Carried Forward By Hope

by Ginny Dye

  Matthew jumped back, knowing the flames would consume the boat rapidly.

  Peter! Where was Peter? Sobs tore at his throat as he realized he stood no chance of finding his friend in the maelstrom surrounding him.

  His teeth ground in agony, fear, and desperate anger. He and Peter had survived Libby Prison only to die together on a boat in the middle of the Mississippi River. And thousands of men had escaped the horrors of Andersonville and Cahaba to die in the river’s cold, raging waters because men decided to horribly overload a boat when it was completely unnecessary.

  Matthew’s cold anger broke through the rest of his shock. He gazed around him as the flames turned the night sky a bright red. He had a moment of hope that help would arrive but dismissed that idea as soon as it entered his mind. They were on their own.

  He gritted his teeth as screams and cries for help continued to fill the air. His years on the battlefield had taught him to distinguish a death cry. He was sure the constant screams surrounding him would never fade in his mind. He was also sure the only escape from certain death was to go into the water, but he couldn’t until he had done all he could to help.

  He watched as dozens of men rushed past him and flung themselves into the water. Some went in holding pieces of broken timber as their life preservers. Some held chairs or splintered tables. They had grabbed whatever they could find that might serve as a flotation device.

  Matthew glanced over the railing and watched what seemed to be hundreds struggling in the water, but he knew they were beyond his ability to save. A quiet voice sounded at his shoulder.

  “We must do what we can to help.”

  Matthew whirled around and stared at the calm-eyed woman behind him. One arm had burns, and her face was pocked with cuts, but her eyes were what held him. In the midst of sheer madness, she gazed at him with utter tranquility. He knew there were staff wives aboard. He also knew there were members of the Christian Commission that had loaded in Vicksburg. He was certain she was a member of the latter.

  “We’ve got to get as many men in the water as we can,” she urged. “It is the only thing that will save them.”

  Her quiet words broke through Matthew’s confusion. “You’re right,” he responded instantly. “I will get pieces of timber for them to use for flotation. You locate the ones we can help and we’ll both get them in the river.”

  When he heard her call again, Matthew already had a small pile of loose pieces of timber big enough to support a man’s weight by an opening blasted in the railing.

  He sprang to her side, reaching down to help a soldier to his feet. He chose to ignore the scalded skin and charred hands. “Here we go, soldier,” he said gently, lifting him to his feet. “You keep looking,” he told the woman as he turned to help the soldier to the railing.

  When they stood in front of the railing, he pressed a large piece of timber into the man’s hands. “I’m sorry, but this is all I can do. Hold on to the wood as tightly as you can. Help must surely be on the way.” He had no way of knowing if he told the truth, but he had experienced the power of hope to save lives many times during the war. He would not send this soldier into the water without hope.

  The man nodded bravely, his blue eyes set with determination as he grabbed the wood and slid into the water.

  Matthew, not waiting to see what would happen, turned and hurried back. The calm-eyed woman had already located three more survivors. Again, he refused to analyze their injuries. They may die in the water, but at least they had a chance. Staying on the Sultana only guaranteed their deaths.

  “Help me! Quick!”

  Matthew sprang to the woman’s side and gazed down at the frightened man trapped under a timber, his brown eyes pleading with them for help.

  “I can’t get the timber off him,” the woman gasped, her chest heaving as she struggled with the thick beam.

  Matthew lent his strength to moving the beam, but it didn’t budge. He groaned as an end of it burst into flame. He grabbed a piece of metal bar and lodged it next to the man’s body, hoping to lift it high enough to slide the soldier out, but it remained stubbornly lodged, the flame licking closer.

  The woman sobbed out a prayer as the flames licked to within feet of the terrified soldier’s body. She grabbed his hands, and would have stayed there with him if Matthew had not pulled her back.

  Matthew held her close as the man’s dying shrieks filled the air. He felt nothing but relief when the screams died away, knowing the man would no longer suffer.

  “Okay.” The woman pushed him away. “I’m all right. We must find others to help.”

  Matthew knew they were running out of time, but it was more than that. Wordlessly, he pulled the woman over to the opening in the railing and motioned for her to look down.

  Tears filled her eyes as she stared down at the boiling mass of humanity. Men fought like demons to stay afloat, using whatever was handy to keep from sinking, even if was another man. “They are drowning each other,” she moaned.

  Matthew nodded. “Help me gather wood to throw out to them for flotation. We have to try and save them.”

  She nodded and leaped into action, tossing everything Matthew could find out to the men. The wild fighting continued. She finally knelt down and began to call to them. “Please! Please! You must listen to me.” Her high voice rang out into the madness.

  Matthew saw several men shift their terrorized eyes and fix them on her calm figure.

  “You must act like men,” she called. “I know you are frightened, but you are doing nothing but assuring your death,” she yelled. “Please listen to me!”

  Gradually more of the men quit clawing and fighting as they clung to the pieces of wood Matthew had thrown to them.

  “Look around you,” the woman called. “Find someone without a piece of wood and get them over to the ropes and chains hanging from the boat. You are soldiers,” she added firmly. “You must help your fellow soldiers.”

