Fire by Night

  Oh, God, help me. Please, she prayed as she lifted the sloshing pail to begin her work.

  The first man she came upon had a bloody bandage around his thigh where his leg ended. Sweat poured down his face, his lips were parched, his eyes dazed with pain. She gently lifted his head and gave him a drink of water from the dipper.

  “Thank you. Oh, thank you,” he murmured. “God bless you.”

  She continued on to the next man, trying to keep to a pattern so no one would be overlooked, but the men lay everywhere, scattered across the ground. Many of them were already dead, their corpses bloating beneath the hot sun. There was not enough manpower to help the living, much less remove all the dead soldiers and bury them.

  She knelt again and again, returning to the pump whenever her bucket ran dry. As she toted the heavy load back and forth, she was grateful for the practice she’d had carrying water for the laundry. All the while, Julia continued her desperate plea for strength and for the courage not to faint. Her own mouth felt as dry as sand.

  “I-I think I’m dying,” one boy whispered as she lifted his head. “I don’t want to die. … ”

  “Don’t give up,” she urged. “Hang on. Help is here.”

  Eventually Julia came upon the doctor who had taken charge. He was kneeling on the ground beside one of the untreated soldiers, but he looked up when he saw Julia. “Nurse? Do you have a minute?”

  She edged toward him. He had his medical kit open, a surgical probe in his hand, and she prayed that he wouldn’t ask her to assist him in treating wounds.

  “These men haven’t eaten in days,” he said, bending over the soldier. “Tell the women to mix up some cornmeal gruel. Add wine or any other stimulants you can find to it. We need to start giving food as well as water.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Julia had never cooked gruel, or anything else, but she did that day. She and the other nurses worked without stopping until it was too dark to see. On one of Julia’s trips back to the ship for more food, Sister Irene stopped her and made her sit down and eat some bacon and a piece of hardtack. It was Julia’s first taste of the soldiers’ usual rations, and she was certain all her teeth would break off as she tried to eat the rocklike cracker. Afterward, she continued her work by candlelight until the wax burned away to a stub. Her legs were so weary from crouching beside the men all day that she could barely stand. At last she staggered back to her cabin on board the ship for a few hours of rest.

  At dawn she was up with the sun, feeding the men their breakfast. The Sanitary Commission had finally rounded up a Negro work crew to serve as stretcher-bearers, and they began carrying the wounded on board the ships. With little direction and no organization, the workers haphazardly dumped their pitiful cargo wherever they could find space—in the cabins, on all the decks, in the passageways, and even on the stairs. Soldiers screamed in pain as their stretchers bumped against the walls or someone tripped over one of them on the overcrowded deck. By late afternoon, every square inch of the Potomac Queen was packed with suffering men, some lying on mattresses, most on beds of straw. The hospital ship was supposed to carry two hundred and fifty men, but many more than that were eventually crammed on board.

  Julia now made her way among the wounded with warm water and soap, washing the accumulated mud and sweat and blood from their faces and hands. She offered a few words of kindness and hope along with food or a blanket or a sip of brandy to ease their pain. Their murmurs of gratitude brought tears to her eyes. Malaria and dysentery had already weakened many of the soldiers who’d camped in the swampy lowlands before they’d been wounded. Some were near death and knew it. To them, she offered prayers and urged faith in the promises of Christ.

  Julia felt gritty with dust and sweat, the skirt of her dress muddy and bloodstained. Her hair had been pinned and repinned carelessly without the benefit of a mirror. But she kept on working, praying constantly for strength, offering whatever assistance she could for as long as her own strength held out. Volunteers from the Christian Commission were on their way, she was told. They would help with the overwhelming work that still needed to be done.

  Late in the afternoon of the second day, Julia was kneeling on the deck, trying to spoon water into a feverish soldier’s mouth, when she heard someone call her name.

  “Miss Hoffman? Julia Hoffman?”

