The Crucible - Part III 
THE WAY NORTH
     by Nick Korolev

The morning brought rain and a dampness that went to the bone. Reveille sounded at 4:30. After a quick breakfast, the troops broke camp and set off north on the Leesburg Road at 6, leaving most of the baggage, including shelter tents, behind in the wagon train. Wrapped in his rubber poncho, Lawrence rode the chestnut gelding at the head of the regiment by the color guard, staring into the rainy haze. He was doing his best to ignore the aches and pains the humidity brought out and the lightheadedness of the remnants of a fever. John pulled up next to him on Prince.
"I don't know what you are trying to prove. I wish you would ride in the ambulance, Colonel. You are not well enough to travel like this -- and in this weather and the doctor said ..."
"John, I will ride like a man," he said, glaring at his poncho clad brother. Then, he felt a pang of guilt at the pained look on his brother's face. John meant well. "I'm sorry, John. I'm not one to give in so easily. I'm not like that shirker Lieutenant Colonel Gilmore."
"I forgive you. You always were cranky when you didn't feel well. And God forbid I tell you to shirk your duties." John grinned, went silent. Beyond John, he noticed another lone rider approaching behind him. It was Colonel Rice. The colonel pulled his horse alongside.

"I am happy to see you are up and about, Colonel."
"Thank you, sir, but your good Dr. Townsend has not released me to active duty."
"Well, you gave us an awful fright and he is cautious. You still look a bit peaked. Why don't you just try to take things slow and easy as you ride. I'll lessen your responsibility and watch over the 20th for you on the march."
"See, I'm not the only one concerned," John broke in.
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. John ..." He frowned at his brother.
"Colonel Rice, my brother is being bull-headed. He should be in an ambulance," John insisted. Lawrence glared at his brother again. "John ..."
"I can go over your head to a senior colonel if I want to, Lawrence. I'm not in the army," John said, cutting him off.
"He's got you there, Colonel," Rice said with a broad grin. "If you get to feeling poorly and want to ride in the ambulance for a spell, no one will hold it against you."
"I'll have to feel awfully sick before I ride again in one of those bone breakers, sir," he said and smiled at Rice.

The column moved out slowly. Rice continued to ride with him and his brothers occupying himself with a lively debate on scripture with John. Lawrence paid no attention to the exchange, his mind drifting to thoughts of home and Fannie and the children as he quietly watched the wet Virginia landscape slip past in a dismal rainy haze.

The rain soon turned the roads to mud. He didn't know which was worse, a broiling sun and dust or rain with mud. Each had its own set of miseries. Dust rubbed up blisters as easily as wet leather. The creeks swelled so the Pioneers had to build makeshift bridges of logs at a few points. The column was forced to halt when an occasional team of horses or mules got bogged down in knee deep mud. The constant stop and go began to sap what strength he had. His poncho made him feel as if he was in an oven and he broke out in a cold sweat. He began to see the wisdom in John's words. What was he trying to prove?

Just after they forded Goose Creek, Dr. Townsend rode up to their little group of officers.
"Gentlemen," Dr. Townsend said with a polite nod, then looked at him critically. The doctor pulled his horse next to him and reached out to quickly feel his forehead.
"Colonel Chamberlain, I think it best you ride ahead with John and Tom to Leesburg, find an accommodating residence, make yourself comfortable and recuperate for a few hours. You can rejoin us when we march through three or four hours from now, if my guess is right on the present progress."
"Think I'll take you up on that," he said weakly, knowing if he did not rest soon, he would end up face down in the mud.
"You've got to take care of yourself, Colonel," Rice said. "This campaign could turn serious any moment once we find Lee. I know you don't want to miss it. Besides, Colonel Vincent needs all his field officers and your regiment is shy of most of them." He nodded and looked at his brothers. "Let's go, boys."

They pulled out of line and rode on the firmer ground on the side of the road past the troops slogging along through the mire. They soon left the column behind. In a drizzling rain, they rode for miles through rich farmland to Leesburg. By the appearance of the road, half the Army of the Potomac had already passed through the town. Lawrence got the feeling there was a great dislike of bluecoats in Leesburg. All the window shutters were closed and no one was in sight. Not even a dog roamed the street. It was like a ghost town. From the chimney of one house a small Confederate flag flew defiantly, though limp from the rain. He had the overwhelming feeling they were being watched through cracks in the shuttered windows.

