Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [112]
I longed to hold him, to comfort him, but I didn’t dare. I silently cursed the war, the stupidity and hatred that had reduced gentle Robert to such a state. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
The food trembled in Robert’s hands as he slowly began to eat. He lifted each bite to his nose first, closing his eyes and inhaling, before tasting each morsel. I knew by his appearance that he must be half-starved, but he took his time eating, allowing his shrunken stomach to adjust to food again.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Since early last November. I was part of a Federal expedition that crossed the Potomac at Ball’s Bluff, above Leesburg, Virginia. We were ordered to probe the Rebels’ defenses, but they proved stronger than we expected. The Rebs drove us back to the river, then mowed us down as we tried to get into our boats and escape.” He paused, struggling with his emotions. “I . . . I surrendered my unit rather than watch everyone die. Even so . . . I lost too many men.”
He looked down, concentrating on his food as if to distract himself. Robert had been raised in a wealthy home with the finest of table manners, but I watched him eat fish with filthy hands, then lick every precious drop of oil and juice off his fingers.
“The Rebels marched us through their lines to the rear,” he said when he could continue. “I was angry, humiliated. The war had barely begun and I was already a prisoner. They marched us double-quick, but I observed all their defenses, their reserves and artillery and gun emplacements. When the guards looked away, I hid my money, my watch, and any other valuables I owned in my clothing. I was glad I did. They found some of my money when they searched me, but not all of it. One of the Rebel guards took my haversack with all my rations, then tried to pump me for information in exchange for food and other favors. Another stole my boots and gave me his worn-out shoes to wear in their place.
“As we traveled south, more prisoners from other captured units joined us. I remember marching through one small town along a river and all the young boys came out to pelt us with stones and manure as we passed. The women jeered and spit at us. When we finally arrived in Richmond, they separated the other officers and me from the enlisted men and brought us here. I don’t know what they did with my men . . . I hope they’re being treated better than we are.”
“They’re being held on an island in the middle of the James River,” I said. “It’s called Belle Isle. You can probably see it from the windows that overlook the canal.” I didn’t tell him that he and the other officers were fortunate to be housed inside a building, that the only shelter the enlisted men had against the winter’s cold and the summer’s heat was a tent.
“I’ve watched men die in this place,” Robert said. “I’ve seen others lose their minds. It can easily happen in this hellhole where men who are ill and delirious scream all night until we wish them dead. We have no doctors, no medicine. All of us suffer from dysentery. At times I’ve been so sick with the fever and shakes that I believed I might die. I’ve often wished that I would.”
Robert had saved the corn bread for last, as if savoring it for dessert. He held it close to his chin, careful not to drop any crumbs, but when one accidentally fell to the floor he quickly snatched it up and ate it. I remembered watching the little Negro children at Hilltop do the same thing, eating off the dirt floor.
“You can’t imagine how slowly time passes here, Caroline. Every day is the same. We fight to spend a few moments at the window, just to watch the boats on the canal out front, and the traffic crossing the bridges, and the trees and fields and rolling green hills across the river. We’re not allowed to look out of the windows on the other side. The sentries shoot at us if we do.”
“It’s just as well,” I told him. “The view is only of rooftops, chimneys, warehouses, vacant lots