Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (79 page)

              Anger had replaced the panic that had gripped Richmond during the Union threat.

Thomas strode into the house and threw down the newest edition of the newspaper.  For once, Carrie understood his anger and quite agreed with it.  She had been shocked when the news had come forth about the letter found on Colonel Dahlgren’s body after his death. 

“The paper has finally published a complete copy of the letter Dahlgren was carrying,” Thomas said.  “Let me read it to you.”  Then he coughed, almost doubling over.

Carrie reached over and picked up the paper.  “I’ll read it.  You’re still trying to recover from that nasty cold you picked up out there on the road.”

“Just read the underlined parts,” Thomas replied.  “I wanted you and Robert to hear them.”

Carrie nodded, put down her coffee, and began to read.

“
You have been selected from brigades and regiments as a picked command to attempt a desperate undertaking – an undertaking which, if successful, will write your names on the hearts of your countrymen that can never be released…

Many of you may fall, but if there is any man here not willing to sacrifice his life in such a grand and glorious undertaking…”

Thomas grunted in disdain, and Robert shook his head.

“…or who does not feel capable of meeting the enemy
in such a desperate fight as will follow, let him step out, and he may go hence to the arms of his sweetheart, and read of the brave who swept through the city of Richmond.

We hope to release the prisoners from Belle Island first, and, having seen them fairly started, we will cross the James River into Richmond, destroying the bridges after us, and exhorting the released prisoners to destroy and burn the hateful city, and
not to allow the Rebel leader, Davis, and his traitorous crew to escape.”

Carrie slammed the paper down.  “I think they were going too far.”

“Finish reading what I underlined,” her father urged.  “There is more.”

Carrie searched until she found it. 
“Once the prisoners are loose and over the river, the bridges will be secured and the city destroyed.  The men must keep together and well in hand, and once in the city it must be destroyed, and Jeff Davis and his cabinet killed.”

“What
will happen?” Carrie asked when she finished reading.  She knew the whole city was in an uproar.

Robert wiped his mouth then put down his napkin.  “The city is demanding reprisal
, of course.  They want some of Dahlgren’s men put to death as a warning to the Federal government that we won’t sit back and let things like this happen.”

“Didn’t General Lee send a letter in response to all this?
” Thomas asked.

“Yes.  He agreed the papers should be published so the whole world could know the kind of war being waged against us.  He wanted attention brought to the atrocious acts they are plotting and trying to perpetrate.”  He paused.  “He also said he would not recommend the execution of the prisoners that have been taken because these papers can only be considered evidence of Dahlgren’s intentions.  There is no clear indication as to how much his men knew of the full scope of the plan.  They were merely following orders.”

“Are we going to execute these men?” Carrie asked.  As angry as she was, there had already been too much killing.  Simply adding to it would accomplish nothing.

Thomas shook his head.  “Most of Davis’ advisers recommended that at least some of the raiders be put to death, but David resisted.  He was backed up by Lee who still has a son in Yankee hands.  I think they both fear even more brutal reprisal.”

“So we do nothing.” Robert sighed.  “Except be glad they were unable to carry out their plan.”

“It’s not that simple,” Thomas said.  “In a war that has already changed a great deal, I foresee an even darker future.

Carrie grimaced.  Her father wasn’t being bitter.  He was simply stating facts the way he saw them.  “What do you mean?” she asked.

“From the beginning of the war, many in the South have believed Lincoln personally provoked the war.  He has been an easy target of blame for each new escalation of c
asualties and cruelty.  It doesn’t really matter who wrote those papers – the effect is the same.  When you take into consideration the threats that have already been made against Davis…”

“Like the fire in his cellar,” Carrie interrupted.  “Or the attempt to shoot him just before Christmas.”

“There have been rumors of other plots as well,” Thomas said.  “Davis is convinced Lincoln has approved a new level of warfare.”

“One that includes arson, pillage
, and assassination,” Robert finished.

“The war is simply becoming more vicious and inhumane as it drags on,” Carrie murmured in dismay.  “Is there any way for it to end?”

Thomas shrugged.  “I’ve heard of new steps being taken.  Davis and his cabinet have already approved covert operations to encourage the anti-war underground in the North.  They have just authorized five million dollars for that purpose.”

“But why?” Carrie asked, confused.

“If they can cause enough terror in the North, it may strengthen the peace movement there,” Robert answered.

“Davis hopes it can swing several northwestern states away from reelecting Lincoln in the fall.”

