My shirt was already sticking to me and drops of perspiration trickled down my cheeks. Chance and Tyler mopped their faces with their shirts. Maybe we’d catch a stray breeze off the water to cool us off.
“If you guys are game,” Tyler said. “We follow that sign over there.”
“I’ll spot Lucie in case it gets too difficult,” Chance said. “Tyler, take Bruja’s leash.”
We weren’t talking about bungee jumping off the bluffs, just walking down a hill. The first time I let my disability become more of an impediment than it already was, I knew it was the beginning of not fighting back and letting it dictate my life.
“Thanks, but I’m sure I can manage.”
“We’ll have to go single file,” Tyler said. “It’s the only way.”
“Then Lucie should go in the middle.” Chance took my hand. To me he said, “Tyler knows where we’re going and I ought to bring up the rear.”
The scent of his cologne mingled with perspiration filled my head. “All right.”
The path, when we reached it, was narrower than I expected.
“Jesus,” Chance said. “How many soldiers used this?”
“About fifteen hundred,” Tyler said. “They got four horses and those cannons up here, too.”
“How in the world did they do that?” I asked.
“The worst problem wasn’t getting up here,” Tyler said. “It was getting back down when the Confederates went after them. Some Federals ended up sliding down on their butts with their bayonets extended so they literally ran into their comrades and killed them.”
He saw the expression on my face.
“Sorry. I know it’s disgusting.”
“How come so many drowned?” Chance asked.
“There were only three small boats to take them back to Harrison Island,” Tyler said. “It wasn’t enough. Some men tried to swim. Others just got caught on the floodplain, waiting. It was like shooting fish in a barrel for the Confederates.”
Tyler waited while Chance and I took in the magnitude of what it must have been like for panicked Union soldiers under fire being forced to retreat down this funnel-like path, knowing they’d be sitting ducks for the Confederates if they even made it to the river.
“How many did the South lose?” I asked.
“Only about twenty-five.” Bruja tugged on the leash in Tyler’s hand. “Ready?”
The path, laid out as a series of switchbacks, was as difficult to navigate as Tyler had warned. All three of us needed to put a hand out to steady ourselves on a fallen tree or a rock outcropping. No one spoke as we made our way down, but I could hear the breathing of the other two and the dog panting in the heat. Sweat stung my eyes and my clothes were as wet as if I’d gone swimming in them. Here and there blotches of sunlight penetrated the heavy canopy of trees, but the muggy air felt junglelike.
I tripped over a tree root and Chance grabbed my arm as I started to slide down the trail.
It took us nearly fifteen minutes to descend to the river. With each step I thought about what a protracted death this had been for the Union troops trapped at the edge of the cliff with too few boats to ferry them across the river. Once we saw the Potomac and Harrison Island, I wanted to get out of here.
The pea-green river was barely visible because of the many heavy, low tree branches that obscured our view. There was something flat and dead about this part of the Potomac. Nothing at all like the vibrant, swift-flowing river that was so entwined with the history and geography of Washington, D.C.
“Watch the mud and the tree roots,” Tyler said.
Chance unclipped Bruja’s leash and the dog waded into the river. He held out his hand to me. I took it as we walked around the Medusa-like root system of a copse of trees to get a better view of the river and Harrison Island.
I shaded my eyes against the light reflecting off the water. “Doesn’t look too far to that island. I bet you could swim to it in under twenty minutes.”
“Maybe now. Back in 1861, the river probably covered the entire floodplain,” Tyler said. “Plus it had been raining hard for the past three weeks that October so it was higher than usual.”
“Who owns it?” Chance indicated the island.
“It’s private.” Tyler pushed his glasses up his nose. His face gleamed with sweat and the glasses slid back down again. “They use it for hunting, but nobody lives there.”
“We ought to think about starting back,” I said.
Chance nodded and slapped his thigh, whistling for the dog.
“Stand back,” he said as Bruja came ashore and shook herself off.
“When we get up top we’ll take the path by the cemetery,” Tyler said. “That way we’ll make a complete loop.”
The trip up the steep winding path didn’t seem as arduous, but maybe it was because I was relieved to be leaving the riverbank. When we reached the clearing, though, everyone was again breathing hard.
“Whose grave is that?” Chance pointed to a solitary stone marker a few yards from the cemetery.
“It’s where they think the Union commander fell. Colonel Edward Baker. He was also a U.S. senator at the time,” Tyler said, as we walked toward it. “There are bunch of different stories about what happened and where he was actually killed. His death just about destroyed Abe Lincoln. One of his sons was named for Baker. They were really close.”
Sunlight flickered on the small tombstone. Bruja, again on her leash, strained to examine it closer.
“It’s not far from the cliffs,” Chance said.
Tyler nodded. “That’s how we’re going to do it in the reenactment. Baker’s going to drop dead near Goose Creek after he arrives by boat. Then everyone’s going to rush him and fight over his body like they did in the real battle.”
“I feel sorry for whoever plays Baker,” I said. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Nah, we’ve got it under control,” Tyler said. “But it’s Ray Vitale. Your favorite person.”
“Who’s he?” Chance asked.
“A guy Lucie and I met the other night,” Tyler said. “Kind of hard-core. In charge of the Union reenactors.”
“Let’s check out the cemetery,” I said. “Then we should head back to the vineyard.”
Tyler unlatched the wrought-iron cemetery gate, giving it a shove so it creaked open. My eye fell on the raised lettering on the bronze plaque affixed to it. The bottom line read: “Interments—54. Known—1. Unknown— 53.”
Chance began counting the white markers arranged in a semicircle around the flagpole, pointing at each one.
“There aren’t enough markers,” he said.
“There’s more than one person in each grave,” Tyler said. “And nobody knows who’s lying there, either, how many sets of remains are buried there.”
I leaned against the sun-warmed wall of red river rock and felt the heat penetrate my clothing through to my skin, thinking about the mingled bones of Union soldiers moldering in this little cemetery.
“I still think that’s ghoulish,” I said.
“At least they’re buried,” Tyler said. “Parts of ’em, that is.”
“The only one they could identify was James Allen?” Chance stood in front of the lone marker with a name on it.
Tyler nodded.
“We should go,” I said.
Chance unlatched the gate. “You okay, Lucie?”
“I told her the place was haunted by the spirits of the soldiers who never got buried in the cemetery, but she didn’t believe me,” Tyler said.
“And I still don’t,” I said.
Tyler grinned. “Oh, yeah?”
“All right, I’ll admit there’s something disturbing about the place.”
Tyler grinned. “Told you.”