"I think we are about as welcome here as a biblical plague of locusts," he said to his brothers, finally breaking the unsettling silence.John looked at him. "I've got that feeling, too."
"Maybe this ain't such a good idea. Maybe we ought to go to the local inn," Tom suggested.
"What? And end up in a brawl with some drunk Rebel sympathizer," John shot back.
"We'll find a nice residence. Let me do the talking. I'm not in uniform."

They rode through most of the town with John in the lead. He suddenly stopped Prince by a white picket fence and pointed to a small sign on it that read: DR. MICHAEL BROOKS, M.D. "This looks good. A doctor certainly won't refuse a sick man." Lawrence watched John dismount and tie the reins to the fence. Then, John walked up the brick path to the colonial-style brick house and boldly knocked on the door. Nothing. Lawrence sat quietly on the gelding, beginning to feel the chill of the rain, and he shivered. The fever's probably back, he thought. He stared hopefully at the house, saw John knock again.

Then, the door opened slightly. In the doorway stood a well-dressed, stately fortyish woman, her dark hair in a chignon. John immediately took off his hat and spoke to her, gesturing towards him and Tom. They were too far away for him to hear. He tried to guess by reading the expressions that crossed the woman's face. First a frown, then a forced smile when John handed her something. A teenage girl appeared next to the woman, maybe eighteen or nineteen, thin and delicate with blonde hair. She joined in the conversation. Then, the woman motioned to them to come and stepped away from the door. John came back toward them with a smile on his face.
"Colonel, we have been invited for dinner. Mrs. Brooks informed me they are secessionists, but her husband, now a surgeon with the Confederate Army, would not turn away a sick man," John explained upon reaching them. "Besides, I paid for the meal."
"How did you keep her from slamming the door in your face right off?" Tom asked.
"I told her I was from the Christian Commission and that softened her stance. That and the greenbacks." John came over to him. "Lawrence ... Colonel, you need help?"
"I think I can manage." He slowly dismounted, had to stand a moment leaning against the horse, his legs stiff and numb from riding.
"You all right?" Tom said, coming closer.
"Just need to get the feeling back in my legs." He straightened up and smiled weakly.
"Don't want to make a fool of myself by ending up in the mud."
"We're being watched," Tom broke in. He glanced at the house. The girl was in the doorway holding the door. They all walked toward her up the brick path. The girl pulled the door open wider as they reached it. The moment they stepped into the large entry hall, she closed it quickly behind them as if not wanting the neighbors to see them. Her face was a featureless mask, her blue eyes sharp with resentment.

The entry hall was wide with an oriental rug runner over a dark oak floor. The walls were painted a pale golden yellow. At the back of the hall a white spiral staircase lead to a second floor. Oil portraits of ancestors hung on the walls right on up the stairs. To the left, walnut pocket doors closed off a room and to the right was a large parlor.
"You can hang your rain things and hats on that rack," she said, pointing to a brass clothes rack by the wall. She watched them like a suspicious house cat as they took off their dripping ponchos and hats and hung them up where indicated. Then she forced a smile. "Come with me."

They followed her to the right through the beautifully decorated parlor to a dining room where the older woman was just finishing adding three Blue Willow place settings to the four that were already down on a long mahogany table. The delicious scents of fried chicken and biscuits came from a kitchen at the far end of the room.
"Have a seat, gentlemen. I am Mrs. Emily Brooks. My daughter is Ann, " the woman said, looking at them in an evaluating manner. John instantly took it upon himself to do the introductions. "I am John, as you kind ladies know, this is Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and Lieutenant Tom Chamberlain."
"You're all brothers." Mrs. Brooks looked surprised. "I must say, now that I get a good look at you gentlemen, there certainly is a family resemblance. Where are you from, if I may be so bold?"
"Maine, Mrs. Brooks," Lawrence answered and sat before his legs gave out.
"Ann, honey, check the chicken," Mrs. Brooks said and Ann left for the kitchen. "I must say that explains your manner of speech. I could not quite place it. I've done quite a lot of traveling up north with my husband, but never that far. Mostly Pennsylvania and New York."

