Blood Moon (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

May 1862

Mercy forced herself to remain in bed on this sunny May morning. On the very night she arrived here, Mrs Bartlett had insisted on giving her a slave called Anna. Mercy had argued against the idea and had said no thank you repeatedly, but every morning Anna appeared, standing at the foot of the bed with a cup of tea and newspapers. During the winter, she had   found the courage to ask Mrs Bartlett to sell Anna to her. Mrs Bartlett had been surprised at Mercy’s request, but after a few weeks, she realised that Mercy had her heart set on it, and the deal had been struck. “Thank you, Anna. Why don’t you go find some breakfast. I can bathe and dress myself,” Mercy said, wanting to be alone.

Mercy fluffed up the pillows and rested her head against them. Looking out of the window at another glorious day, she couldn’t help but release a contemplative sigh. She held her teacup with both hands and sipped the cup dry.

She had recently heard from the marshal that her parole had finally ended, and every day since then, she’d felt a growing urge to leave the capital. She had waited a long time for her freedoms to be returned to her. They had been unlawfully taken away in the first place, as far as she was concerned. She had actually come to think that the marshal, judge, and army had completely forgotten about her and what she had supposedly done. The accusation had been serious, but had they thought her guilty, they would have locked her up, not left her stranded with Mrs Bartlett’s never-ending Richmond Ladies Society meetings. God’s truth, she thought, jail might have been preferable!

The stifling atmosphere of the capital, crowded with gloomy faces complaining about the blockade, which was beginning to damage the Richmond’s elite’s perfect lives, was worsening by the day, and so was her own disposition. She was suffocating from a lack of worthwhile activity. She missed Jacob terribly and had not clapped eyes on him for almost seven weeks. She was melancholic, and nothing would ease her black mood, bar seeing Jacob and getting out of Richmond.

She lifted the newspaper and noticed an envelope hidden underneath it. She sat up, excited and delighted. It was from Belle. Belle was a ferocious writer, and her long, detailed correspondences had given Mercy welcome relief in the past months. Inside the envelope was a smaller envelope, along with Belle’s letter. She put the small envelope aside for the moment and lay her head once more against the pillows.

Dear Mercy,

I am sorry it has taken me so long to write, but I fear I will sour your mood with my news. I declare, I am quite beside myself with worry. Poor Hendry went back to sea awhile back, and this time I have no clue as to when he will return. I know what a good sea captain my husband is, but I find myself in a highly agitated state. I am consumed with terrible thoughts and premonitions of doom, Mercy, and no matter how much I try, I cannot lift my spirits.

The battle of Hampton Roads has left me feeling that war is on Norfolk’s and Portsmouth’s doorsteps, as if it were not bad enough that the Union’s soldiers and Navy skulk like wolves across the James at Fort Monroe.

That battle will live in my memory forever. I have never seen such a congregation of ships, barring Liverpool’s fleets, of course. I stood on one of Norfolk’s highest points to get the very best of views, and though I couldn’t see everything, I do know that, the James, Elizabeth, and Nanesmond rivers were overflowing with vessels.

Our brave Confederate Navy sent the ironclad
CSS
Virginia
into Hampton Roads with a flotilla of five supply ships. The
Virginia
is a magnificent sight, Mercy, and one I could never have imagined seeing with my own eyes. Why, she is an iron floating fortress! To have her ready for battle was a wonderful feat. I have never seen such determination and loyalty of men.

I know you have probably read about that day on Hampton Roads, but I wanted to tell it to you in my own way. Can you imagine how wonderful it was to learn that the
Virginia
had managed to sink two Yankee ships! Unfortunately, darkness fell and she had to retire back to Gosport Navy Yard. I do believe had she remained in the Hampton Roads to fight on, she might just have routed the Union Navy and forced their bully of an army back to the North, where they belong.

I do wish we had been successful, but of course, the good Lord seldom makes our trials easy for us, does he? We lost almost eighty men, and there were many others injured. The dead died valiantly and for a cause worth fighting and bleeding for.

My Hendry has been asked to risk his life and the lives of his crew by a navy who has no experience in blockade running, but I remind myself every day that he is not the only man being asked to lay his life on the line. Still, I am so very afraid for him.

I have decided to visit Dolly in Norfolk. Grace and I have such little consolation to find, but I do believe that a change of air will do us good. From the Norfolk wharfs, one can now see the ships on the James and at the edge of the Atlantic. I would give anything to be with Hendry at sea, I really would.

I visited Stone Plantation and must say that guilt lays heavy with me. I do hope Jacob forgives me for abandoning his land. I am sure he understands why I wanted to be near Hendry for as long as he was home … and we are at war, in a situation that is ever changing.

