Due North to Freedom

  * * *

  It was a dark and rainy evening. No moon. That may be useful tonight, thought Abigail as she strolled at a leisurely pace down the long walk leading to the entrance of the hospital.

  “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you this evening?” drawled the guard at the gatehouse as Abigail approached.

  “And a gloomy evening it is, don’t you think?” said Abigail, doing her best to imitate a Richmond accent. “My name is Sally Harris and I thought I’d try to bring a little joy to some of our wounded soldiers…bring some beauty into their lives with some freshly picked flowers.”

  “Well, ma’am, that’s a right kindly thing to do,” said the guard, smiling warmly and nodding his head. “The men haven’t had many visitors this evening and I’m sure they’d appreciate it. The only thing, ma’am, is that you don’t appear to have one of those pins that the ladies wear. Major Fitchett requires that all ladies coming to visit the soldiers wear the special pin or we can’t let them in.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Abigail, thinking quickly. “But you see, Sergeant…it is sergeant, isn’t it?”

  “Yes indeed, ma’am, Sergeant Kline, at your service.”

  “Well, you see, Sergeant,” Abigail said softly as she leaned her head slightly toward the sergeant’s, “we have a small problem with that. This is my first visit to the hospital and, since I was a little nervous this evening when I was collecting my flowers, I completely forgot about wearing my pin.”

  “That’s alright, ma’am. But you will have to see Major Fitchett about that. I’m sure he’ll set you straight.”

  “Oh, I see... Major Fitchett. Unfortunately, Sergeant, I am not acquainted with the major. Just how would I go about getting an interview with him?”

  “Well, ma’am, he’s usually to be found out and about the hospital this time of evening, but I must say that I haven’t seen a trace of him so far tonight. So I’m guessin’ that he’s still in his office. If you go right through those doors ahead of you and then turn right, I reckon you’ll come onto the major’s office soon enough.”

  Abigail smiled warmly. “Why, that’s wonderful, Sergeant. I’m so fortunate that I found someone so helpful to me in my time of need. I’ll be on my way now, and thanks again for your courtesy.”

  Abigail nodded again to the sergeant and moved swiftly toward the door. The double doors opened into a small lobby with hallways extending to the right and left as well as straight ahead. Abigail walked toward the right corridor, thinking that the sergeant might still have his eye on her. The she paused, glancing out of the corner of her eye to see the sergeant, now engaged in a lively conversation with another soldier. She then changed directions and walked briskly toward the middle corridor, pushing firmly through a second set of double doors.

  Looming ahead of her was a long room with two rows of beds, most of them inhabited by soldiers. These were all Confederates soldiers—she could tell by their butternut hats and coats hung by the side of some of the beds. An orderly busied himself at the far end of the room, but there seemed to be no guards or any officers on duty.

  Abigail walked purposely down the corridor between the two rows. Many soldiers were asleep, but a number of them were wide-awake, playing cards or conversing animatedly. About two-thirds down the corridor, one particularly noisy soldier took notice of Abigail and gestured to her broadly. “Now there’s a handsome young filly,” he bawled. “Have any flowers for me, sweet thing?”

  “Mind your manners, Lucius,” said another. “That there is a lady and she’ll be having nothing to do with the likes of you.”

  Ignoring his friend, Lucius stood up, dropping his cards on the bed next to him. “Now that just shows how much you know,” said Lucius, a wide grin covering his face. “Why that’s exactly why these ladies are here—to give aid and comfort to us heroes of the Confederacy.”

  “Shut your mouth, Lucius. You ain’t a hero of nothin’,” said his friend, shaking his head vigorously.

  “Now, Dick, I don’t know why you would say such a thing,” answered Lucius in mock horror. “I reckon I’ve suffered for my country as much as anyone.”

  “Lucius, you got shot in the toe. You’ve barely been scratched,” Dick said wearily. “So why don’t you just leave the nice lady alone. She’s probably here to see some of the seriously wounded.”

  Abigail, who had paused slightly, nodded and smiled gently to Dick and walked on more quickly. Soon she came to another set of double doors.

