I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires Page 5

  I thought of Ma and Emily living there, and my throat tightened. “What did Emily say in the letter? How bad is it for them?”

  “She did not say. It is what she did not say that concerns me most.”

  We both fell quiet after that, both worrying our own worries.

  I walked the grounds for an hour or so while Cousin Albert slept. Mid afternoon I asked him something I’d long wanted to ask a Union soldier. “What was it like? At Gettysburg?”

  He stared into the light, remembering. “Hot. So hot you could see the heat quiver, ripple along the line.” He licked his lips, motioned for water. “That third day. The order came about two in the afternoon.” He cleared his throat, closed his eyes. “A braver set of men you never saw. We moved forward with the 47th and the 11th, North Carolina men all. Our lines—perfect, steady, slow—a river, a Yadkin River in late summer. Flags unfurled against blue—the sky. A southerly breeze cleared smoke from the field. Our regiments advanced on Cemetery Ridge.”

  He paused, opened his eyes, and stared ahead. “An appropriate name for the death ground of so many. Federals occupied the high ground, entrenched behind a stone wall. One of the finest positions I’ve ever seen. Nearly a mile we marched across that open field—with farmers’ fences to cross. They never fired until we were within close range. Then they mowed us down, like summer grass before the scythe, shouting ‘Fredericksburg! Remember Fredericksburg!’” Cousin Albert lay back, trying to catch his breath.

  “Rest now.” But he hadn’t heard me.

  “Elliott fell; his chest exploded. Elliott—my friend… and I dared not stop.” Pools built behind his eyes; he didn’t wipe them away. “The man on my right’s head was shelled, cut clean from his neck. His blood blasted across my face so I couldn’t see. The grass ran slippery with it… the blood of hundreds and hundreds of men. Color guard after color guard stumbled, fell. Private Cozort carried our colors almost to the wall before he died. Captain Brewer raised the flag. They shot him dead—an officer before the wall, and they shot him dead.” He stopped, waited for his voice to steady.

  “The last I saw, the last I knew, a Federal shouted to the man who lifted our colors, ‘Come over to this side of the Lord!’ He reached his hand across the stone wall. And I thought—” A fit of coughing came on him, but he caught his breath and pressed on, “And I thought—in that last moment—a sign of brotherhood in the midst of barbarism. Hope. But before our man could take that hand his life was blown away.”

  Cousin Albert closed his eyes, spent from the talk. I thought he’d fallen asleep. I wanted him to stop, for his sake. “A hailstorm of open fire … a searing pain in my shoulder. The man in front of me flew two feet into the air. The butt of his En-field must have smashed my skull when he fell.” Cousin Albert frowned, remembering, and a minute passed.

  “When I came to it was nearly dark. The private lay, cold, across my chest. His body shielded mine, saved my life.” Cousin Albert gave out then and slept for the next half hour.

  When he woke it was as though he’d never stopped his story. “The dead and dying lay across the field, like pebbles on the river bottom. Stretcher bearers and grave diggers couldn’t walk for stepping on them, for slipping on that grass.” His eyes glazed, then dried on their own.

  “They took you prisoner?”

  “The next afternoon. I’d changed uniforms in the dark with the private on the ground beside me—that took most of the night, getting my shoulder out of my uniform, getting it onto him. I knew they’d separate me from my men if I didn’t.”

  Fury flamed his eyes. “The 26th was one of the first volunteer brigades. We marched over nine hundred men into Gettysburg, men who were already worn and half-starved, some in bare feet for want of shoes. After that third day there weren’t enough men to bury our dead.” He faced the wall. His voice took on an edge. “We’d have taken the hill if our cannon hadn’t overshot their mark, if we’d been properly supported, if we’d not hesitated…

  “We wanted only to be left alone, to continue ruling our state as we’d always done. We asked for nothing from the Federal government. We needed nothing!” A fit of coughing took hold, then a spasm. He sat nearly upright, fought for breath, heaved and heaved, then turned toward the wall, wiping his mouth. I called for the doctor, but there was none to be had. Finally Cousin Albert calmed and fell back on his pillow.

  “You’ve got to rest now, Cousin Albert. Get your strength up.”

  “I’ll die here,” he panted.

