“Private Duncan, report to your division commander immediately.”
Alex glanced down at the stockings floating in the basin of water. “Yes, sir, just as soon as I hang up my stockings, otherwise I’ll be going barefoot like the Confederate soldiers.”
The lieutenant grinned and walked away.
The private leaning against the pine tree shifted his back and looked at Alex. “Duncan, only a hulking smart mouth with a Southern accent could get by with that.”
“Washing stockings?”
“No, explaining so’s it looks like it isn’t important to be in a hurry around here.”
“Since I joined McClellan’s army, I haven’t seen anyone here in much of a hurry. Guess the lieutenant agreed, since he didn’t object.” He turned to look at the pleasant countryside. Their camp was spread along the banks of the Potomac, within sight of Harper’s Ferry. “Nearly nice enough for a picnic,” Alex said, grinning at the youth as he rinsed his stockings and draped them on one of the currant bushes surrounding their camp. He studied the effect of the black against the autumn red leaves. “Mighty nice effect, don’t you think?”
“Whole place is mighty nice if we were doing something besides fighting a war—trying to fight, that is,” he added, looking at the horses chomping the lush grass along the river. As Alex walked toward the commander’s tent, he studied the scudding clouds weighted with moisture and moving in from the Atlantic. Sighing with regret, he decided this mid-October day seemed to signal the end of autumn.
He headed for the largest tent. “Lieutenant Jacobs,” Alex saluted. Jacobs touched his cap.
“Duncan, be seated, breaks my neck looking up at you.” Jacob’s sardonic grin held as he leafed through the papers in front of him. “I need someone to carry a dispatch into Washington, thought you’d enjoy getting out of camp for a day or so.”
“Yes, sir. Telegraph down again?”
“No. What I say’ll take all night to transmit. Help yourself to the coffee and sit down.”
The man continued to write quickly. Alex studied his grim face and went to the fire for coffee.
When he sat down, Jacobs dropped his pencil and looked up. “Give it to me straight. What’s your impression of this regiment?”
Alex chewed his lip. “I haven’t been here long enough to be qualified to judge. But it seems we’re not getting anywhere, or doing anything. I’d almost rather be digging ditches.”
“I’ll remember that,” Jacobs said with a smile. “No, honestly now.”
“Sir, I’ve been in the army since the last week in September. I came in expecting to be handed a musket and told to go to it. That hasn’t happened. I’ve been sent on a few little jaunts with a piece of paper in my hand, and told to size up the road I traveled. Might be this is the way wars are run, I don’t know, but I can sure think of things I’d rather be doing. My wife is going to be having a baby next March, I’d like to see this whole situation cleared up by then.”
“Congratulations,” Jacobs grinned, “but your wife and nearly every other soldier’s wife is in the same situation. You a farmer?”
Alex shook his head, “Going back to the question. I’d read some pretty sour statements about McClellan in the newspapers. From President Lincoln on down there seems to be considerable irritation with his leadership. But here in camp I see the fellows nearly idolize him.”
“Why do you suppose that is so?”
“To tell the truth, I honestly don’t know. But in addition, I’m sensing an underlying discontent with the whole war effort.”
“They’re bored with it all,” the young lieutenant said. Tenting his fingers, he stared down at the paper in front of him.
Reluctantly, yet feeling the need to be honest with the man, Alex added, “Sir, when a bunch of fellows give up on bragging about what they did in the last battle and start questioning the right or wrong of the whole war effort, I think there’s serious trouble.”
“What do you mean? The North has never had the wild enthusiasm for fighting that we’ve seen in the Confederate army.”
“I wasn’t here when the battle of Antietam was fought,” Alex said, “but it’s been brought to my attention several times that the fellows feel absolutely nothing was accomplished by the battle. They said both the Confederate and the Federal forces are holding the same positions held before the fighting began. Sir, these fellows are saddened by the loss of life which seems unnecessary to them. Back home I saw nearly the same reaction. Six thousand men killed, seventeen thousand injured, and nothing gained. Even the Quaker farmers in rural Pennsylvania were pretty upset about the loss, and it usually takes a lot to make them speak out against authority.
“While we were gathered around the reports of the dead and wounded, we tried to add up the merits of the battle and there didn’t seem to be any. Particularly when it became known that McClellan finished the battle by refusing to track down Lee. It was even more upsetting when the final count showed the remaining Federal force was twice the size of Lee’s, and his fellows were exhausted and sick.”
