On to Richmond (55 page)

             
Robert watched for several long minutes and then turned back.  “Come on, men.  We have to help.”  Silently, his men turned and followed him. 

             
Robert sized up the situation quickly and stationed his men behind the wagons.  “We have to help the horses.  They can’t possibly pull this up, but if we put our weight into it and push, the combination of our efforts may make it possible,” he yelled over the commotion.  He was the first to put his shoulder into the back of one of the wagons.  The men around him sprang into action, grunting as the heavy weight of the wagon pressed back against them.  Encouraged, the watching wagon drivers cheered as that wagon began to move forward slowly. 

             
Robert was gasping for breath when they reached the top of the hill, but at least he wasn’t cold anymore.  Sweat poured from his body even as ice caked on his beard.  He peered down the hill in front of him.  He shook his head and reached out to stop the driver as he lifted his reins to send the horses on.  “You’ll never make it,” he snapped.  “The wagon will slide right over the horses.  They won’t be able to stop.” 

             
The driver glared at him, obviously short-tempered.  “What am I supposed to do?” he growled.  “Just perch here on the hill?  I got other wagons coming up behind me.”

             
Robert thought quickly.  An idea came to mind.  “Do you have rope in here?” he asked.  The driver nodded and rummaged behind him then pulled out several long coils.  Robert grabbed them and tied four lengths to the top of the wagon.  He handed the ends to the four men standing with him.  “Spread out to the sides of the road where you have some traction.  Use trees for leverage wherever you can.  Just keep the wagon moving slowly,” he shouted as another wagon lumbered up behind them.  The four men sprang into action, and with a look of surprised admiration, the driver once again lifted his reins. 

             
Robert stepped back to watch.  Would his idea work?  Or would the four men plunge down the hill after the horses?  Slowly the wagon began to move.  Cursing and shouting filled the air as the men struggled to hold the wagon back.  There were moments when it seemed the wagon would slide right off the road and take the horses with it, but finally the wagon reached the bottom of the hill.  Not too far ahead, another hill loomed.

             
“It’s going to take us till spring to reach Romney.”

             
Robert turned and smiled weakly at Hobbs.  “I’m afraid you might be right.”  Then he shrugged.  He was aware of the discontent brewing among the troops.  “We have one order.  To move forward.  Somehow we have to figure out how to do it.”

Hobbs nodded and moved to the back of the next wagon and attached the ropes Robert handed him.  “We’re ready, sir,” he finally called.

              “Move on,” Robert called to the driver.

             
One by one the ammunition and supply wagons, as well as the ambulances, slithered their way to the top of the hill.                The last one was on its way up when one of the men fell and refused to move.  His eyes were glazed with pain, fatigue, and cold as he stared up at Robert. 

             
“I done brought five wagons up this hill, Lieutenant,” he said faintly.  “I ain’t got nothing left.”

             
Robert nodded, helped him to his feet, and led him to the side of the road.  “You did great work, Clark.  Rest here.  I’ll take your place.”  Robert sprang over to the wagon and threw his weight into it.  Slowly the wagon began to move forward. 

             
They were almost to the top when it began to slide sideways.  The driver cursed and snapped his whip then called encouragement to his struggling horses, but the ice had continued to thicken, and there seemed no way to stop it. 

             
“Hold it men!”  Robert cried, stepping more to the side and throwing his weight into the wagon to stop its slide.  A quick glance across his shoulder revealed a gaping ravine yawning just feet from where he stood. 

             
“We’re not going to stop it, Lieutenant!” one of the men cried.  “It’s going!” 

             
Robert shook his head.  “No!” he yelled.  “This wagon is full of food.  Keep pushing!”   Every muscle in his body screamed in agony as he fought to stop the inevitable.

             
Suddenly the ground gave way beneath him.  He grabbed for the wagon but missed.  Robert slid down the ditch and grabbed for something to stop his fall as he stared up at the wagon teetering on the edge above him.  He crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the ravine.

             
“Lieutenant!” he heard a voice scream.

             
Robert stared up at the wagon, his energy and strength spent.  So this was how it was going to end.  There was no glory in being crushed by a wagon.  Suddenly a picture of Carrie flashed in his mind.  Searing regret shot through him that he would never see her again.

             
Move!

             
The word shot through his head as if he had received a verbal command.

             
Move!

             
From somewhere Robert found the strength to stand and lunge for the top of the ravine.  His wildly groping hand found a root.  Groaning with the effort, he pulled himself up.  His shoulders had barely cleared the top when he heard a yell behind him.  There was a scream as the horses lost their fight. The wagon and the horses pulling it plunged down the slope.  Robert felt the wagon brush his leg as it crashed into the bottom of the ravine, but his grip on the root held. 

