Carried Forward By Hope (21 page)

“You must act like men,” she called. “I know you are frightened, but you are doing nothing but assuring your death,” she yelled. “Please listen to me!”

Gradually more of the men quit clawing and fighting as they clung to the pieces of wood Matthew had thrown to them.

“Look around you,” the woman called. “Find someone without a piece of wood and get them over to the ropes and chains hanging from the boat. You are soldiers,” she added firmly. “You must help your fellow soldiers.”

She smiled softly as the soldiers calmed and began to direct other floundering men to grab hold of what was around them.

Matthew glanced behind them and realized they were running out of time. He sprang forward and rushed to where he had last seen Joseph.

“I knew you would come back,” Joseph gasped. He had pulled his coat up to shield his face from the gagging smoke. “I don’t seem to have the strength to move.”

Matthew smiled grimly, snatched Joseph up to throw him over his shoulder and dashed back to the opening. “Hold him!” he ordered, and then darted over to grab a hefty piece of lumber from a pile that had just caught fire. Joseph was sagging in the woman’s arms when Matthew made it back.

“Go with him,” the woman urged. “He’ll never make it without you.”

Matthew gazed at Joseph and knew she was right. The odds were that neither one of them would make it through the night, but he had to give the young soldier a chance. He stared down at the woman who had once more leaned over to call to the soldiers who seemed to only be calm when she was talking to them. “Only if you come with me,” he said urgently.

The woman hesitated and then nodded. She handed him another piece of lumber and tilted her head toward the opening. “You first,” she insisted. “Get in the water so I can hand this soldier down to you. He won’t make it otherwise.”

Matthew hesitated, torn by something he saw in her eyes, but a glimpse over his shoulder revealed the fire was less than a yard away. He estimated less than twenty minutes had passed since the explosion. The entire boat was now engulfed in flames. Gasping a prayer, he jumped into the water, and turned to catch Joseph as he splashed down right behind him.

“I can’t swim!” Joseph gasped.

Matthew stifled a groan and wrapped Joseph’s arms around the lumber. “You don’t have to swim. You just have to hold on!”

“Jump, lady!”

“Jump! Save yourself!”

Matthew whirled around to see the woman standing where he had left her. She was simply gazing down at the men pleading with her to join them. “Jump!” he called. “It’s too late to do more. You must jump!”

The woman shook her head calmly. “I can’t swim. I’m afraid I might lose my presence of mind and be the means of death of some of you.”

“What?” Matthew cried. “Jump! I will save you!” His eyes filled with tears of helplessness as she calmly shook her head and stared into his eyes. He refused to look away as the flames engulfed her body — not wanting her to die without human connection. It was the only gift he had to give her. A scream wrenched from his throat as she folded her arms quietly and burst into flames. Tears wracked his body as he watched her burn.

When he knew she was dead, he stared around numbly. Her death had caused even the most frantic soldier to become quiet. They stared at Matthew.

“Who was she?” one called.

Only then did Matthew realize he had never learned her name.

“Watch out!” one of the men screamed as he turned and began to thrash away from the boat.

Matthew whipped around just in time to see both wheelhouses fall away into the water, groaning as the flaming wheels landed on a mass of men who had just escaped the inferno.

“The boat is turning!”

Matthew grabbed Joseph and began to pull him away from the boat. It broke his heart as he watched men struggle and sink, but he knew there was no way he could save everyone. He was going to do his best to save this young man on the way home to his family.

“Just hang on,” he called. “Kick your legs if you have the energy.” A quick look into Joseph’s pale, strained face told him to not expect any help. He thought gratefully of his mother’s insistence he learn how to swim in the West Virginia lakes he grew up around. He paused just long enough to rip off his shoes, and then, gripping the piece of lumber Joseph clung to, he struck out strongly with one arm, pushing through fields of debris until he was at least a hundred yards from the boat.

“They’re going to have to jump!”

Matthew’s head jerked around to look at the bow of the
Sultana
. What looked to be several hundred men had taken uncertain refuge on the bow while winds drove the flames toward the stern. With the wheelhouses gone, the current had caught the burning boat and swung it around. The flames that had been blown toward the stern by the wind were now licking their way toward the bow.

“Jump!” he hollered, adding his voice to the hundreds of men already in the water. It was their only hope now, though he also knew how many of the men clinging to the bow had critical injuries that would not allow them to swim. He was certain, though, that drowning was preferable to burning to death. “Jump!”

Screams of fear echoed through the air as hundreds of men hit the water at the same time.

Matthew made no effort to fight his tears. He knew the sudden mass of humanity would cause most of the men to drown. As he listened to their screams, he thought of all the stories he had heard in the last two days. The notes he had taken were strapped tightly to his body in an oilcloth pouch. He had no idea if they would survive, or even if he would, but he fervently hoped that someone would find the stories that so desperately needed to be told.

Joseph’s moan ripped his attention back to the weak man clinging to the board. Matthew knew his emaciated body made him even more vulnerable to the frigid waters of the flooded Mississippi. If he didn’t get him out of the water soon, he would surely die. Gritting his teeth, he struck out in the direction he hoped would lead to land. He knew the river was extremely wide north of Memphis. What he didn’t know was just how much wider the flood waters had made it.

“Cold…” Joseph gasped.

“Just hold on,” Matthew replied as he continued to kick and stroke as hard as he could. “I’ll get you out of here.” The screams of burning men followed him, but he refused to look back again. He had a chance to save at least one of the soldiers who had somehow survived the horrors of the prison camps. Looking back would accomplish nothing. Now he could only look forward.

