Chapter Twenty
One afternoon in mid-February, Sherwood entered the barracks and rolled onto his bunk next to David.
“I jist got word that purt near five hundred sick inmates who were paroled to Baltimore.”
“Why’d they git paroled?” David asked. “Did they take the oath?”
“No. One of the guards said it was because there weren’t enough foodstuffs, clothes, and medicine. He said some of those fellers died on the way because the train ride took a day and a half instead of takin’ fifteen hours like it should have.”
“That’s right awful,” David said, shaking his head.
The inmates were called out for role. Once this was completed, guards distributed new clothing and blankets to each of the prisoners.
“Gentlemen,” Colonel Hoffman said. “General Sherman has reclaimed Fort Sumter.”
Some of the Rebels moaned, while others stood silently. They knew the fort was where the first shots of the war had been fired.
After they were released to their barracks, many of the wards expressed hope that the South might reign victorious somehow. David knew the Confederacy was dying, but he was so cold and tired he didn’t care. All he wanted was for the war to end so he could return to Anna.
A few days later, the men held a “dance,” where some of them were designated as “female” partners by tying white handkerchiefs around their arms. Too embarrassed to participate, David laughed at the other men’s antics. He watched them dance to the accompaniment of an inmate’s fiddle. They enthusiastically welcomed relief from their boredom and despair, if only for a few hours.
On the evening of February 20, fireworks flashed in the night sky, startling the inmates.
“What in tarnation,” Sherwood said.
“Go find out what all the ruckus is about,” said Henry.
Sherwood sauntered over to one of the sentries and returned shortly. “He says the Yankees are holdin’ a winter festival. Can you believe that?”
“You mean Elmira folks are celebratin’ while we’re penned up and sufferin’ in here?” asked Henry. “They’re starvin’ us and lettin’ us freeze to death.”
David said nothing, but his stomach lurched at the thought of it. Hershel might still have been alive if he had received proper care. The thought made him nauseated.
With the advent of March, the weather finally began to break, as did the men’s monotony. Even so, they still longed to return home to Dixie.
Elmira was now a city all its own within the stockade walls. Inmates existed as four distinct classes: the professionals, the middle class, which consisted of skilled and self-employed laborers, the hunters, and the scavengers. Because David had displayed his prowess at wood carving, he was considered to be part of the middle class.
One drizzly afternoon, he walked through the muck in search of discarded wood pieces. Making his way toward the center of camp, he came upon the marketplace. He’d heard how inmates had created a thriving business out of bartering, but this was the first time he saw it for himself. Most of the men in the market traded tobacco quids for clothing, as well as for fruits, vegetables, and uneaten portions of meat that were originally intended for those who were now too sick to eat.
Vendors had erected shops made of old pine boxes with signs promoting their wares: “Slice of bread 5 chews,” and “Shoes mended for tobacco.” Where a few striped poles had been sunk into the muddy earth, amateur barbers advertised their tonsorial expertise—a haircut in exchange for ten chews and a shave for five.
David saw tables of dead rats also being used for barter. Men traded “Chemung Valley” rats they had trapped in buildings or captured near Foster’s Pond. He observed that one rat was equal trade for a loaf of bread, a shave, or five quid. A few men sold dressed rats ready for consumption, displaying them on tin plates and boards. Some of the Rebels ate these “Chinese delicacies,” but David was too repulsed to indulge himself, although he was told they tasted like squirrels. He’d seen how some convicts roasted them over fire pits dug alongside Foster’s Pond, and others used the skins to make gloves.
The air was alive with the voices of hollering men as they bought, sold, and bargained. A strange combination of sounds from handmade musical instruments mixed in with the din. David watched one ward try to sell a violin constructed from a cracker box and string. The man demonstrated the scratchy sound it produced to potential buyers. Notes created by a fife and drum melodically floated in and out amongst the commotion. An inmate walked by juggling oranges with an idiotic grin on his face. He reminded David of a court jester.
Some fever-inflicted prisoners wandered aimlessly, complaining about their hunger. A few were naked or blind. Others suffered from lockjaw, and all were disoriented, waiting for death to finally take them. One man repeatedly lost his balance because his wobbly legs were too weak to hold him. He stood back up with a ghastly grin on his taut face in an effort to bravely bear his condition.