The plantation slaves are still there in great number. A few have run away, but most do not seem to have much interest in leaving or encountering an unknown future that may be worse than their present situation. They are passing their days idly sitting around, looking for guidance. They are quite the pitiful sight and seem incapable of making any decisions or in being productive with their time. I have sent a wagon with supplies to the slaves and will make sure they are fed until Jacob comes home on leave.

Not such a long letter this time, my darling Mercy. I am far too upset even to think about burdening myself with gossip, although I do have some news. The Coulters are moving south. They want to be closer to Elizabeth. Mrs Coulter has become a fragile shadow of her former self. Elizabeth, from what I can gather, does not fare well in that terrible prison. Why she was sent all the way to North Carolina, I will never know. It is a cruel blow for her family.

I’m not fond of Elizabeth, but she was a childhood friend. I am not happy that she remains Jacob’s wife, but I can’t help but feel great sadness at her plight. May the good Lord above watch over her and grant his benevolence upon her, for I fear she will not leave that penitentiary alive.

I pray that you will soon join me in Norfolk. I am sure that those bullheaded politicians and army folks no longer think of you as a threat and have already given you back your freedoms. My goodness, Mercy, the thought of you ever betraying the Confederacy is preposterous!

You will have noticed the other envelope. This was given to me by Dolly. I promise you, it has not been read. It is as it was found … Oh, but, Mercy, you must tell me who is writing you. Promise, you will?

Do write me back. Pray for my Hendry as I do for your Jacob. What news do you have of my brother-in-law? I do worry so about the blue coats advancing on Richmond, but I cannot bring myself to imagine defeat.

Once again, I implore you to come visit me in Norfolk. I am in sore need of your company.

Your friend,

Belle

Mercy folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, which she then placed in the drawer beside the bed. She picked up the other envelope and looked at the postmark. It was from Fort Monroe. It had to be from Isaac. It had to be.

November 2, 1861

My dear Mercy,

With no other means available to me, I write to this address in Norfolk in the hope of reaching you and finding you well. I will never understand why you left your friends without a word or proper farewell. You were not a prisoner, as you imagined, nor were you led to believe that your only escape from me was by secretly escaping on the back of a horse belonging to the Union army.

I am deeply perplexed at your lack of consideration towards Nelson, a man that loves you with all the goodness in his heart. He has suffered greatly, and it took all my persuasion to convince him not to take off after you. As for me, I expected more from you … I also deserved your trust and your honesty.

Somehow I know you are safe. You have a spirited soul, and you are as hardy as any man. If I am guessing correctly, you are probably off on another one of your adventures. I only wish with all my heart that you could have seen fit to share these adventures with me.

I love you, my Mercy. I will not deny this, not until the day I draw my last breath. I presume that your flight from the fort means that you do not return my high regard for you, but I will never give up. No, I resolve to make you my wife one day.

Please do not journey back to the fort. My commanding officer is not as understanding as I am regarding your theft of a horse. Write to me, I beg of you, if not for my sake, then for Nelson’s.

Isaac

Mercy’s cheeks were flushed. “Shame on you, Mercy Carver,” she murmured. This letter had brought back the awful guilt she had felt after leaving the fort. Isaac was right about her. There was no justification for what she did to him and Nelson. The letter had been written over six months ago, she noted as she looked at it again. Isaac and Nelson could be anywhere by now. They might even be with the great Union Army, marching on the peninsula. She would write back this morning. Everyone knew that there were many ways of sending mail between the North and South. Smugglers could take mail almost anywhere when paid well.

She thought again. Her eyes widened. She frowned, staring at the letter. No, she couldn’t write to Fort Monroe. Bloody hell, she would be arrested again if she were caught with a letter to the Union fort. “Think, Mercy, think before you do anything stupid!” she whispered angrily.

She creased her brow and thought again about the past six months. Mrs Bartlett had been a wonderful hostess. She was a kind soul, albeit the biggest gossip Mercy had ever laid eyes on. Her husband, the senator, had introduced Mercy to the annals of government, and she had learned much from visiting dignitaries passing through the Bartlett house. She had spent time with Jacob, something she would never have been blessed with had it not been for Mrs Bartlett. Overall, her stay had not been wasted – but it was time for her to leave.

Chapter Forty-Six

The open ground stretched for a mile. Jacob and his men rode at a gallop towards the forest at the edge of the clearing. The top half of Jacob’s body lay low across the saddle. His two hands gripped the reins, and every now and again, he flicked them across Thor’s flanks. He was fatigued beyond words. He was so drained that he could barely think straight. He had scarcely recovered from the battle, and he felt as though he had not lifted his behind off the saddle since the Williamsburg retreat.

