part 2 chapter

29

s hortly after sunrise one morning, there was more than the usual ruckus outside the

barracks. when i groggily shoved my way to the window between other gawkers, i saw lines of

prison guards with haversacks hoisted on their shoulders. on command, they noisily filed

through the prison gates and boarded boats tied at the dock. some boys had heard that our

keepers were being sent back to combat. zeke and beards called after them, “good riddance,

you bastards.” and “get ready to meet your maker. you won’t have a beggar’s chance against

our rebs.” the minute they were out of sight, a new crew of rowdy, blue-coated boys marched

into our midst. we solemnly watched them cross the pen, puzzled that some spoke english

mixed up with an unrecognizable language. they seemed awkward with their shining new

weapons, and it made me nervous. within a few minutes, ahl marched the entire crew to

schoepf’s chambers.

curious about these strangers, zeke and i loitered in the yard until they finally appeared

above us on the pen. we leaned against the wall below, where we could eavesdrop. after

detecting the words “ach, ein, das, and nicht,” zeke decided they must be recent german

immigrants. he’d encountered german mennonites at the waynesboro market at home and

recognized the accent. by straining to decipher their conversation, we learned they were fresh

recruits to the ohio national guard. they knew nothing about soldering except for schoepf’s

explanation of special order number 157. there hadn’t been time to memorize the basic

training manual on the train ride from ohio to the delaware.

the next day, i was hiding from the sun’s rays in a wedge of shade by the barrack wall.

someone bellowed, “hey, you lousy dummkopf, are you too good to stand out in the yard with

the rest of the vermin?” i furtively looked around to spot the pathetic butt of this invective.

turns out it was me. a new recruit stood above on the wall with his rifle pointed at my chest.

ahl stood next to him, sporting a malevolent sneer. muttering “son of a bitch” at him below my

breath, i lost no time moving into the pen’s scalding heat.

late one night toward the end of august, i woke up to gunshots and a wild commotion in the

captive officers’ pen next door. you could hear the ruckus over the violent evening storm that

ripped at the corners of the fort and drove the rain horizontally. waves threatened to breach the

levees, and claps of thunder echoed across the empty yard. i gave up on trying to make out

words and eventually went back to sleep. in the morning, the sutler, who had access to both

officers’ and enlisted men’s pens, told us what he’d learned.

just over the pen wall, e. pope jones, a wounded officer with a virulent foot, had headed for

the sinks on his crutches. he met a friend who steadied him with a hand to his back as they

made their way on the long, wooden walkway in the storm. at that moment, ahl, who was

patrolling the top of the pens, saw them. he then asked one of the new guards, a young private

named wilheim douglass, if he knew he was under orders to shoot any prisoner who doesn’t

respond to a command to move double quick along the sink plankway.

“ja, your orders are perfectly clear. no cause to worry here, sir.”

satisfied with the pimple-faced novice’s earnest response, ahl, strolled away toward the next

new guard.

shortly after, prisoners on both sides of the pen wall heard douglass yelling like a madman

from the top. most of his words were muffled by the storm, but some witnesses heard him

scream, “move along, you—double quick! double quick i say! now trot, you dummkopf!” his

flailing arms made it clear he’d worked himself into a blind fury. “gott verdammt, i’m going to

shoot one of these rebels before midnight!” he yelled.

about that time, colonel jones finished his business. leaving the privy, he met some fellows

on the path who started a conversation, huddled together with their heads down and backs to the

rain. private douglass began to rant, “break it up, move on, double quick! move on!”

jones lagged behind, struggling to stay upright on his crutches on the slippery boards.

douglass adjusted the large lantern that illuminated the sinks at night, and there the crippled

man was, caught like a moth in a circle of lamplight. douglass took aim and bellowed at the top

of his lungs, “double quick, double quick! damn you, run! run!”

some said jones was partially deaf from the roar of cannons and didn’t hear the order. others

said he called back, “sentry, have some mercy. i’m lame. i’m going as fast as i can.” whichever

is true, douglass fired his rifle, and the force of the bullet blasted through jones’s chest, lifting

him from the bridge. he splashed into the black water and his crutches bobbed on the waves in

the darkness. several men leaped from the privy platform and dragged him from the river. he

died the next day in the hospital.

private douglass got a promotion and a glossy blue and gold chevron stitched onto the serge

of his uniform sleeve for faithfully following ahl’s instructions. now a clear message had been

sent to the new guards that the quickest way to advance was to shoot one of us.

the day after the shooting, gut problems got me down too. i stayed away from the dining

hall, certain that rotten grub was the cause. but jim blue returned from breakfast sputtering.

“have you seen the new order nailed to the cookhouse wall?”

i groaned from my place on the shelf. “tell me quick, and then leave me be.” i rolled over

with my back to the others.

