The President's Daughter (63 page)

Beverly

FIELD HOSPITAL NEAR PETERSBURG

JULY
4, 1864

Mother,

War! War! War! I often think that in the future, when human character shall have deepened, there will be a better way of settling human affairs than this perfect maelstrom of horror. The question of my going home with the regiment still absorbs me. At one hour I am told there will be no difficulty in being mustered out with the others, and then a rescinding order comes from the War Department and I am left high and dry. For two weeks now this has continued and it worries me. The medical director of the corps says he cannot spare me but what with Lucinda, Perez, and Zerahia, I am sorely needed at home. Lucinda is very depressed at her coming confinement in November.

Beverly

CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE JAMES

AUGUST
1, 1864

COLONEL THOMAS JEFFERSON RANDOLPH

EDGEHILL PLANTATION

ALBEMARLE COUNTY, VIRGINIA

Pa,

Exhaustion and confusion, worse confounded. Although perfectly well, I am tired and hot, having slept only a couple of hours out of the last forty. We are still in the Wilderness, fighting our way in retreat inch by inch. The Eighth Brigade has been in no important action since I last wrote: our loss was then so terrible that they have spared us a little. Colonel McAfee is now in command as major general. Ransom was shot in the head. The Yankees fight determinedly, and our forces facing them are almost equal, but they drive us each day. We are both on a race for Richmond, and I wonder which will get the inside track. If we do, our journey will be forty miles shorter than theirs. Feeling as I do now, the thought of a forty-mile march
makes me weep. Robert E. Lee is determined to keep fighting, and either win or lose, this thing can't last much longer, for one side or the other must yield from sheer exhaustion.

I'm sitting on the ground in the woods, leaning against a log and writing on my knee. Soldiers, bonfires, and kicking horses are everywhere. Dust is sweeping over me like smoke; my face is black with dirt and sweat, my clothes soiled, torn almost to pieces, and filthy with lice and vermin. I am desperately hungry. I am too tired to sleep, too tired to stand, and should dislike to have Ma or the girls see me. If it weren't for General Robert E. Lee, I would lay down my arms and walk home. Seven men deserted to the enemy from Ransom's brigade last night; also four from Wise's and two from Gracie's.

Have the Yankees damaged Edgehill, Pa? I hear Bermuda Hundred burned to the ground. Thank God you got leave from the Militia to get home to see to Ma and the girls. The sun is just setting. But whether we shall march all night, go out on a picket, or lie down to sleep—the thought of sleep makes me silly—I don't know. We never know what we may be doing in the next five minutes except dying. By God, we cannot, cannot withstand another siege.

Kiss Ma, Virginia, Lane, Ellen, and Tabethia. I've heard that my brother Meriwether has made captain and has been cited for bravery. God bless him. God save the Confederacy and Jeff Davis. God bless Robert E. Lee.

Your loving son,

Major Thomas Jefferson Randolph Jr., adjutant quartermaster

Headquarters, Artillery Corps,

Army of Northern Virginia

Petersburg, Confederate States

HANOVER JUNCTION

AUGUST
1, 1864

Mama,

I can scratch only a few lines, being up to my elbows in blood. Oh, the fatigue and endless work we have! About one night in three to sleep and so nervous and played out that sleep is impossible. The hospital is fast filling up with poor fellows who last night charged the enemy's works on the other side of the river.

We are some fifteen miles nearer Richmond than when I last wrote, and the strongest works of the Confederacy are at this point and at the South Anna River. Wherever we stop, we quickly build elaborate networks of trenches, breastworks, artillery emplacements, traverses, a rear line trench,
and a cleared field of fire in front with the branches of felled trees placed at point-blank range to entangle attackers.

This is a new kind of relentless, ceaseless warfare, Mother. Since the beginning of the campaign, the armies have never been out of contact, one with the other. Some kind of fighting, along with marching and digging, has taken place every single night. Mental and physical exhaustion has begun to take its toll. Many a man has gone crazy since the campaign began from the terrible pressure on mind and body.

We have had a deal of forced marching lately, and the heat has been almost intolerable. At times it has seemed as if the sun's grasp would lay us out, yet we march all day and through volumes upon volumes of insufferable heat.

