Nan Ryan (41 page)

By June 15, the already desperate situation in Vicksburg had worsened. Though rumors had been rampant in the past few days that General Johnston, fortified by 22,000 troops, would soon come to the aid of the gallant defenders of Vicksburg, the rumors could not be verified and the long, hot summer days dragged on with no help from the outside. Ammunition grew scarcer as fewer couriers were able to break through the formidable line of Union troops surrounding the city. If ammo was scarce, food was even scarcer and the starving Confederates were reduced to eating mule meat until that commodity, too, ran out.

At twilight, Hunter, now painfully thin and wan, dined with his adjutant while minie balls whizzed over their weary heads and fierce cannonading continued unabated.

“Captain,” Hunter said, as he chewed a mouthful of the stringy, undercooked mule meat, “this tastes as good to me as the finest roast beef I’ve ever eaten.”

“Colonel,” the man grinned and licked his lips, “I guess if we’d known how good it was, we’d have considered it a delicacy long before now.”

“I agree, but I will admit that I must draw the line at dog or cat meat. I don’t think I could ever get that hungry.”

“Me neither, there are some things I just refuse to eat.”

All too soon, they ate their words as mule meat ran out and there was nothing left to fill their bellies. Within a week of their dinner conversation ruling out dog and cat meat, the two men had not only eaten both, but had added rats to their menu as well. Neither batted an eye, as they, like the rest of the poor souls in the starving battalions, worried about only one thing, what would they eat when there were no more rats.

Back home in Natchez, Kathleen was aware her husband was in Vicksburg, not eighty miles away from her. Scotty received a letter from his father dated May 14, 1863, and Kathleen held her son on her lap and read it to him.

Dearest Son
,

I am nearer to you now than I have been since I saw you two years ago. I am in Jackson, Mississippi, and I am leaving this night to go to Vicksburg, my home. Although I cannot see you, it helps to know you are so close to me. Perhaps the time is drawing nearer when once again I can hold you in my arms, tuck you in your bed at night, and be a father to you again
.

I am in good health, high spirits, and hopeful that this long separation will be over soon. I’m sure you have grown so much I will hardly recognize you, but think of the fun we will have getting to know each other again
.

I love you, my precious son, and I pray before the year is over that I can once again look on your dark, handsome face
.

Your loving Father

Kathleen folded the letter after reading it to Scotty and smiled at her son. “Darling, I will put this letter with the others you are saving from your daddy. Now, why don’t you go outdoors and play for a while.”

“Okay, Mother,” he smiled. “Boy, my daddy is going to come home soon.”

“I hope so, darling,” Kathleen answered. In the weeks that followed, Kathleen unfolded the letter and reread each line, her hands shaking as she thought about how near her husband was. He was in Vicksburg, not eighty miles away. If only he could slip away for a few days, come to Natchez to see Scotty. Maybe then she could make him tell her what had happened. If only he would come. Just eighty miles.

“Hannah,” Kathleen rose and went to look for her mammy, the letter still in her hand. “Hannah, where are you?”

“In here, Miz Kathleen, I’s in the kitchen.”

Kathleen hurried through the double doors of the dining room and Hannah looked up from the dough she was rolling out on the cabinet. “Hannah, you know Hunter’s in Vicksburg now.”

“Well, honey, he might as well be in New York City, you knows that they’s cut off and under siege.”

“Hannah, my husband is in just eighty miles away and I’m going to see him.”

Hannah dropped the dough and raised her floured hands, “Is you crazy? He can’t come home and you know it. There’s Yankees ’tween here and Vicksburg. ‘Sides, you said yo’self, Doctor Hunter done left without no explanations. You sure he wants to see you? Course, I knows he be dying to see Scotty, but …”

“Hannah,” Kathleen paid her no mind, “what’s today?”

“Why, honey, it’s the twenty-first of June. Why?”

“Because I’m going to Hunter tomorrow.”

“You ain’t doing no such of a thing. You done lost yo’ mind, I tol’ you there’s Yankees all over the roads and the river, ain’t no way you gonna be able to get to Vicksburg!”

“I am going, Hannah, I’ve made up my mind. I want you to tell Daniel to have fresh horses ready at daybreak and tell him he is going with me.”