  She smiled softly as the soldiers calmed and began to direct other floundering men to grab hold of what was around them.

  Matthew glanced behind them and realized they were running out of time. He sprang forward and rushed to where he had last seen Joseph.

  “I knew you would come back,” Joseph gasped. He had pulled his coat up to shield his face from the gagging smoke. “I don’t seem to have the strength to move.”

  Matthew smiled grimly, snatched Joseph up to throw him over his shoulder and dashed back to the opening. “Hold him!” he ordered, and then darted over to grab a hefty piece of lumber from a pile that had just caught fire. Joseph was sagging in the woman’s arms when Matthew made it back.

  “Go with him,” the woman urged. “He’ll never make it without you.”

  Matthew gazed at Joseph and knew she was right. The odds were that neither one of them would make it through the night, but he had to give the young soldier a chance. He stared down at the woman who had once more leaned over to call to the soldiers who seemed to only be calm when she was talking to them. “Only if you come with me,” he said urgently.

  The woman hesitated and then nodded. She handed him another piece of lumber and tilted her head toward the opening. “You first,” she insisted. “Get in the water so I can hand this soldier down to you. He won’t make it otherwise.”

  Matthew hesitated, torn by something he saw in her eyes, but a glimpse over his shoulder revealed the fire was less than a yard away. He estimated less than twenty minutes had passed since the explosion. The entire boat was now engulfed in flames. Gasping a prayer, he jumped into the water, and turned to catch Joseph as he splashed down right behind him.

  “I can’t swim!” Joseph gasped.

  Matthew stifled a groan and wrapped Joseph’s arms around the lumber. “You don’t have to swim. You just have to hold on!”

  “Jump, lady!”

  “Jump! Save yourself!”

  Matthew whirled around to see the woman standing where he had left her. She was simply gazing down at
the men pleading with her to join them. “Jump!” he called. “It’s too late to do more. You must jump!”

  The woman shook her head calmly. “I can’t swim. I’m afraid I might lose my presence of mind and be the means of death of some of you.”

  “What?” Matthew cried. “Jump! I will save you!” His eyes filled with tears of helplessness as she calmly shook her head and stared into his eyes. He refused to look away as the flames engulfed her body — not wanting her to die without human connection. It was the only gift he had to give her. A scream wrenched from his throat as she folded her arms quietly and burst into flames. Tears wracked his body as he watched her burn.

  When he knew she was dead, he stared around numbly. Her death had caused even the most frantic soldier to become quiet. They stared at Matthew.

  “Who was she?” one called.

  Only then did Matthew realize he had never learned her name.

  “Watch out!” one of the men screamed as he turned and began to thrash away from the boat.

  Matthew whipped around just in time to see both wheelhouses fall away into the water, groaning as the flaming wheels landed on a mass of men who had just escaped the inferno.

  “The boat is turning!”

  Matthew grabbed Joseph and began to pull him away from the boat. It broke his heart as he watched men struggle and sink, but he knew there was no way he could save everyone. He was going to do his best to save this young man on the way home to his family.

  “Just hang on,” he called. “Kick your legs if you have the energy.” A quick look into Joseph’s pale, strained face told him to not expect any help. He thought gratefully of his mother’s insistence he learn how to swim in the West Virginia lakes he grew up around. He paused just long enough to rip off his shoes, and then, gripping the piece of lumber Joseph clung to, he struck out strongly with one arm, pushing through fields of debris until he was at least a hundred yards from the boat.

  “They’re going to have to jump!”

  Matthew’s head jerked around to look at the bow of the Sultana. What looked to be several hundred men had taken uncertain refuge on the bow while winds drove the flames toward the stern. With the wheelhouses gone, the current had caught the burning boat and swung it around. The flames that had been blown toward the stern by the wind were now licking their way toward the bow.

  “Jump!” he hollered, adding his voice to the hundreds of men already in the water. It was their only hope now, though he also knew how many of the men clinging to the bow had critical injuries that would not allow them to swim. He was certain, though, that drowning was preferable to burning to death. “Jump!”

  Screams of fear echoed through the air as hundreds of men hit the water at the same time.

  Matthew made no effort to fight his tears. He knew the sudden mass of humanity would cause most of the men to drown. As he listened to their screams, he thought of all the stories he had heard in the last two days. The notes he had taken were strapped tightly to his body in an oilcloth pouch. He had no idea if they would survive, or even if he would, but he fervently hoped that someone would find the stories that so desperately needed to be told.

  Joseph’s moan ripped his attention back to the weak man clinging to the board. Matthew knew his emaciated body made him even more vulnerable to the frigid waters of the flooded Mississippi. If he didn’t get him out of the water soon, he would surely die. Gritting his teeth, he struck out in the direction he hoped would lead to land. He knew the river was extremely wide north of Memphis. What he didn’t know was just how much wider the flood waters had made it.

  “Cold…” Joseph gasped.

  “Just hold on,” Matthew replied as he continued to kick and stroke as hard as he could. “I’ll get you out of here.” The screams of burning men followed him, but he refused to look back again. He had a chance to save at least one of the soldiers who had somehow survived the horrors of the prison camps. Looking back would accomplish nothing. Now he could only look forward.

