"Is it not winter in Kentucky and Tennessee?"
"Grant has the help of the navy; McClellan will move when he gets the
help of the navy."
"What good can the navy do between Washington and Richmond?"
"The James River flows by Richmond," said the Doctor.
I had already heard some talk of differences between our general and the
President in regard to a removal of the Army of the Potomac to Fortress
Monroe. I asked the Doctor if McClellan would advance on Richmond by the
Peninsular route, as it was called.
"He will if he is allowed to do so," replied the Doctor; "at least," he
added, "that is my opinion; in fact, I am so well convinced of it that I
shall make preparation at once to remove my camp to some good place near
Fort Monroe."
This intention was new to me, and it gave me great distress. What I
should do with myself after the Doctor had gone, I did not know; I
should get along somehow, of course, but I should miss my friends sadly.
"I am very sorry to hear it, Doctor," said I, speaking to him and
looking at Lydia; her face was impervious.
"Oh," said the Doctor, with his rare and peculiar smile, "maybe we can
take you with us; you would only be going ahead of your regiment."
Lydia's face was still inflexible, her eyes on the fire. I wished for a
chance to bring Willis's name to the front, but saw none.
"I don't see how that could be done, Doctor; I confess that I should
like very much, to go with you, but how can I get leave of absence?"
"Where there is a will there is a way."
"Yes, but I have no will; I have only a desire," said I, gloomily.
"Well," said the Doctor, "I have will enough for both of us and to
spare."
"You mean to say that you can get me leave of absence?"
"Wait and see. When the time comes, there will be no trouble, unless
things change very greatly meanwhile."
I bade my friends good night and went back to my hut. The weather was
mild. My way was over hills and hollows, making me walk somewhat
carefully; but I did not walk carefully enough--I stumbled and fell, and
bruised my back.
The next day I was on camp guard. The weather was intensely cold. A
bitter wind from the north swept the Maryland hills; snow and rain and
sleet fell, all together. For two hours, alternating with four hours'
relief, I paced my beat back and forth; at six o'clock, when I was
finally relieved, I was wet to the skin. When I reached my quarters, I
went to bed at once and fell into a half sleep.
Some time in the forenoon I found Dr. Khayme bending over me, with his
hand on my temples.
"You have had too much of it," said he.
I looked up at him and tried to speak, but said nothing. Great pain
followed every breath. My back seemed on fire.
The Doctor wanted to remove me to his own hospital tent, but dreaded
that I was too ill. Yet there was no privacy, the hut being occupied by
four men. Dr. Khayme found means to get rid of all my messmates except
Willis; they were crowded into other quarters. The surgeon of the
Eleventh had given the Doctor free course.
For two weeks Willis nursed me faithfully. Dr. Khayme came every day--on
some days several times. Lydia never came.
One bright day, near the end of February, I was placed in a litter and
borne by four men to the Doctor's hospital tent. My father came. This
was the first time he and Dr. Khayme met. They became greatly attached.
My progress toward health, was now rapid. Willis was with me whenever he
was not on duty. The Doctor's remedies gave way to simple care, in which
Lydia was the chief priest. Lydia would read to me at times--but for
short times, as the Doctor forbade my prolonged attention, I was not
quite sure that Lydia was doing me good; I liked the sound of her voice,
yet when she would cease reading I felt more nervous than before, and I
could not remember what she had read. So far as I could see, there was
no understanding between Lydia and Willis; yet it was very seldom that I
saw them together.
One evening, after the lamps were lighted, my father told us that he
would return home on the next day. "Jones is in good hands," said he,
"and my business demands my care; I shall always have you in
remembrance, Doctor; you have saved my boy."
The Doctor said nothing. I was sitting up in bed, propped with pillows
and blankets.
"The Doctor has always been kind to me, Father," said I; "ever since he
received the letter you wrote him in Charleston, he has been my
best friend."
"The letter I wrote him? I don't remember having written him a letter,"
said my father.
"You have forgotten, Father," said I; "you wrote him a letter in which
you told him that you were sure he could help me. The Doctor gave me the
letter; I have it at home, somewhere."
The Doctor was silent, and the subject was not continued.
Conversation began again, this time concerning the movements and battles
in the West. The Doctor said; "Jones, the news has been kept from you.
On February 6, General Grant captured Fort Henry, which success led ten
days later to the surrender of Buckner's army at Fort Donelson."
"The 6th of February, you say?" I almost cried; "that was the last time
I saw you before I got sick; on that very day you talked about Grant's
coming successes!"
"It did not need any great foresight for that," said the Doctor.
