Spring Will Come (28 page)

             
Aunt Abby smiled ruefully.  “Once again you bring me back to a position of balance, Rose.”  She paused.  “Not that I don’t have some arguments with the way the paper has handled the issue of abolitionism.  The way they idolized John Brown made me feel ill...”  She shook her head firmly.  “Enough of this kind of talk.  I want to know what happened outside of Richmond.”

             
“It was really very simple,” Matthew stated.  “McClellan was outmaneuvered by General Lee.  I’m sure there are many times Lincoln has wished he could have convinced Robert E. Lee to stay with the North. If he had, I think this war would be over.”

             
“Because he’s such a wonderful general?” Rose asked.

             
“Because he’s not afraid to take the offensive and fight!”  Matthew said.  “I don’t think McClellan thought Lee would come after him.  I believe he had convinced himself the Confederate troops would just hang around and wait for him to finish his ongoing preparations.  He simply failed to respond well when he was put on the defensive.”  Matthew shook his head in disgust.  “Most of the time fighting was going on, McClellan was sitting in his headquarters tent miles from the action.  He thought he could manage an army of over one hundred thousand man with a telegraph machine.  Toward the end he just left the army to fight on its own.”

             
“Surely not!”  Aunt Abby exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

             
“I’m afraid so.  I managed to slip down to the river and watch McClellan head up river with some of his staff to the
Galena
, a navy gunboat.  The Union army basically fought without a commanding general the last two days.  I have it on good authority that the general enjoyed a lavish spread with white linen tablecloths while thousands of his men died in the Confederates’ desperate attempt to take Malvern Hill.”

             
“Is it true the South suffered more casualties that day than the North?” Rose asked.

             
“It’s true,” Matthew affirmed.  “While McClellan retreated down to the James River, a large portion of the army bunkered down on Malvern Hill.  The position was virtually impregnable.  I have talked to men who said that day was not a battle.  It was a wholesale slaughter of Rebel soldiers.  They admired the Rebels’ courage, but no matter how many times they charged they were relentlessly driven back.”

             
“So what happens now?” Aunt Abby asked quietly. 

             
Matthew shrugged.  “McClellan is already covering himself.  He is laying the blame for the losses squarely on the shoulders of the government.  He claims the Secretary of War wanted him to suffer a defeat from the very beginning.”

             
“What?” Rose asked incredulously.  “Why would anyone want that?”

             
“McClellan claims they wanted him defeated and overthrown so that disunion would prevail and they might be free to rule unhampered in the North.  He believes they saw him as their paramount enemy who must be destroyed.”

             
“Ridiculous!”  Aunt Abby snorted.  “Lincoln has met his demands time and time again.”

             
“I agree,” Matthew replied.  “It’s a pity, really.  From all I can tell, McClellan is a fine leader.  His men love him, and he has an uncanny ability to rouse their enthusiasm and support.  He is simply not a military leader.  I have even heard the fine general now believes everything that happened to him on the peninsula was God’s will.”

             
“You told me earlier he believed it was God’s will for him to be victorious in taking Richmond,” Aunt Abby commented wryly.

             
“So I did,” Matthew laughed.  “It’s amazing to me how people can change their perception of God’s will as the circumstances change.  I guess it’s easier than admitting you were wrong, but it sure does make God look fickle.”

             
“Do you see any end in sight?”

             
“I’m afraid not, Aunt Abby.  McClellan has failed.  President Lincoln will keep looking till he finds someone who can do the job.  He is determined our country will not be torn apart.”

             
“But is it not already torn apart?  Even if the South is defeated, do you really think they will return to the fold humbly?  What about all the bitterness and anger over the Union’s attempts to pull them back?”

             
Matthew shook his head.  “As usual, Mrs. Livingston, you ask the difficult questions much brighter men than I are trying to answer.”  He spread his hands.  “I simply don’t know.  But the mold seems to have been cast.  When this war ends, the job of putting our country back together again will indeed be a difficult one.”

             
“Is there any
good
news in this country?”  Rose asked plaintively.  “One doesn’t need to search for horrible news.  But is there anything good happening?”  She knew she sounded almost desperate, but she needed a light in the midst of all the darkness.

             
Matthew turned to her with a smile.  “There is always good news, Rose.  There are always great acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage in times like these.”

             
“Such as?” Rose needed something concrete.

             
“Such as a young lady I met just yesterday.  She was barely seventeen years old, I would guess.  She left home to serve the medical needs of wounded Union soldiers.  The boat I arrived on was crowded with very sick men.  I never once saw her lose her good cheer.  Singing the whole time, she moved around the ship like a bright light.  It was really rather amazing.  I was doing my best to hold my stomach in place; she was doing her best to hold hope out to the men who needed it so much.”

             
“I bet Carrie is like that,” Rose said softly, her throat tightening with the familiar ache of missing her dearest friend.  She seldom thought of the reality she was actually Carrie’s aunt since Carrie’s grandfather had been her own biological father.  She was simply her closest friend.  How glad she would be when the war was over and they could be together again. 

