Faith (5 page)

“Wake up!”

Faith swam out of a deep sleep toward Honoree’s voice. She blinked in the morning light.

“We got orders to get with the Sanitary Commission wagons. We’re on the move again.” Honoree and Faith had been deemed young enough to face the rigors of being sent to the front to give first aid to the wounded before they were transported to the hospital. Then Honoree added, “I heard cavalry leaving earlier.”

That meant that the colonel might already be in harm’s way. Not letting herself dwell on this, Faith threw off the sheet that had covered her and parted the mosquito net around her cot. In a few minutes she had freshened up with a bit of water and soap and was packing her few possessions to be sent with
the wagons and selecting some packets of medicinal herbs to take along on her person. She and Honoree ate porridge standing up since all around them their tent and furniture was being folded up and carried away to the wagons. This was good news: any progress toward Vicksburg brought them closer to the time they might venture to Annerdale Plantation.

They finished the meager breakfast and, still sipping their morning coffee, hurried to the large wagons. Some were filled with supplies and others with camp equipment that would be needed after the battle when the wagons would trundle the wounded back to the hospital tents.

Turning, Faith found the young wife from the day before.

“Miss Faith, can I come with you today?”

“Ella McCullough, thee must not come with us. Only a few trained nurses go onto the field.”

“But what if my Landon, my husband, is wounded? He’ll need me.”

Faith glanced around. She had a few minutes to spare before she would climb onto a wagon and be off. “Come over here.” She led the girl around to the far side of the nearest wagon, Honoree following. “I know thee is worried, but
 
—”

“He’s all I got,” Ella said, wringing her hands. “We had to run away from home. They said either Landon joined the local Confederate Tennessee militia or else. Called us Yankees. Threatened us.”

Faith realized that trying to stop this flow of words would be impossible. She merely patted the girl on the arm, encouraging her to let it all out.

“I . . . We had to leave everyone behind. All our kin. Now
he’s going into his first battle. What will I do if anything happens to him? I need to be there to take care of him.”

Faith claimed the young woman’s hands. “Ella, I understand thy concern, but only a few well-trained nurses such as Honoree and I are allowed to go onto the field to care for the wounded.” Faith tried to come up with the words to describe what she and Honoree would no doubt face today. “Ella, it is too much for thee.”
Almost too much for me.

“She is telling you the truth,” Honoree added.

Ella looked surprised that Honoree had spoken up.

“Ella McCullough, wait near the hospital tents. If thy husband is wounded, thee can help him there.”

One of the wagon masters, an Irishman with thick red curls under his hat, called to them. “Ladies! Time to roll!”

Faith squeezed Ella’s hand and hurried off behind Honoree.

The Irishman threw their valises up on a nearly filled wagon, and with his help, they climbed onto the back and sat, resting against the sides.

“If I weren’t so tired, I’d walk,” Honoree said.

Faith nodded. Riding in the wagons could not be called comfortable. The main army, not just the cavalry companies, was moving forward today, and the knowledge tightened her with dread anticipation. They wouldn’t be mobilizing the Sanitary Commission wagons unless this was true.

In spite of these worries, she was still tired enough that if she could, she’d have lain down and slept more. Grant’s relentless drive to take Vicksburg was pushing them all to the extreme.

Faith arranged her skirts modestly around herself and hoped that today would not make Ella a young widow.

She thought also of the colonel and his wounded cousin, a family divided. She’d planned on stopping in today to see how the Rebel was faring. But this war waited for no one. And another battle loomed at any time this day or the next.

The Reb she’d nursed must have been part of one of the numerous Confederate raiding parties, headed by notorious raiders such as John Morgan, Nathan Forrest, and Joe Wheeler. Colonel Knight and his men would be out in front of the main Union Army, prowling, searching for raiding parties or the Confederate Army itself under Pemberton. She prayed for the men moving forward, the colonel among them. Much as she tried to push it away, his face refused to fade from her mind.