In his feverish mind, she seemed nervous, forcing a pleasant conversation to avoid sensitive subjects. Looking at the table settings, he wondered who else would be showing up for dinner. It was a very awkward situation. He knew it was a great imposition on people who regarded him and his brothers as hated invaders, not to mention the situation of three men in a household that seemed, so far, composed of only helpless women.
"You look a little feverish, Colonel. Let me get you some ice water. Excuse me, gentlemen." She left.
"Ice?" Tom said. It was a rarity that surprised him, too. "Must have a cold cellar here to keep ice in this heat."

They sat in silence. Then Ann came out of the kitchen with six glasses of ice water on a tray. Strange, he thought, there are seven place settings. Ann caught his stare as she placed the glasses.
"You are confused by the number, Colonel. Well, I did not miscount." Her voice was strained, sharp. "We always keep a place setting for Papa, even though he is away with our brave army seeing to the wounded." He smiled gently at her as she placed a glass in front of him. "That is a very kind sentiment, Miss Brooks."

"Ann, mind your tone of voice," Mrs. Brooks called from the kitchen, then appeared with a large bowl of fresh peas in one hand and basket of biscuits in the other. "Go tell Aunt Betty dinner is ready and tell her we have gentlemen guests."
"Yes, Mama," Ann said and left.
"I must apologize for my daughter's behavior. She is her father's pet, our only child and she resents him being away because of the war," Mrs. Brooks said as she headed back to the kitchen.

Lawrence stood and his brothers followed as Ann returned helping an elderly, white-haired woman into the room. Her hair was in a neat, braided bun and she was finely dressed in a dark burgundy dress and she carried an ebony cane. She smiled graciously and her dark eyes sparkled with wit from a face with few wrinkles.
"Gentlemen," she said with a nod as Ann helped her into her chair. "I must say I was never expecting guests for dinner ... guest's in blue coats. This is a secessionist household ... but I always said Emily cooks enough for an army. The girl just doesn't know how to measure portions right. Things have been like that since Flo left thanks to your..."

Mrs. Brooks cut her off coming out of the kitchen with a bowl full of carrots. "Aunt Betty, you know Michael would not mind helping anyone who was ill or wounded no matter what color he's wearing. Introductions are in order. These are the Chamberlain brothers from Maine, John, Joshua and Tom. Ann, go get the chicken." Ann cast them a sharp glance and obeyed.
"Personally, Aunt Betty, I prefer not to talk about politics at dinner. It's bad for the digestion," John said and smiled pleasantly.
"And why aren't you in uniform, young man?" the feisty older woman demanded.
"You can call me Mrs. Carter. I am the doctor's aunt, not yours."
"Yes, Mrs. Carter. My apologies. I am with the Christian Commission and studying for the ministry at Bangor Theological Seminary," John explained. "I am here visiting my brothers while school is out for the summer."
"My, my, my ... you'll say grace for us then?" Mrs. Carter said, smiling. John looked at his brothers. "A...ah... yes, Mrs. Carter. Would be glad to."

Ann and Mrs. Brooks came in with plates heaped with fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. Everyone sat. John looked at them and they all bowed their heads.
"Dear Lord, we thank Thee for what we are about to receive of Thy bounty and for the kindness and generosity of the women who share it with those whom they consider to be enemies. And we pray that we may all know the sweetness of Peace once again under Thy merciful guidance. Amen."
"Amen," they all echoed and the atmosphere seemed less tense. The food was passed and each took what they wanted with plenty to spare. He took a sip of the ice water. It felt so good going down that he wished he had a compress of ice in a towel to put on his forehead and to just lay down on a bed or couch. Serious doubts began to enter his mind about being capable of traveling much farther. He hoped this fine meal would make him feel better.

