The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (56 page)

Matthew stood next to Peter on the parapet of the Union’s Fort Fisher and watched the attack unfold.  It was still too dark to see much except the flash of cannon and rifle fire, but he could clearly see a half mile of twinkling, flashing light, the rim of the Confederate works lit by musketry.  They were putting up a valiant fight, but Matthew knew the dark wave he could see in the distance was the massive Union force moving toward them.

He and Peter watched silently as the drama played out before them.

“Peter, look!” he shouted suddenly.  “Do you see that black gap in the Confederate line?”

He could feel Peter’s body tense next to his.  “I do,” he said tersely.  “And look, there is another one to the right, and another farther down to the left!”

“They’re taking them!”  Matthew knew the dark gaps reflected positions the Rebels had abandoned. The sheer exultation of the moment after almost a year of siege warfare had Matthew’s heart pumping with excitement. 

As they watched, the black spots in the line grew and multiplied until finally the whole line went dark.   The Confederate line had been captured.

The men from the VI Corps were still celebrating when Matthew and Peter, along with other journalists eager to document the historic happening, topped the last of the trenches. 

Matthew couldn’t help smiling when a burly buck private donned a tinseled gray dress-uniform coat left behind by a Confederate officer.  Another soldier wrapped a Confederate flag around his shoulders as if it were a toga.  The area was an anthill of activity as soldiers swarmed around bombproofs, huts, and tents; exploring the camp they had fought so hard to capture. 

They deserved to celebrate.  It didn’t matter what he thought of the war; these men had suffered, watched their friends die, and given everything they had to accomplish this moment. 

A movement from behind caught his attention.  He watched as General Grant, General Meade, and General Wright topped the trench on their horses and paused to stare out over the captured camp, their eyes taking it all in.

The troops looked up and saw them, and then they all took a moment to gaze up and down the broken line. The sun topped the horizon and shone through the haze of smoke, casting a golden glimmer on the scene. 

Matthew caught his breath and knew he would never forget this moment.  He was even more certain when, almost as one, a wild shout rose from every Union man present and rang through the air, announcing their celebration of this victory they had fought so long to gain.  Matthew stood quietly, choosing to believe the shout rose to heaven and announced the victory to all those who had given their lives before them.   He also prayed the victory would mean the dying would stop on the Confederate side.

Minutes later, Matthew and Peter followed Grant’s lead as he headed into Petersburg.  While the two walked behind him, Carter, another journalist, fell in line with them.  “Did you hear what happened at the stockade this morning?”

Matthew glanced at him.  “The prisoner-of-war stockade?”

“Yep.  Those Rebel boys aren’t planning to give up.”

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“There are about five thousand men there who were captured at Five Forks yesterday.   Our provost marshal made a little speech to them and pointed out their cause was doomed.”

“I can imagine how they took that,” Matthew said wryly.

“He invited everyone to step up, take the oath of allegiance, and then go home and fight no more,” Carter continued. 

“And…?” Peter asked.

Carter shrugged.  “About one hundred of those five thousand took him up on it.  I’m sure they regretted it immediately because the rest of the prisoners bitterly derided the ones who stepped forward, calling them cowards and traitors.”

“I wonder where General Lee is now,” Matthew said, looking back at the captured lines.

“Running,” Carter crowed.

“Not running,” Peter corrected.  “Lee doesn’t run – not even after a massive defeat.  I can guarantee you he is trying to move into a new position he can fight from.”

Suddenly Matthew saw the corps swing into formation, unfurl their flags, and strike up the music from their band.  The Union forces were eager to show themselves as the conquering heroes.  Matthew frowned as they reached the edge of Petersburg and moved into the city.  The music echoed through desolate, deserted streets that seemed to absorb the music and swallow the joy.  The houses lining the streets all had drawn blinds.  Here and there he spied expressionless faces peering through parted curtains. 

As the morning progressed, Matthew saw not a single woman.  The only inhabitants of Petersburg after months of siege seemed to be old men, cripples, and a large contingent of blacks that cheered the arrival of the army and looked at Grant with awe. 

Puffing on his ever-present cigar, Grant, on the other hand, was all business as he stood waving his arms in a doorway and dictating orders to his staff.

“Grant knows he really hasn’t won anything yet,” Peter announced dryly.

Matthew nodded his head.  “He has an empty city, and the trenches now belong to the Union, but he certainly hasn’t destroyed Lee’s army.” 

“He’ll capture Richmond tomorrow,” Peter said in agreement, “but as long as Lee’s army is out there, the war will continue.”

Carter joined them again and overheard their conversation.  “He’s already sent his army after them,” he announced.  “Lee seems to be headed southwest, going north of the Appomattox River.”
              “If he expects to join up with Johnston, he has to,” Peter observed.