“You jest quit that silly talk. You ain’t going nowhere, you is staying right here where you belongs! Why, you’ll be kilt if you tries to get to that city, you got a son to raise. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Hannah, I am going and nothing you can say will change my mind. I must see Hunter if only for an hour!”

Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and her black eyes flashed. “Well, ifin you insist on bein’ a fool, I’s goin with you.”

“No,” Kathleen put her hands on her mammy’s shoulders, “you can’t. You must stay here and take care of Scotty. Trying to make it through the lines could be dangerous, just as you say. If anything should happen to me, you have to be here with Scotty.”

“Oh, honey,” Hannah begged, tears stinging her eyes, “please, please don’t do this. I worry myself sick ’bout you if you tries to do this foolish thing.”

“Darling Hannah. I don’t want you to worry, but you don’t understand. I have to see my husband, he means more to me than life.”

Kathleen left her worried mammy looking after her and raised her skirts and ran up to her room. She hurried to her closet and took out a box. She threw it on the bed, opened it, and took out the bright yellow sash. A sash for Hunter, she had spent several evenings embroidering his initials in navy blue. She smoothed the long ribbon out and admired its beauty. She’d felt closer to her husband as her nimble finger lovingly stitched the letters on the new yellow material. She smiled to herself as she looked at the lovely gift. If fate were kind, within two or three days her hands would tie the sash around the middle of her dear husband. Kathleen stretched out beside the sash and let her hand run up and down its length, dreaming of the hour when she would also be touching the man for whom it was made.

Hannah left the kitchen and tearfully went to Daniel. “She done made up her mind, Daniel, ain’t nothin’ we can do. She says you is goin’ with her at daybreak.”

“Yes’m, Hannah, if that chile says we is going, then we is going.”

“Daniel,” Hannah called him back. “You is not to tell Miz Kathleen, but I wants you to get word to Big Sam, Mistah Dawson’s boat captain, that Miz Kathleen is goin to Vicksburg.”

On the night of June 24, Hunter, bone-tired, dirty and ragged, hunger knawing at his insides, walked along the breastworks alone. Unafraid of death which was now so commonplace, he strolled leisurely along the parapet, unfazed by the whizzing of the minie balls and reports of Union rifles. Constant danger from exploding parrot shells no longer made him flinch.

“Colonel, I told you before, you’re going to be hit if you are not more careful.” It was the voice of Private William Henderson, manning his post, successfully sniping at any Yankee foolish enough to give the dead-aim sharpshooter a chance to fire.

“Hello, Henderson, how’s it going tonight?” Hunter smiled to the young man from Tennessee.

“I think something must be up, Colonel. They’re too quiet to suit me.” He, too, had grown so used to the cannon’s boom and the whizzing minie balls, he hardly heard them anymore.

“Come on down and let’s visit for a while, there’ll always be more Yankees to shoot at.”

Henderson lowered his rifle and agreed, “Colonel, sometimes I think they’re over there multiplying like a bunch of rabbits,” he laughed and sat down beside Hunter.

Hunter was shocked at the change of appearance in the young man he’d met not a month before. Henderson’s slim frame was now gaunt and the tattered gray tunic he wore hung from protruding shoulder blades. The long fingers holding the rifle looked like the hands of a skeleton. The veins of the young boy’s forehead stood out prominently and his face had the pinched look of a starving man. Hunter realized he was looking at the mirror image of himself.

“Are you all right, Henderson?” Hunter asked softly.

“Well, sir, I’m awful hungry, I keep daydreaming about homemade biscuits.”

“I know what you mean, I think I’d gladly die tomorrow if I could just have one more good meal before I went,” he smiled sadly.

“Colonel, I don’t see why you didn’t have them send you to the field hospital. I’ve heard you’re a doctor, you could have had it easy. I’ve even heard they’ve got brandy up there and they eat good.”

“You’re wrong, son. Sometimes I think I’m the cowardly one for not being up there with them. I went the other day and you can’t imagine how rough they are having it. I visited a brigade hospital and the scenes I saw were a nightmare. The tents are filled with the wounded and dying and the surgeons are unbelievably brave. They operate day and night while bullets whiz past their heads and they pay no attention. The ground was filled with arms, legs, and hands that had been amputated and discarded. Men who once possessed great manly beauty are no longer recognizable, made hideous by the loss of noses and eyes or part of their faces. It was horrible, Henderson, worse than anything you could ever imagine.”

