Mike had just taken his gunboat out of the Cairo harbor when Lieutenant Parker came into the pilothouse. “Head for Paducah. We want to check out Fort Anderson. Just had contact with Bradford from Fort Pillow. Reconnaissance indicates Confederate forces from General Forrest’s guerrilla band are moving around the Mississippi states. It worries me. Forrest appears aware that only token forces hold the forts down the Mississippi. Guess everyone knows General Grant is gearing up for the campaign in the East.”
Mike nodded. “It’s kinda lonesome with him gone and General Sherman stuck on the far edge of Tennessee. I suppose he’s still there.”
“I believe so,” Parker said. “Haven’t heard news from Chattanooga for some time. Sherman’s about taken out all the rail lines across Tennessee, as well as the lines north of Memphis. He may have ripped up the tracks going into Atlanta by now.”
He went to the window and picked up the field glasses. “We’re to patrol these forts. Haven’t enough gunboats on the river to stay in any one location very long.”
Turning to Mike, he said, “How you doing on that leg?”
“Still a little sore. But it’s easier to get around now that I have this fancy peg with a foot on the end.”
Parker glanced out the window. “I have a feeling things are going to be rough up and down the river this spring and summer. The whole war is changing character. I’ve a hunch the South is getting desperate.”
“How so?”
“Guerilla activity has stepped up. That tells me Grant’s activities in the East have the Confederates concerned.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Lack of food—not only for the people but for the army. The Confederate Army relied on Tennessee for pork. With the tracks torn up and Sherman plugging the roads, they’re suffering for supplies.”
“I heard Sherman’s hit Jackson, Mississippi again, for the third time.”
“That’s so. I suppose you’ve also learned that he’s ruined it this time. One of the fellows told me Sherman sacked the city. They’re calling the place Chimneyville. All the furniture—even baby beds—clothing, and books were stacked and burned in the streets. Sherman’s men lined the street to control the people while their homes and belongings were torched. It’s a shame.”
“Makes a person sick,” Mike muttered. “War is ugly, but I think it’s getting worse all the time.”
“I just hope General Brayman has enough men to hold all these places down the Mississippi.”
“What’s his force?”
“Not even twenty-four hundred men. Three fourths of them are Negro, which makes me uneasy.” He shot a quick glance at Mike. “Not because they aren’t good fighters, but because of the way the South has handled Negro prisoners.”
“He doesn’t have many men there.”
“General Hulbut has furloughed his veteran soldiers by order of the War Department. Mighty thoughtful move, but the general has let us know he can’t send us a man from Memphis. He has a skeleton crew. Meanwhile, General Brayman is keeping busy shuffling his men from one hot spot to another, trying to pin Forrest down.”
“Paducah coming up, sir.”
“Let’s take it in. I see there’s another one of our gunboats in port. That surprises me.” Abruptly Parker lifted his glasses. “Looks like there might be a problem,” he said. “Let’s keep our distance until we see what’s going on.”
Mike hit the gong twice.
“There’s an officer on deck, can you hear him?”
“Yes,” Mike said slowly. “He’s calling for the women and children to come down to the boats.”
“I’m going below.” Parker dashed for the stairs.
Mike moved to the window and watched the crowd of townspeople walking toward the wharf. Mike had just spotted the gray uniforms among the people when the Confederates opened fire. Unable to believe his eyes, he murmured, “It’s got to be Forrest.”
Herding the people ahead of them, with guns directed toward the two gunboats, the Rebel guerrillas shoved the women around like shields as they blazed their way toward the gunboat. A movement inland caught Mike’s attention. A flag of truce was raised at the fort.
While he studied the scene, a bullet shattered the side window and Mike dropped. When he came up he saw the gunboat retreating from the harbor. He jumped to hit the gong and the bell, muttering, “Reverse it!” Rushing to the window he watched. “Parker, why don’t you fire?”
One look gave his answer. “People. There’s not a shot we can take without hitting some of those people.”