Finally Jacobs spoke, “If it will help, there’s something good coming out of it all. News coming out of Great Britain indicates that Antietam sealed the question of whether Britain should support the South’s bid for recognition as an independent nation. They have closed the door on it.”
“Well, that’s certainly encouraging. I know the battle was considered a draw, but perhaps the British read something else into it.” Alex added slowly, “Something else I didn’t realize is that some of the men are tired of the war, tired to the place where they are desperate for any kind of a compromise. Not all of them feel that way,” he admitted, “but enough do, and that’s frightening. It’s bad enough to die, but to not be convinced the cause is worth dying for makes battle a travesty. In parts of the North I don’t suppose there’s ever been strong feelings for or against slavery. That doesn’t surprise me—”
Jacobs interrupted, “The war is for the purpose of saving the Union, not the slaves.”
“But now I’m wondering if the soldiers have lost confidence in the Union.”
“Why do you think this?”
“One of the subjects coming out around the campfires is that they feel they are being held back from the kind of fighting they feel is necessary for this war to be settled.”
“What kind is that?” Jacobs asked heavily.
“Fighting until the job is done; pushing until they conquer. Almost to a man they seem to feel they are being unnecessarily restrained. Sir, these fellows impress me. I think they know what they’re talking about, and I sympathize. These men want to get this war over and go home.”
“Duncan,” Jacobs said thoughtfully, “thanks for talking. You’ve confirmed things I’ve sensed and heard.” He tapped the paper in front of him. “This dispatch reflects my feelings, now they’re echoed by yours. And I heartily endorse the men’s statements. I want to see this war finished. Right now I doubt these men can continue this conflict for another year. And God help the poor Confederates, they are about the most miserable bunch of men I’ve ever seen, but they fight like nothing human. It’s as if they have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
Jacobs got to his feet, folded the paper and placed it in a leather case. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded newspaper. “This newspaper was passed on to me by an Englishman who has come to the United States for the purpose of taking our pulse. I felt the need to pass it higher. Let me read snatches to you. In this editorial, the writer says:
Great Britain sees the American war with two faces. Our aristocracy has long considered the Yankees as uncouth bumpkins, putting them on a par with the slaves. The English revere the manner of living embodied in the Southern structure, to the place where there has been a conscious effort to overlook the means by which this life is supported. Of course that is slavery, the institution the British profess to abhor.
He glanced at Alex. “There’s more in the same vein. There’s one snappy phrase I like, by a man named John Bright. He says, talking about the United States, there’s never been a country where the people have been so free and prosperous. He goes on to say Confederates ‘are the worst foes of freedom that the world has ever seen.’ Here, Duncan, take it to Washington. The name of the man who must receive this is on the inner flap.”
****
Olivia took the letter from Amos and carefully turned it over. It was Alex’s handwriting. “I can nearly hope again,” she breathed, holding it against her face for a moment.
Sadie touched her arm, “Sit down, thee will be sick with hope as thou hast been sick with worry. Now, read thy letter.”
Olivia, my dear wife. I write in haste, filled with the need to urge your continued faith and hope. I haven’t had a letter from you since the middle of October and guess the situation to be the same with you. As you can see this is written and posted from Washington. Right now it appears we’ll continue to be in the same impossible situation, sitting out the war on the banks of the Potomac. Please, don’t worry. It may be months before you hear from me again. For some reason we have a bottleneck in the outgoing mail, and I don’t know what to expect coming in. I’m well, but concerned for you…
Olivia held the paper to her face and fought to control the tears streaming down her face. Sadie came into the keeping room. Blinking at the tears, Olivia saw the concern on Sadie’s face. “I’m not ill, it’s just that—” her voice failed and she leaned against Sadie’s shoulder.
“Olivia, thee must break this tide of sadness. It isn’t healthy for thy babe. Come now and eat. Thee has scarcely had a decent meal for the past week.”
She sat up and mopped at her eyes. “Now I’m crying because it is so hopeless to send him a letter. He’s worried and I’ve no way to tell him that everything is fine. Oh, Sadie, I wonder if he has enough to eat. In the last letter he mentioned salt pork and cornbread. That doesn’t seem like much for a man as big as Alex.”
“Now Olivia, thee knows the Union feeds their men better than that. I think thee frets too much. Come, let’s take it to the Lord, and then thee can enjoy thy dinner. Since Crystal has gone east with Matthew, thee has not had the appetite thee should have for the babe.”