Plantation Nation (9781621352877) Read online

  Emma heard that Orson and Will made many friends among the soldiers. Having Will around brightened the disposition of many since he reminded them of their sons, but most agreed that an army encampment was no place for a young boy. Will and his pistol joined the men during musket practice one afternoon and demonstrated his aggression more than his marksmanship. Orson and Will stuck to their wandering and eventually went in search of other customers for their wares.

  A few men ended up spending a couple nights in the camp's improvised prison, but whether drunkenness and disorderliness landed them there thanks in part to Orson and his whiskey-elixirs, Emma didn't know.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Union Encampment

  Northern Virginia

  March, 1862

  If the Army of the Potomac had been labeled quiet during the autumn of 1861, it was downright mute during the winter of 1862, Emma thought. Snowfall and bitter temperatures discouraged serious troop movement, despite President Lincoln's urging for a stronger Union presence closer to Richmond. McClellan continued his demands for more men, more artillery, and more time.

  In the Western theater of the campaign, General Grant did not allow the loss at Belmont to deter him from chipping away at Confederate fortifications. By the middle of February, he had captured Forts Henry and Donelson on the Tennessee River. Union General Don Carlos Buell took control of Nashville shortly thereafter, and General Samuel Curtis victoriously battled an allied Cherokee-Confederate band in Pea Ridge, Arkansas. Naturally, Emma and her comrades wondered if the Cherokee band was the same group they had faced on their mission delivering supplies.

  Sadly, in late February, devastation struck the White House when eleven year-old Willie Lincoln died from typhoid fever. The president and Mrs. Lincoln plunged into an abyss of grief that overshadowed the Union's accomplishments. Lincoln went so far as to have the boy exhumed twice, just so he could see his face again.

  By March, McClellan made his plans clear — troops were to prepare for advancement and attack upon Richmond.

  "About time," Charles complained after drill duty. "Some of us want to get this thing over with. If we don't strike out and start putting them Rebels in their place, this stalemate will just go on forever."

  The change in Charles' attitude and his newfound thirst for action surprised Emma. She wondered if there was meaning behind those words, or if it was a means to conceal his plans for desertion.

  "Our pay come late again," Simon noted. "Not much my wife can do with thirteen dollars a month with six kids to clothe and feed, but she needs it. She's having a time managing the farm without me."

  "We're all in the same spot," Trumball said. "Not much we can do, 'cept wait and follow orders when they come."

  "This better not just be li'l ol' Mac flappin' his gums again." Nash wiped down his rifle as he spoke. "Us movin' to Richmond better be for real. Ain't you heard nothin', Lieutenant?"

  "Nothin' that means anything. I know this ain't ideal, men, but the best we can do is to keep our heads about us and to be ready. Things could change at any moment. I get the feelin' that's the way the general prefers things."

  "Lieutenant Trumball?"

  All heads turned and found Sergeant Howard approaching. One of the few men shorter than McClellan in the camp, Howard served as an assistant to McClellan.

  "The general wishes to see you," Howard said.

  "All right, I'll be right there."

  "He's also requested to see another man from your unit," Howard glanced at a paper in his hand, "a Private Edmonds."

  Eyebrows jumped and curious looks found Emma, who had an equally bewildered expression upon her face.

  Trumball cocked a grin. "Tell the general we're on our way."

  Despite having won a degree of favor with Little Mac, Emma's admiration of her leader never recovered from her initial encounter with the man. Emma followed Trumball to the general's tent and took a seat inside on a folding canvas chair. As they waited for McClellan to materialize, Emma and Trumball were joined by Colonel Reed. McClellan appeared a short time later, combing his hair.

  "Gentlemen, you're here. Good." He combed his hair for several more minutes while the men watched. "I've been thinking of taking some action."

  Eyes darted all around.