  She looked up, astonished to see Reverend Nathaniel Greene standing over her. His handsome freckled face looked dusty and weary; his fair hair shone golden in the sun. The sight of him brought tears to her eyes.

  “It is you,” he said as he crouched beside her. “I can’t believe my eyes. I never expected to see you here.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” she managed to say.

  “I heard you were in Washington City, working at an army hospital. I must say I’m rather surprised to see …How did you come to be here?”

  “I read in the newspaper that the Sanitary Commission needed volunteer nurses for their evacuation ships. I wanted to help.”

  He looked around at the overcrowded deck, then gestured to the hundreds of men still waiting on shore. “I’m certain this is beyond what you ever imagined you would see. It must be very hard for you to cope with such suffering. I know it is for me.” His eyes met hers again, and she saw his concern, not only for the wounded men, but also for her welfare. She couldn’t believe it.

  “I acted disgracefully at Bull Run, Reverend, and I’ve been so sorry ever since—”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Miss Hoffman.”

  “Please, won’t you call me Julia?” She hoped that no one, including the half-conscious soldier she was tending, had noticed that Nathaniel had addressed her as “Miss.”

  “You needn’t apologize for Bull Run, Julia. We were all so ill prepared that day. But now …it appears you have more than made up for it.”

  His voice had grown very soft. He continued to stare at Julia as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She wondered, at first, if it might be because she was barely recognizable in her dirty, disheveled condition. But as he continued to stare, Julia was amazed to see that his gaze was one of admiration.

  “I’ve just arrived,” he finally said. “Tell me how I can help. What can I do?”

  “You can help us feed everyone. And I know that many of the men would appreciate any comfort or prayers you might offer, Reverend.” “You don’t need to call me that.” He ran his fingers around the neck of his clerical collar self-consciously. “It’s Nathaniel. And if you’ll tell me where I can find the food, I’ll gladly help.”

  “I’ll show you.” She gently lowered the wounded man’s head. Julia started to rise but her legs, weak with fatigue, suddenly gave out, and she fell sideways against the injured man. He screamed in pain and lashed out, his flailing arms striking Julia in the face and knocking her to the deck. Nathaniel scrambled to help her.

  “Julia! Are you all right?”

  She felt stunned. Her cheek throbbed where she’d been struck. But she was more concerned for the soldier she’d harmed. “I’m sorry! Oh, dear God. We have to help him, Nathaniel. The poor man. He needs something for the pain.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Hold him still for me.” Julia had never administered chloroform before, but she’d watched the other nurses do it dozens of times over the past two days. She hurried over to the crate of medical supplies and found a bottle of the drug. While Nathaniel held the moaning man down, Julia poured a small amount of chloroform onto a cloth and held it to the soldier’s face. By the time he slipped into unconsciousness, Julia felt limp herself.

  Nathaniel released the man, then gently laid his hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Are you all right? You should have your eye looked after. I’m afraid it’s going to swell where he hit you.”

  She managed a weary smile as she rubbed her cheekbone. “There are much bigger medical needs around here than mine. I’ll be all right.” She watched the soldier’s chest rise and fall in sleep, silently praying tha
t he would be all right.

  “Julia…”

  When Nathaniel didn’t say more she looked up at him. The minister was staring at her, speechless. When he finally could talk, he stammered. “Y-you’re amazing. That was …you were so caring …and …and competent.”

  Julia knew she should feel triumphant. She had accomplished what she’d set out to do nearly a year ago, winning the minister’s respect and admiration at last. He was looking at her the way she’d long dreamed that he would. But his words of praise didn’t give her the satisfaction she thought they would. She had run away from suffering men a second time yesterday, and she knew all too well that the caring, competent nurse he saw was a fraud.

  “You’re wrong about me,” she said. “I could never do this on my own. I’ve had to pray for strength since the moment I arrived.”

  Her words seemed to make him even more attracted to her. “And I can see that He has answered those prayers. We serve a marvelous God, don’t we, Julia?”