"You said that Grant had the navy to help him, and that he certainly
would not fail."
"And it was the navy that took Fort Henry," said my father.
On the day following that on which my father left us, I was sitting in a
folding chair, trying to read for the first time since my illness began.
Dr. Khayme entered, with a paper in his hand. "We'll go, my boy," said
he; "we'll go at once and avoid the crowd."
"Go where, Doctor?"
"To Fort Monroe," said he.
"Go to Fortress Monroe, and avoid the crowd?"
"Yes, we'll go."
"What are we going there for?"
"Don't you remember that I thought of going there?"
"When was it that you told me, Doctor?"
"On the night before you became ill. I told you that if General
McClellan could have his way, he would transfer the army to Fort Monroe,
and advance on Richmond by the Peninsular route."
"Yes, I begin to remember."
"Well, President Lincoln has yielded to General McClellan's urgent
arguments; the movement will be begun as soon as transportation can be
provided for such an operation; it will take weeks yet."
"And you are going to move down there?"
"Yes, before the army moves; this is your written authority to go with
me; don't you want to go?"
"Yes; that I do," said I.
"The spring is earlier down there by at least two weeks," said the
Doctor; "the change will mean much to you; you will be ready for duty by
the time your regiment comes."
Lydia was not in the tent while this conversation was going on, but she
came in soon afterward, and I was glad to see that she was certainly
pleased with the prospect of moving. Her eyes were brighter. She began
at once to get together some loose things, although we had several days
in which to make our preparations. I could not keep from laughing at
her; at the same time I felt that my amusement was caused by her
willingness to get away for a time from the army, rather than by
anything else.
"So you are in a hurry to get away," I said.
"I shall be glad to get down there," she replied, "and I have the habit
of getting ready gradually when we move. It saves worry and fluster when
the time comes." Her face was very bright.
"That is the longest speech you have made to me in a week," said I.
She turned and looked full at me; then her expression changed to
severity, and she went out.
That night Willis came; before he saw me he had learned that we were to
go; he was very blank.
* * * * *
The 6th of March found us in camp in the Doctor's tents pitched near
Newport News. The weather was mild; the voyage had helped me. I sat
outside in the sunshine, enjoying the south wind. With the help of the
Doctor's arm or of Lydia's--given, I feared, somewhat unwillingly--I
walked a little. These were happy days; I had nothing to do but to
convalesce. The Southern climate has always helped me. I was
recovering fast.
I liked the Doctor more than ever, if possible. Every day we talked of
everything, but especially of philosophy, interesting to both of us,
though of course I could not pretend to keep pace with his advanced
thought. We talked of the war, its causes, its probable results.
"Jones, it matters not how this war shall end; the Union will be
preserved."
I had never before heard him make just this declaration, though I had
had intimations that such was his opinion. I was glad to hear this
speech. It seemed to place the Doctor in favour of the North, and I
felt relieved.
"Continue," I begged.
"You know that I have said many times that the war is unnecessary; that
all war is crime."
"Yes."
"Yet you know that I have maintained that slavery also is a crime and
must be suppressed."
"Yes, and I confess that you have seemed inconsistent."
"I know you think the two positions contradictory; but both these views
are sound and true. War is a crime; slavery is a crime: these are two
truths and they cannot clash. I will go farther and say that the North
is right and the South is right."
"Doctor, you are astonishing. You will find it hard to convince me that
both of these statements can be true."
"Well, are you ready to listen?"
"Ready and willing. But why is it that you say both sections are right?
Why do you not prove that they are both wrong? You are speaking of
crime, not virtue."
"Of course they are both wrong in the acts of which we are speaking; but
in regard to the principles upon which they seem to differ, they are
right, and these are what I wish to speak of."
"Well, I listen, Doctor."
"Then first let me say that the world is ruled by a higher power than
General McClellan or Mr. Jefferson Davis."
"Agreed."
"The world is ruled by a power that has far-reaching, even eternal,
purpose, and the power is as great as the purpose; the power is
infinite."
"I follow you."
"This power cannot act contrary to its own purpose, nor can it purpose
what it will not execute."
"Please illustrate, Doctor."
"Suppose God should purpose to make a world, and instead of making a
world should make a comet."
"He would not be God," said I, "unless the comet should happen to be in
a fair way of becoming a world."
"Exactly; to act contrary to His purpose would be caprice or failure."
"Yes; I see, or think I do."
"Not difficult at all; I simply say that war is a crime and slavery a
crime. Two truths cannot clash."
"Then you mean to say that God has proposed to bring slavery into
existence, and war, also?"
