Fire by Night (52 page)
She stayed in her tent, weeping, until her tears were finally exhausted. Later, she went back to the church to help. But she didn’t find the flurry of activity there that she had expected. One of the nurses told her that Dr. McGrath had returned to his tent, and Phoebe decided to go apologize to him for not helping. He sat inside on a campstool, his head in his hands.
“Doctor McGrath…? I just come to say I’m sorry that I didn’t help—”
“It doesn’t matter, Phoebe,” he said hoarsely. “We were too late.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes red with grief. “Do you know how many men we found alive out there?”
She shook her head.
“Two. Only two. Dear God, what a waste. … ”
Julia stood at the steamship’s rail with the other Sanitary Commission workers as they docked at City Point, their new hospital base at the junction of the James and Appomattox Rivers. This was the third time the evacuation hospital had been moved since May as they followed Grant’s army farther into Virginia. The first move had taken them down the Rappahannock River from Fredericksburg to a new base in Port Royal. In June they’d moved up the Pamunkey River to White House Landing, where Julia had served on the hospital ship with Sister Irene two years ago. Now they had been transferred to Depot Hospital at City Point near Petersburg.
After Cold Harbor, Grant’s army had slipped away from the battlefield by night to advance toward Petersburg, crossing the James River on a huge pontoon bridge. Union engineers built the 2,100-foot span in only eight hours, and it had taken the massive army days to finish crossing it. But the four-day battle to take Petersburg, where the Rebels were entrenched, had failed, and now that city was under siege. Julia and the other medical workers had followed Grant’s army by ship.
She gazed at her new surroundings as the steamship finished docking. City Point’s cluster of homes and church steeples sat on a high bluff overlooking the two rivers. White-roofed army tents far outnumbered the houses, stretching from the village in both directions as far as she could see. Newly built warehouses and workshops clustered along the shore below. She saw so many canvas-covered army wagons lined up near the wharves that she couldn’t even begin to count them all.
“This was just a sleepy little village on the river before the war,” she heard one of the Commission nurses say. “Now it looks like a major seaport.”
Ships’ masts filled the harbor like trees in a forest, surrounded by steamboats, barges, rowboats, and skiffs. Julia counted eight wharves spread out along a mile of riverfront, crawling with blue-coated soldiers and Negro dock workers. Barges carried mountains of barrels and crates, and bales of hay for the army’s livestock. A row of new caissons and limbers for the field artillery lined one long wharf from the dock to the shore. A seagoing steamer, moored beside her own, unloaded two companies of fresh troops along with dozens of horses. On another wharf, she was amazed to see a barge unloading a steam locomotive onto the railroad tracks that snaked along the foot of the bluff. With all this manpower and equipment, surely victory would come soon.
Julia stepped down the gangplank with the four other Commission nurses and was met by a row of mule-drawn freight wagons. “You the folks from the Sanitary Commission?” one of the teamsters asked.
“Yes, we are,” the nursing director replied.
“Otis Whitney,” the man said. “I’ve got orders to haul you and your goods out to Agency Row.”
Julia waited on shore while a crew of contrabands loaded the Commission’s supplies onto the freight wagons. Above the whistles and shouts of the workmen, she could hear the sound of water lapping against the piers, the braying of mules, the distant whine of a sawmill. The blistering July sun shone bright and hot, reflecting off the river like bronze. There was scarcely a breeze, and the air tasted like hot metal.
When the work was nearly finished, Otis Whitney sidled up to where the women stood waiting. He was a powerfully built man in his mid-thirties with long, greasy black hair and an ill-kempt beard. Julia thought he looked like an outlaw or an escaped convict. He removed his hat to wipe the sweat off his forehead, then jammed it onto his head again. He stood very close to Julia. “You nurses just keep getting prettier and prettier,” he said, brushing against her. “What’s your name?”
She was so astounded to be addressed in such a familiar fashion by a common teamster that she couldn’t reply.
“My name’s Otis,” he said. “Me and my brother own this freight-hauling business. Also own a little eating establishment where we sell oysters and such to the soldiers. Sell liquor, too, when the provost marshal ain’t looking.” He winked and nudged her with his elbow. “Doing right well for ourselves since the war started. Reckon we’ll be rich by the time it ends. We’re moving up in society.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when he walked away again to oversee the final loading. But as the wagons were leaving, she was dismayed to learn that Otis Whitney had arranged for the other nurses to ride in three of the wagons, leaving Julia alone with him. “You’re gonna ride right up there next to me, darling,” he said, patting the seat.
Julia wanted to protest, but it was too late. The other freight wagons were already rolling up the road, and his was the only one left. He kicked a box into place for her to use as a step, then took her hand to help her up onto the wagon seat. He left no space between the two of them when he climbed up beside her. She could only hope that it wasn’t a long ride.
“How far away are the Commission’s headquarters?” she asked. She shifted her legs and straightened her skirts as an excuse to move away from him, but her efforts were in vain. He leaned against her as he drove his mule team up the hill, brushing shoulders with her again. He smelled of sweat and horses and whiskey.