  She realized then that it was God’s approval she wanted, not Nathaniel’s. The thought so astounded her that she didn’t answer him—and barely heard his next question.

  “When are you going back to Washington?”

  “What…? Oh …I think the ship is leaving early tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll be in Washington myself in a few weeks. I’d like to call on you, if I may.”

  His words stunned her nearly as much as the blow to her face had. “Of course.”

  “Where can I find you?” he asked. “What’s the name of your hospital?”

  The minister’s sudden interest in her flustered Julia, but she had the presence of mind to give him directions to the boardinghouse instead of the hospital. The last thing she wanted was for Nathaniel Greene to discover that she had lied in order to become a nurse.

  “It would be wonderful to see you when you come toWashington,” she said, as if in a dream. “I don’t know very many people there besides Congressman Rhodes.”

  While they talked, she steered the minister through the maze of injured men and showed him where to find food for their patients. Then all thoughts of Nathaniel retreated from her mind as she plunged into her job once again. They worked beside each other for a short time, until Nathaniel was called away to pray with a dying man. She didn’t see him again after that.

  Long after dark, Sister Irene came to where Julia knelt beside a patient and took her arm, helping her to her feet. “Come, dear. You’ve done enough. It’s time you slept for a little while.”

  “I no longer have a bed, Sister. They needed the space, so I let them put wounded men in my quarters.”

  “I think there’s an empty corner in our room.”

  Julia’s knees felt so watery she could barely walk. She and Sister Irene held on to each other as they staggered belowdeck to the nuns’ tiny stateroom. The other three sisters were already there, sound asleep on the floor after having donated their mattresses. Julia took the blanket the sister offered her and curled up beside her on the floor. Sister Irene looked much less formidable—and surprisingly young—without her headpiece.

  Exhausted beyond words, Julia thought that the gentle swaying of the boat and the lapping murmur of the waves would quickly lull her to sleep. But she found herself wide awake, staring at the paneled ceiling, every muscle and bone and joint in her body aching.

  “Why are you here, Julia?”

  Sister Irene’s hushed voice came out of the darkness, her question piercing Julia’s heart as if God or one of His angels had asked it. She closed her eyes, and for a moment she was back home in her parlor, dressed in satin and lace and hoopskirts, sipping tea with afternoon callers.

  “I want my life to matter,” she said quietly.

  “I bake bread at the convent,” Sister Irene said after a moment. “It seemed a meaningless task at first, especially to a woman who wanted to devote her life to God’s work. Anyone can make bread, given a little instruction. And of course it gets eaten as quickly as I bake it, then I must do it all over again the next day. But I’ve learned that any task you do has meaning if it’s done unto the Lord and according to His purposes. Your life will matter in His eyes.”

  “But even baking bread seems more meaningful than dressing up in fancy clothes and attending teas and parties back home.”

  The nun rolled over to face Julia. “God puts each of us in a different place with a different task to do. But no matter where we find ourselves, God’s greatest commandment is that we love—our enemies as well as our neighbors. If we do that, our life will have meaning whether we’re at a tea party or on a hospital ship.”

  “I came here for selfish reasons,” Julia found herself confessing. “Someone accused me of being shallow and spoiled—and he was right. I came here to prove him wrong. I wanted to prove that I could be compassionate and caring.” And today she had done that. She’d won Nathaniel’s admiration at last. So why did the victory seem so hollow? “I wanted to change, Sister Irene. But the only thing that’s different is where I am and what I’m doing. I’m still self-centered. I’m still doing all this for selfish reasons, not out of love.”

  The nun was quiet for a long moment. Julia was aware once again of the pitiful cries and moans outside her cabin that never ceased. Then the sister said, “You can make up your mind and discipline yourself to do any task—kneading bread, caring for the wounded, changing bandages. But we can’t simply make up our mind to love others. The only way we can love the way God wants us to is when the Holy Spirit loves through us, when we give up control of our lives to Him. We prayed for strength these past few days, Julia, and God answered our prayer. Now we must pray for love.”

