Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (19 page)

"I take it you already have someone in mind,"
Trumball said.

"You are correct, Lieutenant." McClellan
stopped in front of Emma. "I believe this young man here," he
motioned to Emma, "might be the very person who can permeate the
Rebel's defenses and bring us back valuable information. It stands
to reason, gentlemen, that we need to know what we are up against
before we put our men in danger, and above all, we must not risk an
outcome similar to the events at Bull Run."

Emma feared her heart would pound out of her
chest.

"I disagree, General."

All heads turned to Trumball.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

"I believe our men are well-equipped and more
than ready to face the enemy, sir. The longer we delay an attack,
the more time we're handing to the Rebels to gain more artillery
and more men of their own."

"Perhaps, Lieutenant," McClellan said, "but I
am convinced that a Union spy within their borders is paramount to
our success."

Trumball clenched his jaw.

"Now, Private Edmonds, I have given this
great thought. Considering the bravery you demonstrated against
those savages, and given your success as a courier, I am persuaded
to believe that this assignment suits you. You've proven that you
can operate under extreme duress and that you are not deterred by
cumbersome weather. In you I see a reliable, self-sufficient man
with handy skills and an untainted devotion to the Union's cause.
Am I correct in that assumption, Edmonds?"

"Yes, General." Emma ignored the buds of
perspiration coating the skin under her jacket.

"Excellent. I want you to spend the next
several days familiarizing yourself with the various names and
types of weapons that the Rebels may possess. When you infiltrate
the camp, I want you to absorb every detail. I want to know where
their ammunitions are kept, how stocked they are with supplies, the
condition of their men, relative numbers of their men, where their
pickets are stationed, and what they eat for supper. Am I making
myself clear, Edmonds?"

Emma's head spun. A spy? Alone and among the
Rebels? Surely, Emma thought, this was a suicide mission.

"Absolutely, yes, sir," Emma said. "And, sir,
how do you propose I carry this out?"

McClellan looked appalled as he turned on his
heel. "Heaven's sakes, Edmonds, didn't you just confirm how
resourceful you can be? Am I expected to outline every detail of
this assignment?"

"No, no, sir."

McClellan served her a stern look. "I could
be mistaken. Perhaps you're not appropriate for this duty."

Emma straightened. "Sir, your faith in me is
well placed."

"Good," the general said slowly. "Then let me
be clear. Excuses and failure are unacceptable. If you are tempted
or derailed by either, you may consider yourself discharged from
further service. Dishonorably discharged."

"General!" Colonel Reed thundered. "You're
being unreasonable!"

McClellan turned to him. "Am I? Seems to me
that General Scott aired a similar opinion, and need I remind you,
Colonel, how that fared for the old windbag?"

Everyone present recalled that McClellan had
been partially responsible for helping shove Winfield Scott into
retirement. Colonel Reed shook with frustration at the implication,
but he bottled the emotion in his wrinkled face.

Emma stepped up. "Sir, I'm capable and proud
to accept this mission. There won't be any problems. I'll report
back on everything I find." She felt the glare from Trumball and
knew she had probably angered her commander with such a reckless
promise.

"Fine." McClellan sounded irritated rather
than pleased. "You must be swift about it, as there's no time to
waste. If you don't report back within a week of your departure,
then I will assume that you've been captured, or worse. I don't
count the Rebels as being much different than those savages, so
there's no telling what kind of punishment you may endure as a
prisoner. Capture may be a fate worse than death."

Emma shuddered, knowing McClellan wasn't
exaggerating. Reports filtered in that newly established prisons on
both side of the Mason-Dixon Line were overcrowded, starving their
prisoners, and infested with smallpox. Furthermore, what would they
do to a captured Southern female, posing as a Union spy? Innovative
torture, Emma suspected.

"Are you sure you're willing to make that
kind of a sacrifice, Edmonds?"

She nodded firmly, although she was uncertain
who had posed the question.

"I am, sir."

