CHAPTER ELEVEN
The following Monday Addison’s shout rang down the hall and the prisoners began to stir. Tim slept in a second-tier bunk. He opened his eyes and pulled up his blanket to shield himself from the chilly air. This left his feet sticking out. He stared, as he had stared a hundred times before, at the rough-hewn rafters and the boards that formed the floor above. He threw off his blanket and sat on the edge of his bunk. One of his boots was lying on the end of the mattress. He reached for it and turned it over in his hands. As he looked he began to frown. If he had some money, he could send out his boots to have the soles and heels repaired. He’d noticed they leaked the last time he walked in the jailyard after a rain.
Addison finished checking the beds and poked his head through the door. “Ready to go to the kitchen, Lieutenant?”
Tim slid to the floor, found his other boot and pulled it on, balancing himself against the bunk. “Combed and manicured. Ready for another day.”
“You seem right cheerful this morning, Lieutenant,” Addison said accusingly.
“I like to cook. It makes me happy.”
Red pulled his blanket away from his face and looked sleepily down from his bunk. Then he pulled the blanket up again.
Dawson and Mills were dead to the world.
When Tim stepped into the yard he could hear Devil singing chanteys in the Navy kitchen.
Devil poked his head through the kitchen door and rubbed the bristles on his chin. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Tim went into the Army kitchen and started a fire in the stove. He pulled his toothbrush out of his pocket and held it between his teeth while he drew a cup of water from the big tank. He moistened the toothbrush, sprinkled it lightly with salt and brushed his teeth. He drew his thumb across the bristles before putting the brush back into his pocket.
He cooked up a mush with cornmeal and sorghum molasses and heated a pail of coffee. When he finished cooking he took the breakfast to the Army mess with the help of a guard.
They carried out pails of tin plates and cups that had been soiled the night before and set them between the kitchen doors. At ten o’clock a couple of prisoners would go under guard to the pump at the corner of the vacant lot to rinse the dishes, while other men, also under guard, would carry the waste pails to a stream that ran to the river through a culvert under the canal.
Tim ate a bowl of mush and drank his coffee. He scraped the stove and tossed a couple of wooden spoons into one of the pails outside the door. He had finished his work. He stood in the doorway for a moment, then wandered into the Navy kitchen.
Bell was stirring a potful of clothes with the broken handle of a broom. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Too busy to talk,” said Devil.
During warmer weather the prisoners had had a weekly swim in the river and the Army men had done their laundry in wooden buckets while they were at liberty in the yard. Now it was too cold for swimming, and most of the men—finding it unpleasant to do their laundry in the open air—had given it up. Tim had been waiting for a chance to talk to Senn, to see if the Army prisoners could have an extra kitchen hand, as the Navy had, to do the wash and help carry the food. If they couldn’t have baths, at least they should have a way to wash their clothes.
Tim passed the time of day with Devil and Bell until it was time to go back upstairs.
At ten thirty the prisoners were taken out for their morning airing. Tim and Red were among the first to enter the yard. They found the Navy prisoners still there.
Everyone in the yard was watching Addison and the guards who had escorted the dishwashers to the pump and the pail carriers to the stream. Members of the detail were standing by the fence, their faces white as chalk.
One of the guards stood close to Addison. His body was racked by sobs. His hands hung forlornly at his sides and he drew in his breath in shuddering gasps. “God help me,” he wailed, “I just meant to stop him. I never meant to kill.”
The stricken boy was suddenly aware that Army prisoners were filing into the yard. He shrank back in fear. The guards brought up their muskets, and the Army men found themselves held at the end of the yard. An uneasy silence was broken by the intermittent sobbing and wailing of the guard. Addison finally mumbled something to the sentries, and he and the boy left the yard by the wagon gate.
When the Navy prisoners had been taken back into the building a tall Confederate private sauntered toward thesoldiers, his gray overcoat swinging at his knees. “Take your exercise,” he said gruffly. “Spread out and take your exercise.”
Red spoke up. “What happened outside?”
“Shut your mouth and mind your own affairs.”
The sentries stood along the fences and by the buildings. The guard was almost double now. The early morning shift was staying on duty in the yard.
The prisoners who had witnessed the shooting mingled with the others. Now one of them, a man named Frazer, began to explain. “Remember Jones? Well, he’s dead. Shot by the boy who went out with Addison. We’re washing the waste pails in the creek, and the guards are joking with us, and I notice that Jones is working his way downstream to a place near a thick grove of trees, making a big job of rinsing his pails....”
The tall Rebel private shouted from his place by the gate, “Break up that group. Spread out, or I’ll send you back inside.”
Tim pretended to drift away but he and Red stayed close enough to Frazer so that they could hear how Jones had been killed.