  "However, our situation is delicate." McClellan began a slow, thoughtful pace. "Before I can move an army to take over the Confederate's capital at Richmond, we'll have to conquer Yorktown. Now the president seems to disagree that I need a considerably greater amount of men for such a feat. He's a politician, mind you, not a military leader. His weakness in understanding my difficult position shows. In this great undertaking I have been entrusted with, I want to be certain that our strategies are effective and propel us toward victory, but if I move this army to attack Yorktown at present, I fear what the outcome may be. So in an attempt to further our efforts, and to pacify the president, I have decided that what will benefit us most is to infiltrate a spy into the Rebel camp."

  "Don't we already have such persons, working to seek out information on the Confederates?" Colonel Reed asked.

  "Indeed, we do have various gentlemen undertaking such tasks, but what I require is someone of our own choosing. Someone who can slip behind those enemy lines, complete critical observations, and report back to me directly."

  "I take it you already have someone in mind," Trumball said.

  "You are correct, Lieutenant." McClellan stopped in front of Emma. "I believe this young man here," he motioned to Emma, "might be the very person who can permeate the Rebel's defenses and bring us back valuable information. It stands to reason, gentlemen, that we need to know what we are up against before we put our men in danger, and above all, we must not risk an outcome similar to the events at Bull Run."

  Emma feared her heart would pound out of her chest.

  "I disagree, General."

  All heads turned to Trumball.

  "Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

  "I believe our men are well-equipped and more than ready to face the enemy, sir. The longer we delay an attack, the more time we're handing to the Rebels to gain more artillery and more men of their own."

  "Perhaps, Lieutenant," McClellan said, "but I am convinced that a Union spy within their borders is paramount to our success."

  Trumball clenched his jaw.

  "Now, Private Edmonds, I have given this great thought. Considering the bravery you demonstrated against those savages, and given your success as a courier, I am persuaded to believe that this assignment suits you. You've proven that you can operate under extreme duress and that you are not deterred by cumbersome weather. In you I see a reliable, self-sufficient man with handy skills and an untainted devotion to the Union's cause. Am I correct in that assumption, Edmonds?"

  "Yes, General." Emma ignored the buds of perspiration coating the skin under her jacket.

  "Excellent. I want you to spend the next several days familiarizing yourself with the various names and types of weapons that the Rebels may possess. When you infiltrate the camp, I want you to absorb every detail. I want to know where their ammunitions are kept, how stocked they are with supplies, the condition of their men, relative numbers of their men, where their pickets are stationed, and what they eat for supper. Am I making myself clear, Edmonds?"

  Emma's head spun. A spy? Alone and among the Rebels? Surely, Emma thought, this was a suicide mission.

  "Absolutely, yes, sir," Emma said. "And, sir, how do you propose I carry this out?"

  McClellan looked appalled as he turned on his heel. "Heaven's sakes, Edmonds, didn't you just confirm how resourceful you can be? Am I expected to outline every detail of this assignment?"

  "No, no, sir."

  McClellan served her a stern look. "I could be mistaken. Perhaps you're not appropriate for this duty."

  Emma straightened. "Sir, your faith in me is well placed."

  "Good," the general said slowly. "Then let me be clear. Excuses and failure are unacceptable. If you ar
e tempted or derailed by either, you may consider yourself discharged from further service. Dishonorably discharged."

  "General!" Colonel Reed thundered. "You're being unreasonable!"

  McClellan turned to him. "Am I? Seems to me that General Scott aired a similar opinion, and need I remind you, Colonel, how that fared for the old windbag?"

  Everyone present recalled that McClellan had been partially responsible for helping shove Winfield Scott into retirement. Colonel Reed shook with frustration at the implication, but he bottled the emotion in his wrinkled face.

  Emma stepped up. "Sir, I'm capable and proud to accept this mission. There won't be any problems. I'll report back on everything I find." She felt the glare from Trumball and knew she had probably angered her commander with such a reckless promise.

