Authors: Ginny Dye
“We whupped ‘em good, didn’t we!” another soldier called out.
“We got ‘em that time,” a dark haired lad retorted, “but they ain’t gonna give up easy. There’s going to be the devil to pay around here soon!” His stark comment caused the ward to fall silent as all of them contemplated more of what had landed them there in the first place.
Carrie looked around at the saddened faces and forced a cheerful note into her voice. “There will be no more of this kind of talk, gentlemen. Your only job right now is to get well. I think that should consume quite enough of your energies. Let the fighting be done by those who have to fight. Your turn will probably come soon enough, anyway.” Carrie paused, dismayed by her own words – praying her face didn’t reveal her true feelings. Many of the soldiers would never be able to fight again. More, however, would be called back to join their units - pushed back into the boiling cauldron they had barely escaped. She pushed on, forcing an even more cheery emphasis. “Who is ready to write home?”
“Right here, Miss Cromwell!” one young boy, barely sixteen, called out. “My mama is worried sick about me. I’ve got to let her know I’m getting along just fine.”
Carrie’s heart went out in a rush of sympathy. She smiled at the boy and walked over to his bed. Pulling out paper and pencil, she settled down in a chair beside him. “All right, Samuel. What would you like me to say?” She wrote as the boy talked but privately wished she could just whisk him away to his mother’s love and care. That’s what he needed more than anything.
Carrie had lost track of what battlefield Samuel had come from. But she could never lose track of the constant reminders of what he had been through. The bandaged stump of his amputated right arm and the sling encasing his left one spoke louder than any words of the horror he had been through. Yet she had never once heard him complain. The words he was sending home to his mama were ones of strength and confidence. How many mothers, miles from their loved ones, were helpless to save their boys from the pain and suffering?
It was the same with the rest of the men. There were hardly any murmurs or complaints. They seemed to have accepted this war as their lot in life, and if they were left less than whole, well, they weren’t alone. Once this war was over there would be lots of one-legged, one-armed men running around. They were fighting for a cause, and everyone knew great causes demanded great sacrifice. That was just the way it was. When the South had soundly whipped the North and sent them running back with their tail between their legs - and it was bound to be soon - then all of it would be worth it. They would all be heroes, and they would rebuild their new country the way they wanted it to be.
Carrie was not going to be the one to challenge or destroy their hopes. She had hated this war from the very beginning – when it was still a murmur in the streets. Her feelings had only intensified as she witnessed the suffering and senselessness surrounding her. The only thing that helped her make any sense of it was her work at Chimborazo Hospital.
She had only been at the hospital for a week, but already she loved her work. Every morning she would walk from her father’s house on Church Hill to the sprawling complex of buildings and tents. Chimborazo had begun receiving patients earlier that year and was constantly being expanded for the anticipated increase in casualties. Dr. McCaw, the founder of the hospital, did not share the naive beliefs of many that the war would be over soon. He was preparing for the long haul. He was also preparing for the worst.
“Hey, Miss Cromwell!”
Carrie looked up from the letter she was just finishing. “Yes, Walker?”
A rough-looking boy from the mountains of Tennessee smiled brightly at her. “Tell us the story of how you got to Richmond.”
Carrie groaned as the chorus of agreement rose from the men around her.
One of the hospital wards, a kindly man in his mid-forties, laughed as he entered the room. “Looks like it’s going to be a while before they get tired of
that
story! Kind of nice to have a hero around here,” he said. He dropped a pile of fresh bandages on the table next to the door, winked at her, chuckled at her grimace, and left.
“Come on, Miss Cromwell. Tell it to us!” Walker urged again.
Carrie had told the story so many times that even in her dreams she narrated the events. Yet, the soldiers seemed to love it, and she could see the hope it sparked in their eyes. If a lady could outwit the Union army, then there was not so much to be afraid of after all. A quick look satisfied her there were no immediate needs in the ward. She put aside her writing supplies and forced her thoughts back. “Just a few weeks ago I was busy growing crops on my father’s plantation.”
“Cromwell Plantation,” Walker interrupted.
Carrie nodded, then continued, “Anyway, we were trying to grow crops to feed the hungry people in Richmond. Instead of planting tobacco, we were planting food crops. We had corn, beans, peppers, okra - oh, all kinds of things.” Carrie tried not to envision the wasted effort. “I didn’t realize how close the Union army was until I heard the sounds of the battle in Williamsburg.”
“That’s the one where I lost my arm!” Samuel said proudly.
Carrie heard the tinge of pain in his voice and smiled at him warmly. “The day after the battle, my father’s slaves had finally convinced me to leave the plantation and come to Richmond, but before I could leave, the Union soldiers came searching for food. They broke into my house.”
“If they was looking for food, why’d they break into your house?” a new patient asked. “I heard they was clearing fields and smokehouses. I thought most everyone had already hightailed it for Richmond, anyway.”
Carrie frowned, anger sharpening her usually pleasant voice. “There was a man who betrayed me. He told them I was still on the plantation.” Her eyes took on a remote look as the memory of that day flashed before her. She clamped her jaw shut, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Her father’s old overseer, Ike Adams, had sent the soldiers to rape her.
“How’d you get away?” one of the men near her asked anxiously.
