Authors: Ginny Dye
“It was a complete victory!” one passing man yelled exuberantly.
“We did it! They thought they would march through to Richmond. We sent them running with their tails between their legs,” an elegantly attired woman crowed.
“Those Yankees will leave us alone for sure now!” another yelled as he pounded a nearby man on the back.
“This is cause for celebration,” one slightly weaving man yelled before he pulled a passing woman close to kiss her soundly.
Carrie gasped but then laughed as the indignant woman pulled away laughing herself. Her father was right. The city was wild with joy.
Just then a swarm of children caught her attention.
“I got one!” a little dark-haired boy cried. Brandishing his make-believe pistol, he rushed forward to finish the job with an imaginary bayonet.
“Look at them run!” another cried as he rushed up to a nearby bench, pretending he was discharging a mighty cannon.
“Those yellow-bellied cowards won’t dare come down here again!” a little girl cried. “I hate those Yankees!” she screamed defiantly, raising her fist to the North.
Carrie’s heart grew heavy as she watched the drama unfolding before her. Those children were too young to even know what they were saying. Shallow thinking adults had taught them to hate a whole population of people - people they didn’t know anything about. They had ripped the humanity of Northerners from these children’s minds and replaced it with a blind hatred of a whole people. The unthinking passions that had ignited this war were now being passed down to the children. When it was all over, would it really be over? How would the unreasoning hatred be erased?
As their carriage rolled slowly onward, the children were left behind. Once more Carrie and her father found themselves amid mobs of people who were celebrating their wonderful victory. Thousands of Richmonders had flocked to the streets in response to the summoning of the church bells and the now constantly tolling Capitol tower bell.
“Isn’t it marvelous, Carrie?” Thomas shouted above the din.
Carrie was still too confused about her own feelings to know whether it was marvelous or not, but she was glad to see unrestrained joy take the place of worry and anxiety on her father’s face. She tucked her hand through his arm and spoke enthusiastically. “Indeed it is, Father.”
As they continued to inch forward, she finally thought to wonder where they were going.
“The Spotswood,” Thomas yelled in response to her question. “We will get any breaking news there first.”
Carrie leaned back against her seat in satisfaction. Maybe now she would find out if Robert was okay.
The Spotswood was a madhouse. Carrie was sure everyone connected with the government was confined in that one place. They knew it was to the Spotswood that Davis would send any more news. There was a steady flow of messengers to the telegraph office. There were no empty places in the dining room, but Carrie spotted an empty place on a sofa in the far corner.
“Go over with the other men,” she urged her father. “I will be quite content to sit here for a while.”
Her father hesitated and then nodded his head in assent. “Thank you,” he said simply. He squeezed her hand and moved over to join one of the knots of men.
Carrie sank down on the sofa and looked around. Men were talking and waving their hands. Looks of victory and excitement were mixed with determination and resolve. It was a group of ladies in the far corner that kept drawing her attention, however. They stayed clustered in one area, only looking up occasionally. Their faces, in contrast to the men in the room, were drawn with worry and concern.
“Those are all officers’ wives.”
Carrie turned to identify the voice that had broken into her thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“I saw you watching those women. They are all officers’ wives. They’re waiting for news of their husbands. Several also have sons or brothers who fought at Manassas today.”
“I see,” Carrie murmured, wishing she could go over to join them. Then she remembered the woman beside her. “Thank you.” She turned to smile at the rather plain woman with the pleasant smile and tired eyes. Her hair, though carefully done, was lackluster and dull. Her gray dress added to the drabness of her appearance even though Carrie could tell it was well made. “Are you waiting for news as well?”
“No. My husband and I moved here from Louisiana,” she said with a soft accent. “My name is Victoria Lewis. My husband, Richard Lewis, is an aide to the President. He insisted I come with him tonight.”
“You don’t sound excited about it,” Carrie commented.
“I’m not. And I feel free to say that because your face looks about like mine,” she said flatly.
Carrie laughed, liking the outspoken woman. “I am waiting for news as well. All I care about right now is finding out if someone I care deeply for is okay.”
“I hope he is,” Victoria said softly. “I wouldn’t wish the same pain Mrs. Bartow is facing tonight.” She made no attempt to hide the tears welling in her eyes.
“Mrs. Bartow? Do you mean Colonel Bartow...?”
Victoria nodded. “The news came through a while ago. Thankfully, Mrs. Bartow didn’t have to hear it as an announcement. Some of her close friends went to break the news.”