  "Fine." McClellan sounded irritated rather than pleased. "You must be swift about it, as there's no time to waste. If you don't report back within a week of your departure, then I will assume that you've been captured, or worse. I don't count the Rebels as being much different than those savages, so there's no telling what kind of punishment you may endure as a prisoner. Capture may be a fate worse than death."

  Emma shuddered, knowing McClellan wasn't exaggerating. Reports filtered in that newly established prisons on both side of the Mason-Dixon Line were overcrowded, starving their prisoners, and infested with smallpox. Furthermore, what would they do to a captured Southern female, posing as a Union spy? Innovative torture, Emma suspected.

  "Are you sure you're willing to make that kind of a sacrifice, Edmonds?"

  She nodded firmly, although she was uncertain who had posed the question.

  "I am, sir."

  Emma looked from Colonel Reed to Trumball. She emitted a façade of confidence and hoped the fact she was willing to take such a risk would bolster her mission with favor, since she had no idea how she would pull it off and return to camp alive.

  ****

  After Emma relayed her news to Eleanor later that night, the older woman blinked at Emma in stunned silence.

  "You can't be serious," she finally said. "For Heaven's sake how on earth are you supposed to go about something like that? It's not as though you can hide behind every bush and tree without detection."

  "Honestly? I was hoping you might have some suggestions." Emma stirred her cup of tea but her stomach felt too twisted to eat or drink. "I need a way to get inside and explore everything. Then I need to make it back here all in one piece."

  Eleanor shook her head. "He's asking too much. How can McClellan expect so much from you?"

  "If I don't go I'll be discharged, and he'll find someone else." Emma wondered if Trumball would volunteer himself. "McClellan is trying to prove to Lincoln that he's actually doing something besides sitting around, wasting time and combing his hair. He considers this grand idea of his to be a brilliant military move, and he wants control over the mission."

  "Rosemary has heard that Lincoln has threatened to replace McClellan, he's so displeased with the general's lack of movement."

  "It may be time for Lincoln to give it serious consideration. The encampment almost isn't big enough for McClellan's ego. I'm not sure the men would be pleased to lose McClellan, even though his strategies seem lethargic."

  Emma sipped her tea.

  "Wait, did you say Rosemary heard this? How?"

  "Oh, she picks up a great deal of gossip whenever she's in town. She says none of the officers pay any attention to her and talk as if she wasn't around. I suppose no one sees a colored girl as any kind of threat."

  "Hold on there." Emma froze. No stranger to outlandish ideas, she mulled a scheme taking shape in her mind. She stood and paced, aiding her concentration. "We might be on to something here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "What if…I mean, if we could find a way…"

  Eleanor reared back in her chair. "I'm almost afraid at what might be brewing in that head of yours."

  "I'm not sure, but it could work. We just have to figure out…"

  Eleanor threw up her hands. "What?"

  "Is she here?"

  "Who?"

  "Rosemary."

  The young woman joined them in the kitchen after Eleanor called out, but she wasn't prepared for Emma's strange behavior. She touched Rosemary's braided hair, made her turn around, and compared their forearms.

  "What on earth are you doing?" Eleanor asked.

  "This could be it! I can do this!" Emma knelt in front of Eleanor and took both of her hands. "I can infiltrate the Rebel camp disguised as a colored man. It's perfect! You said so yourself, no one pays attention to them. The same would be true at the Confederates' camp."

  She jumped to her feet.

  "Now we just have to figure out a way to tint my skin."

  Emma began rummaging through Eleanor's spices and bottles while Eleanor and Rosemary traded bewildered, skeptical faces.

  ****

  Finding nothing in Eleanor's kitchen that could stain her skin properly, Emma headed for the hospital tent and the supply of iodine. Applied to wounds, Dr. Hillman and his assistants had noted how the chemical seemed to stop the spread of infection, yet they didn't know why. Emma was more interested in its orange tint.

  At the late hour, the hospital and its patients were quiet. Though dysentery continued, the number of patients that needed tended to were down. Emma worked by candlelight, mixing the iodine with various amounts of water and smearing it onto the back of her hand. In the dim light, she had difficulty telling whether or not the color looked convincing.

