Different Sin (31 page)

David nodded uncertainly. “I just meant—” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts, wondering why in hell he was bothering to argue the question with these officers. He knew the answer to that though.

Anything was better than being alone with his memories.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The continuing bleakness of David’s mood went unnoticed as work on the mine shaft was completed, just shy of a month from its beginning. Christopher Pennell, who’d offered David sleeping space in his tent, spent long minutes on his knees each night, praying for the strength not to falter in his mission; Colonel Thomas’ easygoing manner grew edgier with each day that passed without orders for an assault.

The Confederates—rumors flew—had learned of the Union mine and were sinking shafts of their own in an effort to discover its location; Hancock’s corps made a diversionary feint against Richmond, while Colonel Pleasants’ miners lugged eight thousand pounds of powder down the long tunnel.

The colored troops awaited the assault with nothing but patient, unwavering faith, so far as David could see, a patience that turned to joyous anticipation as orders were given to be ready to attack at half-past three in the morning of July 30, immediately following the explosion of the mine. The infantrymen were tense with sleepless excitement as they lay on their arms the night before, just behind the covered way leading to the shaft.

Christopher Pennell clasped his hands around his knees, eager as any man in his command as he awaited Colonel Thomas’ return with Burnside’s final orders to the brigade. “We’re ready,” Pennell told David. “Men and officers both. With God’s help we’ll prove to the world what our sable brethren are capable of.” David winced at the echo of Zach’s words. He forced himself to listen to the young lieutenant review Burnside’s plan of attack, as much for his own benefit as David’s. If nothing else, David told himself, he’d managed to position himself well to capture the start of the assault for Leslie.

Pennell broke off his explanation of how the attacking troops would sweep to the right and left of the crater formed by the explosion, driving the Rebs from their trenches and lessening the danger of flank attacks. David followed his gaze. Colonel Thomas strode toward them, his face a grim mask, and informed his regimental commanders that Meade and Grant had overridden Burnside’s orders: The plan of attack had been changed. A white division would lead in place of the colored. David approached Thomas for further information on the last minute change. “I’ve unburdened myself of all the knowledge I have,” Thomas snapped. “All I can add is that I fear the morrow is most apt to bring disaster.”

He’d best look elsewhere for more information. David worked his way toward the breastworks nearest the Confederate lines, finally stumbling on a hill overlooking the field where most of the contingent of newsmen waited the explosion in murmuring, anxious groups. David joined them, nodded to Al with painful stiffness and found himself a spot well away from her.

Alf Waud gave him a broad grin. “We missed you the past couple of weeks, old chap. You intending to steal a march on the rest of us, moving down to the front?”

Christ, if he only knew— David managed a strained smile. “I’m afraid I’ve no more idea than you what’s going on.”

“Between you, me and the gatepost,” Waud said, “Meade’s interested in covering his arse if things go wrong. He doesn’t want to be accused of using the darkies for cannon fodder, got Grant to back him up. I daresay Burnside was bloody well miffed. He didn’t choose a new division commander to lead the assault, let his generals draw straws for the honor. Ledlie drew the short one,” he added parenthetically.

Waud pulled his watch from his pocket. He lit a match, shielding its flame from view, and peered at his timepiece. “Three-twenty,” he announced. “Ten minutes to go.”

Conversations died. A silent tension stretched through the thousands of massed troops, strained near the breaking point as the moment came and went without sight or sound of the promised explosion.

Four o’clock came. Anxiety heightened. Daylight approached. The scheme was a failure, men whispered in agonized disappointment. The sight of the massed divisions, clearly visible from the Reb lines once day arrived, would be a dead giveaway of the Union purpose.

Two
Herald
reporters who’d made their way to the mouth of the shaft returned with news: the rope fuse had gone out at a splice somewhere along its ninety-foot length; two of Pleasants’ miners had volunteered to enter the tunnel to relight the match. David breathed his admiration of the men’s daring. Four-fifteen passed. Four-thirty.

