Memphis Read online

  Memphis

  Sara Orwig

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1994 by Sara Orwig

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected].

  First Diversion Books edition September 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-065-5

  Also by Sara Orwig

  Civil War Saga

  New Orleans

  Memphis

  Atlanta

  Southwest Saga

  San Antonio

  Albuquerque

  Denver

  Heat Wave

  Oregon Brown

  The Goodies Case

  With thanks to: John Nelson, Tom Drum, Kim Thomas, Susan Jennings, The Commercial Appeal, Mrs. Patricia La Pointe, the Memphis Public Library, Jane Roberts, Germantown Branch Library, Fayette County Chamber of Commerce, and Jennifer Enderlin.

  Chapter 1

  April 6, 1862

  Union Army Encampment, Tennessee

  “Aren’t you up early, Private?” Private Elwin Crossley asked in a raspy voice.

  Alarmed, Sophia Virginia Merrick spun around, dropping the bedding in her hands to the ground. Mist swirled as Crossley moved closer. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She cursed her luck. Had she left a few minutes earlier, she would have been headed back home to safety.

  “It’s cold,” she replied, picking up the blanket, and grateful that she had her cap on her head and her hair tucked beneath it. She should have started home to Memphis last night, she thought. All evening by the campfire Crossley kept watching her as he moved around, trying to talk to her. The way Crossley looked at her, she felt certain he knew she was no eighteen-year-old boy who had joined the Union army. If he learned she was a Confederate spy, she could go to prison.

  “You sleep out here alone? You don’t like people?” he asked, spitting a stream of tobacco juice near her feet.

  “I haven’t been away from home before. I feel better off by myself.”

  “I’d think it would be the other way around. A bunch of us are going to the river to bathe. Come join us.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said, hoping her voice was calm. “It’s too chilly to bathe, and I don’t mind dirt.” She edged toward her rifle. The last time she had ridden to the Union camp to get war news for the paper, no one had paid any attention to her, but she hadn’t stayed overnight.

  “Charlie, you’re going to have that bath,” he said in a flat voice, his eyes gleaming while he licked his thick lips. His blue eyes raked over her boldly, and she felt a chill of apprehension.

  “All right, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “No, you’re coming now. You’re not a very friendly soldier, Charlie. Some of us think it’s time that changed, so I’m taking you with me.”

  “I said I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, glaring at him, hoping he couldn’t tell she was terrified. Why hadn’t she gone home yesterday? Waiting for reinforcements, the Federals had been camped here for almost a month, and she could have come back again, instead of staying and running such risks. Frightened, she glanced at her father’s rifle. It was yards away propped against a tree.

  “You’re coming with me,” Crossley said, moving closer.

  “No!” When she turned to run, his footsteps thudded behind her. Feeling desperate, she ran for the rifle. Her hands flailed the air as Crossley grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back, spinning her around, running his hands over her breasts.

  “Just what I thought! A little patriot who wants to fight for her country!” He pinned her arms to her sides.

  “Let me go! I’m from a newspaper in Memphis!” She struggled uselessly.

  “The hell you say! Missy, my general hates news people. He won’t care what we do with you. He won’t know either. ’Sides, you’re lying. No newspaper would allow a young girl to go to a battlefield.”

  “My family owns the paper,” she said, feeling hot tears of frustration and fright. “It was just for a few hours. Let me go!”

  He ran his hand over her buttocks and then caught her chin to tilt her face up. She stomped on his instep and he yelped.

  “Dammit—”

  She yanked her knee up, striking him forcefully. When he groaned and doubled over, he released his grip. Snatching up the rifle, she ran, her feet skimming over the damp ground. She slid down an embankment and lay still.

  “Come back here, dammit! You can’t get away,” he shouted. He thrashed through the woods, his steps growing louder, and her heart pounded. She brought up the rifle. She couldn’t kill him. She was surrounded by Federals and if she shot one of their own, they would catch her and hang her. Twigs cracked and grass swished as he came closer. A dark shape loomed up yards away.

  She shrank against the ground, holding her breath, hearing his ragged breathing.

  “I’ll find you and when I do, we’re going to have fun. Come out. I got twenty dollars that’s yours. You can’t get away.” He strode forward and was swallowed in the fog.

  “You’re surrounded by soldiers,” he continued, his footsteps and voice fading. “In a minute I’ll alert the others, and then hundreds of men will be hunting you. You keep hiding and you’ll regret it.”

  She shook with fright and felt weak. How could she get away? Forty thousand soldiers were camped around her and to the south was the Confederate army. Wearing a Union uniform, a Confederate might shoot without asking questions. She had to get away before Private Crossley started a searching party. If the Federals learned she had ridden out from Memphis to gather war news for the family newspaper, they would know she was a Confederate sympathizer. She listened to silence. Standing, she moved, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  In minutes she felt hopelessly lost and stopped to listen again. If she could just get away from the soldiers and head west, she could take the La Grange road and return to Memphis. Her horse was tethered five miles away from the Federal encampment. She was afraid to wait, afraid to go. Every tree looked the same; in the mist she could walk in circles and blunder back into camp, yet staying close to where she left Crossley was dangerous. Move! Don’t just stand there until they find you.