It seems to me I am quite callous to death now, and that I could see my dearest friend die without much feeling. That I could
see you
die, or Dad, without feeling anything. During these last three weeks, I have seen probably no less than two thousand deaths—among them, those of many dear friends. I have witnessed hundreds of men shot dead, have walked and slept among them, and surely feel it possible to die myself as calmly as any —but enough, Mother. The Rebs are now pretty near their last ditch, and the fight is fearful. Ambulances are coming in. …

Bev. Wellington

LIEUTENANT COLONEL ESTON H. JEFFERSON

HEADQUARTERS, THIRTEENTH REGT.

OHIO VOLUNTEER CAVALRY (DISMOUNTED) COMMISSARY

FORT GREAT FALLS, MISSOURI

AUGUST
1, 1864

Dad,

Received yours of the 20th. We are now fourteen miles from Richmond, having marched pretty steadily southward ever since I last wrote. Oh, why will the Confederacy not burst up? How can they continue to fight so desperately for such a despicable cause? True, we are drawing very near to Richmond, but the tug-of-war will come at the Chickahominy River. Although the Confederates had the shortest road, we stole a march upon them before they could reach and stop us. By making a hard forced march, my captain, Peter Kirkland, saved many lives. The morale of the enemy is injured by their having to fall back in retreat so far while that of the Union Army is correspondingly improved. They are now pretty near their last ditch, and the fight here will be fierce and stormy. I've had no word from Beverly in weeks. Have you? As for my health and well-being and morale,
they are all intact despite so many mistakes, heartless attacks, and the senseless slaughter. That's because of the men's extraordinary endurance and courage. The Seceshes are drowning in their own blood, and we the U.S. manage only to keep our own heads above it. Pray for me as I pray for you, Mother, Beverly, and Anne.

Your obedient son,

Lieutenant John Wayles Jefferson,

Second Ohio Volunteer Regiment

HEADQUARTERS, THIRTEENTH REGT.

OHIO VOLUNTEER CAVALRY (DISMOUNTED)

REPORT OF LIEUTENANT COLONEL AND COMMISSARY OF SUBSISTENCE ESTON H. JEFFERSON

U.S. ARMY OF OPERATIONS, MISSOURI DIVISION

AUGUST
I, 1864

FORT GREAT FALLS, MISSOURI

ULYSSES S. GRANT

LIEUTENANT GENERAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

General,

Five minutes ago an ordnance boat exploded, carrying lumbers, grape, canister, and all kinds of shot over the point. Every part of the yard used as my headquarters is filled with splinters and fragments of shell. Colonel Babcock is slightly wounded in the hand, and one mounted orderly is killed. At the wharf, killed: 12 enlisted men, 2 citizen employees, 28 colored laborers. Wounded: 3 officers, 15 citizen employees, 86 colored laborers, as well as your obedient servant.

Eston H. Jefferson

CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE JAMES

AUGUST
20, 1864

Mother,

I am retained. General Hancock says I must remain. Yesterday, a small —no, a large—miracle occurred. By the invitation of their commander, I boarded one of the gunboats to watch the firing of one of their hundred-pound Parrott shells into the enemy earthworks, which were two miles distant. And having had that pleasure, I felt upon my shoulder a heavy yet familiar hand and the sound of laughter I would recognize anywhere.

“Brother,” said the voice, “you sure as hell look like hell.” Sinclair! It was Sinclair in the flesh. Unbeknownst to me, I was on the
Monitor
! We fell into each other's arms with more tears than females would let flow on such an occasion. But it seemed to me that my brother had been sent by preternatural forces to lift me out of my doldrums, to soothe my scarred and weary soul. I stayed on board and we dined together. We spoke
of
everything: you, Dad, Lucinda, Maria, Perez and Roxanne, my Lucinda, our twins, the new baby, everything except the war. We wept and laughed a great deal and were so loathe to quit each other, Sinclair asked for leave and we came ashore together. He slept with me in my shelter tent which, he said, confirmed his conviction that anyone who volunteered for the army infantry was a candidate for an insane asylum.

Your adoring son,

Bev. W.