  “Are you really sure you want to go in there, missy?” came a voice from across the hall. Abigail paused and started to look back toward the voice. But then she quickly faced forward and pushed vigorously through the doors into the next ward.

  The smell was overpowering. Abigail stopped in her tracks, her hand involuntarily going to her lips. This ward was as long as the last one, but was filled with patients who were much more seriously wounded. Few men were sitting up on their beds. Many groaned or tossed restlessly. Several men had had limbs amputated; more than a dozen had lost both an arm and a leg. Many men were feverish with infection. Others picked at their blood-soaked bandages. Almost all looked defeated and forlorn.

  Some men looked up briefly as Abigail passed, but then quickly turned away. She saw an orderly on the far side of the room tending to one of the patients. He raised his head and glanced quickly over at Abigail. Remembering that she had a role to play, she walked slowly up to one patient, sprawled uncomfortably on the stiff bed. “Sir,” she said, “will you take a flower as a token of appreciation from the citizens of Richmond?”

  The man grunted and turned away.

  “It’s but a small token, sir, but…” said Abigail, holding out a white rose to the wounded man.

  “It don’t mean nothin’,” grumbled the man, refusing to look Abigail in the face and waving her away with his right arm, which had been amputated at the elbow.

  “I understand that you’ve been badly wounded,” began Abigail.

  “You understand nothin’!” bellowed the man, now turning to face Abigail and propping himself up in his bed. “You ain’t ever been shot at…never saw your friends blown into bits right before your eyes…never lost your arm…”

  Abigail couldn’t reply. Her head drooping to her chin, she walked away slowly.

  “Say, miss!” It was the orderly from across the room. “Hold on there for a minute.”

  Abigail stopped and looked up at the man who strode quickly toward her.

  “It’ll be no use trying to comfort that man, ma’am,” said the orderly, shaking his head sadly. “He’s a bitter one, he is, ma’am. Not that I can blame him. He’s lost an arm and may yet lose a leg, if that infection gets any worse.”

  “I understand,” said Abigail, smiling weakly. “Perhaps this isn’t a good time to come and see the men.”

  “No, it’s a bit late in the evening. Say, you’re a new one, aren’t you?” said the orderly, examining her face closely. “I don’t remember ever seeing you here before.”

  “No,” said Abigail. “This is my first visit. My pin…they haven’t given me a pin yet.”

  “I see,” said the orderly. “Well, perhaps it would be better if you’d come back earlier on another day. The ladies usually come in to do their good works earlier in the afternoon. And by then you’d probably have your pin.”

  “Yes, yes…l guess I would,” said Abigail slowly. “Well, I believe I should go…but before I do, I was wondering if you could help me find a Mr. Robert Smith, who I believe is a patient here.”

  “Robert Smith? The black man?” I believe he’s in the next ward. But you can’t go in there, lady. That’s a prison ward.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Abigail, fussing with a bunch of flowers in a vase. “That’s a shame. Even prisoners need to have a little beauty brought into their lives, Mr. …”

  “The name is Adams, ma’am, and I reckon not everybody sees in that way,” the orderly chuckled. “Especially not the guard. I’d say you could ask him,
but I think he must have just stepped away from his post. Call of nature probably.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you,” said Abigail, puttering with the flowers for a couple of seconds. At that point the orderly nodded his head toward her respectfully and left the ward. Except for the patients—most of whom were now sound asleep—she was alone.

  Abigail moved quietly but quickly to the end of the ward. There she saw the door to the prison ward. She looked in the small glass window but could see no one. The orderly was right. The guard had stepped away from the door, although it was impossible to know for how long. Was the door locked? She tried to push the heavy door open. It moved! She pushed harder. Suddenly she heard a moan from one of the patients. He rolled over painfully but, after a minute, was quiet again. Abigail pushed again. The door swung open slowly. She stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her. This ward was darker and it took her a moment for her eyes to focus. Then she saw him—at the far end of the room—looking directly into her face. It was Mr. Smith!