Emma looked from Colonel Reed to Trumball.
She emitted a façade of confidence and hoped the fact she was
willing to take such a risk would bolster her mission with favor,
since she had no idea how she would pull it off and return to camp
alive.

****

After Emma relayed her news to Eleanor later
that night, the older woman blinked at Emma in stunned silence.

"You can't be serious," she finally said.
"For Heaven's sake how on earth are you supposed to go about
something like that? It's not as though you can hide behind every
bush and tree without detection."

"Honestly? I was hoping you might have some
suggestions." Emma stirred her cup of tea but her stomach felt too
twisted to eat or drink. "I need a way to get inside and explore
everything. Then I need to make it back here all in one piece."

Eleanor shook her head. "He's asking too
much. How can McClellan expect so much from you?"

"If I don't go I'll be discharged, and he'll
find someone else." Emma wondered if Trumball would volunteer
himself. "McClellan is trying to prove to Lincoln that he's
actually doing something besides sitting around, wasting time and
combing his hair. He considers this grand idea of his to be a
brilliant military move, and he wants control over the
mission."

"Rosemary has heard that Lincoln has
threatened to replace McClellan, he's so displeased with the
general's lack of movement."

"It may be time for Lincoln to give it
serious consideration. The encampment almost isn't big enough for
McClellan's ego. I'm not sure the men would be pleased to lose
McClellan, even though his strategies seem lethargic."

Emma sipped her tea.

"Wait, did you say Rosemary heard this?
How?"

"Oh, she picks up a great deal of gossip
whenever she's in town. She says none of the officers pay any
attention to her and talk as if she wasn't around. I suppose no one
sees a colored girl as any kind of threat."

"Hold on there." Emma froze. No stranger to
outlandish ideas, she mulled a scheme taking shape in her mind. She
stood and paced, aiding her concentration. "We might be on to
something here."

"What do you mean?"

"What if…I mean, if we could find a way…"

Eleanor reared back in her chair. "I'm almost
afraid at what might be brewing in that head of yours."

"I'm not sure, but it could work. We just
have to figure out…"

Eleanor threw up her hands. "What?"

"Is she here?"

"Who?"

"Rosemary."

The young woman joined them in the kitchen
after Eleanor called out, but she wasn't prepared for Emma's
strange behavior. She touched Rosemary's braided hair, made her
turn around, and compared their forearms.

"What on earth are you doing?" Eleanor
asked.

"This could be it! I can do this!" Emma knelt
in front of Eleanor and took both of her hands. "I can infiltrate
the Rebel camp disguised as a colored man. It's perfect! You said
so yourself, no one pays attention to them. The same would be true
at the Confederates' camp."

She jumped to her feet.

"Now we just have to figure out a way to tint
my skin."

Emma began rummaging through Eleanor's spices
and bottles while Eleanor and Rosemary traded bewildered, skeptical
faces.

****

Finding nothing in Eleanor's kitchen that
could stain her skin properly, Emma headed for the hospital tent
and the supply of iodine. Applied to wounds, Dr. Hillman and his
assistants had noted how the chemical seemed to stop the spread of
infection, yet they didn't know why. Emma was more interested in
its orange tint.

At the late hour, the hospital and its
patients were quiet. Though dysentery continued, the number of
patients that needed tended to were down. Emma worked by
candlelight, mixing the iodine with various amounts of water and
smearing it onto the back of her hand. In the dim light, she had
difficulty telling whether or not the color looked convincing.

"I hope you know what a fool thing you're
doin'."

Startled, Emma looked up and saw Trumball
across from her. At first, Emma feared he was referring to her
futile experiment. She slid her stained hand behind her back and
scrambled her brain for a quick way to get rid of him.

"You were there, Lieutenant. He threatened to
discharge me, so I don't see that I had much choice in the
matter."

"McClellan ain't got his head on straight.
He's pressured and graspin' at straws. He knows you're gonna
fail."

