The first spectators at the Battle of Bull Run returned to Washington about eight o’clock. Those who had left in mid-afternoon were convinced of a victory. However, by midnight the tumult and the dust and the terror of retreat had fallen upon the city. Rumors of defeat swept through the streets.
Finally President Abraham Lincoln received those who had watched the battle. He listened in silence as he heard of the rout. He did not go to bed all night.
Clouds whirled across the face of the moon as the Union army stumbled back across Long Bridge and Chain Bridge, scampering to Washington’s safe, familiar streets. All night long they came in, most of them beaten, footsore, totally whipped. Occasionally a regiment marched in order, the men still bearing their arms with the look of soldiers.
Among them were some slightly wounded men, but more were lying strewn along the road from Fairfax Courthouse. A hospital was set up quickly in Alexandria, and the wounded were taken there in a steady stream.
MacDowell’s army flooded into Washington. The troops stood in the wet streets around smoldering fires built from boards pulled from fences. Ladies stood in the rain handing out sandwiches and coffee. Citizens sent their carriages across the river to carry injured and exhausted men into town. The newspapers began at once to criticize the army for suffering such a defeat. A mob gathered in the streets, and soldiers were sent to bring order.
Helplessly stretched in the mud, the capital awaited capture in the morning.
But no invasion came. Across Long Bridge came only the wagon trains, white-covered supply wagons, boxlike ambulances, country carts, and sutlers’ vans. By noon Tuesday, Long Bridge was solidly blocked from end to end, and the cries of the wounded could be heard above the shouts of the drivers.
The North had not been prepared for defeat, and the military hospitals, small and understaffed, were soon overflowing.
Nelson Majors was one of a small group of Confederate officers that had been brought, first, to Alexandria. Finding the hospital full of Union officers, their guards took them on into Washington. Finally a place was set aside for them by order of General Scott’s adjutant—an old warehouse, dark and dank.
There were no facilities and only a few beds. When Lieutenant Majors was brought in, he was placed on the rough blankets that had been wrapped around him on the battlefield. He lay on the hard floor, slowly becoming conscious of the sights and sounds around him.
“Where is this place?” he whispered to a Union soldier who had been set to guard the wounded prisoners.
“This is the old Capitol building, Reb,” the soldier said. “For a while it was the Capitol of the whole United States, but it’s been about everything else since then, including a prison. How you feeling?”
“I could use some water,” Majors whispered.
“Well, it’s against regulations, but you lie steady there, and I’ll get you a drink.”
Majors smiled as he thought of how useless the sentry’s care was. I couldn’t run five steps—or even one, for that matter.
Gratefully, he took the water the soldier brought, drank it, then handed the dipper back. “Thanks a lot, soldier. That was about the best drink I ever had.”
He lay there quietly fighting against the pain, from time to time slipping into unconsciousness. Mostly he thought about Tom and Jeff. But he thought also of Royal and the other boys from Kentucky his son had grown up with who were now fighting on the Union side.
Finally a doctor came by, took one look at him, and said, “Get this man on a cot.”
Hurriedly, a bed was obtained, and the lieutenant was placed on it by rough hands.
“Let me have a look at you, Lieutenant,” the doctor said. He was an older man, fifty-five or sixty, with a shock of iron-gray hair and a pair of steady gray eyes. He was rough but efficient as he pulled back Nelson Majors’s uniform and washed the wound. “That’s a pretty bad wound you’ve got there. I’m going to have to probe for that ball, you understand?”
“Do what you need to, doctor. I appreciate the care.”
His courtesy brought a sudden stare from the doctor. “I’m Dr. Cain. I have to tell you that your chances aren’t very good.” He pressed against the wound, bringing pain shooting through the lieutenant’s side. “That ball probably took some of your uniform in with it. It’s got a good chance of getting an infection, I’m afraid. But first I’ve got to get the ball out of there. Orderly …”
Jeff’s father never liked to think about the operation, for although he was partly sedated it was a painful process. He awoke some time later, confused, and stared around. He had been brought into a room where there were six other cots, all occupied.
One man looked over at him and said, “Well, Lieutenant, you’re still alive—and that’s good.”
He saw that the man wore the uniform of a captain and said, “I’m all right. How about you, Captain?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine, except for this,” he gestured down at his leg. His foot was missing.
“That’s too bad, Captain.”
“Aw, I’ll get me a cork foot and be dancing the reel before you know it. My name is Steers,” he said, “Burt Steers. Which outfit were you with?”