“Sorry, sir, guess I hadn’t given it a lot of thought. But I still say you’re more valuable where you are. You’re an inspiration to your men, your unfailing fearlessness and determination have kept them going through this.”

“Thanks for those kind words. Now, I guess you’d better get back to your post. By the way, Henderson, do you smell that terrible odor? Do you think it’s me or you?”

Private Henderson rose, laughing, “Sir, it’s both of us. I can’t remember the last time I had a bath, can you?”

“No, I can’t, Henderson, I really can’t.”

Thirty

Kathleen rose before sunup on June 22 and Hannah helped her dress, begging her to change her mind about going to Vicksburg. Kathleen was adamant; she was going and nothing or no one was going to stop her. While Hannah wrung her hands and cried, Kathleen went about preparing for her departure, strangely calm and hopeful.

She took little with her, but the one important thing she was intent on packing was the new bright yellow sash she had made for her husband. She also took a new box of cigars along. Ready at last, she tiptoed into her son’s room to kiss him goodbye. She considered waking him, thought better of it, leaned over and kissed him, whispering, “My darling son, I love you more than you’ll ever know and if it be God’s will I will return safely to you.” She turned and hurried from the room and down the stairs.

Daniel stood at the front gate with the horses, obedient, ready to see his mistress safely through the dangers that lay ahead. He helped her mount her horse and climbed on his. The two rode off together with Sans Souci still wrapped in darkness behind them. Hannah stood and watched them leave and said aloud, “Oh, dear Lawd in heaven, protect that chile. Send her safely back to watch that baby upstairs grow up.”

For the next two days, Daniel and Kathleen made their way north to Vicksburg, skirting details of Union soldiers, at times dismounting and hiding in the trees until they could once again mount and cover more ground. Every mile they rode brought Kathleen nearer to Hunter and with hope and determination she galloped mile after mile, never feeling the tiredness of her slim body, never considering the dangers that could lay just beyond the next bend in the road. Daniel was just as determined to see her safely to her destination and when they stopped to sleep, he laid down beside her, his old fingers curved around the trigger of his pistol, ready to shoot down anyone who might try to harm her.

With numerous odds against them, Daniel and Kathleen entered the outskirts of Vicksburg at 2
A.M.
on June 25. They made their way cautiously into town and were met by gallant Confederate soldiers, telling them it was not safe for them to be there. They should go at once to the caves under the bluffs. Kathleen explained that she had come from Natchez to see her husband and would much appreciate it if any of them could tell her where she might find him.

The daring Colonel Alexander was known to many of the men in the various regiments and she was graciously led to his tent by three helpful men from Texas. Nearing his quarters, she spoke to the young private stationed outside.

“Soldier, I’m looking for my husband, Colonel Hunter Alexander.”

“Ma’am, he’s inside his tent alone, I’ll be happy to get him for you,” Private Bell assured her.

“No,” she said, taking his arm, “Please, I want to see him alone.”

“Ma’am,” Private Bell smiled, “I’ll stand guard, you will not be disturbed.”

“Kathleen!” Hunter looked up from the table, shock and disbelief written on his gaunt features. He rose and stared at her as though she were unreal, a ghost.

“Oh, Hunter,” she cried and started towards him. Something in his tired brown eyes stopped her midway across the small tent and she stood still, clutching her hands together in front of her.

“How did you get here? Why … is … oh, my God, is it Scott? Has something happened to Scotty?” His eyes filled with fear.

“No, Hunter, he’s just fine, dear, he’s back home with Hannah, he’s safe.”

“Then, what is it? How did you get here? What do you want? Kathleen, it’s not safe, why did you come?”

“Hunter, I came because I had to. I … we … Daniel and I made it through the lines. Oh, please don’t scold me, I had to see you, I had to.”

“Why?” he said coldly, “what have we to say to each other?”

“How can you say that to me, you’re my husband! I’ve been worried sick about you.” Tears were streaming from her eyes, running down her cheeks. “I pray for you each night and you’re on my mind constantly. Hunter, I love you • and I’ve never understood how you could leave me the way you did. You must tell me, I’ve come all this way to see you, to make you tell me why you left me, why you never write to me. You owe me that much at least.”