He could feel the dried mud on his face and neck crack like broken skin. His head and hair were drenched in sweat. His right coat sleeve was scorched by continuous rifle fire, and his arm stung like the devil. He had not bathed in days, and his uniform still bore the stench of death and gunpowder. His grey coat was covered in dark blood patches, and even his buttons had turned red in colour. 

They had left the bulk of the Confederate Army days ago, after it had begun its withdrawal from Williamsburg. The Southern army had amassed thirty-two thousand men in an attempt to hold that town and push the Union back. It had suffered over fifteen hundred casualties and losses, including cavalrymen involved in skirmishes.

There had been no outright victor in the bloody Williamsburg battle that had taken so many lives. At one point, Jacob had been convinced they would triumph over the larger Yankee army, but after coming close to overrunning the Union’s flank, they failed at the last minute to break through it. The Union army then took two Confederate abandoned redoubts in a counter-attack, and though the Confederates persistently tried to take back lost ground,   they were unsuccessful.

Jacob and his exhausted men had ridden hard since leaving the town of Oak Grove, some fifty miles north-east of Richmond. They had just completed a reconnaissance mission, but they had also been tasked with escorting engineers and a logistics team to Oak Grove, with the aim of erecting telegraph lines. Their aim now was to meet the Ninth Virginia Cavalry Regiment, picketing Union lines around Fredericksburg before nightfall.

Jacob slowed his horse to a gentle canter and finally a walk as they came upon an area of swamp. Behind Jacob were twenty men from Portsmouth, including George Coulter and Sergeant Tybrook. The remnants of their unit were to be transferred into the newly formed Ninth Virginia Cavalry Regiment. Having been part of a rearguard force during the retreat from Yorktown, they were late in joining the regiment’s ranks. Their job had been to give the bulk of the army time to get away.

Jacob waded through the forest’s swampy slime floor, pushing his tired legs forward whilst leading Thor by the reins. His mind flashed with grisly images and sounds of the Williamsburg battle. He would never forget the dying screams of men, blood spurting out of chests, limbs being shattered and torn off. He had ridden on that day through smoke so thick that his mouth had tasted gunpowder, and he had not been able to see his hand at the end of his outstretched arm. Six of his men had been killed. He had left their bodies behind on the ground. He’d barely kept himself in the saddle as Thor swerved and jumped to miss downed horses and injured men. He would never see his dead men again, but their faces were still emblazoned in his mind.

He finally knew war, its ugliness and undignified effect on the hearts of men willing to kill a body for a slither of ground. He was not sure how many men he had killed. He had not counted the shots he had fired or how many times he had thrust his bayonet through the enemy’s skin and bone.

              He turned to see his men staggering in the knee-high bog. They still had a way to go before reaching the Ninth. He was sure the commanders could do without them for another few hours. His men needed sleep and so did he. “I reckon we should rest up a while at the next creek or river we come across. I don’t know about y’all, but I refuse to go another day without bathing this stench off me.”

              “We’re not far from a bunch of streams. I saw them on the way up here,” Sergeant Tybrook said. “They must be close. I figure they must be just east of this swamp.”

“You sure, Sergeant?”

“You know me, sir. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Sergeant Tybrook grinned.

“We got coffee, Captain,” George Coulter said.

Jacob nodded. Coffee sounded good. “I say we hunker down for a few hours. I figure it’s about a three-hour ride till we meet our new comrades. I reckon they won’t find cause to miss us for an hour or two. I got a powerful need for food. We got victuals?”

“Some cornbread and dried pork,” another man said. “We got enough to go around, I reckon.”

“Let’s get to it. Find us those streams, Tybrook. Cornbread and coffee sounds mighty fine.”

They came upon a stream still swollen from recent rains. The ground was muddy in patches, but there was a cluster of trees nearby with a bed of grass surrounding it. It would suit their purpose, Jacob decided. He gave the order to dismount.

A fire was set. Tybrook revealed a handful of coffee beans and grinned at Jacob. “I took these off a dead Yankee. Figured he wouldn’t have no more need of them. Next battle, I’ll hang an extra satchel over my shoulder. Might get enough coffee to last a week.

Jacob strode towards the edge of the stream, taking off his coat and shirt before he’d even reached it. He winced as he pulled the coarse shirtsleeves over his arms and head. He looked at his right arm. It was battered and bruised, red and blue from his wrist to his shoulder. It was not a wonder that it had stung like hellfire these past three days. It felt as though the entire arm was blistered. His damn rifle had done this. It had become so hot that the powder had flashed before he’d had a chance to ram the ball home. Twice he had picked another rifle belonging to a dead comrade.

He sat, undid his boots, and sighed with the luxury of moving his toes. When he was fully naked, he stepped into the water, just a couple of feet deep, and sat down. It wasn’t exactly the bath he’d had in mind, but it would do, he thought.