Midday, Dev leaned close to his saddle, ducking gunfire. He’d divided his men into companies of ten and sent them ranging over the landscape, seeking the enemy. And now he’d spotted some Rebs who looked to be an opposing cavalry, not just a small party of raiders. He didn’t have to shout orders. The soldiers with him knew what to do. They scattered in every direction, spreading out, harder to bring down. But unlike the musket he’d wielded in the Mexican War, the rifles he and his men now carried possessed a deadly accuracy.

From his vantage point against his mount’s neck, Dev urged the horse toward a copse of trees and mentally evaluated the force they had come upon. How many? Where were they headed? He must carry the news back to headquarters or Grant would be fighting blind. He reached the cover of the trees, hoping there would not be any Rebs waiting there
to ambush him. He found none and reloaded, then turned his horse eastward toward headquarters.

After evading a number of pursuers, Dev rode hard with his small squad straight to the headquarters tent. He slid off his horse and saluted the sentry. “Reconnaissance,” he said and was waved inside.

He was startled to see General Grant himself inside the tent. That meant this really would be a major thrust forward. “Sir.” He saluted.

Grant removed the cigar from his mouth and returned the salute. “What news, Colonel?”

Dev read recognition in the general’s gaze. Their years of training at West Point had overlapped. “We met a large number of the enemy on the road to Champion Hill, sir.”

Another of Dev’s company entered and saluted Grant. “Sir, we met the enemy on the north side of the road toward Vicksburg.” The man saluted Dev. “Sir.”

“How far?” Grant asked.

“About five miles east of here,” Dev replied, and the other soldier nodded in agreement.

“Then we must move fast to meet the enemy. They must not reach the fortress at Vicksburg. Thank you. Dismissed.”

Dev led the member of his company outside. “We’ll gather our men together to join the battle.” Then he glimpsed the Sanitary Commission wagons that must have moved forward with the main army. The wagons were waiting here in readiness for the upcoming clash. He saw the Quakeress and her black girl talking to one of the drivers. He knew nurses came
onto the battlefield to aid the wounded after the fighting. But he didn’t want this nurse so near danger. It was not his decision to make, however.

Dev mounted his horse, as did the other cavalryman from the tent. “Men, we’re in for it. Let’s warn our fellows.”

The armies clashed on the road to Champion Hill. Rebels poured down the road. Union artillery thundered, thundered. Throwing up earth. Deafening. Billows of smoke rose around Dev. Dismounting, he urged his men forward. He fired his carbine and held his saber in the other hand.

He plunged into the fray. He felt it. He fell.

Faith and Honoree huddled under the wagon. The battle had begun and was raging within a mile or so of their position. Usually the Sanitary Commission wagons didn’t get this close to combat, but with two armies trying to find or elude one another, nothing was certain. Battles were unpredictable. Faith found herself praying and trembling with each blast.

Ready to move if necessary, the wagon masters stood at the heads of their teams, soothing the horses. The teams were somewhat accustomed to the sounds of a nearby battle, but the horses still remained restless, uneasy, and Faith felt the same.

At any time the opposing army could envelop the medical contingent, and they could find themselves under direct fire. And Honoree would be in the gravest danger if they were overrun by Rebels who didn’t take kindly to free blacks. Yet
telling Honoree to stay back in camp never met with success.
Father, keep us safe. And give us victory.

The ground underneath them shook with cannon fire. Faith felt it shuddering through her. Why was bloodshed required to end slavery? This dreadful war had become the only way slaves would be set free. Faith prayed, and as the battle sounds deafened her, words failed and she depended on the Light of Christ to pray for her.

The battle had moved on
 
—or Faith hoped it had. She and Honoree had filled their apron pockets with bunches of herbs and rolled bandages, and now they hefted several canteens of water over their shoulders and headed toward the wounded men who had been abandoned as the battle had progressed.

Faith silently repeated the Twenty-third Psalm as she met the first casualties. This was surely the valley of the shadow of death.

A soldier in butternut, the homemade gray of the Confederacy, moaned. Faith dropped to her knees and offered the man water.