Continuing on through the market, David noticed several Rebels scrounging in the quagmire, searching for previously chewed or discarded bits of tobacco to barter with. He saw one man enthusiastically draw the entire scene in pencil, and watched over the artist’s shoulder, complimenting him on how his picture was so lifelike.
“I’ll include you if you’d like,” the man offered, gesturing toward his painting.
David smiled. “No thanks.”
He continued on, noticing men who were enthralled with creating their own works of art to sell to other inmates, or more likely, to the fascinated residents of Elmira. He’d heard that some of their creative endeavors were displayed outside the front gate in a glass case. Their artistic designs included horsehair watch chains, broaches, silver finger rings made of gutta percha buttons, bone toothpicks, thimbles, pine fans, goblets, parasols, and canes.
David could only observe without purchasing anything, since he’d already spent the five dollars Amos had credited him for food, paper, envelopes, postage, and a pencil. When he finally grew tired of watching the tumult, he returned to his barracks and busied himself by creating another carving from one of the wood pieces he had found.
A few days later, he decided to explore one of the few minor benefits that had recently been provided in camp. Walking into the library, he saw newspapers, magazines, playbills, and outdated books available. David read in an old newspaper that when Dorethea Dix, the superintendent of Union army nurses, had visited last October, she was blatantly misinformed, stating in her report to the Sanitary Commission that the inmates were well cared for.
The Yankees also set up a school. The ladies of Elmira donated paper, slates, chalk, and pencils. David received some instruction and discovered that his spelling left something to be desired.
He was told that French classes were being offered, so he convinced himself to attend. The heavily-bearded instructor was a fellow prisoner who had fought for Virginia but was originally from France. His heritage became obvious the moment he began talking, and his thick accent interfered with his English speech, making it almost indistinguishable. David eventually learned to understand him, but the French language was difficult for him. After a week’s time, he could only remember a few phrases. He constantly practiced them on his bunkmates, repeating the phrases like a parrot.
“Bonsoir. Parlais-vous français? S’il vous plait. Oui, oui. Merçi beaucoup. Au revoir.”
His bunkmates merely ignored him.
As the weather improved, the crime rate increased. David saw men wearing barrel shirts who were paraded around camp by armed sentinels. The criminals’ offenses were labeled on thin boards and hung from their necks. “I am a thief,” “I am a liar,” “I got drunk,” and the loathsome “I stole from my messmate,” announced to the entire camp the perpetrators’ misdeeds.
The most interesting one read “I ate a dog.” David’s curiosity compelled him to find out more. After investigating, he discovered that a wood-hauler’s dog had followed the man into camp, where it had immediately fallen victim to several hungry Rebels. They hid the carcass until nightfall. When they proceeded to devour it, they were discovered by an oath-taker, who alerted the guards.
David saw other offenders who were bucked, or gagged with wooden blocks tied so tight into their mouths that the corners of their mouths split. Some were hung up by their thumbs or forced into a sweat box that stood near the officers’ quarters as a reminder to all the captives. The box was seven feet high, twenty inches wide, and a foot deep. When the door was closed on the unlucky occupant, it was cranked tight, forcing the man inside to sweat profusely and lose his breath. David learned that these techniques were also used on Yankee soldiers for disciplinary punishment when they returned from drinking binges or from frequenting one of the many brothels that had sprung up in Elmira.
Over the course of his four-month incarceration, David knew which officers to avoid. Most were gentlemen, but a few were tyrants. He recalled how Hershel had described each one. “Watch out for that cantankerous “Old Peg Leg” Major Beall,” he had said. “And Captain Borden. He might look like a fair-haired boy with a puny li’l mustache on his lip, but he’s really a brute who’ll knock men’s teeth out if’n he gits the chance. Lieutenant McConnell seems right nice and cordial, but he’s jist as bad as Borden. And his protégé, Lieutenant Richmond, will beat you with a tongue lashin’.”
Although David earned enough credit to buy fruits or vegetables occasionally, he was still half-starved. But because his bunkmates were without much talent, they were therefore unable to earn enough for food, so he generously shared what he purchased from the sutler. Besides selling his carvings for money or tradable items, he also wrote letters for the illiterates, just as he had done while serving in the cavalry.