"Colonel, which brother are you, John, Joshua or Tom?" Mrs. Carter suddenly asked as she cut her portion of chicken.
"Joshua," he said and took a fork of peas. He wondered briefly if Fannie and Cousin D put in vegetables this year or had the handyman do it.
"Joshua is such a strong biblical name. Was my husband's name, too," she went on, picking at her food as if deep in thought.They all ate in silence for a while. He noticed Tom looking at Ann a little too long with that special hunger of all twenty-one year olds. Ann glared back at Tom, then averted her eyes. Mrs. Carter broke the silence.
"Colonel, with what are you afflicted? Nothing contagious I hope. Ann neglected to inform me. The army is such a breeding ground for all sorts of diseases from what my dear nephew tells me in his letters."
"Sunstroke, Mrs. Carter. I am recovering from sunstroke," he said and swallowed more water.
"It almost killed him," Tom added.
"Oh, my, my," she said. "I guess our weather is too hard on you fellows from so far north."
"I guess it is," Lawrence returned. As good as the food was, he felt more uncomfortable by the moment over the situation.
"Too bad your government won't leave us alone, let us have our own country and live the way we want. Then you wouldn't be ill," Ann suddenly burst out glaring at him.
"Ann!" Mrs. Brooks snapped. "Mind your manners with our guests or you will have to leave the table. Papa would be so disappointed in you."
"Papa isn't here. Flo's gone and we have to cook and clean for ourselves," Ann continued. "Now we have Yankees in the house."
"Ann!" she put her hand down hard on the table, rattling some of the dishes.
"That is quite all right, Mrs. Brooks," he said. "Your daughter has the right to express her opinion."
"But, it is not proper for a young lady of breeding to behave so," Mrs. Carter added, staring coldly at Ann, who pushed her food around her plate without eating.
"I would be upset, too, if I were in her shoes, Mrs. Carter. I know how emotional some young people can be over a cause they support. I've had a lot of experience with young people having been a professor at Bowdoin College." He hoped that would help smooth things between the women.
"A gentleman and a scholar. What did you teach?" Mrs. Carter asked, her bright eyes locking on his.
"Several disciplines: logic, rhetoric, natural and revealed religion, French and German," he said and smiled.
"My, my, my. And what did you do, young man?" Mrs. Carter suddenly turned her attention to Tom, who had just shoved a fork of potatoes dripping with gravy into his mouth. Tom swallowed hard.
"Nothing so grand and intellectual as my brother, Ma'am. Was just head clerk in a local dry goods store in Bangor."

A welcomed silence fell as they continued to eat punctuated by only Ann's venomous glances and her fork scraping on her plate. Apparently, Mrs. Carter's curiosity had finally been satisfied. Once dinner was over, Lawrence and his brothers retired to the sumptuously decorated parlor while the women tended to the dishes. The only thing out of place among the paintings and fine furniture was a small Confederate flag hanging on the massive floor to ceiling bookcase. He made himself comfortable in a chair by the open double windows. A deep lethargy gripped him. In moments he dropped off to sleep.

He was awakened by the heavy foot falls, talking and clank of equipment of troops passing.
"Sir, let's go," Tom called from the hall. He heard the rustle of a poncho being put on.  He noticed John was already gone from the parlor. He got up a little dazed and headed for the hall, glancing at the massive bookcase noticing that the flag was gone. Strange, he thought. On his way out, he saw Mrs. Brooks in the dining room pulling up the table cloth. He strode to the archway between the two rooms. "Mrs. Brooks, I want to thank you for your hospitality. I am very sorry we were such an imposition."
"This war is an imposition, Colonel. I apologize for my daughter's behavior. I wish you well, sir."

He nodded and walked out to the hall, took his poncho and cap from the rack and put them on. Then he went out the door, closing it behind him, thinking what good friends this family could have been under different circumstances. He knew Fannie and Mrs. Brooks would probably enjoy each other's company. He looked at the shuttered houses of the town, the muddy blue clad troops slogging along the street in the gray drizzle. He found himself wondering, if the war were to end tomorrow, how long it would take to heal the scars on the nation's soul.

Twilight was settling over the gently rolling Maryland countryside. Now that the rain had stopped, fireflies blinked their semaphore signals in the wet grass. Lawrence sat on a rocker in his shirt sleeves on the porch of the Donaldson's two story, white clapboard farm house, drinking a cool glass of well water. He was feeling much better. As he watched the rear guard of the Fifth Corps on the road from Liberty march by, he hoped  Dr. Townsend would pronounce him fit for duty. On the doctor's orders, he had once again ridden ahead on the rout to find a farmhouse where he could rest and recuperate. It was a lot easier in Maryland where people were friendly toward their Union benefactors.