With a suddenness that startled even the expectant onlookers, the ground heaved. The earth along the Reb lines erupted, spewing out a massive cloud of flame-shot smoke, dirt, sandbags, guns and the mangled bodies of men, rising on a pole of fire as if the flames of hell had burst forth into the living world. The cloud spread outward like a swollen, rotting mushroom. Rocks, timbers, severed limbs and clay hung suspended an instant, the space of an indrawn breath, then almost slowly fell back to earth. The rumble of the explosion was drowned out by the roar of cannon, thundering from the line of Union artillery like the war cry of a thousand vengeful devils.

DEBRIS RAINED BACK TO EARTH, chunks of clay falling as far as the lead troops of Ledlie’s division. The first two Union lines scattered in panic. Through the cloud of settling dirt and smoke David made out the raw wound of the bomb crater. He stared through his field glasses, transfixed by the destruction.

“Mind if I take a look through those?” David jumped at Al’s approach, handed her the glasses with a wordless nod, stood in awkward silence as she raised them to her eyes. Al lowered the glasses and turned to David. “Aren’t you even gonna say howdy? Seems to me by rights I’m the one who oughta be mad.”

“Oh God, Al, I’m not mad at you! It was all my fault. I just—”

“Never mind, David. This is the hardly the time to stand around jawing about it anyways.” She focused the glasses on the crater, peered through them, then handed them back with a look of disappointment. “You can’t hardly see what it’s like, even with these glasses of yours. A couple of the
Herald
reporters are heading over to have a better look at it. I reckon the best thing to do is join them.”

Shock jerked him from his silent embarrassment. “For God’s sake, Al, have you gone crazy? It’s bad enough you’re here at all. At least have the sense to stay behind our lines!”

“I don’t reckon you’ve any business telling me what to do! Anyways, it’s not so crazy. It’s gonna take a while for the Rebs to recover. It won’t be dangerous to go out for a quick look.”

David looked back toward the Reb works. The line of trenches surrounding the crater appeared empty, deserted by their terrified Reb defenders. No return fire met the fierce barrage of Union artillery. Yet he’d thought it safe to venture out after the Union charge in the wilderness, and damn near got himself trapped when the tide of battle turned. He said nothing. Neither of them, he was certain, wanted to dwell on that day.

“Anyway,” Al persisted, “I suppose those
Herald
reporters know what they’re doing.”

“Dammit Alice, they’re not women! This is no place—”

“Hush, David! Folks’ll hear you.”

“Let them,” he said, startling both of them. He took a deep breath, looked at her stubbornly set face. “I mean it, Alice. You’re not going out there.”

“David.” Al looked anxiously around, gave a sigh of relief as she saw the other newsmen preoccupied, Cadwallader snapping instructions to
Herald
reporters, Alf Waud and Ed Forbes already busy sketching with the aid of their glasses. “I told you, it’s none of your business anymore what I do. I aim to write the best dispatch I can and—”

Christ, at least he could be man enough to keep her from running headlong into danger. He owed her that much. A lot more than that, if truth be told, after the way he’d led her on, compromised her virtue. He took another breath.

“It’s still my business if you get yourself shot. I’ll go out with Ledlie’s division and take a look around, tell you everything I saw. You can write it up the same as if you were out there and still see the assault from up here.”

“David, I told you—”

“Alice. I don’t want to have to give you away. Look, tell Ed I’ll get a quick sketch of the inside of the pit, will you?” He turned before she could answer and rushed toward the entrenchments.

Officers shouted and swore as they regrouped the panicked infantrymen. The Union breastworks formed a barricade to the advance of their own soldiers. Men clambered clumsily over the log and earth walls, jabbed bayonets into chinks to serve as make-shift ladders, climbed over piled up sandbags. David fell into the line of infantrymen; waiting hands hoisted him over the wall.

He followed the ragged line of soldiers as they fought their way through the further defenses of thorn abatis laid in front of the breastworks, emerged suddenly onto the open field. For an instant he felt the panicky exposure of nightmare. He fought it down and stumbled toward the bomb pit with the disorganized wave of infantrymen.

A wall of earth, thrown up by the explosion, surrounded the crater. Men jerked to a stop at the rim, staring down in awe. David halted with them, gaping in astonished trepidation at the still smoking pit. More Union soldiers raced up, pressed the front ranks forward. An officer barked an order to advance. The infantrymen began clambering over the debris, chunks of unearthed clay and bleeding Confederate bodies. David was shoved violently forward. He stumbled and slid down the slanting side of the crater, landing painfully on his hands and knees.