“it says that any order from a guard must be obeyed, never mind how unimportant. you have

to obey. otherwise, there will be unfortunate consequences,” he reported. “that means they can

shoot us for no cause at all, just like they did to jones. no cause at all, goddamn it.”

beards shook his head. “the odds are stacked against us, no matter what. half the time, i

can’t even understand these new guards with their thick accents. we’ll be shot because we don’t

know what the hell they’re saying.”

this new order was the last straw. some prayed for an end to the conflict. but i came up with

a plan while lying there on the shelf with cramps in my belly. with the remaining few chits from

my uncle’s gift clutched in my fist, i hobbled the distance from the barrack to the sutler’s stand.

i bought one page of paper and an envelope. once back to the relative comfort of the shelf, i

wrote an anonymous account of the abuses at the prison and directed it to the union commander

of prisons in washington, dc. surely this official wouldn’t approve of schoepf’s new rules.

prohibiting pissing next to the barracks was one thing, but i was convinced that killing a man for

doing it or for ignoring a simple command was more than even union officers could stomach.

this cruelty had to stop. i addressed the envelope to uncle grier in philadelphia and inserted a

scrap asking him to forward my note to the authorities. grasping my sides, i made the painful

trip to the postal box in the wall. if there was a chance my relative would take pity on us and

grant my request, it seemed worth the risk.

ahl singled me out at the next roll call. he eyes traveled ominously up and down my body

before announcing, “well, boys, turns out we have a sniveling tattler in our midst.” my breath

caught in my throat.

“and who can it be?” he paused and a sinister smirk twitched at his lips. i watched in horror

as he raised his arm and jabbed his hairy finger in my direction. sarcasm oozed from his words.

“it’s none other than this goddam fool smiley standing before me. a sissy pants who runs to his

uncle with false stories of abuse. poor boy.”

he abruptly motioned for one of the guards to seize me. the bottom dropped out of my

stomach and my bladder let loose. a burly guard seized my left arm and wrenched it behind my

back. his body odor was overpowering as he shoved me toward the ladder. i hoped he couldn’t

smell my stink. with his arm across my chest, he dragged me rung by rung to the top of the pen.

pain rippled from my twisted wrist to my shoulder. once he had me on top of the wall, ahl

struck me hard on the shoulder with the stout club he wore in his belt. “well, smiley, you

thought you could get your little note by the censors, didn’t you? no such luck, my boy.” he

struck me again, this time harder. i would have crumpled to my knees if the guard hadn’t

squeezed me tightly. “you’ll enjoy the next four days in solitary with water as your only fare.

see if you try the same trick again. next time, you’ll join lieutenant jones.” he glowed with

satisfaction as iron shackles clanged shut around my ankles. “you’ll be across the river eaten by

lime in a mass grave. no one gets anything by me. and none of you better try,” he said to the

group of prisoners standing below him.

two soldiers grabbed me under the armpits and hoisted me down the ladder, my head and

heels thwacking against the wooden crossbars. they dragged me across the yard to a small plank

shed, my body carving a wobbly track in the dust. when the guards slid back the massive iron

bar and thrust the door open, a urine and defecation fog ballooned into the open air. there was

not an inch on the floor without filth, and a reeking pot overflowed in the center. vomit surged

in my throat.

as i squatted in a narrow spot against the windowless wall, scenes of revenge played out in

my head until they finally wore me out. loathing for ahl and his new guards had consumed me

for hours and then turned to humiliation for not suspecting i’d be caught. after all, frank had

warned me about ahl’s censors. when the sun went down, a guard shoved a cup of murky water

through the slot window for my “supper.” in the darkness, i recalled the bodies i’d seen dragged

out of this shed. ahl probably expected i wouldn’t survive this extra assault on my body, just as

so many other weakened boys hadn’t. but i wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. i’d get home to

virginia alive, by damn. for four days, i clung to an image of the farm’s emerald hills and fields

in early spring, reaching deep for it whenever the picture slipped. the pungent walls of the

plank shed evaporated, and the calls of tree frogs and the yellow flicker filled the void. i strolled

through the oak and cedar trees, reliving each footfall, hearing the leaves rustle and the twigs

snap on the ground as my boots kicked through them high on the hilltop above the farmhouse.

over and over, i retraced those steps, imagining the dome of blue sky over it all and the

occasional glide of a red-tailed hawk.

at last, when the door creaked open to let in blinding light and sweet air, one guard stood at

the entrance. “on your feet, smiley. your time in here is up.” as much as i wanted to stride out

in defiance, i failed miserably. my knees wouldn’t work when i tried to stand. they’d been bent

for too long. as the guard roughly jerked me to my feet, through bleary eyes i saw bibb and

beards peering in at the doorway. “if you ain’t coming out, i’m not staying in here with you,”

the guard said and shoved them aside as he tore past.

bibb’s eyes widened as they adjusted to the dark. “my god, tom! this reeks! how did you

stand it for four days?” he cupped his hand over his nose and looked down at the slime on the

floor.

“cut the comments and let’s get him out of here. he can’t do it on his own,” beards said as

he raised my left arm over his shoulder and began to lift me. “get on the other side.” bibb

dropped his hand and quickly came to my aid. my two friends supported my weight all the way

as i lurched to the barrack on board-stiff, throbbing legs.