Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [121]
“Because I knew that the news would upset you—as it obviously has. I come here to be a comfort to you, Robert, not to make you angrier and more frustrated than you already are.”
“All right . . . all right . . .” he said, calming himself. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“There has been a second battle at Manassas—”
“At the same battlefield? Who won?”
“The Confederates did. Your General Pope underestimated the size of our forces and had to retreat—”
“Again? What’s wrong with those fools?”
I saw his anger building dangerously. With every Union defeat, it seemed as though Robert relived his own defeat and what he called his “shameful” surrender at Ball’s Bluff. I decided to pour out the rest of the news all at once and get it over with.
“The Rebels crossed the Potomac River into Maryland on September the fourth. A lot of people in that state are Rebel sympathizers, and the papers say some of them might enlist in the fight.We need more soldiers after our losses here last summer. The South is also hoping that Britain and France will support their cause, and a victory on Northern soil might finally persuade them to help us. Besides, General Lee knows that a lot of Northerners will lose heart for the war if blood is shed on their own soil this time.”
Robert’s restless frustration was painful to watch. “You have to help me get out of here,” he said. It had become his desperate, unending refrain. “Please. I want to go back and fight.”
I avoided telling Robert for as long as I dared that the Federal Arsenal at Harper’s Ferry had fallen to General Stonewall Jackson’s men. He would find out soon enough when some of the twelve thousand captured Union prisoners arrived at Libby Prison. Then, two days later, I heard about the horrific battle that had been fought at Antietam Creek outside Sharpsburg, Maryland. Sally and I went downtown to read the casualty lists, and for the first time I felt helpless disbelief when I saw what I had long dreaded seeing— my loved ones’ names.
Among those listed as killed in action was Jonathan’s older brother, Will Fletcher. His entire eight-man artillery squadron had been struck down together. And Jonathan was listed among the wounded.
Sally and I had both seen enough wounded men over the past year to expect the very worst. Even so, when the casualties from Antietam began to arrive, Sally and I rose before dawn each morning, determined to meet every train and ambulance coming into Richmond until we found Jonathan. Just as we were about to leave on our daily round of searching the second morning, Esther hurried into the foyer to tell me that her son, Josiah, had arrived at my back door bringing news. We ran outside to him.
“Where’s Jonathan? Is he all right?” I asked without a word of greeting.
Sally was right beside me. “Is he still alive?” she asked.
Josiah’s dark face was unreadable. “Massa Jonathan been shot, Missy. I’ll take you to him and you see for yourself.”
I wanted to ask about Jonathan’s injuries, but I was afraid—and not only because I dreaded the answer. Josiah still inspired fear in me, in spite of the fact that he now looked like a walking mountain of rags. His anger had always seemed barely controlled, like a banked fire that might burst into flames at the slightest breath of air. I avoided saying any more to him than I had to.
Josiah had walked up Church Hill to my house, so we decided to drive to the hospital in Sally’s carriage, which was waiting outside. Josiah climbed up beside the driver to direct him. Josiah didn’t know the name of the hospital, but it wasn’t huge Chimborazo.
By the time we pulled up in front of Winder Hospital on the city’s west side, Sally was distraught. “You go in the room first, Caroline. I can’t bear to look. I’ve seen so many mangled bodies, and if dear, sweet Jonathan looks like that . . . if he’s mutilated . . .”
“All right. Stay out in the hallway,” I told her. “I’ll go in.” I couldn’t hide my annoyance. I don’t know why she thought this was any easier for me. I had loved Jonathan since we were children.
I found