  “You won’t die. I’ll come back tomorrow and bring more soup, more bread. I swear it.” And I would, though I wanted with everything in me to run south toward Ma and Emily, to think about living.

  He grasped my hand. “Do something.”

  “Anything,” I said.

  “I will die here.”

  “Don’t say—”

  “My men,” he wheezed. “They’ve got to know there is more than death.”

  “What?”

  He reached behind his pillow and pulled out his Testament. “Go to the 26th. Ask for McCain. Give him this. Tell him it is life.”

  “But that’s the Testament Emily sent you. She meant for you to have it.”

  “I won’t need it longer. Do this for me, Robert.” The coughing started up again. I pulled my handkerchief out and held it over his mouth, hoping he could spit the phlegm building inside his lungs. When he finally settled I pulled it away. It was stained dark red. His eyes found mine.

  “I don’t have long, Robert. I need to know my men have this Testament.”

  I couldn’t speak for a time. “I’ll take it to them on my way out tomorrow—if the guard will let me.”

  “Go today. Take it to them like you brought it to me. Do you have another handkerchief?” I pulled it out, thinking he needed to cough again. “Here.” He wrapped my handkerchief around the book, and knotted it, fingers trembling. “Give McCain this—only McCain. Tell him what I said. Promise me.”

  “I promise. I swear it.” He nodded, as if relieved of a burden, and fell back on the pillow.

  “Cousin Albert?” He looked at me. “What about the picture? Is it still in the Bible?” I felt my face flame.

  He stared at me, trying to take in my words. At last he shook his head and pulled it from beneath his nightshirt. He’d cradled it against his chest. “Never let that go.”

  “Please,” I asked, “can I see it?” His eyes clouded. “I won’t take it. I promise. I just have to see it.” He stared at me a long moment. I didn’t look away. He held the photograph out to me. I sat down, drank in every line, every shade and shadow. A long time passed before I asked my question. “Why? Why’d Emily send you a picture of Ma?”

  Cousin Albert seemed to see me new. “She loves you, Robert. Caroline loves you.”

  “Then why’d she leave? Why is she there with—Emily?” I wanted to say, Why was she there with you? Why did she choose you and Grandfather over Pa and me? But I couldn’t make my mouth form the words.

  “You must ask her, Robert. I think she can tell you now. She couldn’t before.”

  “What do you mean? What do you mean she couldn’t tell me before?”

  “I mean that I don’t think she knew herself.”

  “Do you love her?”

  His eyes grew, like I’d hit an open wound, then relaxed. “I’ve always loved Caroline, since we were children.” He looked away “But she fell in love with Charles, Charles in his West Point uniform. And then she fell in love with you, her son.”

  “Then why did she leave us?” I wanted to shake him.

  “Because what she loved no longer—” He stopped short, trying to catch his breath. “I can’t answer for Caroline. You must ask her yourself.”

  “I’m asking you.” My nails dug into my palms.

  He shook his head.

  “You mean you won’t say.” I pushed my chair away. “Then I’ll find out for myself.” I stood. “I’m going to Ma and bringing her home.”

  Cousin Albe
rt’s eyes shot wide. “You can’t do that. She can’t leave Ashland. And there’s a war, Robert. You’d never get her safely through enemy lines—not ours or yours. And there’s Emily.”

  “Why can’t she leave? What’s keeping Ma there?”

  He looked so old. “Her world. Her world is there, Robert.”

  “You want her to stay there for yourself. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  He looked away. “Emily understands Caroline.” He reached for the photograph, holding out his hand until it trembled from weakness. I set it in his palm. “When you come tomorrow, bring your address.” He wheezed. “Bring a stamp. I’ll leave word that when I’m gone the photograph is to be mailed to you.” His breathing came heavy. “Do you not have a photograph of your mother, Robert?”

  “I’ve never had one—not a photograph, not even a tintype—never in my life.” I walked away, past the guards and to the dock. I swiped again and again at the hot dam that built behind my eyes—a dam of fury, jealousy, and love, all mixed up and spit into the wind.