His brothers or other officers from the regiment rode with him and later returned to the regiment once he was settled. This farm was owned by a delightful elderly couple who had gone to bed early after they enjoyed a supper together talking of family and war news. He was waiting to see if Dr. Townsend and his escort would show, watching the road through the towering sycamores that edged the wheat field in front of the house. The night shadows deepened and a whippoorwill began to call.

Three horsemen appeared out of the growing darkness and rode up the farm lane, one on the unmistakable gray stallion. Lawrence stood up and walked to the porch stairs. As the riders drew closer, he quickly recognized the other two as Tom and Dr. Townsend.
"Well, you seem a lot better," the doctor said, dismounting by the stairs and handing the reins to John. "Let's go in the house where we will have more light."
"We'll wait on our horses here," Tom said. "Got a bunch of news for you, Colonel, so be sure to come back."

He lead the way to the small, modest parlor lit by a single oil lamp. The doctor examined him in silence, checking his eyes, feeling the pulse in his neck and wrist, feeling his forehead and listening to his chest. Finally, Dr. Townsend asked, "How do you feel?"
"Still a little weak, but otherwise quite fit."
"I'd say you can return to duty tomorrow, but take it easy on the march. You get to feeling bad, you pull out and rest."
"That I will, doctor," he said as they walked out to the porch.
"Well?" Tom asked, still sitting on his horse.
"I'll be joining the regiment tomorrow." He followed the doctor down the stairs to the yard, pausing next to Tom.
"The boys will be glad to hear that, especially poor Captain Spear," Tom said. "He's been sick all this time and handl'in the regiment with the help of Colonel Rice and Lieutenant Colonel Conner. He was feel'in a bit better today and I 'spect he'll be feel'in a lot better know'in you're com'in back."
"What else has been going on?"
"No more skirmishing, but we had a problem in the regiment," John broke in.
"Problem?" The first thing he thought was the 2nd Maine holdouts had started something.
"When we went through Frederick, the people went wild like they did last September. Some men from the Corps fell out, got involved with the celebration and got a little drunk," Tom explained.
"Little drunk is an understatement, Lieutenant," Dr. Townsend added.
"Well, Color Sergeant Charles Proctor had a little too much. Cussed me and some of the other officers out. We had to relieve him of his position of honor. On the march today, he fell out with the world's worst hangover. The rear guard boys couldn't keep him up so they went and left him behind. Listed him as A.W.O.L."
"Who is the Color Sergeant now?"
"The honor has been passed to the next sergeant in seniority, Andrew Tozier, one of the 2nd Maine transfers," Tom went on and smiled.
"He's a good man, a couple of years older than me," John said. "Talked to him on the march today. He's been through a lot. He was in Gaines Mills where he lost the middle finger of his left hand, broke at least one rib and got a bullet in his left ankle which they never got out. Spent time in two Rebel prisons right after that, too. Got out in a prisoner exchange. Had a hard life before joining the 2nd Maine. His father was abusive and a drunk. Didn't ruin him, though. Nice fellow despite all that."
"Oh, the big news is, Meade is now in command of the army. Our old corps commander. Can you beat that?" Tom went on brightly. "A General Sykes now has our corps. Also, the rumors are true. Lee is going north. Probably in Pennsylvania by now. This next fight is going to be a big one. One we got to win. That's why they're push'in us so hard."
"Tom, tell him the rest ... give him the papers," John interrupted enthusiastically.
"All right! Will you give me a chance! " Tom reached over and gave his brother a good natured smack on the shoulder. "I am the adjutant of this regiment. Remember?"

He reached into his open coat and pulled out a slightly wrinkled, folded paper. "You're official now. This is your commission as colonel. The mail finally came through. Gilmore was made lieutenant colonel only he ain't here to get his commission. Will have to send it on to the hospital in Baltimore or wherever he's holed up."
"What about Ellis?" Lawrence asked, taking the paper. He folded it and put it in his trouser pocket.
"Nothing came through for him yet. So he's still acting major."
"Damn," he mumbled. "If anyone deserves promotion, it's Ellis."