  ******

  Peter was jolted awake and sat straight up in bed. He listened intently but could hear nothing to indicate what had awakened him. The only sound vibrating through the room was Crandall’s gentle snoring. He frowned as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. What was going on? He swung his feet over, wincing as the cold floor met them. A cold rain and chill wind had turned the spring day into something that felt more like winter. He felt a moment’s sympathy for Matthew huddled on the deck of the Sultana, quite sure he would have already given his blanket and coat to one of the unfortunate soldiers.

  “What’s up?” Crandall’s sleepy voice broke the stillness.

  “I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “Something woke me, but I have no idea what it was.”

  “Go back to sleep,” Crandall growled.

  Peter knew that was the sensible thing to do, but there was something curling in his stomach that he knew would make sleep impossible. “You go ahead,” Peter said instead. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “What time is it, man?”

  Peter reached for his watch. “Two fifteen.” He pulled his pants on and reached for his coat. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Not a chance,” Crandall said as he groaned and swung out of bed. “You think after years of being a newspaper reporter that I don’t recognize intuition when I see it? I’ll be blamed if I’m going to let you get the scoop on whatever is happening in this city.”

  Peter grinned but couldn’t push away the anxiety crawling in his throat.

  Moments later the two men were striding out of the hotel. By unspoken agreement, they both headed for the wharf. In a town like Memphis, if something was going on, it was most likely happening on the waterfront. From their position high above the water on the bluffs, Peter kept his eye on the river. Suddenly he gasped. “There! Look north!”

  Crandall whipped his head around and sucked in his breath. “A boat is on fire,” he snapped.

  Both men began to run toward the wharf.

  Peter’s breath came hard as fears swamped his mind. He had no way of knowing the burning boat was the Sultana, but he couldn’t push the thought away. Images of the crowded steamer accompanied the slap of his feet. Memories of the patched boiler and the concerned crew roared in his head.

  Within minutes they were on the wharf, joining the small group of sailors looking north.

  “What boat is it?” Peter called.

  They all shook their heads. “We don’t know,” one replied. “We saw the sky turn red about twenty minutes ago.”

  Peter’s face tightened. “Why aren’t you headed up there?” he demanded.

  The sailor standing closest shook his head. “Our captain isn’t on the gunboat. I tried to convince our first mate to head upriver, but he wouldn’t take responsibility. He said most likely the boat was near shore and everyone would get off.”

  Peter ground his teeth as he looked around frantically for a boat, not at all sure what he would do if he found one.

  Crandall put a hand on his arm. “We have to wait,” he said quietly. “We don’t have a way to do anything. We have to wait,” he repeated.

  Peter scowled but knew his new friend spoke the truth.

  The sailor who had spoken to him turned around. “There’s another steamboat, the Bostonia II, that is due to dock shortly. They’ll be able to help whatever boat is burning.”

  “Is there another boat that has left since the Sultana?” Peter asked, hoping against hope there had been, though he wouldn’t wish suffering on anyone.

  “No,” the sailor admitted reluctantly.

  Peter groaned and clinched his fists.

  “You know someone on the Sultana?”

  Peter didn’t bother to respond. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Matthew might be caught on the burning inferno, and there were no words to describe his feelings about the dozens of men he had interviewed who were convinced all the bad things that could happen had already happened. He thought briefly of their happy fac
es as they described their anticipated homecomings, but he pushed the vision from his mind. It would do nothing but make him mad. “Could it be the Bostonia II?” he asked.

  The sailor shook his head. “Not likely,” he said dubiously.

  “But possible?” Peter persisted, holding on to whatever thin thread of hope he could find.

  The sailor hesitated and then shrugged. “I guess so.”

  Peter would take what he could get. “What do we do now?”

  The sailor stared toward the bright red glow. “We wait.”

  Peter glanced at his watch. It was now 2:45 am. He pulled his coat closer against the rain and began to pace the wharf.

  ******

  Matthew fought to control the chattering of his teeth as he pressed forward into the darkness. He could still hear screams and the calls of men floundering around him, but his sole focus was on saving Joseph. He watched numbly as dead bodies floated by, their faces pale in the dark night, their eyes staring blankly.

  “Can’t make it,” Joseph mumbled weakly.

  Matthew whipped his head around. “Yes, you can! You can’t give up on me,” he pleaded, recognizing the blank look spreading across Joseph’s face. His thoughts raced as he tried to think of something to say to keep the young man trying. He finally latched on to something Joseph had told him during the interview.

  “Remember what your grandfather said.” He gasped, and dodged the floating carcass of a mule that swept past him, the tail hairs flicking across his face.

  “Grandfather?” Joseph muttered.

  “Yes. Your grandfather told you never to say that you couldn’t do something or that something seemed impossible or couldn’t be done, no matter how discouraged you got.” Matthew was amazed all the words were coming back. “He told you you’re only limited by what you allow yourself to be limited by — your own mind.”

  Matthew was encouraged when Joseph smiled.