The Sun Rises (Southern Legacy Book 4)
Read The Sun Rises (Southern Legacy Book 4) Online
Authors: Jerri Hines
SOUTHERN LEGACY
THE SUN RISES
Book Four
by
Jerri Hines
http://jerrihines.org/
Copyright 2015 by Jerri Hines
Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill
Edited by Faith Williams, The Atwater Group
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Dedication
To my husband, Bob, for allowing me to follow my dream.
In Memoriam
To two lovely Southern ladies who were major influences in my life, my grandmothers: Mamie Lambert Dotson and Ruby Lee Caveness.
Acknowledgment
I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to a dear friend, Elaine Raco Chase. True friends are indeed rare. I consider myself fortunate to consider her one of mine.
The Sun Rises
marks the dramatic conclusion to Southern Legacy. It is my hope that Southern Legacy is a romance that will sweep you back into the past…to feel the consequences of the conflict that tore brothers apart, the heartbreak the war caused, and the struggle to survive the aftermath.
I first wrote Southern Legacy ten years ago under the title of Whispers of a Southern Heart. I never got a publisher to take my manuscript. I was told simply—it was too long. Too long….at the time it was 180,000 words. Completed today, putting all four books together—it is over 230,000 words. Given that a book is considered a novel at 50,000 words, I can’t argue that Southern Legacy is lengthy. In the age of the ebook, most authors try to keep their novels between 50,000-70,000 words to maintain their reader’s attention. I considered several options. I wanted to offer it at one price and release it a little at a time—like a true serial. I had to go through Amazon and Amazon refused. After a lot of consideration, I was left with only one choice—releasing Southern Legacy in a series of books. I realized I had a challenge before me on how to release Southern Legacy.
I was told readers don’t like cliffhangers. In turn, I gave warnings that Southern Legacy was a serial…more one than one warning. It has never been my intention to misled readers. My purpose has always been to weave a story that will make you feel connected to the characters and the challenges they face. It is my sincere hope I have succeed.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for staying with my Civil War saga. I hope that you will enjoy the journey’s end.
Warm Regards,
Jerri Hines
Contents
April, 1862
Dark days lay ahead; that was Josephine’s only certainty. The shock of the death of the man she thought invincible had worn off and pain seared through her. A sense of relentless despair overwhelmed her with hopelessness.
The day before last, Major Wade Montgomery was laid to rest. A funeral service had been held for the beloved husband, father, and son. There had been no body to bury. To show respect for the life lost, an empty coffin was lowered into the ground.
Jo had watched dirt fill the grave. The past seemed only a blurred reminder of a way of life that had been so completely and utterly destroyed. She was left with the realities of the hard, rapacious world around her. The harsh reality of the war.
She felt she had fallen into a dark tunnel with no light to guide her. The weariness of the war drained her. She hated the talk of Wade’s heroic acts. How brave and courageous he had been!
Had not anyone known that he promised to return?
How could he have risked his life so thoughtlessly!
He promised!
It was unimaginable that she would never see his handsome, smiling face walk into the room again.
She wanted nothing more than to see Wade lying lackadaisically in their bed and laugh at her foolishness. At times, she thought she could hear him and expected to turn around to find him there to comfort her. But there would be no comfort: only the haunting words…
he’s dead
—
dead
…
He wouldn’t be coming back.
Wade had died a hero at the Battle of Shiloh. For the longest time, she had not opened the letter from his commanding officer, General P.G.T. Beauregard. Finally, she forced herself to read the correspondence.
Mrs. Josephine Montgomery,
It is with the gravest heart that I’m writing to inform you of your husband’s passing. Major Wade Montgomery will be sorely missed. He was an officer of valor and courage whose legacy will be long remembered. Admired and respected, Major Montgomery in death showed us all how to live life.
On April 6
th
, we took the Union by surprise by attacking them not far from the foothills of Mississippi over the border in Tennessee. In what is now been proclaimed as the Battle of Shiloh, your husband led his men into the glorious battle. He bore his position proudly and held it at all hazards.
In the most dangerous of circumstances, Major Montgomery led his men on an assault against enemy lines. In the midst of battle, despite the imminent danger he faced, the major noticed the Union drummer trapped along a creek bank. He saved the lad, but in turn lost his life.