  Five

  I wanted to leave that night for Ashland. I wanted to leave and never look back. But I wanted that picture. I wanted it for Pa and for me. My only hope to ever get it was to take the envelope and stamp to Cousin Albert. And I’d vowed to take his Testament to the men of the 26th North Carolina. I’d sworn to do it yesterday, on my way out. But I hadn’t. What difference could a day make?

  Mrs. Maynard gave me a stamp, and paper, and glue. I fashioned an envelope large enough to hold the photograph, then addressed it to myself at Laurelea. I never told her why I wanted it. She didn’t ask.

  Mrs. Maynard baked cakes and bread and made up two crocks of oyster stew for me to cart to the fort next morning. I told her it was my last trip. I’d set out for North Carolina and Ashland the day after that. I’d already waited too long to go to Ma. I wouldn’t wait another day.

  And that’s what I wrote to Mr. Heath, that I’d get back with Ma and whoever would come with me just as soon as I could. I hoped that meant Emily, but I didn’t write that. But I told him not to worry. I didn’t know what I’d find at Ashland. I told him to let Pa know where I’d gone if there was any chance he came home first, or if he got in touch some way. We’d all be together soon. I was sure of it.

  A slow drizzle started as I stepped onto the boat. Captain Ames let me stow my load below, keeping the bread dry. I didn’t step up to my end of the talk that morning. Captain Ames kept his eye on me, curious, I knew. But I wanted to keep my purpose up and feared talk might whittle that away.

  I saw Cousin Albert first, gave him the envelope, and said my good-byes. I wanted to make it clean and short.

  “You gave McCain my Testament?”

  “Today. I’m taking it in today.”

  Cousin Albert frowned. “And then you leave for Ashland?” I nodded. He seemed to be thinking of something, distracted. It was a time before he spoke again. “God go with you, Robert. Thank you for coming. Thank you for everything.” Cousin Albert’s pillowslip was spattered red from his coughing. It was hard to talk and not be drawn to the blood. “I’ll leave word that the photograph be mailed to you.” He reached for my hand. I took it, thin as it was—thinner than at the first of the week, and it trembled more. “Give my love to Emily, all my love, and to Caroline. I made arrangements for them through Alex and his solicitor in England before I left Mitchell House. I hadn’t planned against the blockades. I don’t know what will be left after this war, what is left now. Take care of them, Robert—you and Charles. Tell them I…” He didn’t finish, and he didn’t brush the tears away.

  I nodded, but my throat burned, and my head ached, a fierce pounding. “I wish—” I tried again. “I wish it was different. I wish you could walk out of here and go home. I wish I could take you home to them.” I meant that. Though I despised his hold on Ma I meant what I said.

  He smiled, but feebly. “I know, Ro—.” A coughing spell took hold of him. The blood gush this time made me turn away, even while I held his head to keep him from drowning. The private on duty rushed over and pushed me away.

  “You’d best leave now.” A doctor appeared, pushing past me, taking over.

  I stepped back, wiped my hands on a towel near the wash basin by the door. But the blood stained them, stained my clothes, reminding me of something … William Henry. The night we lifted his broken body from the train tracks … the night Joseph Henry carried his only son home to Aunt Sassy. I’d trailed, clutching, cradling my best friend’s shoes … I didn’t want to leave Cousin Albert like this. But I couldn’t stay. I picked up the soup crocks and sack of bread and made myself walk out.

  I stood outside the hospital ward, my back against the wall, struggling to get hold of myself. “Why?” It was all the prayer I could make. I don’t know how long I stood there.

  The drizzle turned to spit, then picked up and pitted my face, my vest, my boots. I hoisted my load and walked out toward the prison barracks, trying to swallow the live coal stuck in my throat. The rain swelled into a storm, grew fierce of a sudden, and a river wind, cold and sharp, slapped at my face, poured down my neck. It felt cool and right against the heat of my aching head.

  I wrapped my arms tight around my chest, trying to keep the bread dry. Not that it mattered. Starving men would rather have rain-soaked bread than no bread. And I’d promised Cousin Albert I’d get that Testament to McCain. I’d no idea how to find the man McCain, or slip the book to him unseen. But I was relieved for something else to think about, something to do for Cousin Albert that mattered.

  Thunder had rumbled and boomed the last hour. Lightning crackled the sky and struck ground near the sally port just as I reached the barracks.