The two lay talking for a while. Finally, Jeff’s father felt sleepy.
“You better get all the sleep you can,” Steers said. “Anybody that goes through one of these operations needs lots of rest.” He glanced around. “No need to worry. We’re not going anywhere, and I’m not looking for any visitors. Are you?”
“No,” the lieutenant said as he dropped off into a deep sleep. “No visitors … not for me.”
* * *
“Well, you’re doing better, Ira,” Leah said with satisfaction. “As a matter of fact, it looks to me like you’re able to get out of here.”
It was two weeks after the Battle of Bull Run. Leah and her father had come regularly to visit Ira Pickens. His wound had given more trouble than he had expected, but now he looked fit. Leah sat beside him, asking how he had been.
He was sitting in a chair and had a cane that he used to walk with. She had brought him a cake that she had managed to bake, and he passed slices of it around to his companions, who devoured it eagerly.
One of them, a short, fat private from a New York regiment, grinned at Ira and gave him an obvious wink. “Wish I had a sweetheart to bring me cake like this. You got all the luck, Ira Pickens!”
Ira flushed. “Aw, it ain’t all luck. I had to work at this, didn’t I, Miss Leah?”
Leah was used to the men’s teasing Ira about her being his girlfriend, and she did nothing to dissuade them. She sat there talking, telling Ira what was going on in Washington.
When she got up to leave, he said, “You know, one of the soldiers said they’re keeping a bunch of Rebels next door. I reckon some of them are pretty bad off.”
Leah stopped at once. “Next door? You mean that big old factory of a building?”
“That’s it. The old Capitol. You can see it out the window here. Some of them get to walk around—with a guard, of course. Guess they’re wishing they were back in the South.”
“I hear they treated some of our fellows pretty rough, the Confederates did,” a soldier growled. “I’d just as soon they all die.”
Ira shook his head. “Don’t talk like that, Slim. They mean well enough. They’re just misled.”
Leah stayed for only a short while longer, then went to her father. “You know there’s a group of Rebel prisoners next to the hospital? The old Capitol building, they call it. I imagine they must be pretty lonely there. It’d be like being in jail, wouldn’t it? And wounded too.”
Her father looked at her carefully. “I expect you’re right, Leah. I’ll see what I can do about getting us a pass to go in. If you want to bake another one of your cakes, I’ll get some Bibles and tracts.”
“Do you think they’ll let us go, Pa?”
“Well, I can’t do anything but ask. But I don’t see why not.”
* * *
Lieutenant Nelson Majors had taken a turn for the worse. At first he seemed to be recovering from his operation, but, as the doctor had feared, some material from his uniform had been carried into the wound along with the bullet. The doctor had not been able to get it out. What started out as a simple fever turned out to be something much worse.
The doctor stopped by several times, and each time found this particular Confederate doing poorly. “Not much I can do for him,” he informed the male nurse in charge of the Rebel prisoners. “Keep the wound cleaned out as best you can and try to get him to eat something. You know how these things go.”
“Yes, Doctor. Three of them already died. I expect this lieutenant will be the fourth, if something doesn’t happen.”
Nelson Majors grew worse steadily so that at least half of the time he was in a strange coma—not conscious or unconscious but somewhere in between. The pain in his side was somewhat less, but the high fever that gripped him most of the time seemed to burn him up. He continually was crying for water. No matter how much he drank, it was never enough.
He awakened early one morning feeling about as bad as he had ever felt in his entire life. His side was aflame with the infection, and he was burning with fever. The guards brought him something to eat, but he only drank the water.
He drifted off into a sleep of sorts and dreamed of Kentucky—of plowing the fields there, of hunting in the hills with the dogs. He dreamed of his wife and baby. Finally, he seemed to hear a voice calling him. He licked his lips and moved his head from side to side.
“Nelson, can you hear me?” the voice said.
The wounded man slowly opened his eyes, but when they focused he saw only the outline of two figures. Blinking, he whispered, “Can I have a drink of water?”
Almost at once a cup was at his lips and hands were holding him up. He drank thirstily. “Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t you know me, Nelson?”
The lieutenant was dizzy, and the man who spoke had his back to the light.
“No, I don’t guess so,” he whispered, and then he saw a young girl beside the man. At once he gasped, “Leah!” Then he looked up at the man, who turned so the light fell on his face. He reached up his hand, saying, “Dan Carter! What in the world …”
“Don’t try to get up, Nelson,” Leah’s father said. “Me and Leah were sure surprised to see you. We came to visit the Confederate wounded, and there you were.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Oh, not too long.” His old friend looked down at him and shook his head. “Sure sorry to see you here. If I’d known, we’d have been here a long time ago.”