             
Robert’s men rushed over to grab his hands and haul him up the rest of the way. He collapsed on the top and gasped for breath.  Finally he looked down.  Three of the horses were still thrashing, one ominously still.  Robert felt sorry for the three; at least the dead one was free from its struggle.  Then his breath caught.  What had happened to the driver?  A quick glance reassured him.  The driver must have jumped just as the wagon plunged over the edge. 

             
Suddenly Jackson was there, staring down at the wagon.  His voice was sorrowful.  “The wagon is done for, men.  But we have to get that food.”  Then his voice hardened as if he was trying to fight his own feelings.  “Cut the horses free.  There is a place about a hundred feet up where you can lead them out.  If any of them have broken a leg...”  He didn’t finish his command.

             
He didn’t have to.  The men knew what they would have to do.

             
Jackson looked over at Robert.  “You all right, Lieutenant?  The men told me you are responsible for moving the wagons.  Thank you.” 

             
Robert nodded and raised his hand.  “I’m fine, sir.”  But he didn’t move.  His close brush with death had left him dazed.    

             
Clark led a group of men down into the ditch.  Several minutes later, two of the men led two horses away and out of sight.  Robert closed his eyes as a shot rang out. 

             
It was almost dark when the wagon was completely unloaded and the food transferred to another.  The men spread out into the surrounding field and settled in for another long, miserable night.

             
Robert crawled into his tent and lay quietly, listening to the wind and sleet assaulting their position.  He knew how close he had come to dying.  He had been sure when he saw the wagon teetering above him that it was all over.  Then the voice had surged through his being, giving his body strength he didn’t know he possessed. 

             
He had tried to fight the knowledge ever since, but here alone in his tent, he faced the truth: God had saved him. God had shouted the command to his brain.  God had infused his body with strength. 

             
God had always been a thing to know about.  A thing that preachers talked about.  A thing that you thought about when you went to church, which had only been on rare occasions for him.  He had always believed in God, he supposed.  It had just never touched him. 

             
Now he knew God was real.  And for some reason, God must want him alive.  For the first time in his life, he felt the warmth of love in his heart.  Not the kind of love one sent – the kind of love one received.  The thought both scared and exhilarated him.   What was he supposed to do with this new knowledge?  The question was still spinning in his brain when he fell into an exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

              Rose walked quickly down the crowded sidewalk, her head bent forward against the breathtaking cold.  Already, she longed for Virginia.  She was sure she would never get used to the brutal winters of the North.  Snow was mounded in great heaps along the sides of the road and the sidewalks.  She had always loved the occasional white wonderland that descended on the plantation.  This was different, however.  There were no wide open spaces nearby to turn into a crystal fairyland.  What lay on the streets and walkways was now covered with the gray grime of a coal-driven industrial society. 

             
As the wind howled down the street, she pulled her jacket and scarf closer and continued to press on.  A now familiar noise caused her to look up in longing.  A horse-drawn car, moving easily on the railroad tracks the city had laid for it, was just moving up beside her.  Warmly dressed people stared down on her as they eased by.  They were traveling to other parts of the city, or maybe they were making their connection to the railroad station on the other end of the town.  Rose swallowed her longing and flash of bitterness - all horse cars were off bounds to blacks. 

             
She was gradually learning the rules of this new city she called home.  Her dreams of equality had been shattered by the reality of distinct race divisions in the city, but if it had disillusioned her, it had also challenged her.  Someday things would change.  She shook her head and pressed on.  She had housework to do as well as a heavy load of school work.  The very idea caused her heart to lift and her legs to move faster.  She was in school! 

             
“Rose!”

             
Startled, Rose looked up as she heard her name called.  Only then did she notice the carriage that had pulled up beside her.  “Aunt Abby,” she said with a smile. 

             
“Get in quickly,” Aunt Abby urged.  “Your feet must be nearly frozen.”  She gazed down with horror at Rose’s soaked shoes.  “You poor dear!”

             
Rose shrugged and then stepped into the carriage.  The sidewalks had not been as clear as usual after the heavy snow a few days earlier.  She had tried to avoid the drifts, but large groups of whites moving down the sidewalk often meant she was forced to go through the snow.  She had gotten used to it.  “They’ll warm up when I get home.”

             
Aunt Abby shook her head.  “I wish I had another carriage to provide you transportation,” she said regretfully.

             
Rose laughed loudly at the idea but appreciated the warmth that spread through her at yet another indication of Aunt Abby’s genuine affection.  Impulsively, Rose reached forward, squeezed her friend’s hand, and ignored the pointed look of Aunt Abby’s white driver.  “You are wonderful,” she said with a smile.  “But the idea is really rather ridiculous.  Could you imagine what people would think if a carriage were to deliver me to the Quaker school?”