“That’s right,” Carter replied. “My sources tell me Grant already has troops as far west as Lee, and quite a bit farther south.  The plan is to head him off before he can connect with Johnston.  I’m going down to join them.  I want to be there when this war actually ends.  It won’t end until Lee surrenders. I don’t intend to miss it.”

Matthew listened, but his thoughts were already in Richmond.  “Who is Grant sending in to occupy Richmond?” he asked brusquely.

Carter shrugged.  “I hear he’s sending in some of the black corps. The people of Richmond should love that,” he said sarcastically.

Robert gritted his teeth and continued to plod down the dusty, rutted road. He fought to ignore the fever burning in his body and struggled to breathe in between the coughing jags.  Lee had called for their retreat and evacuation that afternoon.  It would take all night to get all his troops through Richmond and headed southwest.  Robert’s unit was one of the first to start the march.

Alex moved up to march beside him.  “You ain’t sounding too good, Captain,” he said, worry shining in his eyes.

Robert shrugged.  He was sure he didn’t look much better than he sounded, but he knew none of them did.  He knew he was sick, but hoped the warmth of spring, as well as the chance to find food in the countryside, would begin to restore his strength.  He resolutely blocked the idea of Carrie taking care of him from his mind.  It did no good to imagine her tender smile and gentle hands; it only increased his misery.  “It’s nice to be out of the trenches,” he said, feeling no need to talk about his health.

“You got that right!” Alex said enthusiastically.  “I haven’t seen anything resembling green grass or a flower for so long I was about to think I’d made them up.”  He waved a hand at the pasture they were passing; bees swarmed over daisies and buttercups, beautiful dogwood trees watched over the scene like cheerful sentinels.  “The world is still a right pretty place,” he said, with something akin to wonder in his voice.

Robert smiled with understanding:  Months spent freezing in dirt trenches followed by weeks standing in deep mud could wipe anything beautiful out of a man’s thoughts.  When survival was the primary need, Robert knew everything else seemed to fade away.  He watched as a hummingbird dipped into a blooming poppy and then zipped away, following the path of a bright yellow finch skimming low over the grasses.  The moment of beauty eased a bit of the ache in his soul.

“What do you reckon is happening back there?” Alex asked quietly. “Do you reckon they’re in Richmond right now?”

Robert frowned, his stomach clenching as he thought of the Union army marching into Richmond.  Would they destroy it like they had Columbia, South Carolina?  Would Carrie or Thomas be harmed while he was marching away from them? For what seemed the thousandth time, he forced the images from his mind as he shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I imagine they’re in Petersburg right now.  Some of them will head into Richmond tomorrow, but….”

Alex looked up sharply as he hesitated.  “But what, Captain?”

“I figure most of Grant’s army is coming after us,” he said.  “Grant wanted Richmond so he’ll take it, but what he really wants is Lee’s army.”

J Alex was silent for several minutes as he stared up and down the line.  “We probably can’t move as fast as Grant’s army,” he stated.

Robert snorted out a laugh.  Starved men, and starved animals straining to pull wagons, was certainly no match for Grant’s well-fed, sleek army.  Once again, he chose to give the only thing he had to give – confidence.  He would live with the fact it was false.  “They may march faster than us,” he said dismissively, “but they can’t fight as hard as us.  The odds have been against us for a long time, but we’re still here, aren’t we?”

Alex’s eyes lit with passion.  “You got that right!” 

Robert smiled.  “Be sure to encourage the men,” he urged him.  “You’re a natural leader, Alex.  I’m sure everyone feels bad we lost the trenches, but we still have a war to fight.”

Pride joined the passion glowing on Alex’s face.  “Yes, sir!”

Robert watched as Alex began to move up the line, speaking to men as he went.  He had no idea what Alex was saying, but he could tell by the soldiers’ straightening shoulders and heads held higher that the young man’s words were hitting the mark. 

Chapter Thirty

Carrie felt the tension in the house when she dressed and went down for breakfast.  In spite of the pressing need she felt to be at the hospital, she had promised her father she would attend church with him – something she was rarely able to do with all the demands on her.  She didn’t feel she could spare the time now either, but something in the air demanded she be in church, and one look at her father’s strained face when she reached the table confirmed her feeling.

She managed a calm smile as she slipped into her seat, enjoying the spring breeze puffing in through the open windows that coaxed tinkling music from the slightly swaying chandelier.  “It’s such a perfect spring day,” she said lightly, laying her hand over her father’s and smiling around at everyone. 

“Perfect except for the sound of battle coming from Petersburg,” her father growled, casting anxious looks south.

Carrie was well aware of the echoes of cannon fire that had ridden in on night air early that morning long before the sun came up.  “Do we know what has happened?” she asked quietly.