Tears swarmed in Carrie’s eyes at the thought of the pain the woman must be bearing. She had never met Colonel Bartow, but he had been extremely popular with his men and the city alike.
“General Bee is another,” Victoria said.
“General Bee is dead, too?” Carrie asked disbelievingly. “How many? How many died...?” she asked slowly.
Victoria shook her head. “That will take a while to tell. They’ll send lists of the officers first. Then the enlisted men.” Her voice hardened. “Then the wounded will come in. Richmond thinks she has struggled getting used to being a capital so far. My friend, they haven’t seen anything yet. This whole city will be a hospital before this is all over.” She continued, this time in a softer voice. “Women who not so long ago talked freely of their willingness to sacrifice their loved ones for the cause are now terror stricken they might be called upon.”
Carrie stared out over the celebrating as her new friend’s words struck home. The South had won the Battle of Manassas. Now they would find out the cost.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Clouds and rain blanketed the city when Carrie joined her father the next morning for breakfast. He was pouring over his paper, absent-mindedly sipping his coffee, obviously in a hurry to be off to the Capitol. They had not gotten home until the wee hours of the morning, but he looked refreshed and rested, eager to face his duties. The news of the Confederate victory had invigorated him.
“Listen to this,” Thomas said as she slid into the chair across from him. Flipping back to the front page of the
Richmond Enquirer
, he read,
“Night has closed on a hard fought field. Our forces have won a glorious victory. The enemy was routed and tired precipitately, abandoning a very large amount of arms, munitions, knapsacks and baggage. The ground was strewn with their killed for miles, and the farm houses and grounds around filled with their wounded...... We have captured several field batteries and regimental standards and one U.S. flag. Many prisoners have been taken.”
Carrie watched her father. His eyes were glowing. She was doing her best to understand him. She knew that, to him, all this was about maintaining the only way of life he had ever known. Each victory meant he was less likely to lose that.
“Father, are you glad you don’t have a son right now?” she asked suddenly.
Thomas lowered his paper and looked at her. “A son?” He looked at her blankly for a moment and then understanding dawned. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he admitted. “It gives me peace to know you are right here in Richmond with me. I don’t have to wonder if you are dead or alive.”
“Has there been any word of Robert?”
Thomas shook his head. “These things take time,” he said soothingly. “Robert is a resourceful young man. I’m sure he is okay.”
“I understand Colonel Bartow and General Bee were resourceful men as well,” Carrie observed dryly.
“Yes. Yes, they were.” Thomas said heavily. Then he sighed. “We knew there would be an awful price to pay. But it’s worth it,” he said firmly. “Here, listen to this,” he said quickly, obviously not wanting her to ask more questions. Once again he turned to the Enquirer.
“The importance of the victory cannot be over-estimated. If the enemy had destroyed our army as we have destroyed his, who can picture the gloom that would this day have shrouded our prospects? We would have been, for the present, almost at the mercy of the invading host which has profaned our soil. We cannot be too grateful to Heaven for the glorious deliverance which has been granted us.”
Carrie thought it best not to comment on what her father had just read. She had lain awake for long hours the night before, envisioning the pain and suffering the men on both sides must have endured - and must still be enduring. She had taken Aunt Abby’s words as her own - she could not determine the will of God in who should be victor of this horrible conflict. All she could do was live each day asking God what his will for her was. “When will news of the casualties and wounded soldiers reach the city?” she asked quietly.
“Telegrams should start arriving today. When I talked with Governor Letcher last night, he seemed to think the wounded would not make their way into the city before tomorrow.” Then he flipped open to another page of the paper. “Here. Mayor Mayo is calling for a meeting in Capitol Square to make arrangements for the care of the wounded.”
“There must be a lot,” Carrie commented, watching her father’s face closely. She sensed he knew more than he was saying.
Thomas looked up and saw her watching him. His face was grim as he nodded. “All I know is that there are well over a thousand who will need medical attention.”
Carrie groaned and once more fear engulfed her heart: Fear and sorrow for the men who would soon return to the city they had left so gallantly and lightheartedly just days or weeks before. Sorrow for the family members whose greatest fear had become jarring reality. “Over a thousand...” she whispered. Suddenly her heart was torn with conflict.
“What is it?”
She struggled to find words to express what she was feeling. “I am so torn. All I want to do is help people who are sick. People who have been hurt. I find myself wanting to stay here in Richmond and help with the medical needs. But,” she paused for a long moment, “there are needs to be met on the plantation as well. Our soldiers need food. The people of Richmond need food. I can meet that need as well...” Her voice trailed off.