Frazer went on. “Suddenly Jones gets up and looks around, smiling at the guard in what he means to be a casual way, and points to a place in the creek. Then he says, ‘There’s a pretty stone.’ Well, the guards kind of notice, because Jones’s voice shakes and his face is pale. Suddenly Jones wheels and dashes among the trees toward the bridge that crosses the canal. Two of the guards are older men, but this young one dashes after Jones, quick as a rabbit, and drops him with one shot. Then he lets his rifle fall and runs and bends over Jones, quiet, while we all stand there like mutes. Then the boy starts to shake Jones and cry and carry on....”
Frazer kept talking, but Tim and Red had heard enough and they started their walk around the yard. “Did you know Jones?” asked Tim.
“Hardly at all. He was a quiet man. I wonder what was in his mind.”
“There would be sentries on the bridge that crosses Columbia Canal. I can only think he must have gone mad.”
“If he went that way he wasn’t heading north. He must have been thinking of Beaufort, if he was thinking at all.”
Captain Senn came out of the jail. A soldier was with him, carrying a pasteboard box.
Senn raised his voice. “Army prisoners come here.”
The men gathered around. “You have heard by now,” Senn said, “that one of your number tried to escape. He was shot. He should have been shot. It will serve as a lesson to you not to be foolish when you leave the prison under guard. The soldier who shot this man said he wasn’t shooting to kill. I told him it is the duty of a prison guard to shoot an escaping man. I told him I would have shot the man myself. I would not hesitate to shoot one of you. Not at all.” He fingered the pistol that hung at his side and smiled his frostbitten smile. “And now there are better things to talk about. In this box we have some mail.”
The soldier reached for the letters one at a time and called out names. There was a letter for Jones. Senn snatched the letter. Red’s name was called. Red took his letter and turned away. Tim heard his own name called.
He reached for the letter and saw that it was addressed in Kate’s fine hand. His hands trembled as he turned it over several times, then tucked it into his inside pocket.
When the mail had been distributed Senn cleared his throat. “Three of you are lucky. Bradford, Brown and Frazer received money in the mail. We have a system now.”He frowned. “To prevent illegal exchange. I give you printed slips. You fill them out. These authorize our quartermaster to convert your money to Confederate currency at Government rates. The quartermaster keeps the money in his care....”
As Senn droned on, Tim lost the hope of ever seeing his cash. He heard Senn’s words again, “... but the sutler won’t come to the jail as he did before. You will give your requests for goods to Corporal Addison or me, and the wagon will deliver your things to the jail. A list of goods and prices has been posted by the door at the end of your corridor.”
Tim reached for his slip. His family had sent him a hundred dollars. He filled out the slip and gave it back to Senn, who nodded with a show of friendliness. “Your goods will be brought in on Thursday, if the quartermaster has what you want.”
Red’s face was like a happy child’s. “Nancy’s fine, and she says the little fellow’s well. Looks just like his dad, she says.”
Tim grinned. “I’m glad she’s well and the little fellow too. I’m glad he has good health to make up for his looks.”
Red smiled and walked away.
Tim sat on the steps of the Army kitchen. He took out Kate’s letter and read:
Stone’s Brook, ConnecticutOctober 27, 1863Dear Tim,Your letters give great pleasure to us all. We thank God your health is fine and that you have a friend like Lieutenant Kelly to lighten your days in that dark jail. I am sure it must work the other way as well. How fondly I remember the many times when I was blue until you made me laugh!Perhaps I shouldn’t say it in a letter that might be read byyour captors, but it seems the war has taken a turning now. The defeat of Lee at Gettysburg was a blow to the Confederacy. Now we have news that General Grant is Supreme Commander in the west. Maybe he will be paying a call on you soon. Or perhaps your next letter will come from the comparative freedom of one of our Army camps. How fervently you must hope for exchange!
Stone’s Brook, ConnecticutOctober 27, 1863
Dear Tim,
Your letters give great pleasure to us all. We thank God your health is fine and that you have a friend like Lieutenant Kelly to lighten your days in that dark jail. I am sure it must work the other way as well. How fondly I remember the many times when I was blue until you made me laugh!
Perhaps I shouldn’t say it in a letter that might be read byyour captors, but it seems the war has taken a turning now. The defeat of Lee at Gettysburg was a blow to the Confederacy. Now we have news that General Grant is Supreme Commander in the west. Maybe he will be paying a call on you soon. Or perhaps your next letter will come from the comparative freedom of one of our Army camps. How fervently you must hope for exchange!