  Hoping she headed west away from the Federal camp, she edged forward with caution. Mist was thinning, burning off and giving yards of visibility. In minutes she would have the sun to follow. She ran, pausing every few minutes to listen for footsteps.

  Winded, she slowed to walk through thick woods. A man’s voice and the jingle of harness carried through the mist. Her heart felt as if it jumped to her throat, and she stopped.

  Deep voices came, and she reversed her steps. Then she heard hoofbeats. Men’s voices were behind her, the sound of horses in front of her. She shifted directions again. Men’s voices grew louder, and she turned. She felt desperate and terrified, because every direction seemed to bring a circle of men closing in on her.

  Horses whinnied, voices and hoofbeats unmistakable. She ran and encountered more voices and hoofbeats.

  Pausing, her heart pounding and her palms damp, she stood still, trying to decide which way to turn. Shapes appeared. Emerging from the mist, an unending line of soldiers on horseback rode toward her. Her breathing stopped; her fists clenched. Feeling immobilized by terror, she stared at hund
reds of soldiers only yards away. Behind her men’s voices grew louder. Which way should she run?

  “Quiet, dammit!” Major Caleb O’Brien snapped to a group of his Louisiana Cavalry whose voices were rising as they moved through tall oak trees. Hardee’s men edged forward. To Caleb’s right more Confederates advanced, led by Major Aaron Hardcastle, Third Mississippi Infantry Battalion. Behind him were the Tennessee Regulars with Captain Will Stanton.

  Mist swirled around the horses. Wild grass was high and green, and spring was in the air. Caleb felt the tingling in his middle that meant they were on the edge of battle. After a month of waiting with both armies camped within miles of each other, they would finally see action. Most of the men on the field were fresh recruits who hadn’t seen a battle. Their trial by fire was coming this morning.

  “We get a chance at them today. No more waiting and no more running,” came a loud whisper as Will Stanton reined beside him.

  “Our army has been camped in Corinth for almost a month now. In all that time why the hell haven’t the Federals attacked or prepared for battle?”

  “Maybe after Fort Donelson, they think all Johnston’s men can do is run.”

  “This will be Manassas again,” Caleb said, feeling an eagerness to meet the enemy. “We’ll send them running.” Federal voices carried on the morning air; they weren’t far away through the trees. Why were the damned Bluebellies so certain they wouldn’t be attacked? Caleb wondered. Because of Johnston’s retreats through Tennessee? It wasn’t known what had kept Johnston from attacking long before now, but delays fanned his rage until there was no turning back.

  “There must be a million tents along the Tennessee River and around that church.”

  “According to reconnaissance, Sherman has forty thousand men,” Caleb replied dryly. “But Johnston said he would fight them if they were a million.” As the mist thinned, Caleb glimpsed tents and shebangs, the makeshift shelters of poles with thatched tops. “Johnston expects us to cut them off from the river and push them west to Owl Creek.”

  “While Beauregard wants to drive them east farther into Tennessee. Our commanders better get in agreement.”

  “I’d ride through hell with Johnston,” Caleb declared.

  “You’d ride through hell with anybody, because you crave adventure.”

  Caleb grinned while he listened to the steady movement of horses through the woods, glancing over his shoulder at the long line of his deployed men and men from other regiments. Thousands of Confederates clad in various color uniforms moved forward toward the enemy camp.

  “We may ride through hell today unless the damn Yankees turn tail and run like they did at Manassas,” Will said.

  “They’re probably saying that about us and Fort Donelson.”

  “I like a general who wants to stay out of battle.” Will glanced at him. “You still won’t wear a saber?”

  “My Colt can out perform a saber any day. A saber is good for roasting meat, not fighting.”

  “Sometimes I think you got your promotions because of your damned Colt and your Sharps Carbine and your never-miss shooting while the rest of us carry sabers and Enfield muskets and often miss a target.”

  With a grin Caleb glanced into Will’s friendly brown eyes. Caleb looked around at the greening earth. “I like Tennessee, Will.”

  “Of course, you do—with its emerald hills and tall trees and magnificent horses, it’s Eden.”

  “Not Eden. It’s like Ireland,” Caleb answered, thinking of his birthplace.

  “Why did you leave there, Caleb? Or is that none of my affair?”

  “My father gambled away all we had. The family came here to start again. And now I’m in a war.”

  A shot rang out, followed by silence.

  “Dammit, who fired a shot?” Caleb wheeled his horse away and rode down the line, his green eyes searching for anyone reloading. He heard horses and men’s voices.

  To his right a Yankee reconnaissance patrol of several hundred men advanced, laughing and talking. Were they blind? Caleb’s spine tingled as he watched them march without caution through the trees. Riding in front of the line of his men, he drew his pistol.

  His men raised muskets as Yankees advanced. And still they hadn’t spotted the Confederates. Only yards apart now. Caleb felt his muscles tighten. They would send the Yankees running as they had at Manassas. Any second—

  “Rebs!” a Union soldier yelled and raised his rifle.