He struggled to his feet, clutched instinctively at his sketchpad and gingerly brushed tiny, sharp-edged stones from his palms. His left knee throbbed. He limped a little ways to his right, trying to stay out of the path of the shoving troops, and stared around.

Awe distracted him from his discomforts. The raw pit stretched nearly two hundred feet along the Reb line and sixty feet wide. The sides, nearly sheer, rose thirty feet above him. Acrid smoke drifted from crevices in the ground over a mass of splintered caissons, projecting timbers and huge red chunks of clay tossed about like toppled children’s blocks. Corpses lay crumpled like rag dolls; the protruding limbs of men buried alive by debris twitched feebly. The groans of the wounded sounded weakly under the continuing thunder of Union artillery.

The Union troops milled about uncertainly in the bowl of the crater, awaiting further orders. Small groups of infantrymen began digging out the half-buried Southerners. David hastened to assist the nearest rescue effort, clawing up handfuls of loose dirt till a dazed young second lieutenant was pulled free. He opened his pad and did a quick sketch of the man as he gulped deep, grateful breaths of air.

A few more Confederate prisoners were taken. A Union officer supervised a squad of his men as they unearthed a couple of half-buried cannon, dragged them toward the far rim of the crater.

Union troops still poured into the pit, divisions intermingling in a disorganized mass. Line officers bellowed commands. “Go for the crest! Go ahead! Move out, goddamn it!” The leading brigade clambered with difficulty up the steep slope. Cheers rang out as they planted the colors of the 14
^th
New York Artillery on Confederate fortifications ringing the far side of the pit and continued their advance through the labyrinth of abandoned Reb trenches toward the crest of Cemetery Hill, which overlooked Petersburg some four hundred yards to the rear of the Rebel line.

Gunfire spat without warning from breastworks flanking the advancing Union troops, raking their rear. Their line broke. Men struggled frenziedly back to the shelter of the crater as the Confederate counterattack intensified. Blue-clad soldiers making a dash for the edge pitched forward, propelled by sharpshooters’ bullets, toppled headlong into the crater.

David clenched the pencil in his fist, his sketch forgotten. Christ, he’d best get the hell out of here, get back to the Union lines! He scrambled frantically up the side of the crater, sliding backward every few feet as handholds of loose dirt disintegrated under his grip. The bulky field glasses on their neck strap banged and jabbed into his chest. Chunks of clay, wood and metal rained down on him.

The thunder of artillery increased to near deafening pitch, with the ferocity of a sudden storm. David froze in terror. That wasn’t just Union artillery! By the sound of it, the Rebs had brought up a battery, were sweeping the crest of the crater with canister, perhaps even the field between the lines. It could be worth his life to try to return to the Union lines. But if the Rebs had turned the assault around, were pursuing the Union brigades back into the crater— David scrabbled with his fingernails for a hold on the clay, flattened himself against the sloping wall.

Particles of dirt filled his nostrils as he clung to the slope. He was too petrified to move, unable to see either the field above or the pit behind him. Finally the uncertainty became too great to bear. He grabbed for the support of a protruding timber and edged carefully around, digging his heels into the earth for footing and maintaining his balance in an ungainly squat.

On the other side of the crater retreating Union troops were still scrambling down the slopes. There was no sign of Rebel pursuit. He drew a deep breath, tried to calm the pounding of his heart. Hell, the Rebs would have their hands full defending their rear lines, now that their defenses had been breached. As badly outnumbered as the Southerners were, they’d most likely pull back, tighten their defenses in preparation for assault by the Union divisions still massed behind their breastworks. This was nothing but a temporary setback. His best bet was to sit tight, take refuge in the pit out of the reach of crossfire.

He slid gingerly back to the floor of the crater. Under the din of artillery the yells of officers struggling to regroup their commands sounded a weak interruption. A handful of troops attempted to reach the crest once more, scrambling up the crater wall braced to fire on Reb gunners starting to ring the pit. Despairing curses rose as the men fell back, raked by Confederate crossfire.