The remark startled Emma. "No, I don't
believe that." She ignored Trumball's dig and went on the
offensive. "Tell me something, Lieutenant, why is it that a mission
is foolhardy only when I'm involved? You've given me a hard time
since we met, and frankly, I don't know what I've done to deserve
it. No matter what I do, I never seem to be able to earn your
respect, or your trust." Emma still harbored a feeling of betrayal,
considering Trumball had never mentioned a word about his sick
wife.

"You're young, and I hate to see a young one
like you risk his neck more than needed. Isn't it enough seein' men
die in front of you almost every day?" He motioned to their
hospital surroundings. "Tell him to assign someone else."

"I won't go back on my word."

Emma and Trumball stood speechless for a
moment, their level gaze simmering with tension.

"Think of it this way, Lieutenant, at least
it's my neck I'm risking. I'd do just about anything for this
cause, and if I end up piled in one of those graves out there or
worse, well, then you'll be rid of me once and for all. Maybe then
you'll be satisfied."

"You ain't listenin' to a word I'm
sayin'."

Emma wanted to point out that she had hung on
to every word, conversation, and moment they had shared, but she
knew Trumball wouldn't, couldn't understand the depth of her absurd
feelings for him. Emma struggled to understand the feelings
herself.

"I'm going through with it," Emma said. "If
you can't support me, then it would be best for you to steer clear
of me. I have enough on my mind and I don't need your doubts making
things worse."

Emma slipped the iodine under her jacket and
walked away before the tears showed.

****

The iodine experiments failed drastically.
Not only was Emma unable to stain herself a convincing shade, but
she was also unable to keep the iodine from rubbing off onto her
clothing. With Eleanor's help she tried other methods, including
soot from the fireplace, but her options dwindled.

Complicating matters further, McClellan
insisted Emma leave the following night.

Emma began to lose hope that disguising
herself as a slave would be possible. Then she tried silver
nitrate. Used for developing photographs and healing wounds, the
compound could be made into a black mixture that bonded well with
skin. After several trials, Emma turned herself into a
'darkie'.

"This seems to do the trick." Emma stood in
Eleanor's kitchen holding out her stained forearms for approval.
"But there's another problem. My hair."

"Oh, I already thought of that." Eleanor
retrieved a wool hairpiece from her cupboard. "It looks rather
wild, but I'm sure it will do." She positioned it atop Emma's
head.

"Where did you get it?"

"I stopped by Ford's Theater. The man there
found that for me, although he admitted it wasn't the best
quality."

Emma pulled the wig on tight and moved her
head, testing to see how secure it was. Then she checked her
appearance in the hallway mirror. Frizzy, wild curls shot in every
direction. The hairpiece smelled musty and had enough dust that
could pass for lice. Emma could not recall a single laborer on her
grandfather's plantation who ever looked as awful.

"As long as it looks convincing, quality may
not matter." She wanted to sound hopeful, since Eleanor had been so
thoughtful, but Emma had no idea how to improve the wig. She felt
certain its unruly state would give her away.

Emma wiped the silver nitrate solution onto
her face to help complete the look. Both occupied, neither she nor
Eleanor noticed when Rosemary stepped into the hallway.

"Oh!" she screamed. As her hands flew to her
face, her armload of wash dropped to the floor. "Lord have
mercy!"

With her face half smeared with black, her
arms darkened and a frazzled dark wig atop her head, Emma
understood her scare. Rosemary apologized and stared at Emma with a
puzzled bewilderment.

"You know, Miss Eleanor," she said, "I must
have been senseless, thinking I could make this work."

Taking inventory of medical supplies at the
hospital that afternoon, Dr. Niles Hillman wondered if disease
alone would determine the outcome of this stalling war. Measles and
camp fever had mounted casualties during the late summer months,
but loose bowels and the shakes still presented themselves daily.
Against these enemies, Dr. Hillman battled a sense of hopelessness.
Opium and morphine were prescribed regularly, but the hand of
Providence proved to be the only determinate of survivors.
Morbidly, he hoped such trials and conditions plagued the
Confederates as well.