He observed men around camp scrounge for scraps of meat, vegetables, or anything else they could consume. They rummaged through the discarded grease barrels behind the kitchen, crawled under the cookhouses to get at the drainage from the hopper, and even went through the dishwater thrown out behind the officers’ quarters. It wasn’t uncommon to see scavengers eat apple peelings left in the mud or beg other inmates for scraps of their meals. Several starving men besieged the bone cart, begging for a remnant to chew on. David found himself, along with his bunkmates, sucking out marrow more than once in an attempt to pacify his hunger. He would eat the bones like a dog if he could. Hunger drove the men to do things they normally wouldn’t even consider.
One morning, after the inmates were fed bread and salt pork for breakfast, he saw a man throw up from eating the spoiled meat. Another picked the chunks from the vomit, carried it to his fire, cooked, and ate it. David was so repulsed he nearly threw up himself. It took him hours to get over what he’d seen. A few days later, he noticed a skinny Rebel behind the hospital wards, digging around in discarded bandages. The man extracted one from the pile and scraped the poultice clean before sticking it in his mouth. David could do nothing but grimace and quickly walk away.
Unfortunately, Henry Matthews took ill and now resided in one of the overcrowded hospital wards. David dreaded the place so much that he couldn’t bring himself to go inside for a visit. The image of the field hospital he had wandered through in search of Jake was still too vivid and painful. Surgeons doled out opium and blue mass as cure-alls, but men still continued to expire at an alarming rate. He decided all doctors were useless quacks, unable to heal the sick like they claimed.
“They’re exchangin’ five hundred more,” Sherwood told him one day in mid-March. “They can’t figure out how to cure ‘em, so they’re shippin’ ‘em out.”
“At least they’re escapin’ Hellmira,” David said. “And they’ll be far away from those meddlin’, good-for-nothin’ doctors and their worthless occupation.”
A few days later, one of the guards went about the barracks distributing mail. This time, to David’s amazement, his name was called. He bounded from his bunk to claim the opened package the guard held out to him. Looking down at the bundle stamped “Prison Letter Examined,” he peeled it open to find a shirt, a pair of trousers, socks, drawers, and a letter. Returning to his bunk, he changed quickly, eager to shed the parasite-infested clothing he had been wearing for months. Ridding himself of his old garb was only a temporary remedy from the varmints that constantly crawled all over him and bit him relentlessly, but he was glad for the reprieve. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the lice found his new garments. Picking up the letter, he sat down and began to read it.
Dear Brother,
Ma was so very happy to hear from you, as were Josie and I. She requested that I write since she is too emotional to do so herself. We received your letter that J.A.K. was killed at Chancellors Ville and are all still mourning the loss. C.M.C. has asked that I send her regards to you and wants me to write that she looks forward to your return home. Dear David, we are all so happy you are well even though you are now being held captive. It has been so long since we heard any news from you. The Union soldiers have been in Huntsville since December, but so far our farm has suffered little. They did come and take Joe Boy though, along with several hogs, chickens, and most of the corn in the crib. Still, they were cordial enough to leave some for us. My heart is filled with joy and song to know that you remain among the living. Please write and tell us if there is anything you need that we may provide. We await your next letter with warm anticipation.
Your loving sister,
Rena
Tears streamed down his face as he read and reread the letter. Embarrassed, he glanced around, noticing that several other inmates were reading letters and reacting the same way. One man laughed and cried simultaneously. David clenched his teeth while squeezing his eyes shut, for the pain of his nostalgia was too much to bear. His heart ached to see them again, and it saddened him that his mother was too distraught to even write. He hoped her health wasn’t failing. Lying back on his bunk, he thought of his beloved home and family, and wondered how they could possibly get the crops in without their dependable workhorse, Joe Boy. He was sure Callie had read his letter. She knew he was alive now too, and that Jake was dead. Overcome with grief, he quietly sobbed.
Spring freshets poured down unyieldingly, and on March 16, the heavens burst into a flood. Barracks #3 was quickly filled with water. Throughout the night, the Chemung River rose at an alarming rate.
“I never thought I’d go out like this,” one of the men commented. “Like a drowned rat.”
“The river might flood over into Foster’s Pond,” another said. “And then we’ll all be done for.”
Regardless of their peril, the inmates slept. At 1:00 a.m., they were roused from their slumber.
“Get up, men,” one of the guards hollered. “We need you to save the hospital victims who are trapped between Foster’s Pond and the river.”