  Caleb swung his pistol high overhead and fired. “Charge!” As his horse leaped forward, Caleb’s cry was joined by others while his men surged to meet the enemy. Rebel yells carried, and musket blasts added to the noise.

  In minutes Caleb was engaged in fighting, other Federals running back through the woods, shouting alarm to the men in camp, soldiers riding out to join the fight. A Yankee rode toward him, saber raised; Caleb aimed his pistol and fired, and the man tumbled from his saddle.

  Feeling a wild surge of exhilaration, Caleb fought. The battlefield was chaos, men yelling and running. They had caught the Bluebellies by surprise this spring morning!

  Gaining ground, they drove the Yankees back. As Caleb fought, shots nicked a tree beside him; his horse lurched and fell, killed by a minié ball. Caleb jumped from the saddle and hit the ground running. A soldier appeared, his eyes going wide with fear. He swung up a rifle to aim, the black eye of the muzzle focused on Caleb’s heart.

  Caleb lunged against the slight Yankee. As Caleb tackled him, the shot went wild. The Yankees were using boys for soldiers; the body he grappled with felt like the slender frame of his twelve-year-old brother Darcy.

  Caleb and the Yankee fell to the ground, rolling down an embankment. The body beneath his was soft and round and as they rolled to a stop, Caleb straddled the soldier, looking into blue eyes. A woman! Slender fingers were still locked around the rifle. Her cap had fallen off and her blond braids spilled from pins.

  The damn Yankees would allow a woman to fight! He had heard of Yankee women dressed in trousers, but he hadn’t heard of them fighting alongside their men. He should kill her. If he didn’t, she would get up and kill him. She met his gaze with a wide-eyed, steady stare.

  He couldn’t kill a woman. Not even if she would get up and shoot him. “Dammit!” he shouted. “You don’t belong on a bloody battlefield!”

  Yanking the rifle from her hands, he stood up and flung it away, watching it fly through the air and strike a tree, falling into weeds. He looked down at her sprawled on the muddy ground. “Get the hell home before you’re killed, Yankee!”

  A shot clipped his shoulder and part of his uniform ripped away. He ran before the next shot, taking a riderless horse and swinging into the saddle to raise his pistol and fire.

  In minutes he was in the thick of fighting, reaching Yankee tents, pursuing them across the field toward high ground.

  “Regroup!” Caleb shouted, circling and allowing his men to gather. They were in the shelter of trees and ahead stretched a wide meadow.

  “They’ve dug in behind the fence,” Will shouted, riding close. “There’s a sunken wagon road on the other side of that fence.”

  “Ready to attack, Major,” General Joseph E. Johnston ordered. “Wait for the word.”

  “Yes, sir.” Caleb looked at the field they would have to cross, the thick woods where the Federals could hide. Was there any other way to attack? A direct march would be deadly.

  “Gibson!” General Braxton Bragg shouted.

  The colonel wheeled his horse around and rode toward the general. A deep boom resounded from the trees and the earth exploded yards away. Now that the Federals had cannon behind the fence, any charge against them would be even more deadly.

  General Bragg rode to Caleb’s right. “Colonel Gibson, take your men and attack. We have to drive the enemy off that road,” Bragg commanded.

  “Yes, sir.” Colonel Gibson’s face was pale, a scowl creasing his forehead as he called the order to his men.

  Caleb drew a d
eep breath, anger surging. The men would walk across an open field into cannons. Damn the Bluebellies! He fired while soldiers stretched in a long line to march toward the scrub oak at the edge of the field near the rail fence.

  “Hold your fire!” Caleb yelled the command, afraid his regiment would hit Gibson’s men who were now deployed ahead. Caleb felt another flash of rage. It was Gibson’s first battle, and his men marched against the Federals’s defensive position that was a natural protection. Where was the Confederate artillery? Where was support?

  The sun rose higher, glinting on bayonets and brass buttons. Gibson’s men charged again, racing across the open field, shouting, the first wave almost to the rail fence.

  Cannon roared sending canister through the Confederate line, cutting men down like a sickle through grass. Caleb’s stomach churned at the sight. Amid screams and destruction, it was Caleb’s turn. The charge would mean certain death for his men.

  “Major O’Brien!” He heard the deep voice of his commanding officer. In a rush, Caleb urged his horse forward and brandished his pistol.

  “Charge!” Caleb yelled, leading his men across the smoke-filled ground.

  He felt a hot bite in his thigh, another in his calf as he kept firing, riding toward the fence that soon vanished from sight amid smoke from the cannon. Like one continual roar of thunder, the blast of cannon was all he could hear. They had to be twelve-pounders. The bitter smell of blood mingled with the odor of gunpowder. In minutes Caleb’s thigh was soaked with blood. He glanced over and saw Will’s horse fall, Will running.

  Canister hit ahead, sending a shower of dirt flying, sharp bites stinging Caleb’s hands and arms. The guidon fell, and another soldier snatched it up to continue running. Too many men were going down, and they couldn’t reach the fence. The deadly black snouts of the cannon faced him, a solid defense for the Federals.

  “Retreat! Regroup!” he yelled, wheeling his horse around. As he raced back, he spotted a soldier writhing on the ground, his leg crimson from a wound.