Carrie knew Howard, a Georgia farm boy, had just come in that morning. This was his first time hearing the story. “I managed to hide from them until they quit searching the house. Then I snuck out to the barn and waited for it to get dark.” Once again, she wasn’t telling the whole story, but the secret of the tunnel under Cromwell Plantation was going to stay just that - a secret.
“How in the world did you hide from them?” Howard asked. “I’ve heard about how Yankees search a house!”
“Let’s just say I have my ways...” Walker sang out in a high falsetto.
Carrie laughed with the rest of the men at Walker’s imitation of her standard response. Then she continued. “Anyway, I waited till about midnight and then managed to jump on my horse and race past the guards outside the barn.”
“And get this,” Walker broke in again. “She was riding that horse bareback. A great big Thoroughbred! This pretty, little, slender thing rode that horse just like a man!” Then he sobered. “I’m sorry, Miss Cromwell. I need to let you be telling your own story.”
Carrie told the rest quickly. People had tried to turn her into a hero for jumping Granite over a tall fence even after her being shot in the shoulder in the attempt to escape. She still had occasional dreams about her ride through the dark woods alone before she had finally connected with Warren Hobbs, the soldier Robert had sent to help her. She had made it. That was what counted.
Her story worked its usual magic on the patients listening to her. If turning her into a hero helped their own morale, she would just keep on telling it. It also helped to take her focus off Robert. Daily she battled the fear of what this war could do to the man she loved.
“Them Yankees ain’t no big deal!”
“Yeah, even a woman can outwit them!”
“Yeah, it may have been a Yankee that put me in this hospital, but I bet there’s three or four I put in one of theirs!” another boasted.
Carrie let them talk as she moved from bed to bed checking on the condition of the patients. Not that she could do anything if she found a need - other than call a doctor, or nurse, or one of the ward aides. It had been made clear to her from the beginning that her sole job was to dispense comfort to the soldiers by reading to them, listening to them, or writing letters for them. Anything medical was to be done by one of the male employees. Her eyes flashed with anger as she recalled the words of a doctor when she had tried to point out to him that one of the soldiers was developing an infection in a wound.
“My dear Miss Cromwell,”
he had drawled in a patronizing tone.
“I hardly think I need your assistance in this manner. Such a thing is not really suitable for a lady. I would think you would be rather embarrassed to have an interest in such things as
medicine. Surely you know that interest such as this would be nothing but injurious to the delicacy and refinement of a lady.”
He had looked at her in a way that indicated there were grave reasons to have doubts about her being a lady. Then he had continued,
“I realize you are probably just trying to be helpful in this most trying time, but it will not help our cause to have our ladies’ natures become deteriorated, or to have their sensibilities blunted. You just give our soldiers a little comfort and care. Leave the medical care in our hands.”
He had patted her hand and walked from the ward, leaving her to fume and pound pillows into shapeless submission on the beds she was straightening. All her anger had done was to cause her shoulder to ache. Since that time her anger had steeled into determination. She had wanted to be a doctor since she was little girl, but she had a long, uphill battle ahead of her. There had already been plenty of warnings that she would be greeted with prejudice and ignorance at every turn. She would just have to get used to it. Someday it would be different.
“Your green eyes are flashing up a storm, Miss Cromwell. Did one of the soldiers in here do something to make you angry?” Samuel asked. “You just give me the word. I’ll take care of it!”
Samuel’s concerned voice broke into Carrie’s thoughts. Instantly she replaced what must surely be a frown with a smile. If she was going to bring cheer into this ward, she would have to do a better job of hiding her feelings. “Of course not, Samuel!” she said brightly. “You boys are the light of my life.” She settled down in the chair beside him. “Didn’t you tell me you have a grandmother who is very special to you? Don’t you think she would like a letter from you, too? One just for her?”
“Granny? Why, sure. I bet she’d think that was really something - getting a letter from a real war hero!”
He had started talking his letter even before Carrie picked up her paper and pen. Writing swiftly, she filled several pages. She had just signed his signature to it when she heard her name called. Carrie looked up, smiling broadly. “Hello, Janie.”
“Are you planning on staying here all day? You promised your father you would have dinner with him tonight.”
Carrie glanced quickly at her watch. “I completely lost track of time!” In just moments she had gathered her things, called good-bye to her patients, and followed her friend out the door. A quick look at the sky confirmed her earlier suspicions. The sky, now a deeper yellow, was outlined with boiling black clouds. The heavy air was still stagnant, but if the clouds were any indication, a strong wind would be assaulting the city soon.
“I think we have time to get home, but it looks like it’s going to be a bad one.” Janie spoke quickly as she strode down the hill.
Carrie matched her stride. She missed the plantation and all her father’s slaves who had become dear friends, but she was glad to be in Richmond with Janie. They had exchanged letters on a daily basis since that fateful day when Carrie had assisted in saving Janie from a drunken soldier. Next to Rose, her best friend since childhood, Janie was her closest friend. “How did your day go?”
Janie shrugged. “It was fine.” She hesitated. “If watching mere boys learn how to live their lives without arms and legs can ever be fine.” Her voice sharpened, “We lost three today in our ward. Their bodies just couldn’t fight anymore...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”