"Not at all. What I mean to say in that His purpose overrules and works
beyond both. Man makes slavery, and makes war; God turns them into means
for advancing His cause."
"Perhaps I can understand, Doctor, that what you say is true. But I do
not see how the South can be right."
"What are all those crowds of people doing down on the battery?" asked
Lydia, suddenly.
It was about two o'clock. We had walked slowly toward the beach.
"They are all looking in our direction," said Dr. Khayme; "they see
something that interests them."
Across the water in the southeast could be seen smoke, which the wind
blew toward us. Some officers upon a low sand-hill near us were looking
intently through their field-glasses.
"I'll go and find out," said the Doctor; "stay here till I return."
We saw him reach the hill; one of the officers handed him a glass; he
looked, and came back to us rapidly.
"We are promised a spectacle; I shall run to my tent for a glass," said
he.
"What is it all about, Father?" asked Lydia.
"A Confederate war-vessel," said he, and was gone.
"I hope she will be captured," said I; "and I have no doubt she will."
"You have not read the papers lately," said Lydia.
"No; what do you mean?"
"I mean that there are many rumours of a new and powerful iron steamer
which the Confederates have built at Norfolk," she replied.
"Iron?"
"Yes, they say it is iron, or at least that it is protected with iron,
so that it cannot be injured."
"Well, if that is the case, why do we let our wooden ships remain here?"
The Doctor now rejoined us. He handed me a glass. I could see a vessel
off toward Norfolk, seemingly headed in our direction. Lydia took the
glass, and exclaimed, "That must be the _Merrimac!_ what a
strange-looking ship!"
The crowds on the batteries near Newport News and along the shore were
fast increasing. The Doctor said not a word; indeed, throughout the
prodigious scene that followed he was silent, and, to all seeming,
emotionless.
Some ships of-war were at anchor not far from the shore. With the
unaided eye great bustle could be seen on these ships; two of them were
but a very short distance from us.
The smoke in the south came nearer. I had walked and stood until I
needed rest; I sat on the ground.
Now, at our left, toward Fortress Monroe, we could see three ships
moving up toward the two which were near us.
The strange vessel come on; we could see a flag flying. The design of
the flag was two broad red stripes with a white stripe between.
The big ship was nearer; her form was new and strange; a large roof,
with little showing above it. She seemed heading toward Fortress Monroe.
Suddenly she swung round and came slowly on toward our two ships near
Newport News.
The two Federal ships opened their guns upon the rebel craft; the
batteries on shore turned loose on her.
Lydia put her hands to her ears, but soon took them away. She was used
to wounds, but had never before seen battle.
From above--the James River, as I afterward knew--now came down some
smaller rebel ships to engage in the fight, but they were too small to
count for much.
Suddenly the _Merrimac_ fired one gun, still moving on toward our last
ship--the ship at the west; still she moved on, and on, and on, and
struck our ship with her prow, and backed.
The Union ships continued to fire; the batteries and gunboats kept up
their fire.
The big rebel boat turned and made for our second ship, which was now
endeavouring to get away. The _Merrimac_ fired upon her, gun after gun.
Our ship stuck fast, and could not budge, but she continued to fire.
The ship which had been rammed began to lurch and at last she sank, with
her guns firing as she went down.
Lydia's face was the picture of desolation. Her lips parted. The Doctor
observed her, and drew his arm within her own; she sighed heavily, but
did not speak.
The rebel ship stood still and fired many times on our ship aground; and
white flags were at last seen on the Union vessel.
Now the small rebel ships approached the prize, but our shore batteries,
and even our infantry on shore, kept up a rapid fire to prevent the
capture. Soon the small ships steamed away, and the great craft fired
again and again into the surrendered vessel, and set her afire.
Then still another Union ship took part in the contest; she also was
aground, yet she fought the rebel vessels.
The great ship turned again and steamed toward the south until she was
lost in the thickening darkness. Meanwhile, the burning ship was a sheet
of flame; we could see men leap from her deck; boats put off from
the shore.
"The play is over; let's go to supper," said the Doctor.
"I want no food," said I.
"You must not stay in this air; besides, you will feel better when you
have eaten," he replied.
Lydia was silent; her face was wet with tears.
Groups of soldiers stood in our way; some were mad with excitement,
gesticulating and cursing; others were mute and white. I heard one say,
"My God! what will become of the _Minnesota_ to-morrow?"
The Doctor's face was calm, but tense. My heart seemed to have failed.
The burning _Congress_ threw around us a light brighter than the moon;
each of us had two shadows.