The inmates constructed rafts made of tarred lumber. Working in the pitch dark, two men at a time loaded each smallpox victim and his mattress atop a raft. David held onto the rope with several others and pulled the rafts across to higher ground. The work was so exhausting that each relay team was replaced after one trip and rewarded with whiskey.
When David’s turn came, he plunged into the icy cold water with another inmate. The two men half-swam, half-waded to the hospital. Once inside, David found his suffering bunkmate, who recognized him.
“Summers,” he beseeched. “I don’t want Registered Enemy on my headboard. Make sure you tell them my true name.”
“I will, Matthews,” he promised.
They placed him onto the raft and made their way back. Arriving at the barracks, the guards took Henry away and gave David and his partner a shot of whiskey. After he swallowed the burning fluid, it occurred to David that today was St. Patrick’s Day. Remembering his good friend, a profound emptiness filled his heart.
As the inmates brought across the last smallpox victim, the Chemung River swept away a portion of the stockade wall with a loud creak and splash. David made his way through the waist-high water and saw a Union officer.
“That man we jist rescued isn’t really named Registered Enemy,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? What is it, then?”
“Henry Matthews.”
“I’ll let them know.”
The officer motioned for him to continue on. David entered his assigned building to see the shed had filled with four feet of icy water, and the men inside were crowded into the upper two bunks. Throughout the night, he shivered in his wet clothes, wondering if he should have kept his old ones instead of burning them. He occasionally glanced around, observing the other men, who stared in silence at the murky water below, waiting to see if the rising flood would wash over and drown them while they slept.
Throughout the next day, Yankees in rowboats floated in and out of the barracks distributing food to the inmates, who were trapped like treed possums. On the following day, the water receded faster than it had risen, and smallpox patients were returned to the hospitals. The flood left behind mud, dead fish, and broken buildings. It took away a portion of the stockade, and the gap had to be guarded by numerous sentries.
“Let’s clean up this mess,” said one man.
The others set to work and spent most of the night cleaning stench-absorbed mud out of their bunks before returning to restless slumber.
David sloshed through the debris to the library the next morning. Taking a seat at one of the tables, he read in the Elmira Gazette that the entire Chemung Valley had been submerged. “The Saint Patrick’s Day Flood” was the worst the area had ever seen. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was God’s way of trying to wash away the terrible suffering that was taking place within the prison’s walls. For the first time in a long time, he prayed for salvation, forgiveness, and the opportunity to see his darling wife again. He missed her so much that the ache in his heart nearly choked him.
Anna had stopped crying incessantly, but she still experienced frequent bouts of depression. When she received his letter, she cried with joy. Eagerly, she tore it open and started reading.
“What does it say, dear?” Sarah asked.
“He’s fine, Aunt Sarah. He’s fine.” She laughed and cried simultaneously.
“Is there a date on it anywhere?” asked Maggie. “So we know when it was sent?”
Anna wiped away her tears and flipped the envelope over in her hand. “No, I don’t see one. All I know is he wrote it on Christmas Day.”
Maggie frowned. “That was months ago.”
“At least we know he’s fine,” said Sarah. “The war will be over soon, and he’ll come back to us.”
“Oh, Aunt Sarah,” Anna said. “This is wonderful.”
She giggled and ran upstairs to her room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she read the letter over and over until it was forged into her memory. In her heart, she knew he would return to her. She willed him to do so. But instead, Stephen appeared at her doorstep later that afternoon. Repulsed, she kissed the letter, reluctantly set it on the bed, and went downstairs to receive him.
“Hello, Stephen,” she greeted him dryly.
He smiled in return. “Hello, my darling,” he said. “Accompany me for a ride.”
“A ride?” she asked. She couldn’t believe it. He was behaving as if nothing had happened, which sickened her.
Reaching out, he took her hand and led her outside. She saw his horse hitched to her buggy—the same buggy David and Patrick had built for her. The same one she had ridden in on her wedding day with her beloved.
She stopped and muttered, “I’m not feeling up to going for a ride.”
“Now Anna, don’t be foolish,” he responded. “The fresh air will do you good.”
Wanting to lash out at him, she decided to submit to his wish instead. She knew it would do her no good to resist. He helped her onto the seat, climbed in beside her, and tapped the horse’s withers with a riding stick. The buggy started down the lane. Anna glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was speaking, but it was like he was in a wind storm, for she couldn’t hear a word. All she could think of was the day David had presented the buggy to her and had been sitting in the very spot Stephen now occupied. Her anger seethed; and by the time they reached the road, it erupted.