A detachment of soldiers, both Negro and white, broke away from the fort and streamed toward the water. The air was filled with the shout, “No quarter, no quarter!”
Feeling totally helpless, Mike clenched his fists and watched soldiers being chased down to the river. Again came the volley of musket fire. One after another the soldiers fell into the water as they were shot. Beyond the line of trees, Mike could see flames spreading, mounting high.
Parker came into the pilothouse, his face ashen. “They’re holding us off. We dare not fire; they’re using the women and children as shields. God help us! This is butchery.”
The following day Parker came into the pilothouse. “We’ve been given permission to land for the purpose of burying the dead and rescuing the wounded. It appears that Forrest has done his evil and run. Take us in.”
The sailor who met them stated flatly, “The streets look like a battlefield, only this time the slain are children and women.”
****
On April 12th, Mike took the gunboat into the harbor at Fort Pillow, a small fort sixty-five miles above Memphis. From the harbor Mike could see the fort situated on a bluff overlooking the river.
Bringing the boat in, Mike decided the scene was as peaceful as a medieval castle. He noticed the fall of thick brush down the side of the hill, and the small village tucked in a ravine at the foot of the bluff.
Parker stood beside Mike, holding his glasses on the fort. As they approached the harbor Mike saw him stiffen. Parker ran for the stairs, yelling, “It’s Forrest again. Man the guns.”
Until nearly mid-afternoon the gunboat fired on the Rebel guerrillas with little effect. Mike watched from the wheel as he stood ready to move the boat into a new position.
At last Parker came to the pilothouse. “Forrest just sent in a flag of truce. We’ll have to wait and see what develops.”
Mike pointed to the trees. “It might a flag of truce, but it seems to me the Rebs are continuing to push the line to their advantage. Look at them moving up there.”
As he spoke, unarmed men leaped over the enclosure and streamed down the hill toward the gunboat. Mike groaned as he watched. “White soldiers and Negroes,” he muttered. “They don’t stand a chance!”
Helplessly they watched the guerrillas’ pursuit. Mike turned away. “They’re violating their own flag.”
“I’ve heard Forrest is as slippery as an eel, a hit-and-run raider,” Parker groaned. “There’s not a thing we can do for them.”
“Why aren’t the Rebs honoring their own truce!”
Parker rounded on him, “So we should be lawbreakers, too?” His voice gentled. “I’d be tempted, but we don’t have arms or men to fight.”
****
During the weeks that followed, Mike found himself unable to keep his thoughts away from the scenes of slaughter. The thunder of artillery and cries of agony echoed through his mind. He saw Paducah, its women and children slain in the streets, and defenseless men streaming down the hillside with the raiders gaining ground.
Numb with the memories, he continued to handle the gunboat as Parker ordered them downriver. At Vicksburg, the Stars and Stripes flew above the harbor. Natchez was peaceful. The late spring was pleasant on the river, and finally the horror released its grip and he began to relax.
Parker came in one morning, looked at Mike and grinned, “You’re starting to act as if you like life. We should be in Cairo in another two weeks, Mike. Sounds like the whole crew will be given furlough. Think that’ll work into your schedule?”
Mike chuckled. “You mean sleeping all night without expecting that gong in my ear? I suppose I can find something to do.”
After Parker left the pilothouse, Mike thought of the Coopers and their serene Pennsylvania home…and Beth. It was the new Beth who held his attention. Why is there this constant, unrelenting need to see her? Just in time he saw a snag in the river and jerked the wheel.
Surrender, Mike. Pray for guidance. The Lord knows the direction your thoughts are going.
“Here I go again, Lord. It’s Beth. I need to surrender her again, huh? It’s not Your will that—” He stopped and begin to think. Slowly he began to put the clamoring thoughts into words. “Lord, I’ve been fearful to even think about her. It’s like a sore tooth I shy away from. Now I wonder—dare I think You are trying to tell me something more? Have I failed to be open to the possibility of something good? If You want to talk to me about Beth, please don’t let me make a mistake.”