Kate had written the letter on small, thin paper, and Tim was surprised to see that the second page was blank. But when he looked more closely he saw that it was double. It was covered with spidery lines and printed all over with the faintest legends. As he looked Tim heard footsteps on the stony earth and was startled by a voice close by.
“Time to go back inside,” Red said. When he saw Tim’s face he laughed. “Did I frighten you, lad?”
Red started for the jailhouse door, and Tim read on:
My prayers will be with you wherever you are. God give you strength to take whatever course you may deem wise. Your folks have written and we will post our letters at the same time. We have sent a surprise in a separate packet. There’s something there from me. Can you guess what? I hope it will reach you in good time.Your loving,Kate
My prayers will be with you wherever you are. God give you strength to take whatever course you may deem wise. Your folks have written and we will post our letters at the same time. We have sent a surprise in a separate packet. There’s something there from me. Can you guess what? I hope it will reach you in good time.
Your loving,Kate
At four o’clock as the prisoners moved into the yard Captain Senn hailed Tim. “Lieutenant,” he said solemnly, holding out an envelope, “there was a letter with the money your family sent. I’m sorry I had to open it.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Here is another,” said Senn, making a ceremony of giving up the second letter. “Since it came from a soldier, we opened this one too.”
It hadn’t appeared that Kate’s letter had been openedbut suppose it had? Then Senn would watch him like a hawk. Tim looked sharply at Senn’s face and saw nothing there but that patient, meaningless smile.
When they were out of earshot Red said, “That stuffed shirt doesn’t need to apologize for opening our mail. After all, we’re prisoners of war. But don’t let me keep you from your mail.”
They stood in the middle of the yard while Tim read the letter from his family. He finished reading and said, “Things are fine at home.”
“What’s in the letter from Hilton Head?”
Tim looked at the irregular, unfamiliar writing. “Don’t know,” he said. He unfolded the letter and read the first line. “Here, Red, it’s from Greene. Did you know Greene?”
“Hardly at all.”
“Well read it, anyway.”
They read:
Hilton Head, S. C.November 14, 1863Dear Lieutenant,Did you think that bayonet had done me in? Well, thanks to you it didn’t. That Rebel maniac took me to the hospital and the surgeon there was a fine gentleman and took care of me as a father would.The thing that frightened me was getting well. I could see into the jailyard from the hospital. I pray to God your jail is not like that. A gallows stands in the middle of the yard and there were puddles all around and people lived out there in ragged tents, whether by choice or order I couldn’t say. There were many colored soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts who were captured in the second assault on the fort where you were wounded by a private in the seat of the pants. They were brave fellows, as perhaps you have heard.Before they had a chance to throw me in that jail I was lucky enough to be exchanged. When will you suffer that happy fate? I hope it will be soon so I can follow you into Charleston and twist that Rebel corporal’s nose.I never told you how I got into the fort. When you went over the crest I paused for a moment to fuss with my rifle. Well, I owe my life to that pesky thing. If I’d gone in firing they would have shot me down. When it wouldn’t work I scrambled up the parapet anyway. I stumbled on a sandbag on the top and fell into the place headfirst. They took my useless gun and sat me down by a cannon to wait the battle out.It seems too bad that you are in that jail when you are almost as brave a man as I.Your faithful servant,Thomas Greene,Private
Hilton Head, S. C.November 14, 1863
Dear Lieutenant,
Did you think that bayonet had done me in? Well, thanks to you it didn’t. That Rebel maniac took me to the hospital and the surgeon there was a fine gentleman and took care of me as a father would.
The thing that frightened me was getting well. I could see into the jailyard from the hospital. I pray to God your jail is not like that. A gallows stands in the middle of the yard and there were puddles all around and people lived out there in ragged tents, whether by choice or order I couldn’t say. There were many colored soldiers of the 54th Massachusetts who were captured in the second assault on the fort where you were wounded by a private in the seat of the pants. They were brave fellows, as perhaps you have heard.
Before they had a chance to throw me in that jail I was lucky enough to be exchanged. When will you suffer that happy fate? I hope it will be soon so I can follow you into Charleston and twist that Rebel corporal’s nose.
I never told you how I got into the fort. When you went over the crest I paused for a moment to fuss with my rifle. Well, I owe my life to that pesky thing. If I’d gone in firing they would have shot me down. When it wouldn’t work I scrambled up the parapet anyway. I stumbled on a sandbag on the top and fell into the place headfirst. They took my useless gun and sat me down by a cannon to wait the battle out.
It seems too bad that you are in that jail when you are almost as brave a man as I.
Your faithful servant,Thomas Greene,Private
Red smiled. “I wish I’d known the boy. Did he really stick you in the seat of the pants?”
“I’d forgotten that. I guess he did.”
“Under those conditions anyone could be brave under fire.”