Love and War

hired him. After his first day, the Negro was waylaid at the gate and beaten by six white workers. That grieved and angered Pennyford, but he wrote Stanley that it also taught him a lesson. He wouldn't repeat the mistake.

Stanley knew who was responsible for such incidents and for the new assertiveness of Negroes. His friends. It was their program he was forced to pretend to admire if he wanted to preserve and expand his influence in Washington. That pulled him two ways, left his nerves shredded —

There were so many changes he could hardly count them all. He was independently wealthy. He was a confidant of politicians who would control the nation within a very few years. He was in love, or thought so. He was a known philanderer. And he was far along the road to becoming a drunkard and didn't give a damn.

He finished the bourbon and threw the flask at the tide line, a futile gesture of rage. No hiding from the truth any longer. He was incompetent to deal with so much change. On the other hand, his status was such that few, if any, of the problems created by the changes would affect him adversely, provided he conserved his capital and observed a certain hypocritical standard of behavior. That was the most staggering change of all. One so vast and bewildering that he leaned over, elbows on his knees, palms on his eyes, and cried.

Stanley would have been surprised to know that his wife, whom he considered glacial and a shrew, also wept that morning. Safely locked in her rooms at Fairlawn, Isabel cried much longer and harder than he did. Finally, when she had exhausted her tears, she settled down to think and to wait for the redness to leave her eyes, so she could again show herself to the servants.

Her husband was lost to her except in name. Well, so be it. She had used him as an instrument for accumulating new wealth, and with it she could now finance a rise to unprecedented social eminence in Washington, her home state, and the nation. By no stretch of the imagination did Stanley have the ability to become a national political figure. But he already had the money to buy and sell such men. Since she would always guide his choices, that made her the true possessor of the power.

Putting aside her brief and regrettable descent into sentimentality here and on the beach, Isabel contemplated all the days of glory still ahead. She was sure she would experience them if she could only keep Stanley in favor with the Republicans and sober. Success had ruined him, for reasons she could neither understand nor identify.

It didn't matter. Many a strong queen had ruled through a weak king.

109

At the end of the day on which Billy rejoined the Battalion of Engineers, he wrote:

June 16 — Petersburg (4 mis. distant). Steamer journey to City Point uneventful but very hot. Saw the great pontoon bridge at Broadway Landing, 1 mi. above the piers where I disembarked. How I wish I'd come back in time to help create such a marvel. Maj. Duane, cordially greeting me upon my arrival at this encampment, said no longer pontoon bridge had ever been built by any army, anywhere. It stretches nearly half a mile, shore to shore, & where the tidal channel runs, a draw­bridge section permits the passage of gunboats. Gen. Benham & the 15th & 50th N. Y. Engineers (Vols.) built the bridge in a record 8 hrs. The sight of it renewed my pride in my branch of service.

The battalion crossed the bridge not long before I saw it. Our encampment is at Bryant House, the temporary Second Div. hospital, but we are to move on. Received a warm welcome from many old comrades; all wanted to hear of my escape from Libby, which I said unknown Union sympathizers arranged. Even belatedly, C. might in some way be harmed by the truth; he is such a fine friend & risked himself so greatly for me, I will not permit it to happen through any act of mine.

Thoughts of C. sadden me. My brotherly affection remains unflagging; & I am now twice in debt to him for saving my life. But he is not the laughing fellow I first met in Carolina & came to know at W.P. The war has hurt him somehow. I felt it powerfully. If I were of a literary turn, I might seek metaphors. Some spell has changed the bear cub to a wolf.

Hungry; will continue later. ***

Receiving assurances of my fitness for duty — leg is still painful but am walking with less difficulty — Maj. D. said that when we move nearer the enemy works, I shall be doing survey work, practically on top of the rebs. He then went on to enlighten me about the essence of the siege plan:

Through Petersb., a town of less than 18,000, pass all but one of the major Confed. RR's from the S & SW. Thus the P'burg junction is the south end of Richmond's last supply line. Take P. — which U.S.G. has already tried once — & Rich, withers and dies. It cannot happen too soon for me. I have already remarked in these pages about the distressing —***

Interruption. Rushed outside in response to a shattering roar. Was told it is 'Dictator,' also nicknamed 'the Petersburg Express,' a great 13' seacoast mortar of 17,000 lbs. From a specially reinforced flatcar, the mortar fires explosive shells into the city from a location on the P'burg-City Pt. RR line. I must note a new & startling change I observed in the Army of the Potomac, viz. — large numbers of negro soldiers, where none were seen before. I hear their bravery & intelligence praised lavishly; just yesterday, the CT (Col. Troops) Div. of E W. Hinks mounted a successful attack on a sector of the enemy defense line.

My time in Libby did teach me how men long enslaved must feel. I yearned to murder Clyde Vesey and was unashamedly glad when C. shot him during the escape. I now accept emancipation as the only course this country can, in conscience, pursue.

Yet on some things, I hold back. I am thus far unable to look upon negroes in army uniform as the equal of white men in the same uniform. I am ashamed of that reservation — weakness? — but it is there. The day closed out with an unpleasant incident bearing upon this general subject.

The battalion marched 18 mis. today, in merciless heat, with water in short supply. Despite the cheery reception given me, I could tell the men were cranky. Two negro soldiers, sgt's in some reg't of Gen. Ferrero's 4th (Col.) Div., chanced to pass through with pouches of official papers for City Pt. It was not unusual for them to ask for a drink of water in this hot weather. But they were not allowed it. Three of our worst-tempered led the sgt's to the casks, which two proceeded to block with their bodies while the third danced around dangling the dipper just out of reach of the two colored sgt's, all the while chanting the old tune 'Zip Coon ' in a derisive manner. The sgt's, who outranked our three, again politely asked for water, were refused, and ordered that it be given — which caused side arms to be drawn by the tormentors and (stupidly) a request to be made that the negroes perform what one of the trio termed 'a shuffle step.' He fired 2 rounds at the ground to stimulate obedience, at which point the unfortunate sgt's wisely ran away. What stings most is this. A doz. or more of the battalion stood around enjoying the discomfiture of the sgt's, and the few who did not laugh openly condoned the callous actions by saying & doing nothing to stop them. To my shame, I must here confess that I was among the silent.

I could plead tiredness or some other excuse, but in this jrnl. I try to hew to the truth. On this occasion the truth is painful. I looked at those 2 black men as something less than what I am — therefore of no consequence.

I have suffered stinging attacks of conscience ever since. I was wrong today — as thousands in this army who think and behave the same way are wrong. Libby is still working its change upon me. New thoughts and impulses stir — so unsettling, I cannot help wishing they would go away. But they won't, any more than the negro question will go away. Though countless millions might like to do so, we can no longer push the black man through some door & lock him out of sight, content to believe his color renders him unworthy of our concern & relieves us of responsibility to treat him as a fellow human being.

It is a shameful thing I did — rather, did not do this afternoon. Writing it down helps somewhat. It is a first step, albeit not one which will induce a relaxation of my conscience.

I do have a conviction there will be other steps, however; where they will lead I cannot say, except in a most general way. I think I am starting down a road I have never walked, nor even seen, before.