“No, we didn’t even know there were Confederates here, Mr. Majors,” Leah said quickly. “Are you badly hurt?”
“Bad enough, I guess. They pulled a bullet out of my side, and it hasn’t done well.”
His visitors looked at the bandage and back at his face.
“Are you getting enough to eat?” Leah asked.
“I’m not very hungry, not with this kind of fever.”
She said, “Let me bathe your face with cool water. Maybe that will help.”
Leah sought out the guard and apparently bullied him into giving her a basin of water and some cloths. She came back at once and began to bathe not only the lieutenant’s face, but, pulling back the blanket, she bathed his body with the cool water.
“That’s good,” Nelson Majors whispered. He managed to smile. “You always were one for taking care of sick things—hurt animals. I remember that coon that got its paw cut off in a trap—how you and Jeff nursed him back to health.”
“Do you remember that?” Leah said.
“Of course I do. You was always taking in some kind of stray critter.” He looked down at himself and saw how much weight he had lost. “I guess that term really applies to me—a stray critter.”
“Are Jeff and Tom all right?” Leah asked, continuing to bathe his heated flesh.
A troubled look came into Nelson Majors’s eyes. “I can’t find out anything. I’ve been too sick to move.” Eagerly he looked up. “Maybe you could find out for me, Leah. Could you write for me?”
“Why, I’ll do that,” Leah said quickly. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“It was in the battle. They were all right when I left, but I got ahead and then got cut off. Then I got hit and don’t remember much after that.”
“Don’t worry,” Leah said. “Now that I know you’re here, I’ll be in every day. I’ll bring you something good to eat, and you’ll be well soon. You’ll see!”
* * *
Leah was as good as her word. For the next week, she was at the prison hospital every day. At first the administrator, a young major, was reluctant to admit her, but finally she wore his resistance down, and he threw up his hands. “Well, all right. Go ahead and do what you can for him. We’ll have to make sure you don’t let any of them escape.”
Leah smiled up at him. “Thank you, Major. God bless you for your kindness.”
This brought a flush to the young man’s face, and he seemed not to know how to answer her.
At once Leah wrote a letter to Nelson Majors’s commanding officer and posted it. However, she had been told that the mails were slow, especially those crossing the enemy lines, and she warned Jeff’s father not to expect a quick reply.
“I just pray that they’re all right,” he said. He smiled as, sitting in the chair beside him, she fed him the broth that she had brought. “I bet you never thought you’d have me for a patient, did you, Leah?”
“I’m glad that I’m here to help.” When she finished, she sat back and began to speak of Esther. “She’s a darling child, Mr. Majors,” she said. “One of the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen. And such a good baby too.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for you and your family, Leah.” He gave her another look. “It’s a good thing you and Jeff are such good friends, or I never would have had that kind of help.”
Two days later, Leah came in, her face beaming. “I have a letter from home,” she said. “Esther is fine. Let me read it to you.”
She read aloud the letter from her mother, and when she had finished she said, “Now you see the baby is fine, and I know that Tom and Jeff are going to be fine too.”
Nelson Majors had lain quietly listening to the news. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to be a father to Esther. It’ll be hard with this war on.”
“It’ll be all right. The war will end, and you’ll have Esther back again—and Jeff and Tom too.”
He looked at her fondly. “You’re a fine girl, Leah. I thank God for you and the help you’ve been to me.” Then he smiled and said, “I guess you Carters get pretty tired of taking care of us Majorses, don’t you?”
Leah looked up. “No,” she said quickly, “we never get tired of that.”
“You’re growing up real fast. It seems only a week or two ago that you and Jeff were just small children playing under the wagon. Those were good days, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were,” Leah whispered. Then she leaned forward and patted his arm. “And they’ll come again—don’t you worry about it. Jeff and I may be too old to play under a wagon, but we’ll be together again, and you’ll be with Esther, and maybe some day Tom and Sarah will be together too.”
“I’m glad you feel like that—always thinking things will end right. I hope you always do, Leah,” Lieutenant Majors said. Then weariness seemed to come upon him, he closed his eyes, and he dropped off to sleep.
Leah arranged the blanket around him, then sat back thinking of those days when she and Jeff had played under a wagon and gone hunting for birds’ eggs—and the thousand-and-one times they had wandered through the hills together.
“I wish it were now,” she whispered. “I wish that Jeff and I could do those things right now!”