             
“This war has also been the instigator of many firsts,” Matthew continued.  “I just finished an article that will be coming out in the paper next week.”

             
“Firsts?”  Aunt Abby questioned. 

             
“Yes.  It seems the war is bringing out the inventor in many people.”  Then he frowned.  “Too many of them are inventions I think our country would do well to have never heard of.  Things like land mine fields, flame throwers, naval torpedoes, revolving gun turrets, and long range rifles.”

             
“Isn’t this the first time there have been organized medical and nursing corps?” Rose asked.

             
“Yes, along with hospital ships and army ambulance corps.  Of course, we also have our very first bread lines down south.”  He stopped and grinned.  “It’s also the first time there has been a wide-ranging corps of press correspondents in battle areas.  I guess I have the war to thank for my job.”

             
“Not that you wouldn’t gladly give it up in a heartbeat,” Aunt Abby wryly observed. 

             
“Very true,” Matthew agreed.  “I long for the days I could wander all over the country and report the news of a nation at peace.  I never imagined when I first began studying journalism, that I would be covering the story of America at war.”  His voice became pensive.  “I also never thought I would be examining the faces of prisoners to find Robert or one of my other southern friends.”  His voice became angry.  “I hate this whole stupid war,” he growled. 

             
Aunt Abby reached over without saying a word and laid her hand on his arm. 

             
Rose watched sympathetically as Matthew struggled to regain composure.  She understood so well how he felt.  She longed for a time when she and Moses could build a life together in freedom.  Her dreams for the future were the only thing keeping her sane in the midst of so much craziness and uncertainty. Matthew broke into her thoughts.

             
“Enough about the war,” he said briskly.  “You are leaving tomorrow.  Surely we can find a more pleasant topic to discuss.”

             
Rose searched her mind to find one.  “I have two lovely ladies to travel with,” she finally said.  “Miss Carter Lepley and Miss Teresa Farnsworth.  Both are from Boston and seem to accept me completely.”

             
“They certainly should,” Matthew snorted.  “You’ll probably teach circles around them!”

             
“Thank you,” Rose said with a laugh.  “I don’t anticipate any trouble down in the camps.”  She paused, not wanting to mention her feelings of trepidation.  Talking about them would only add fuel to the fire.  She just wanted to enjoy her last evening in Philadelphia.  “Could I interest anyone in a game of croquet?”

             
Aunt Abby clapped her hands together.  “That’s a wonderful idea, Rose!  There is still plenty of light, but the day has cooled off nicely.”  She stood and smoothed down her dress.  “You two go set it up.  I will bring out some cold lemonade and cookies.”

             
The next hour passed in laughter and good-natured teasing.  Rose was the ultimate winner.  “I’m going to take that as a good omen,” she declared.   Suddenly she felt hot tears sting her eyes.  She was going to miss everything so much - her beautiful home, the wonderful school, Aunt Abby, Matthew...

             
“Why don’t we do some singing?”

             
Rose smiled in spite of herself.  Once again Aunt Abby was reading her mind.  She was longing for anything to do that would keep her from climbing the stairs to her room for the last time.  “That sounds wonderful!” she exclaimed. 

             
“Let’s sing the song my friend Julie Howe wrote,” Aunt Abby suggested.

             
“The ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’?”

             
“That’s the one, Matthew.  It has become a favorite of the country since she wrote it last year.  And I must admit I like these words set to this tune much better than ‘Old John Brown’s Body’!”   Aunt Abby’s fingers flew over the keys to her grand piano as their voices poured forth into the night. 

             
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

             
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

             
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;

             
His truth is marching on.

              Glory, glory, hallelujah!

             
Glory, glory, hallelujah!

             
Glory, glory, hallelujah!

             
His truth is marching on.

              In the beauty of an Easter, Christ was born across the sea,

             
With a glory in his presence, that transfigures you and me,

             
As he died to make us holy, let us live to make all free;

             
While God is marching on.

              God has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat,

             
And is sifting out the hearts of all before the mercy seat;

             
O my soul give truthful answers and be jubilant my feet!

             
Our God is marching on.

CHAPTER TWELVE

             
Moses felt nothing but sorrow as he gazed around what had, at one time, been a beautiful plantation.  He had come to Berkeley Plantation once when he was still at Cromwell Plantation.  He remembered a stately, elegant mansion surrounded by huge trees and immaculate grounds.  It had been the high point of social life in the area - drawing people all the way from Richmond for its elaborate parties and balls.  

             
Berkeley Plantation, along with adjoining Harrison Landing, was now the camp for McClellan’s defeated army.  Moses wandered through the camp, his nose wrinkling in distaste.  There were now over one hundred thousand men in muddy blue uniforms inhabiting tents that stretched as far as the eye could see.  Rain had been falling the day McClellan’s army had reached the plantation.  The plains spreading out from the house had been reduced to paste by men’s boots, horses’ hooves, and wagon wheels.  The wheat and corn fields, the vegetable gardens, and the flower garden all disappeared within hours.   No matter where he looked, Moses could see nothing but desolate waste.  He shivered at the thought of how Carrie’s heart would break if the same destruction was wrought on Cromwell Plantation.