  “Whew! Would you listen to Gabriel’s band play those drums!”The guard whistled, spraying tobacco juice. I wiped it from my sleeve.

  “Bread. I have bread for the 26th.”

  “Come on in. They’d as soon eat you, boy!”

  And I thought they might. Hungry men swarmed toward me again. I pulled out the bread. “Bread and soup—from the lady in town!” Before I could pull out the second loaf I was surrounded by men, more men than I could count.

  “Fire! Fire!” The panicked cry sprang from outside the barracks. Lightning flashed, and rain pounded the roof, the windows, the walls in sudden torrents. “Fire! Fire!” The call erupted from the men inside the barracks, and they rushed toward the door. But there was no fire. Guards ran to block the door. In that moment, in all the screaming and pushing, a hundred faces came between me and the guards at the end of the barracks. A searing pain shot up my back and down my neck. A dozen arms and hands pulled me down into the dark.

  Six

  I dreamed that my body moved, crawled in flames. But I had no arms to slap the fire, no legs to run. I forced my eyes open to nothing, then realized a rag bound them. I tried to cry out, but another rag, dry and stiff, filled my mouth. I lay awake. Still my skin crawled, squirmed alive. And yet I felt no heat, smelled no smoke. I tried to roll over. But my hands and feet were roped taut, behind me. My head pounded. I couldn’t place where I was, where I’d been. The smell of body odor and urine and something I couldn’t name filled my nostrils. The clothes I wore weren’t my own.

  “He’s awake!” hissed a voice at my ear.

  “Quiet!” a deeper voice said. I heard, or felt, bodies moving beside me.

  “Want me to hit him again?”

  “It’s too near time. He’d be dead weight.” The deeper voice pushed against my ear. “There’s not a man here has any qualms about killing you, Yank. The only reason you’re not dead now is that we found that book on you from the colonel. He’s the one saved your spyin’ skin, no matter that you took his.”

  “Five minutes ‘fore the watch changes,” a third voice said.

  “Untie his feet,” the deeper voice ordered. Hands pulled at my ankles. “We’re walking out of here. Don’t slow us down. To the guards you’ll be one more prisoner on the run. They’ll shoot you
dead or take you alive. They’ll find the Bible from Col. Mitchell under your coat—escape route and all. The code’s easy to break. You’ll be shot or hanged as a spy and a traitor. Understand?”

  I had to be dreaming but couldn’t get out of the nightmare. The voice jerked the ropes tighter behind my back, cutting into my wrists. “Do you understand?”

  I nodded, understanding too well. Cousin Albert had used me—tricked me with his dying breath into carrying escape plans to his men.

  “Now!” a whisper shot from farther away. I was shoved along the wooden floor. Strong arms lifted me like a sack of wheat. The floor gave way. Down we climbed.

  “Stand up,” the man with the strong arms spoke. I stumbled but found my feet on solid flooring. “We’d best rip off that blindfold or he’ll slow us down, stumblin’ around out there.”

  “Remember what I said.” The one with the deep voice jerked on my ropes again. I’d have cried out but for the gag. Other hands yanked the blindfold from my head. I could make out human shapes in the dark and the plank platform bunks lining the walls of the prison barracks.

  “Steady. Steady.” More shapes climbed down the bunks—too dark to count how many. “When the lantern passes through the door.” In the waiting I heard rain, still steady, strong. “Now.”

  This time the strong arms pushed me toward a wall that smelled of rain. Men disappeared into a dark hole in front of me. Arms lifted me again, pushed me through behind them. I fell on my back, rolled in mud, twisting my wrists behind me.

  “Get up! Get up!” the deep voice ordered, jerking me upright. Then we were running, slipping, sliding through mud and slick grass, through the black night and the pelting rain. Deep voice jerked my ropes again and again, the devil biting my back. My head still pounded. My heart nearly beat from my chest.

  Lightning flashed across the marsh. In that moment I saw ten or a dozen men running toward the water, one a hunchback or carrying a load. A guard’s lantern swept the marsh ahead, and the deep voice jerked me down into the mud. “Flat! Face down! Keep your face down.” How long we lay there I don’t know. It was the first relief I’d felt from the itching, the crawling in my armpits, along my legs.