Love and War

Dusting this. Straightening that. Motion, work — anything to numb the pain.

She lit two more lamps in the kitchen, heated water on the stove, pulled all her clean dishes from the shelves and washed each piece, dried them vigorously, and put them back.

Another knock. This time, Washington didn't wait for an answer before stepping inside. 'Miz Augusta, it's near onto midnight. Too late for you to be up.'

'This floor's filthy. I'm going to scrub it.'

Washington's forehead furrowed; such behavior was incomprehensible. 'Major Charles didn't look so good —'

'He's been quite ill. Dysentery.'

'He didn't stay long.'

'No.'

'He comin' back soon?'

She had to he. 'I don't know. Perhaps.'

Still frowning, Washington chewed on his lower lip. 'If you're goin' to wash the floor this time of night, you let me help you.'

'I want to do it by myself. I don't feel sleepy.' She remembered her manners. 'But thank you.'

The door closed, shutting out his troubled face.

She filled a pail and found her brush. She couldn't believe how badly she hurt. His leaving was the direct cause, but the deepest guilt was hers. She had let down her defenses. Opened herself to love, whose other Janus face was the possibility of loss.

Would she have changed anything? Refused to love him? It took her no time at all to answer with an emphatic no. But, God above, it did hurt now.

Despite that, she still took pride in being a self-reliant woman. She had endured this damned misbegotten war, and she would continue to endure it. She would endure the pain, too, for as long as it lasted. She knew how long that would be. Till the hour she died.

No matter. She would endure everything because there was always, even amidst the worst, some reason for wanting and needing to survive. She knew her own reason well and only wished she had been able to tell him. But it would have been a cruel and self-serving use of the truth.

Gently, she rested a hand on her waist. Then, as the clock rang midnight, she got down on her knees and began to scrub.

115

The night after the battle of the Crater, Billy wrote:

Sun., Jul. 31. Routine company inspection. All quiet on the siege lines following yesterday's devastation.

Saturday, waking to reveille at 2 a.m., we breakfasted and marched in shirt sleeves to Ft. Meikel, a section of the works from which we witnessed the detonation of 8,000 lbs. of powder in the T-shaped mine shaft, approx. 600 ft. long dug in complete secrecy by Lt. Col. Pleasants's 48th Penn. Veteran Vol's — chiefly coal miners, from whom came the idea. At first, I regret to say, it was rejected by Gen. Meade & our own chief of engineers, Maj. Duane. But opposition was overcome, and the task accomplished by men working day & night for a month. That the miners did not suffocate was due to a clever scheme which drew foul air from the tunnel by means of a fire & a secret chimney. Company A of our battalion assisted with part of the task, building the covered way protecting the mine entrance & the approach to same. The mine ended at a point 20 ft. beneath the rebel works along Peagram's Salient. The charge went off with a monumental rocking of earth & lighting of the sky such as I have never before witnessed. The scheme was a total success until Gen. Burnside's IX Corps, in line of battle in a nearby ravine, commenced its advance into the smoking crater.

For reasons not yet clear, the advance foundered, with men on the bottom & sides of the crater trapped there as more troops poured in. All were soon entangled — a great writhing human target for deadly rifle & artillery fire from the enemy. This took a huge toll & prepared the way for Gen. Mahone's counterattack, which turned the brilliant effort into a defeat

What I find singular, beyond the construction of the mine itself, is the courage exhibited by Gen. Ferrero's colored troops. They were to have been sent in first, but Grant feared he would be accused of treating negroes as cannon fodder if the attack failed, so he held them in reserve. When finally committed, they conducted themselves so valorously their praises are being sung by all.

During the battle, the battalion was in readiness for any sudden call — we took a tool wagon to our vantage point — but none was forthcoming, so we returned to our present encampment near the Jerusalem Plank Road, there to resume our routine duties.

Mine have now been expanded, voluntarily, to include campaigning among my fellow soldiers for Mr. Lincoln's re­election. Some men will be enabled by state law to cast votes in the field — Penn. soldiers are among that lucky group — but others will be required to return to their native states. Whatever a man's situation, all but the most phlegmatic are showing a lively, not to say occasionally violent, interest in the coming battle of ballots.

Our President faces a hard fight. Some scorn his shortcomings as a war leader and his policies regarding the colored race. I have listened and argued with avowed loyal Unionists who hope the Democrats nominate Gen. McC. in August because they find L. guilty of so many 'crimes' — the draft; promoting growth of centralized federal power; arbitrary arrest & imprisonment of critics of the administration — & so on.

While many feel that way, I do not find the army as 'Mc-Clellanized' as it was even one year ago. Grant squanders lives almost wantonly, yet there is a rising surety that he has at last fashioned a fighting force which will triumph; along with the expected wailing about the butcher's bill, there is new pride within the Army of the Potomac. Most agree it is only a matter of time until we win. This works in Abe's favor. I will campaign for him to the utmost.

The siege continues without much success. Geo. is now based at City Point in the RR Corps charged with maintaining our rail supply line, esp. the many trestles which span gullies, creeks, & other low places along the route. I want to see him but thus far have not; daily, it seems, there is a new task for the battalion. Since my arrival, I have led a surveying party near the reb. siege lines — we drew hot fire for 10 minutes on that occasion. I have commanded detachments which dug wells and put up shelters made of boughs for the mules which pull our wagons. I have twice taught large groups of colored infantry the techniques of gabion & fascine construction. They were eager to learn & did, quickly.

We have felled trees for new gun platforms, replaced gabions ruined by heavy rainstorms, built bombproofs, cut new embrasures in existing works, & generally added to the siege line. The line is essentially a series of separate redoubts, or forts, connected by rifle pits, each fort laid out so its guns may play not only upon the enemy but on adjoining forts, should they be attacked.

A great amount of the work is done in close proximity to the earthworks of the rebels, which calls for extreme care & frequent stealth. We often perform our tasks at night, in complete silence when that is possible. Every man knows that an improper move, a command uttered too loudly or any inadvertent noise can draw the artillery or sharpshooter fire which can end the war for him a considerable time before an official surrender. No wonder, then, that we are issued a daily ration of whiskey. Our job is hard & it is dangerous. I never hesitate to drink the whiskey. I have every hope of a reunion with my brother at City Point soon — & many reasons to do my utmost to live through each new day. Many reasons, but one supreme. You, my dearest Wife. How I do long to outlast the killing & hold you in my arms again.

Along with its changing colors, autumn brought better news to the Lehigh Valley. Sherman had taken Atlanta on the second of September. That and the successful exploits of Little Phil excited the entire North. In scornful reply