“Stephen, stop!”
He pulled the buggy to a halt. “What is it?” he inquired.
“I’m cold. Please take me back home.”
Frowning at her, he sighed. “As you wish.”
He turned the buggy around, and they rode back in awkward silence. She couldn’t wait to distance herself from him and berated herself for accepting his offer in the first place. Once they returned, she stepped out without waiting for his assistance and headed toward the back door. Running to catch up to her, he abruptly grasped hold of her arm.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“I don’t want to see it,” she said. “And I don’t want to talk about the war. I know it will end soon. I’ve been keeping up with the news. What I do want to talk about is why you hurt me so deeply as to take away my cousin and send him to a prison camp.”
“It’s as you said, my dear. There is a war going on. I had to have him arrested to protect you. For all I know, he was using you to steal the farm from you.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Ever since Father died, all you’ve talked about is merging our farms. I thought we were friends, but you’ve acted like all you care about is obtaining more wealth.”
“I want to secure a future for us, Anna. You know I would never take advantage of you. I want what’s best for you. For both of us.” Firmly taking her hand, he led her through the mud to the front of the house and up onto the front porch.
“Tell me the truth, Anna. Did you know Summers was a Confederate? Did you aid in his recovery?”
She gawked at him. “What are you implying?”
“He tricked you, didn’t he? He convinced you he was a relative, and you believed him and nursed him back to health, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Stephen. Don’t be ridiculous.” she forced a chuckle.
“Anna, was he given the opportunity to take possession of your father’s farm?” Stephen asked.
Anna glared at him. Her anger and resentment swelled, but she could only shake her head in disbelief, revolted by his pompousness.
“That’s good,” he said. “I want you to look at this.” He swept his arm out, gesturing toward his family’s farmland. “All of this will be ours someday.” He turned toward her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to be my wife. We will have a very good life together, and I can provide you with anything your heart desires. We’ve known each other for so long already that we should be bound together as man and wife.”
Anna stared at him, wide-eyed. “What are you saying?”
He smiled widely, his white teeth glistening in the pale sunlight. “I’m proposing, Anna. Say yes,” he said with a chuckle.
Pulling her hands from his grasp, she said softly, “Oh, Stephen,” and turned away. “I—don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve already told you what to say, so say it,” he commanded, his voice deepening.
She turned back to face him. “No,” she stated bluntly. “I mean, not now. I want to wait until the war is over.” She felt like her knees would buckle. If only David was here to save me from this madness.
“Why?”
“Because then David will be out of prison.”
Stephen snorted. “He’s not coming back here.”
“What do you mean? You told me the prisoners were well cared for. Were you lying to me?”
“Of course not, my dear.”
She knew by the look in his eyes that he was, indeed, lying.
“What I meant was that I made him promise not to come back. It would cause too much upheaval, after all is said and done.”
She glowered at him. “You made him promise? He would never agree to that.”
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” Stephen snarled. “I want us to be married right away.”
“I told you. I won’t marry you until after the war is over. Because—then Uncle Bill will be here for the wedding.”
He contemplated that for a moment. “I don’t know if he would approve.”
“Honestly, Stephen,” she sighed. “I need someone to walk me down the aisle.” David will certainly be back by then, she thought and smiled.
He felt his resistance wane. With a scowl, he said, “Then you leave me no choice but to wait.”
Drawing closer, he attempted to kiss her, but she quickly turned her face away.
“Stephen, I’m cold. Please put the buggy back in the barn.”
She made her escape and went inside. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, catching her breath. She listened to his boots clunk along the porch and down the steps, and recalled the words he had chosen to propose. Not once did he mention happiness. Or love.
When he finally untied his horse and rode off, she went outside to wipe down the buggy, wishing he hadn’t touched it. She looked out at the pasture to see Renegade standing at the edge of the lane, staring off down the road like he always did, waiting for his master’s return. Anna sadly shook her head as she watched him. She could barely get him to eat. Day after day, he pranced up and down the length of the pasture.
Returning to the house, she went up to her room and gazed at her wedding portrait. She picked it up and kissed his face. There was no way in all of God’s creation that she would ever consent to marrying anyone else. Her heart belonged to only one man. She prayed that he would survive. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she read his letter again, smiling through her tears, and made her decision.