Carrie listened quietly.  “How then can we condemn what Dahlgren has done when our government is making plans to do the same kinds of things?”  She didn’t expect an answer.

         
Matthew and Peter oared the raft ashore and then held it steady while Anderson and Wilson clambered off.  The James River had become extremely wide, with the trees scattered too randomly to offer any real protection.  They had decided during the night to go the rest of the way on foot.

“Maybe we’re close enough to Union lines that the
Rebs will stay away,” Peter said hopefully.

Matthew glanced over at Anderson and Wilson.  In spite of two days of rest and plenty of food, they were still too weak to put up much of an escape attempt if they were pursued now.  Their strength had been exhausted in the mad rush that had deposited them in the frigid waters of the James River.  “Let’s hope so,” he said.

Anderson seemed to read his thoughts.  “I think you two should go on without us.  We’ll just slow you down.”

Matthew snorted.  “We left Libby Prison together.  We will reach Fort Monroe together,” Matthew said.  “We’ve gotten this far.  We’ll make it the rest of the way just fine.”

“How far do we have left?” Wilson asked in a weak voice.

“I don’t know for sure,” Matthew admitted.

“Well,” Anderson said, drawing a deep breath.  “I suppose there is only one way to find out.”  He strode forward and then glanced over his shoulder.  “Are the rest of you coming?”

Matthew grinned and sprang to catch up with him.

They had walked for only two hours when it became obvious Wilson needed a rest.  He had been sick in the prison shortly before the escape.  The harrowing experiences he had suffered since then had rendered him just a shell of the man he had been when Matthew first met him.

“Let’s stop to eat,” Matthew suggested, nodding toward Wilson when Peter and Anderson looked at him in surprise.

They were huddled next to a log just yards from the road when they heard hoof beats.  Thick underbrush concealed their position, but all four men froze.  Matthew motioned for the others to stay; then he crept forward until he could see the road.  His blood chilled when he saw a unit of ten Rebel soldiers round the curve.  They were talking and laughing, obviously not concerned with stealth.

“Picked up two more today,” one of them laughed.  “You should have seen that man’s face.”

“Yeah.”  Another soldier laughed harshly.  “You should have heard him.  When Bridger over there ran him down, he drew himself up real proud.”  He deepened his voice to imitate his captive.  “My name is Captain William Springer of the Unites States Army.  I have tunneled my way out of Libby Prison and escaped.  I will not return alive.  Go ahead and shoot me.”

Matthew felt sick.  Springer had stuck with them when all the other men had given up in despair.  He had talked about what he
would do when he got home to his wife and three girls.  He had come so close.

“Did
he shoot him?” another soldier asked eagerly.

“Nah,” he responded.  “Bridger roughed him up with his rifle butt real good t
hen threw him in a wagon.  I guess he’s on his way back to Libby Hotel.  He was still begging someone to shoot him when I rode off.”

“I
kinda feel sorry for him,” one of the soldiers admitted.  “I spent a little time in a Union prison.  I felt the same way.”

“Yeah?” another quipped snidely.  “I wouldn’t be broadcasting your feelings.  Folks in Richmond are still plenty upset about that prison break.  It’s been almost three weeks now.  At last count,
only forty-five of them prisoners have been brought back.  That leaves a lot who are gonna be up North snubbing their noses at us.”

“Yeah, but I don’t reckon we need to be hanging around here anymore,” one called.  “Some of those fellows obviously made it through because we just barely missed a clash with some Union cavalry today.  I been seeing signs of them all over.  As best I can figure we’re only a few miles from their lines.  I’m done hunting for prisoners.  I’m glad to be going home.”

Right then, Matthew was wishing for a rifle.  Anger pounded in his ears, blurring his vision and making breathing difficult.  For one wild moment, he considered dashing out of the woods and attacking the man who had mimicked Springer.  He restrained himself.  He still had to get Anderson and Wilson the rest of the way.  He couldn’t get himself captured now.  Besides, what good would it do?

Tell the story
.
The voice in his heart reminded him. 
Tell the story.

Matthew waited until the men had disappeared, their talking and laughter gone, before he turned around to the other men. 
Matthew and his friends stared at one another with sick, angry eyes for a long moment.

“We’re almost there,” Matthew said.  “Let’s get going.”  They had to continu
e for their own sakes - and for the sakes of those who had tried and failed.