AUGUST
25, 1864

PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA

Mother,

Sinclair is gone. It is very quiet here at the field hospital, in front of Petersburg, but oh, so hot! And the combined efforts of ticks, fleas, and black flies make life almost hell. At four o'clock in the morning, which means dawn, I am awakened by the buzzing and humming of these busy insects at their pestering task, and this labor doesn't cease till we poor mortals are again lost to them in the darkness of the night.

How war changes one's character, Mother. This accumulation of experience changes careless boys into sober and thoughtful men—men who trust and who feel that whatever happens, in the end it will somehow be for the best; men who val—

If Pride of character be of worth at any time, it is when it disarms the efforts of malice.

Thomas Jefferson

“Atlanta is taken at last!” Charlotte beamed as she opened the door of her town house to me herself on September 3, 1864. “Lincoln's reelection is assured. The Confederates evacuated Atlanta after burning and destroying everything of military value in it. The following day, the bluecoats marched in with bands blaring ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic' Sherman has announced to the President that Atlanta is his and fairly won!

“Sherman and Farragut have knocked the bottom out of the Chicago platform and saved the party of Lincoln from irretrievable ruin,” exulted Charlotte. “They are going to be wiped off the face of the earth.” Charlotte's voice stopped as she noticed the thin strip of a War Department telegram in my hand. I held it up, unable to speak.

There was the dull boom of cannonfire coming from the celebrations downtown at the docks as I stood there, holding in my hand the telegram which had been addressed to Thor.

HQ, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

PETERSBURG, AUGUST
1864

BY TELEGRAM TO THE SURGEON GENERAL'S

OFFICE, SANITARY COMMISSION WASHINGTON, D.C.

TO THE ATTENTION OF MAJOR GENERAL WILLIAM JOHN THEODORE WELLINGTON

Major General:

I have the sad duty to inform you that on August 25, your son, Major Beverly Wellington, was tragically felled on the field of honor by loose artillery fire—as one hundred men of the 148th Pennsylvania, under the command of Colonel J. Z. Brown, went over our works in front of Fort Morton near the Crater and the enemy's picket line opposite Fort Sedge-wick. The line for about two hundred yards was carried and eight prisoners taken. The casualties in these operations were: 4 officers and 63 men killed, wounded, or missing. Major Wellington, who was close to the Second Corps hospital tent, was killed by a round of Union artillery that mistakenly fell short onto the field hospital. This gallant young surgeon was conspicuous for his spirit and brave conduct, his Herculean efforts in securing the wounded and dying and rescuing them from the field. He was a remarkable surgeon and a fine officer.

I have the honor to be, Major, very sadly and most respectfully, your obedient servant,

T.H.S.A. McParlin, Surgeon and Medical Director, Army of the Potomac for General Ulysses S. Grant, General-in-chief of the Armies of the United States.

P.S.: General Grant did not want you or Mrs. Wellington to learn of Major Wellington's death from the published casualty lists.

Charlotte gazed up at me through her thick spectacles like an owl, then down at me as I sank to my knees, the telegram fluttering to the floor.

“It's not some kind of mistake?”

“No more than anything is a mistake.”

“He was scheduled to be mustered out in time for Lucinda's confinement.” I looked up at Charlotte. “Must I lose them all? Is this the price?”

“Oh, my darling, darling, you must not give in to despondency. The President has authorized Horace Greeley to bring to Washington any proposition of Jefferson Davis's in writing for peace that embraces the restoration of the Union and the abandonment of slavery,” she said gently. “This cruel war will be over soon, and with a victory for the Union. Beverly gave his life for it.”

Without ever knowing
... I sobbed, as I collapsed against Charlotte's knees.
Without ever knowing he was freeing his mother.

We clung to each other, entwined on the wide canopied bed. Charlotte kissed my face and hair and hands and tried to stop the tears that wouldn't stop, not even for victory itself. We embraced as we had that day by the river so long ago, when our lives had been unwritten books, unbound, pageless,
imprinted only with the passionate will to live and to love. Now it seemed we waded in the River Jordan, a river of grief and suffering beyond human understanding. Beverly had suffered it and had finally refused it. Had let it kill him ... his own people ... his own mother.