Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (70 page)

             
Mr. Mitchell, realizing he had the attention of everyone, drew himself up proudly and proceeded to fire another round.  “It is with Lincoln alone that we could ever hope to confer, and he has made himself clear.  He will never treat with us - on
any
terms.  Our only possible recourse is to go on fighting until the enemy is willing to admit complete defeat.   Not until then will it be possible to speak of peace.”

             
A heavy silence fell over the group.  As much as some might not want to admit it, the South had indeed set a course that was too late to change now.  It was either fight on to complete victory or admit to complete defeat.  Gone were the days when Lincoln appealed for the South to return, saying he would not interfere with its right to own slaves.  The viciousness of the war had changed all that.  It had changed everything.  The dark cloud that had descended on the land had blinded men to anything that might have ended the destruction.  The only recourse was to fight on - hoping that the raging fire would leave something worth rebuilding when it had burned itself out on the hearts and souls of men, women, and children. 

At eight o’clock sharp, Matthew and Captain Anderson moved the stove away from the kitchen
fireplace and opened the hole.  Solemnly they shook hands with the other thirteen men who had made the tunnel possible.  No words were spoken.  None were necessary.  Everything had already been said.

             
Matthew took a deep breath and climbed down into
Rat Dungeon
for the last time.  At least he fervently hoped it was for the last time.  Peter, his partner in the allotted twosomes, was close behind him.  Captain Anderson and Lieutenant Wilson were right behind them. 

             
Matthew felt his feet hit the bottom, then lit one of the candles, and attached it to the wall.  Without waiting for the rest of the men, he dropped to his knees and began to crawl.  He carried no light.  He didn’t need one.  Every inch of the fifty foot tunnel was imbedded in his brain and heart.  It had become his child - now it was offering him freedom.  He could feel Peter breathing behind him.  The two had come in together - now they would go out together. 

             
Matthew reached the end of the tunnel and raised himself to his knees.  He reached up and carefully pushed aside the dirt-covered board that hid the tunnel exit.  His heart pounding in his ears, he eased his head up slowly and looked around.  The sky was still crystal clear, so cold it made him gasp for breath.  He grinned broadly, pushed himself up, and crawled out onto the ground.  Reaching back a hand for Peter, he helped his friend up and then shook the dirt from his hair and beard. 

             
Peter looked over at him and gave the thumbs-up signal.  Matthew reached over to shake hands with him; then they stood and walked out of the lot, heading down the dark street.  Matthew held his breath, every second expecting a loud call to announce their presence.  They strode briskly but steadily for two blocks, before they turned right and ducked into the darkened shadow of a building. 

             
Matthew brushed at the sweat on his face and tried to steady his breathing.  They had done it!  They were out!

             
Peter peered around the corner.  “I don’t see anyone else,” he whispered.

             
“It’s too soon,” Matthew replied.  “Anderson and Wilson were to wait three minutes before they came out.  It hasn’t been that long.”

             
“It seems like hours.”

             
Matthew nodded.  Their stroll down the street had indeed seemed like a lifetime. He glanced ahead and then waved his hand at Peter.  “We have to keep moving,” he said.  “All of us are on our own from this point.”

             
Peter peered around the corner again for a second then followed him.  Matthew understood.  He was fighting the temptation to rush back and make sure nothing had gone wrong.  Four men would have offered more comfort than two, but they also would attract more attention.  They had agreed everyone stood the best chance of escaping capture if they proceeded in groups of two.  Matthew knew he might never see any of his friends again.  They had indeed escaped the prison, but they were still deep in the heart of the Confederate capital, and as soon as the alarm had been raised, the search would be on.  Matthew figured they had twenty-four hours at the very most to get out of Richmond.

             
Matthew glanced quickly at the street sign.  He knew the city fairly well from his earlier visits, and he had prepared the other men the best he could.  Turning right on Canal Street, he headed east for several blocks, then turned north on Twelfth Street.  Minutes later they passed the imposing Capitol building, glowing softly from the brightness of the sky. 

             
“It’s beautiful,” Peter commented.

             
Matthew was still too tense for casual talk.  He knew they had a long way to go before they were safe.  All his energy was directed toward one thing - getting them out of there.  He frowned as he realized the streets were practically deserted.  He knew the cold weather was keeping people in their frigid homes.  He also knew it would cause the two men to stand out even more.  Their nondescript prison clothes would identify them as workers.  The fact that neither of them had coats on a night that had already dipped well below freezing would make them look like lunatics.  Matthew hugged the shadows as they strode along.

             
“Halt!” 

             
Matthew hesitated as the commanding voice rang out in the still air, but then he kept walking forward.  Peter tensed and looked around but continued to follow him.  Praying desperately, Matthew hoped that whoever had called out was not referring to them.

             
“Halt!”  The voice was closer behind them this time.

             
Matthew groaned silently and swung around.  “Are you talking to us?” he asked with forced cheer.