The sun was still high in the sky when Matthew peered through a clump of trees and saw a splash of Union blue.  He leaned forward, looking more closely to make sure he wasn’t mistaken and about to walk into a nest of Rebel soldiers.  He could clearly see several Union soldiers strolling back and forth, their guns on their shoulders.

“We made it,” Matthew choked, his voice thick with emotion now that the end was in sight.  He put an arm around Anderson to support his faltering steps, and they edged out of the forest.  Peter, with Wilson slung across his shoulder, walked out behind them.  Wilson had collapsed a half mile back.  Peter had been carrying him ever since.

As they moved closer a Union soldier glanced up and moved to intercept them.  “Who goes there?”

“My name is Matthew Justin,” Matthew called clearly, gladness ringing in his voice.  “I am a journalist with the Philadelphia Tribune.  I have another journalist and two Union officers with me.  We have escaped Libby Prison and are requesting sanctuary.”

The soldier lowered his rifle and rushed forward.  “Hey
, fellows,” he called back over his shoulder.  “Four more of those jail-breakers made it!”

             
Two days later, once more rested and well-fed, Matthew approached the cabin General Butler had directed him to.  He smiled in anticipation and knocked softly on the door.  He heard footsteps and then the door was flung open.  His smile disappeared as he looked into the unfamiliar face of a young woman. “I’m sorry,” he said graciously.  “I’m afraid I must have the wrong house.”

“No
t necessarily,” the girl said, smiling.  “My name is Susie.  Who are you looking for?  Even if she doesn’t live here, I reckon I might know her.”

“I’m trying to locate Rose Samuels.”

Susie’s smile widened.  “Well, then, I reckon you be at the right place.  Only she ain’t here right now.”

Matthew tried to swallow his disappointment.

“Don’t look so sad, mister.” Susie laughed.  “She’s just down at the school.”  She paused, her eyes suddenly cautious.  “Who are you?”

“Matthew Justin.  I’m an…”

“Old friend of hers,” Susie finished, her smile even broader now.  “I’m Susie.  I’m living here while my husband serves in the army.  Rose will be sure enough happy to see you.  She’s told me all about you and how you saved her from Ike Adams.  You go right down to that school.  Moses just left a few days ago.  Seeing you will make her real happy.”

“Moses was here!”  Matthew asked.  “I thought he w
ould be somewhere with the army.”

“He is now,” Susie said.  “He took part in the attempt to set those prisoners free in Richmond, but it didn’t turn out so
good.  He made his way back here, along with about fifteen soldiers he’d picked up along the way.  He had two days with his family and then left again.  He should be with General Meade’s army now – along with my Zeke,” she added proudly. 

Matthew listened in amazement.  There had been a prison br
eak attempt?  What had happened?  He was suddenly very eager to talk with Rose and get the answers.  He turned to go but then hesitated.  “Shouldn’t I wait here?  I’d hate to interrupt.”

Susie shook her head.  “It won’t be an interruption.  Besides, I think her afternoon session is about over.”

Matthew hesitated then nodded. “Thank you.”

Minutes later he stood just inside the door of Rose’s school.  He watched for several minutes as she moved from student to student checking
each one’s work.  She stooped down to smile into a little girl’s face, talked to her quietly for a few moments, and then stood, patting her on the head.  The little girl looked up with a grateful grin before she turned back to her work.

Suddenly Rose, seeming to know she was being watched, glanced toward the back of the room.  Her face creased in a puzzled frown
for a moment; then a huge smile exploded on her face.  “Matthew Justin!” she cried, running down the narrow aisle.

Matthew stepped out into the aisle and caught her in a warm embrace.  Both of them were laughing when he set her back down.

Without warning, Rose pulled him toward the front of the classroom; then she turned him to face the mass of inquisitive faces staring at him.  “This is my friend, Matthew Justin,” she began.  “He is a journalist from Philadelphia.  He writes stories about what is happening in the war.  Maybe he’ll tell you a story.”

Matthew looked at her in surprise.  She knew nothing about how he had spent the last eight months. 
Tell the story.
  He looked into the children’s young faces. Suddenly he realized they were not too young to hear about men’s cruelty to each other.  Their wise eyes said they had already experienced more than he probably ever would.  They were not too young to accept the challenge to make a difference.  And they were not too young to know they could take action to change their circumstances.  Maybe starting with the young children meant their hearts could be protected before it was too late.

He took a deep breath.  He and Rose would have plenty of time to talk later.  “I’d like to tell you a story,” he began.