  "I hope you know what a fool thing you're doin'."

  Startled, Emma looked up and saw Trumball across from her. At first, Emma feared he was referring to her futile experiment. She slid her stained hand behind her back and scrambled her brain for a quick way to get rid of him.

  "You were there, Lieutenant. He threatened to discharge me, so I don't see that I had much choice in the matter."

  "McClellan ain't got his head on straight. He's pressured and graspin' at straws. He knows you're gonna fail."

  The remark startled Emma. "No, I don't believe that." She ignored Trumball's dig and went on the offensive. "Tell me something, Lieutenant, why is it that a mission is foolhardy only when I'm involved? You've given me a hard time since we met, and frankly, I don't know what I've done to deserve it. No matter what I do, I never seem to be able to earn your respect, or your trust." Emma still harbored a feeling of betrayal, considering Trumball had never mentioned a word about his sick wife.

  "You're young, and I hate to see a young one like you risk his neck more than needed. Isn't it enough seein' men die in front of you almost every day?" He motioned to their hospital surroundings. "Tell him to assign someone else."

  "I won't go back on my word."

  Emma and Trumball stood speechless for a moment, their level gaze simmering with tension.

  "Think of it this way, Lieutenant, at least it's my neck I'm risking. I'd do just about anything for this cause, and if I end up piled in one of those graves out there or worse, well, then you'll be rid of me once and for all. Maybe then you'll be satisfied."

  "You ain't listenin' to a word I'm sayin'."

  Emma wanted to point out that she had hung on to every word, conversation, and moment they had shared, but she knew Trumball wouldn't, couldn't understand the depth of her absurd feelings for him. Emma struggled to understand the feelings herself.

  "I'm going through with it," Emma said. "If you can't support me, then it would be best for you to steer clear of me. I have enough on my mind and I don't need your doubts making things worse."

  Emma slipped the iodine under her jacket and walked away before the tears showed.

  ****

  The iodine experiments failed drastically. Not only was Emma unable to stain herself a convincing shade, but she was also unable to keep the iodine from rubbing off onto her clothing. With Eleanor's help she tried other methods, including soot from the fireplace, but her options
dwindled.

  Complicating matters further, McClellan insisted Emma leave the following night.

  Emma began to lose hope that disguising herself as a slave would be possible. Then she tried silver nitrate. Used for developing photographs and healing wounds, the compound could be made into a black mixture that bonded well with skin. After several trials, Emma turned herself into a 'darkie'.

  "This seems to do the trick." Emma stood in Eleanor's kitchen holding out her stained forearms for approval. "But there's another problem. My hair."

  "Oh, I already thought of that." Eleanor retrieved a wool hairpiece from her cupboard. "It looks rather wild, but I'm sure it will do." She positioned it atop Emma's head.

  "Where did you get it?"

  "I stopped by Ford's Theater. The man there found that for me, although he admitted it wasn't the best quality."

  Emma pulled the wig on tight and moved her head, testing to see how secure it was. Then she checked her appearance in the hallway mirror. Frizzy, wild curls shot in every direction. The hairpiece smelled musty and had enough dust that could pass for lice. Emma could not recall a single laborer on her grandfather's plantation who ever looked as awful.

  "As long as it looks convincing, quality may not matter." She wanted to sound hopeful, since Eleanor had been so thoughtful, but Emma had no idea how to improve the wig. She felt certain its unruly state would give her away.

  Emma wiped the silver nitrate solution onto her face to help complete the look. Both occupied, neither she nor Eleanor noticed when Rosemary stepped into the hallway.

  "Oh!" she screamed. As her hands flew to her face, her armload of wash dropped to the floor. "Lord have mercy!"

  With her face half smeared with black, her arms darkened and a frazzled dark wig atop her head, Emma understood her scare. Rosemary apologized and stared at Emma with a puzzled bewilderment.