. “Hey, Jakes!” He waited until the slightly overweight blond with a cheerful grin reached them. “This lanky drink of a West Virginian is Matthew Justin. He’s a reporter for the Philadelphia Tribune.”

  The two men shook hands. “The prisoners are on the way here. They’re being brought in from Camp Fisk where they have been held since release from Andersonville and Cahaba,” Jakes explained to Matthew.

  “How many?” Matthew asked.

  Jakes shrugged. “We won’t know until they get here.”

  Matthew frowned. “They haven’t done a count? Isn’t that standard military procedure?”

  “Yes, but there seems to be a rush to get them here so they can head home. They decided to get them on the boat and then do a count.”

  Matthew frowned but nodded. It only made sense that everyone was eager to get the men back to their families. Their decision was against procedure, but he could understand the motives to bypass it.

  “There’s another steamer that has just arrived,” Jakes added. “My understanding is that the Lady Gay can take some of the prisoners if there are too many for the Sultana.”

  A sudden whistle shriek had all of them looking toward the water.

  “Isn’t that the Lady Gay departing?” Peter asked suddenly. “I don’t see anyone on her.”

  Jakes shrugged but looked discomfited. “They must have decided the Sultana could handle everyone.”

  “You don’t agree?” Matthew observed.

  “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I was at Camp Fisk early this morning before they started to ship the men. More have come in. I don’t know exactly how many are waiting to head north, but it seems more than can fit on one steamer.” He stared out over the water and then shook his head. “What do I know about steamers and their capacity? I’m sure they won’t put more men on the Sultana than it is safe to transport.” He laughed lightly. “I just hope they leave enough room for us.”

  Peter chuckled. “I have General Hatch’s word that we’ll have a place. Everyone is eager to hear the stories we’ll be able to tell.”

  Matthew pushed down his fresh uneasiness, calming himself by looking out over the busy port. He loved the shouts and calls as the stevedores unloaded and loaded the boats. The war had brought down massive shipments from the North, but the ending of the war would result in renewed shipments from the South of cotton, tobacco, rice, sugar, and so much more that the Confederacy provided. It would mean stabilization of the Southern economy and the beginning of reunion. The return of the prisoners was just one more sign of the healing between the North and the South. He could hardly wait to hear and tell their stories.

  “Are those men being loaded onto the Sultana?” he asked suddenly, his attention caught by a column of men, most being transported on stretchers, moving toward the waiting steamer.

  Peter gazed down at the boat and nodded. “Yes. Those are the men from the hospital. They were already in Vicksburg, so they are being loaded first.” He grinned. “That’s also our signal to board. You got here just in time.” He gra
bbed his own bag and headed toward the steamer. “Come on, my boys. We have a job to do!”

  *****

  Matthew gazed around the boat as he walked on board. It was just as he remembered. He grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him toward the main cabin. “I know we won’t be staying in the staterooms, but you have to check this out before it gets too crowded.”

  Peter whistled his appreciation when they walked through the long, narrow saloon. “Nice chandeliers,” he commented, and then stopped to admire the fine china, glassware, and tableware. “Classy accommodations,” he murmured. “I hope I’ll get another chance to travel on this lady in style someday. My wife would love this.”

  “The staterooms are the epitome of luxury,” Matthew said with a hint of longing in his voice. “I know your wife, Amanda, would love it.” He glanced out the window and pulled Peter toward the open deck. “There are more soldiers loading. I’d say it’s time to get to work.”

  “I’ll take the right side of the boat,” Peter replied. “You can cover the ones on the left.”

  “That would be the starboard and port sides,” Matthew corrected.

  Peter shrugged. “You’re the one with a thing for boats. You call it what you want, just as long as you stay off my side of the boat.”

  Matthew chuckled, pulled out his notepad and pen, and headed to the port side of the steamer. He was surprised by the long line of men he saw stretching down the wharf, but he had work to do. The first group he spotted was a row of men laid out on stretchers. He hesitated for a moment, not sure he should disturb them, and then decided to let them tell him if they didn’t feel up to an interview.

  He bit back a groan when he looked down at the first man in the row. His new uniform was draped over his skeletal frame, his cheeks and face sunken in and his Adam’s apple in sharp relief. He managed a smile, though, when he saw Matthew.

  “I reckon you look like a reporter,” he said weakly.

  Matthew managed a smile in return. “And I reckon you look like a man who is glad to be going home.”