His loss is felt by all. We lost many a good man that day…a day that had us on the edge of glory. Unfortunately, the next day victory was taken cruelly from us, but Major Montgomery did not lose his life in vain. He has inspired many with his bravery.
I received notice of Major Montgomery’s last moments from Union Captain Lawrence Bronson. The young drummer boy, Howie Albright, informed Captain Bronson of your husband’s brave deed in detail. Know your husband did not die alone. The young lad did not leave his side and saw to it that his sacrifice was reported. Take heart that Major Montgomery’s last thoughts were of you and your son. He loved you greatly.
Major Wade Montgomery’s courageous feat will not be forgotten.
Respectfully, General P.G.T. Beauregard
Numerous expressions of sympathy arrived. Each commended Wade’s virtues, but none could do what she wanted most—bring Wade back to her. Jo took the letters and added them to the pile of letters that Wade had sent her. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she tied a ribbon around the packet. Kissing the top of the letters, she placed them inside the lap secretary.
Sitting behind her desk, she stared out the window. The sun shone brightly down upon the earth. It all seemed so strange. The whole of her world had collapsed. Yet, life carried on…the birds sang, flowers bloomed…she had no choice but to carry on and live each day.
Her children depended upon her. Percival and the new life that grew inside her had a great need of their mother. Jo pushed aside the overwhelming sorrow that welled inside her. She couldn’t allow the ache that gnawed at her heart to consume her. Wade would expect her to be strong.
Wade’s death had caused a huge void in her soul. Her protector…her lover…her husband was gone and no amount of mourning, crying, longing for his return would bring him back. Gone were any lingering secret doubts about the war, replaced by a simmering hatred toward all things Yankee.
Grief-driven determination gripped her tightly. She would not fail Wade. She would fight as he had done to maintain his legacy for his children.
Magnolia Bluff would survive.
Battle of New Orleans
April 24, 1862
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The Western Blockading Squadron had taken relentless fire from Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip for five days. Seventy-five miles downriver from New Orleans, the Confederate forts served as the city’s major southern defense from a Union attack.
Heavily fortified, the Rebels were determined that the Union squadron would be unable to maneuver up the Mississippi River. The commander of the squadron, Union Flag Officer David G. Farragut, was just as determined to break through their barrier.
Over the last couple of weeks, Lieutenant Cullen Smythe had slept little in preparation for this naval assault. He had overseen escorting the Coast Survey unit along the river’s passages. The indomitable task of surveying and marking the Mississippi’s outlets had been fraught with danger.
Following direct orders from Farragut, the squad had been under constant fire from the forts and snipers as they charted every aspect of the locale. Surveying took time under the best conditions. Cullen had made certain that the unit performed their jobs safely under cover by marksmen.
Unlike most rivers, the muddy Mississippi didn’t dump into the Gulf by one main outlet but five channels. Because of the war, the dredging that had once been tended to had been almost nonexistent. Farragut needed at least sixteen feet of water to pass through safely without fear of grounding a ship.
Farragut had become impatient at the impasse. The Western Squadron’s mission was to take New Orleans and control of the lower Mississippi. The fleet waited on Farragut’s orders to begin their assault at the highly valued prize.
From the intelligence gathered, the Confederates expected the threat to come from the north and held confident with their position of strength from their two strong deterrents south of the city: Fort St. Philip and Fort Jackson. Fort St. Philip sat slightly north of Fort Jackson and directly across the river.
Using that information and the precise charts that the Coast Survey prepared, Farragut had used every means available to take the forts by surprise. He had tree branches and bushes tied to the mast to camouflage the ships from a distance. Mortar boats began the assault and opened fire, hidden from view from the forts by a dense stand of large trees.
The ships had been equipped with chains suspended from the hull a few feet above the waterline to serve as armor against enemy shells. Sacks of sand had been heaped into the engine room to protect the engines. Yet, despite their surprise attack and constant bombardment of the forts, the Union squadron efforts had done little damage to the heavily fortified outposts. The Southern forts had held for over five days.
On deck, Cullen stood in his position as executive officer in front of the wheel. He watched one of the rowboats used to communicate between ships pull alongside of the
Kennebee.