“Just outside the city a little ways, darling. No more than a mile. It’s right across the road from Depot Hospital. We call it Agency Row because there’s a whole bunch of relief agencies camped there. They stay in tents. Pretty gal like you ought to be in a house, though. You tell that Commission of yours to grab yourselves a decent Rebel house like some of the army officers did. Be out of the elements that way. ’Course, you’re welcome to come stay at my house.” He nudged her with his elbow again.
“I’m quite used to a tent, thank you.”
The mules snorted and puffed as they climbed up the steep road from the river, passing a grim pyramid of pine coffins waiting to be filled. Julia also saw workers carrying two closed coffins down the wharf to a waiting ship.
“This your first visit to City Point?” Otis asked.
“Yes. I had no idea it was such a busy place.”
“I’m told there’s some two hundred ships coming and going every day. Made me a rich man. I hear that pretty gals like you are partial to rich men.” He winked at her as if they were old friends.
“Is that bread I smell?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Yep. The army has a huge bakery over yonder. They make more than a hundred thousand loaves a day. It’s still warm when the men get it in the trenches.”
They passed a row of stores and eating houses where sutlers sold nonration food and drink to the soldiers. “That’s my establishment,” Otis said, pointing to one of the shanties. “How about I treat you to dinner there tonight?”
“Thank you, but my nursing work keeps me much too busy for a social life. I’ve heard that Depot Hospital is very large.”
“More than a thousand tents, all told. Plus there’s a separate hospital for the Negroes. They’re using colored soldiers now, did you hear? Got a whole bunch of them down here. Can’t say as I’ll ever get used to the idea of colored fellas toting guns. Ought to stay separate if you ask me. I won’t let any of them in my establishment.”
Julia saw row after row of hospital tents ahead and the other three freight wagons pulling to a halt. She was relieved that she’d finally arrived. Otis leaped down first and reached up to help Julia. She didn’t want him touching her, but it was too far to jump down by herself, and he hadn’t put the box in place for a step. She was revolted when he grabbed her waist to lift her down.
“Sure you won’t change your mind about dinner?” he asked, his hands lingering a little too long. She twisted away.
“No, thank you. I have too much work to do.”
“You’re an awful pretty little thing. I told you my name, but you never told me yours.”
Julia hesitated, appalled by his coarseness. She considered lying again and telling him she was married, but she was afraid that the other Commission workers would overhear. “It’s Hoffman …Nurse Hoffman.”
“You must have a first name.”
“Julia,” she said reluctantly.
“Ever had oysters, Julia? I could bring you a mess of them.”
“I have, and I don’t care much for them. Thanks just the same.” She hurried to join the other ladies and settle into her new home. But Otis Whitney continued to hang around as the Commission’s goods were unloaded, watching Julia from a distance as she was assigned to a tent. When he was ready to leave, he went out of his way to find her and speak to her one last time.
“I never did see a gal as pretty as you, Julia. I’ll bet you and me could have a real good time together. All the single gals I’ve met around here are in business for themselves, if you know what I mean.”
For as long as she’d been a nurse, Julia had never felt afraid of any of the men she’d worked with. Otis Whitney was the first. He was exactly the sort of man that Nathaniel had been worried about—and the main reason why he hadn’t wanted her to return to nursing.
“I am not that kind of woman, Mr. Whitney,” she said in a shaking voice. “I’m here to take care of the wounded men, nothing else. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do.”
Julia was eager to begin work, and she wasted no time unpacking her things. Depot Hospital’s location on a high bluff overlooking the Appomattox River was peaceful and serene in spite of the grievous nature of her work. There were plenty of shade trees around, and in the evening a cool breeze often drifted up from the river. She learned that the doctors treated the wounded men at field-dressing stations near the trenches first, then sent them by ambulance train on specially constructed tracks to Depot Hospital. The hospital had its own dock where recuperating patients could be loaded onto ships and sent to hospitals up north.
Most of the patients she tended suffered from gunshot and shrapnel wounds. The opposing armies now lobbed shells and bullets at each other from their networks of trenches as the siege of Petersburg continued.
“When you wake up each morning, you never know if you’ll be alive when the sun goes down at night,” one soldier told her. “We’re so used to hearing Minie balls whistling over our heads that we don’t even duck anymore.”
“Is that what happened to you, Captain?” she asked as she carefully removed the dressing on his shoulder. “Did you forget to duck?”
“No, ma’am. A piece of shell hit me. You can see those coming, but there’s no place to hide.”
Julia checked the wound for signs of pyemia and gangrene as Dr. McGrath had taught her, then doused it with carbolic acid and replaced the bandage. “Did you see this shell coming?” she asked.
The captain nodded. “With shells, the first thing you see is a puff of smoke behind enemy lines. Couple of seconds later, you hear the
boom
and see a dark speck climbing up in the sky. Ever hear a shell screaming through the air, ma’am?”
“Yes, I have. One landed quite close to me at Bull Run.”
He gritted his teeth as she worked. “Terrible sound, isn’t it? By the time you figure out it’s coming right at you, it’s too late.”
Julia finished dressing his wound and moved to the next patient. “I don’t see any wounds at all on you,” she said, looking him over.
“Sun got to me,” he said. “There’s no shade down in those trenches. I was digging away when all of a sudden I felt dizzy and couldn’t walk straight. The sergeant thought I was drunk until I fell down and took a fit.”
“Can I get you anything?” Julia asked.