******

Peter was jolted awake and sat straight up in bed. He listened intently but could hear nothing to indicate what had awakened him. The only sound vibrating through the room was Crandall’s gentle snoring. He frowned as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. What was going on? He swung his feet over, wincing as the cold floor met them. A cold rain and chill wind had turned the spring day into something that felt more like winter. He felt a moment’s sympathy for Matthew huddled on the deck of the
Sultana
, quite sure he would have already given his blanket and coat to one of the unfortunate soldiers.

“What’s up?” Crandall’s sleepy voice broke the stillness.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “Something woke me, but I have no idea what it was.”

“Go back to sleep,” Crandall growled.

Peter knew that was the sensible thing to do, but there was something curling in his stomach that he knew would make sleep impossible. “You go ahead,” Peter said instead. “I’m going for a walk.”

“What time is it, man?”

Peter reached for his watch. “Two fifteen.” He pulled his pants on and reached for his coat. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not a chance,” Crandall said as he groaned and swung out of bed. “You think after years of being a newspaper reporter that I don’t recognize intuition when I see it? I’ll be blamed if I’m going to let you get the scoop on whatever is happening in this city.”

Peter grinned but couldn’t push away the anxiety crawling in his throat.

Moments later the two men were striding out of the hotel. By unspoken agreement, they both headed for the wharf. In a town like Memphis, if something was going on, it was most likely happening on the waterfront. From their position high above the water on the bluffs, Peter kept his eye on the river. Suddenly he gasped. “There! Look north!”

Crandall whipped his head around and sucked in his breath. “A boat is on fire,” he snapped.

Both men began to run toward the wharf.

Peter’s breath came hard as fears swamped his mind. He had no way of knowing the burning boat was the
Sultana
, but he couldn’t push the thought away. Images of the crowded steamer accompanied the slap of his feet. Memories of the patched boiler and the concerned crew roared in his head.

Within minutes they were on the wharf, joining the small group of sailors looking north.

“What boat is it?” Peter called.

They all shook their heads. “We don’t know,” one replied. “We saw the sky turn red about twenty minutes ago.”

Peter’s face tightened. “Why aren’t you headed up there?” he demanded.

The sailor standing closest shook his head. “Our captain isn’t on the gunboat. I tried to convince our first mate to head upriver, but he wouldn’t take responsibility. He said most likely the boat was near shore and everyone would get off.”

Peter ground his teeth as he looked around frantically for a boat, not at all sure what he would do if he found one.

Crandall put a hand on his arm. “We have to wait,” he said quietly. “We don’t have a way to do anything. We have to wait,” he repeated.

Peter scowled but knew his new friend spoke the truth.

The sailor who had spoken to him turned around. “There’s another steamboat, the
Bostonia II,
that is due to dock shortly. They’ll be able to help whatever boat is burning.”

“Is there another boat that has left since the
Sultana
?” Peter asked, hoping against hope there had been, though he wouldn’t wish suffering on anyone.

“No,” the sailor admitted reluctantly.

Peter groaned and clinched his fists.

“You know someone on the
Sultana
?”

Peter didn’t bother to respond. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Matthew might be caught on the burning inferno, and there were no words to describe his feelings about the dozens of men he had interviewed who were convinced all the bad things that could happen had already happened. He thought briefly of their happy faces as they described their anticipated homecomings, but he pushed the vision from his mind. It would do nothing but make him mad. “Could it be the
Bostonia II
?” he asked.

The sailor shook his head. “Not likely,” he said dubiously.

“But possible?” Peter persisted, holding on to whatever thin thread of hope he could find.

The sailor hesitated and then shrugged. “I guess so.”

Peter would take what he could get. “What do we do now?”

The sailor stared toward the bright red glow. “We wait.”

Peter glanced at his watch. It was now 2:45 am. He pulled his coat closer against the rain and began to pace the wharf.

******

Matthew fought to control the chattering of his teeth as he pressed forward into the darkness. He could still hear screams and the calls of men floundering around him, but his sole focus was on saving Joseph. He watched numbly as dead bodies floated by, their faces pale in the dark night, their eyes staring blankly.

“Can’t make it,” Joseph mumbled weakly.

Matthew whipped his head around. “Yes, you can! You can’t give up on me,” he pleaded, recognizing the blank look spreading across Joseph’s face. His thoughts raced as he tried to think of something to say to keep the young man trying. He finally latched on to something Joseph had told him during the interview.

“Remember what your grandfather said.” He gasped, and dodged the floating carcass of a mule that swept past him, the tail hairs flicking across his face.

“Grandfather?” Joseph muttered.

“Yes. Your grandfather told you never to say that you couldn’t do something or that something seemed impossible or couldn’t be done, no matter how discouraged you got.” Matthew was amazed all the words were coming back. “He told you you’re only limited by what you allow yourself to be limited by — your own mind.”

Matthew was encouraged when Joseph smiled.

“He told me I am the master…of my own reality and…that when I understood that…absolutely anything in the…world was possible.” Joseph’s voice was weak and broken, but Matthew heard him.

“That’s right! You can’t give up now, Joseph. You’ve lasted through the prison camps. A float down the Mississippi is nothing.”

Joseph’s eyes lost their blankness and took on some semblance of life, however weak. “Why are you saving me?”

Matthew took a breath of relief. “It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

Joseph smiled again and looked back at the burning boat. “There aren’t many gonna live through that,” he murmured.