Tom pulled another paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. Then took a small Testament out of the same pocket.
"Before we loose the light all together we got to make you official. Put your hand on the Bible and read the oath of office. Dr. Townsend and John will be the witnesses." He took the paper and looked at it glad to see someone had taken the time to print it in large letters going over them so they were dark.
"I did the printing. Did it large 'cause I didn't think you had your glasses with you." John confessed. He smiled, put his right hand on the Testament and held the paper at a comfortable distance in his left and read out loud, "I, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, do solemnly swear that I have never voluntarily borne arms against the United States since I have been a citizen there of: that I have voluntarily given no aid, countenance, counsel or encouragement to persons engaged in armed hostility there to ... And I do further swear that to the best of my knowledge and ability, I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign or domestic, that I will bear true and faithful allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and truthfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter, so help me God."

The light of day was gone by the time he finished. Just visible between the clouds, a near full moon had begun to rise over the trees. Tom took the Testament away and put it in his coat pocket and pulled out new shoulder straps with the silver eagles of a colonel on them. "Oh, before I forget. These are yours, too. Maybe you can get Mrs. Donaldson to sew them on your coat so you are all nice and official when you get back to us tomorrow."

"Congratulations, Colonel," Dr. Townsend said and shook his hand.
"Thank you, doctor," he said and he took the shoulder straps from his brother.
"Well, we better be getting back to camp before we are listed as A.W.O.L.," Dr. Townsend said, mounting his horse.
"John and I will be by tomorrow morning first thing to escort you back. We're bivouacked about three miles down the road in a big field," Tom said. "See you then."
"See you tomorrow," he returned.

The group turned their horses and rode down the farm lane at a brisk trot for the road. He stood there a moment alone in the moon light, the new shoulder straps in hand, the embroidered silver eagles framed by gold bullion feeling rough against his fingers. They were the visible evidence that his new rank was official, a goal he had been striving for since last summer. The responsibility they represented loomed greater than ever, almost daunting. He would have difficult decisions to make on the spot in the coming combat;  what risks to take in obeying orders from the generals. He would have to accept the embarrassment and danger of being wrong and making mistakes on the battlefield. All his shortcomings were staring him in the face. He was not West Point. He had no real experience as a commander in combat, only book learning and what Ames had taught him. He could not count the experience at Fredericksburg as combat. It was not a stand-up fight with maneuvers he had to think through and order, but had been more an advance and holding action. He was well aware, too, that he was not fully recovered from the sunstroke and that thus he was impaired. He could only hope he would be worthy of the silver eagles, be as cool and commanding as Ames when the real test came. That test looked as if it was going to be on Union soil this time, and he knew it would be a fight they could not afford to lose.

He stood watching the riders disappear into the dark down the empty road. The cool, damp night breeze chilled him and he shivered. He turned and walked up the porch stairs and into the house, closing the door behind him. He left the shoulder straps on the small table by the clothes rack where his coat hung and climbed the stairs, feeling this might be the last good night's sleep in a real bed he'd have for a while.

Nick Korolev has been a serious student of the Civil War since age 12.  He is  a professional published writer and artist and his interest in the Civil War has provided many subjects for both.  He is author of a Civil War novel entitled Silver Eagles,  about Cols. Ames, Chamberlain and the 20th Maine from the formation of the regiment to Gettysburg.  Silver Eagles was nominated for the 2003 Michael Shaara Award for Civil War Fiction.  He is currently working on a novel about McClellan and Stanton titled The Sword and the Lightning  and a screen play about Brig. Gen William Averell's Salem Raid in December of 1863 currently titled  Averell and the Raiders of the North Wind (winner of the 2004 Screenplay Award at the Appalachian Film Festival).  He is a member of the Civil War Heritage Foundation for whom he portrays Gen. George McClellan and the First  Regiment of West Virginia Cavalry, for whom he portrays Gen. William Averell.  Nick is Secretary for the local Sons Of Union Veterans of the Civil War and recently joined the Falling Waters Battlefield Association.

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