As of late, there had been many such boats.
The light of the day would soon fade into night and fog would settle over the water. Cullen caught sight of the boatswain in his flare-legged blues, neckerchief, and black straw hat walk toward him. The bearded sailor acknowledged Cullen. “Sir, Commander Bell requests your immediate presence in his cabin. I am to take over your watch.”
Despite Cullen’s surprise at the request, he relinquished his post and made his way down below deck to the commander’s cabin. After one knock, Commander Henry Bell responded and Cullen entered, closing the door behind him.
Cullen stood at attention. “You called for me, sir?”
The clean-shaven commander looked up from his desk and gestured for Cullen to sit. The gray-haired officer was a lifer, having joined the Navy in the early 1820s and had once served on the Board of Examiners at the Naval Academy. Cullen had been unfamiliar with him before becoming part of the Western Blockade Squadron, but the man had a reputation as a damn good seaman.
“Lieutenant Smythe, we don’t have time to mince words. I have only just returned from the
Hartford
with new orders. The fleet is preparing to move.”
Straight away, Cullen read Bell’s expression. Although it came as no surprise, his commander wasn’t happy with the news. The ramblings among the crew held truth to them. It had been rumored that Flag Officer Farragut wanted to race by the forts without taking them in an unheard of manner. Commander David Porter had been the one who had promised to take the forts with mortar fire…it hadn’t worked.
“The
Kennebee
is in readiness, sir,” Cullen stated confidently.
“Assuredly.” Bell nodded. “Time is on the side of the Rebels. The longer the delay, the more preparations and help will come to the defense of the forts and New Orleans.”
Bell leaned back in his chair and drew in a deep breath. His stern look left Cullen with the impression he carefully contemplated his next words. “Lieutenant Smythe, you have been commended for your performance as of late, but your behavior gives me pause.”
“You have me confused, Captain. Have you called me here to be reprimanded?”
“No, Lieutenant, your performance has been exemplary. I wanted to talk to you about your time under me. When you volunteered for the Coast Survey venture, I gladly allowed you to participate. I heard nothing but praise for your actions. You maneuvered the men in and out of quite a few precarious situations.
“But I have been begun to notice that you have been quite aggressive in your actions since word came of your cousin’s death. At times, I would venture reckless. I need to know if you have a total disregard for your own life or have always been so brazen.”
A tightness in Cullen’s throat allowed only a direct answer. “I fight for my country and family, sir. I want only to put down this rebellion.”
“Calm yourself, Lieutenant, but I am no fool. I will confess I held a certain hesitation on delivering the news when it came shortly after Shiloh. I realize it was sent as a show of respect to you and your cousin, but I believe it has affected you more than you would care to admit.”
“Sir, I would never allow my personal life to interfere with my duty.”
“Lieutenant, you forget I myself am a Southerner. I, too, have family fighting for the Confederacy. It pains me. Remember, we are only human. This war has torn many a family apart.”
“Sir, I only want this blasted war to be over and I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that fact.”
Commander Bell nodded. “Then we understand each other, Lieutenant. Nothing should come before the mission you have been assigned. It holds too much importance.”
“Mission?”
“Flag Officer Farragut has directed three of our best gunboats to open up the barrier to allow passage for the rest of the fleet: the
Itasca,
the
Pinola
and the
Onieda
. Farragut believes we will be able to make it past the forts without damage from the barrage of fire that will erupt at the forts. We, Lieutenant, are going to open up the way for our ships. Our objective is the obstacle that stands between us and the water passage up to New Orleans—the barrier.”
Cullen remained silent, knowing well the barrier they faced. It outstretched across the river, made up mostly of old schooners chained together at their bows with anchors.
“Farragut has plans for taking two of our gunboats to supply cover for the
Pinola,
which will carry the explosives to blast our way through the barrier,” Commander Bell continued. “It will be impossible to take out the entire barrier, but the objective is to open it large enough for all our ships to pass safely through.
“You may not be aware that Lieutenant-Commander Bemis of the
Itasca
has fallen ill. He will be unable to participate in the upcoming mission. A replacement needs to be found. Farragut wants a daring, courageous officer to command the
Itasca
. I assured him you were that man. Farragut agreed. Lieutenant Smythe, you have been transferred to the
Itasca
temporarily to captain the ship.”