Mike began to grin and to whistle as he thought about Beth. Finally he chuckled aloud. “Mike, are you getting the message? You asked the Lord to wash Beth right out of your mind, since He didn’t want you to marry her. How come the desire is growing?” Hastily he added, “Lord, is it possible I’m starting to go a direction You don’t want me to go?”
The grin faded away and Mike lined up the facts. Beth didn’t seem to mind having you around, in fact she wanted to go help you find a wooden leg. Maybe she won’t mind if you have a wooden leg.
“Might be a good idea to talk to Sadie,” he muttered.
Mike took the gunboat into Cairo. Shouldering his pack, he signed out on a thirty-day furlough.
As the train wound through Ohio, Mike discovered that the air was sweet with spring. Along the river, the Pennsylvania farm country was fragrant with meadow grass and apple blossoms. The water still gurgled through Amos Cooper’s pasture, and Sadie’s kitchen was still scented with fresh bread.
Slowly he walked up the steps and stood in the farmhouse doorway. The clock on the parlor mantle struck deep mellow notes and the peace of the whole countryside seemed to slip through the house. He looked at the pine-and-white plaster walls, the hand-braided rugs mellowed into pastels, the old rocking chair, Sadie’s knitting lying forgotten on the hearth.
The pain in his chest reminded him it was all a scene from a moment past, a never-to-be-forgotten time, but also a stepping stone into a future that must be shaped—perhaps for a son of his own. The thought gave him courage and he called, “Sadie!”
She came out of the kitchen her arms opened. “Lad, thou art as fine-honed as it’s possible to be and still have flesh on thee. Come have some fresh buttermilk and a slice of warm bread.”
He sat at the kitchen table and asked, “Are any of the others here?”
“No. I’ve had a good letter from Olivia since thee hast been gone. Alex is home. He’s alive; ’twas but a tragic mix-up. My, we are grateful and happy.
“Alex will be going back into the army soon. Crystal and Matthew are together in Washington.”
“And Beth?”
Sadie looked into his eyes and began to smile. “Thou always hast her name on thy lips. Why?”
In that place, surrounded with sunshine, it was easy to say, “Because I love her.”
Sadie was still smiling. “Did she tell thee she hath accepted Jesus as Lord? I do believe she is growing up, and will soon become a girl worthy of thee.”
He bent over and kissed Sadie’s apple cheek. “Worthy of me? And thou, my dear lady, hast been kissing the blarney stone!”
For the first time he noticed the lines on her face, the touch of weariness in her smile. “Is Amos here?”
“Yes, we are the same. But life passes on, Mike. We will not be forever.” She sighed, “This war is hard on us; we weary ourselves in prayer, but it must be.”
He nodded. “Not be forever? Neither shall we, Beth and I.” He was silent as he thought back over the weeks just past. He looked at her and knew he couldn’t bring that horror into this home.
“War is wearying, isn’t it?” she said. “The spirit of us all is heavy with the sadness. But even with broken hearts and missing legs, we must go on. Mike, I do think the Lord expects us to spread beauty instead of ashes. It takes work to do so. Beauty comes from God; it is a gift. But like a beautiful jewel hidden away in a chest, it doth no one good unless it is brought out for all to see.” She stood up.
“Take thy bag to thy room. Amos will be here shortly.”
Mike spoke carefully. “Sadie, I hope I will not disappoint you, but I think I will stay only one day. I must see Beth.”
She smiled. “It is a long trip for just a few days, but I think it will do thee good.” She started for the kitchen and turned. “Thee might tell Beth that I mended the dress; she may wish to wear it.”
“What dress?
“The wedding dress. She nearly destroyed it, tearing it off after thou left her at the church.”
He hung his head. “Sadie, I didn’t say those things lightly. It was because of the Lord Jesus that I felt we couldn’t marry. I still do not know why He impressed that upon me. And I’m not certain it should be any different now.”
“Might it be that the Lord wanted your dear girl to grow up first? She was such a child.”
“Is she still?”
“No. She will make thee a lovely wife, Mike Clancy.”