  “Some people are very difficult to love,” Julia said, thinking of James McGrath. “They push everyone away and don’t seem to want even a simple friendship.”

  “I know. I’ve met people like that, and you know what? They’re the ones we must pray for the most. Because they need our love the very most.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mechanicsville, Virginia

  July 1862

  Phoebe rolled her trousers above her knees and waded into Beaver Dam Creek. She had hoped for a few minutes alone to wash her socks and spare shirt in the sluggish water, but she heard laughter and the voices of her fellow soldiers as they came down the path through the woods, and she knew she wouldn’t have privacy much longer. As a handful of men from her company emerged into the clearing, Ted’s boyish voice carried above the others.

  “Hey, everybody. Quiet a minute. Listen…”

  The rustling branches and tromping feet stopped. Phoebe listened with them. Above the hot summer sounds of buzzing insects and flowing water she heard bells, gently tolling in the distance.

  “Hear that?” Ted asked. “Those are Richmond’s church bells. That’s how close we are.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” one of the men asked. “Let’s go burn the place down and hang ol’ Jeff Davis from a flagpole!” The others cheered. The joking laughter resumed.

  Phoebe quickly finished rinsing her clothes and climbed the riverbank to retrieve her shoes. The men had come to bathe in the creek and were already peeling off their clothes. She didn’t want to stick around.

  Phoebe envied their freedom. Her wool uniform was so hot and scratchy in the scorching July heat that she felt like she was being burned at the stake. Sweat poured down her face and soaked the armpits of her shirt, in spite of her brief wade into the river. Ted looked cooler already, stripped down to his trousers. She hoped he was having too much fun to notice that she was leaving, but no such luck.

  “Hey, where’re you going? Aren’t you going to cool off?” he asked her.

  “I’m done already.”

  “Well, you didn’t get very clean. No offense, Ike, but you still stink. And why are you wearing all those clothes? For pete’s sake, take your blasted shirt off, for once.”

  Phoebe slowly pulled her shirttails out of her pants and undid one button, st
alling for time. “How come we haven’t attacked Richmond, Ted? We’re this close, we got all these men and guns …What do you suppose we’re waiting for?”

  He looked a little puzzled at the sudden change of topic. But then he took the bait—just as she’d hoped he would. “We’re waiting for reinforcements. There are too many Rebels, and they’re dug in all around Richmond just like they were at Yorktown. We have to get our big guns in place first and bombard the stuffing out of them. Then our troops will move in.”

  “Didn’t General McClellan learn his lesson the last time?” she asked as she slowly backed toward the path. Ted was unbuttoning his trousers and she wanted to run. “Them Rebels know better than to sit still and wait until we have them in our sights.”

  “Why don’t you go tell that to Little Mac, Ike? He’ll be very glad for your advice.” He wore a peculiar grin, as if he might be plotting something. Phoebe didn’t want to wait around and find out what it was.

  “I think I’ll do that,” she said, and she strode off into the woods as if she had every intention of marching right up to the general’s tent. She heard muffled laughter behind her and knew she should run, but she was barefooted. When Phoebe stopped to put on her shoes, the men ambushed her.

  Ted led the attack, laughing and giving a bloodcurdling imitation of the Rebel yell. She tried to fight back, but there were too many of them and she really didn’t want to hurt anybody since they thought it was all in fun. They dragged her to the riverbank, pulling off her shoes and her trousers as they went. But they would have to knock her unconscious before she’d let them take off her shirt and her union suit. She clutched her shirtfront tightly with both hands.

  “You’re gonna drown me,” she yelled, struggling. “I can’t swim!”

  “That water isn’t even over your head.” Ted laughed and hooted as they threw her in. A moment later, they all jumped in after her.