Astonished, he refrained from revealing the exhilaration that surged through him, sensing Commander Bell held reservations. He said simply, “Thank you, sir.”
Bell’s brows drew together in a frown. “Do not take this mission lightly, Smythe. There were objections to your appointment, mainly from Commander Porter. He cited your inexperience in command under fire and what he called your lack of
forethought
.”
“Sir, I believe I am fully capable…”
“I did not say I had misgivings. In truth, I believe you are quite competent and brave. There were those who felt strongly that you were the right man for the job. High recommendations came from Reids and Kroehl. Kroehl is the explosive expert, so Farragut weighed heavily upon his approval, especially since you have already been working with him on the Coast Survey unit.”
“But you do have your own reservations.”
“Lieutenant, I have stated my concerns. I will say that it was mentioned that perhaps your position here in the Western Squadron was a political appointment. I say this only so you are aware. I believe one needs to know what they are up against.”
The speculation did not shock Cullen. He had heard it before and would have been foolish not to recognize that some would consider his advancement due to his father’s connections and not his own actions. It only fueled his resolve to prove them all wrong.
“When should I prepare?”
Commander Bell’s answer came readily and direct. “Tonight.”
* * * *
Shrouded in the cover of the night, preparations had been finalized. The constant firings had ceased on orders from Farragut and the ships had fallen back out of range of the forts, but the still and quiet did little to ease the tension-filled air.
A stiff wind brought a driving rain, which only served to further camouflage the operation. Readied, Cullen had his orders—provide the necessary cover for the
Pinola
to set the explosives and afterwards secure the open passage.
Cullen had once served under Commander Lane Graham of the
Pinola
, having been assigned to his ship shortly after the academy.
Graham was an arrogant, egotistic man, who made commander at an early age, not much older than Cullen. He would do whatever necessary to ensure victory.
After meeting him again while serving under the Western Squadron, the years had done little to diminish the friction between the two officers, but the mission came before any irrelevant rivalry. The war gave little time for petty grievances. Moreover, with the greatest reluctance, Cullen had to agree that Graham was an excellent choice for this mission.
It was time. Flag Officer Farragut had come to see the mortar boats off on their quest. He sought out Cullen. “Lieutenant Smythe, we need this to be successful. Abide the result—conquer or be conquered.”
“Rest assured, sir,” Cullen affirmed. “The mission will be carried out.”
The gunboats readied, Cullen took his place on board the
Itasca
. If the crew held any qualms of his newly acquired position, none were acknowledged. Each sailor understood the importance of their task and the need to have a commander who would show no hesitation if the need arose.
Stealthily, the
Itasca
rowed through the water under cover of darkness and rain. There would be no engines until the mission was complete. The longer the Confederates were unaware of their actions, the better chance for success.
Cullen stood before the wheel and monitored any activity from either fort. All was quiet as he watched the
Pinola
secured to one of the wrecked schooners attached to the barrier.
“Close the gap,” Cullen ordered. “We may not have explosives, but we can work on the chains!”
The
Itasca
silently pulled alongside of the next stranded schooner. The crew began to use hammers and chisels to break the chains that held the barrier in place.
A sudden flame lit up the dark rain. A second flash roared and exploded. Fort Jackson had awakened. The Rebs had spotted the gunboats and began a heavy fire bursting forth across the water.
“Heads up, men!” Cullen cried against the wind. “Hold steady!”
Almost immediately, Fort St. Philip entered the barrage and the pace of bombardment stepped up. Cullen held back the command to withdraw, waiting until the last notch in the chain to that schooner was broken.
“Sir, the
Pinola
! The signal.” The helmsman pointed toward the gunboat.
As he peered out over the water toward the
Pinola,
Cullen caught sight of the signal. The explosives had been set…but in the same moment, he saw the
Pinola
fall back.
Cullen looked back at the boatswain. “Fire up the engines, Mr. Collins. Prepare to be on our way.”
“Aye, sir, but the men aren’t finished with the chain.”
A bright glow flickered in the rain-filled sky, followed closely by another one. The crew was working furiously, but they didn’t have much time. The explosives would be lit in moments. Cullen had only seconds to make a decision.