             
A burly policeman strode up to them, scowling.  “What are you fellows doing out this time of night?” he said suspiciously. 

             
Matthew prayed Peter would let him do all the talking.  His friend’s strong New York accent would give him away in a heartbeat.  “Just on our way home from work,” Matthew continued.

             
“Yeah?  Where do you work?”

             
“Down at the Ironworks,” Matthew said steadily.  He figured it employed enough men that it would make him the least suspect.

             
The policeman edged closer.  “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

             
Matthew’s heart pounded faster.  “My folks sent me up north to go to school,” he managed to laugh.  “I guess some of the accent rubbed off.  I’ve been trying to get rid of it ever since I got home,” he said with great indignation.  “I don’t want anyone to think I’m a Yankee!” 

             
“That’s a real good idea, son,” the policeman laughed.  His tone became friendlier.  “How are things down at the Ironworks?”

             
“Can’t complain,” Matthew said, breathing a little easier. 

             
“You’re the first!” the policeman laughed then leaned closer.  “Ain’t you got kids to feed?  My friends with kids say they can’t make enough to feed them with the prices the way they are.”  He paused.  “Come to think of it, you don’t look like you’ve eaten much yourself.

             
“No kids.”  Matthew decided to ignore the officer’s observation.  He knew exactly how thin he was.  “Just a wife.”  An idea sprang into his mind.  “But I reckon I’ll be having one real soon.  She’s pregnant.” He smiled. “And she’s waiting for me.  I promised her I wouldn’t be late.”

             
“Wouldn’t want to keep the little lady waiting,” the policeman agreed willingly.  Suddenly he leaned forward and peered behind Matthew.

             
Matthew glanced over his shoulder.  Peter had been standing back just a little during the whole exchange.  “Good to talk to you,” he said cheerfully.  “I guess we’ll be going now.”

             
The policeman held up his hand.  “Wait a minute there.”

             
Matthew’s heart started pounding wildly again.  He longed to just run for it, but he had too much respect for the pistol strapped on the man’s waist. 

             
“What’s with your friend here?  Don’t he talk?”

             
Matthew thought quickly.  “He’s been awful sick.  Has laryngitis real bad.  The cold air makes it worse on him.”

             
“That right?”  The policeman leaned closer, staring under Peter’s hat. 

             
“That’s right,” Peter croaked in a hoarse voice, barely audible, before he doubled over in a spasm of coughing.

             
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Matthew had to hide a grin.  Peter’s laryngitis was very convincing.  He hadn’t even been able to detect his New York accent himself.

             
The policeman still seemed unsure, but he nodded and waved his billy club.  “The two of you get on home,” he growled.  “It’s awful late to be out,” he added.  “Where are you going?”

             
Matthew cast in his mind for a plausible address.  “26th Street.”  He had said the first thing that popped into his mind.

             
“Awful nice houses for an Ironworks’ man,” the policeman said sourly.

             
“A friend of the family,” Matthew said, almost desperately.  “They’re letting me rent out a room.  My friend here is next door.”

             
Finally the policeman waved them on.  “Be on your way then.”  He turned and walked away, his heavy shoes thudding on the frozen dirt. 

             
Sweat pouring down his back, Matthew watched until he was out of sight then sagged against the building.

             
“Whew!”  Peter whispered.  “That was close.”

             
“Too close,” Matthew said grimly.  “We’re not going to get out of here tonight.  We stand out like a sore thumb.  There just aren’t enough people on the roads.  Anyone who sees us walking will remember us.”

             
“What are we going to do?”  Peter asked in alarm.

             
“Go somewhere and wait till it’s light.  We’ll keep going as soon as the sun comes up.  We’ll be less noticeable then.”

             
“We can’t just stand around,” Peter argued.  “We’ll freeze to death.”

             
Matthew had to admit he was right.   He stared up at the sky for a minute and then nodded his head sharply.  “Follow me.”

             
“Where are we going now?”

             
“You’ll find out,” Matthew snapped, angry that his carefully laid plans were going awry yet filled with sudden anticipation. 

CHAPTER THIRTY

             
Mr. Whipple turned to Robert.  “Captain, what is your perspective on the condition of our armies?  General Lee’s in particular.”

             
Carrie hid a smile.  All the armies were important, but it was impossible not to take a greater interest in Lee’s.  It was his, after all, that had rescued them from disaster time after time.

             
Robert frowned.  “I’m afraid our armies are struggling right now.  General Lee has the most experienced, efficient soldiers in our entire country, but I don’t know how much more they can stand.”

             
“What exactly are you referring to?”  Count asked.

             
“They’re starving,” Robert said bluntly.  “Lee’s army is wretchedly fed and clothed.  Just last week their meat ration was cut again.  The men are trying to keep their hopes up, but the brutal weather and their own hunger are sapping it from them.”