Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 1

Once my former publisher informed me (and all their authors) they were going out of business, I sought a publisher for the last book in my Civil War series, "Destination Hope."  After months of prayer, I felt led to publish it in my Blog. For those who have read books 1 through 4—"Separation," "Emancipation," "Consolation," and "Liberation,"—I extend my sincere thanks. As the LORD, Jesus provides me time, I intend to publish at least a chapter each week. I pray the concluding story will bless you and give you a greater appreciation for why The United States of America is an exceptional nation.

I give you, "Reconciliation."

Destination Hope

Book 5 - Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved. 

Chapter 1

The Oath

An uneasy peace settled over an assumed temporary residence of the prisoner of war compound for Chaplain, Nathaniel Thomas Graham and his former comrades-in-arms. For most incarcerated in this abode, cut from the dense forest of Johnson’s Island rising out of Sandusky Bay, all good will from their captors transformed into hatred. Any assurance they received that the Federal government would treat them with justice and equity evolved into bitter resentment and mistrust. All hope for a future life of freedom disappeared under the bondage of depression. Nathaniel fought the good fight of faith. However, as each new day dawned, he grew weary of combating these evils in himself. 

The sun neared its peak this first Sunday in May 1865—a little more than four years since the angry and disenfranchised Confederates fired the first shots of what Nathaniel's fellow Southerners would call, “The War of Northern Aggression,” on an island fortress in the middle of Charleston, South Carolina’s harbor.

A paddlewheel steamer prepared to dock. On board, deck hands and island-based longshoremen raced to secure the fore, starboard, and aft ropes. Screeching seagulls flapped above the boat while stoic pelicans glided behind. Both species watched for any discarded morsels. As wage-earning men hoisted crates of supplies from the boat to the pier, several airborne scavengers pealed from their respective flocks and passed over the wooden-walled structures below. A few feathered sustenance seekers landed and strutted about the ground near a house-size box, which stood alone from the others. The sound of music emanated from within. The melody ceased and a lower resonant, muffled noise took its place.

“In closing,” former Confederate Major, Nathaniel Graham declared, making eye contact with his three fellow prisoners and two Federal guards posted in the rear of the one-story chapel. “I want to leave you with something to think about this—” Nathaniel adjusted his train of thought mid-sentence.  Then he commented, “One of the most beautiful days we’ve seen in a long, long time.”

Nathaniel shifted his gaze to the rear of the pinewood-paneled building.  Prior to Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s surrender almost a month before at Appomattox Court House, Virginia, Nathaniel’s fellow prisoners filled the one-room chapel to near capacity during Sunday morning services – not anymore.

“We do not know what we will face in the days ahead. We do not know how much longer we will be held here, but, in this we can have confidence.” He lifted his chin. “A day will come when the war will be over. We, all of us,” Nathaniel gestured at the two Yankee guards struggling to keep their eyes open, “North and South must answer this simple yet difficult question: Now what? A day is coming when our captors will let us go. We will return to our homes. When that time comes, we must make sound choices. It is my opinion that we should think about this now and prepare so we will know what to do then. If we do, we will be in a position to help others who might be lost in the forest of indecisive hesitation.”

Nathaniel’s voice resounded with confidence and the authority of a leader who knows where he is going. “We might ask ourselves, will we behave as ministers of His reconciliation, as our passage today charged? Will we help rebuild our lives and the lives of our families, friends, and towns?  Or, will we hold a grudge, remain separated from our now rejoined country, and become perpetual enemies of peace?”

Nathaniel glanced at his five-man audience. “We have to choose to be honest with ourselves.” He pointed with his right index finger at the center of his chest.  He directed his fellow prisoners’ attention to the guards with his eyes and snapped his chin upward. “Our fellow countrymen.” And next, he gestured heavenward. “And our God.”

The risk-taking chaplain suspected that what he was about to say contributed in part to the low attendance and isolation he experienced in camp. “Separation between our brothers caused unspeakable hostility, which we witnessed with our eyes and felt in our bodies."  Nathaniel limped away from the podium and put his hand on his right knee. Then, he came to a parade rest position with his hands clasped behind his back. “And, if you are like me in anyway, my heart grieves every day over the loss of so many friends and loved ones.”

Nathaniel rocked up onto his toes and then relaxed. “When President Lincoln issued his Emancipation Proclamation, we all thought, how could one government official take away private property without due process of law? Because our sense of justice was so deeply offended, we fought harder and sustained greater casualties. Two years ago, my best friend lost his leg about the same time we all lost General Jackson. My consolation...” The flashing memory caused a choking sensation. He fought through it. “I considered that I may not survive the war and concluded if we became subject to an out-of-control, tyrannical, central Federal Government, maybe I didn’t want to endure it.

“But God had other plans for you and I for here we are, confined against our will.” Nathaniel made slow, yet steady, steel-eyed contact with each man. “Yet in this place of bitter bondage, God has taught me that no matter what physical circumstances I may face, no man or institution can prevent me from worshiping Him. It is His inalienable right of liberty granted to you and me. As we read in Psalm 139 and restated in another way by Jeremiah to Israel, He knows the number of our days and the plans He has made for us—to give us a future and a hope.”

Even as he paced, Nathaniel fixed his attention on Lieutenant Thomas Butler King. “Lieutenant King, I know you want to go home, to be with your wife, Bonny, and to work the ground of your Arkansas farm again.”

Lieutenant King nodded and folded his arms.

Nathaniel shifted his gaze to Lieutenant William Bradford Harris.  “Lieutenant Harris, if I were a betting man, I’d wager you can’t wait to restart your dry goods shop taking advantage of,” Nathaniel cleared his throat, “I mean taking care of, river travelers in your riverboat port of Greenville, Mississippi.” Even the sleepy guards chuckled at Nathaniel’s attempt at humor.

“And, Lieutenant Pierce—” Lieutenant Charles Pierce sat up—“No one wants to leave this place more than you. How many times did you try to escape and make your way to that hideaway bayou you affectionately call home down in Louisiana?”

The men laughed. Lieutenant Pierce held up his right hand spreading all five digits.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “Five?” More laughter surfaced. “And all of you worked diligently to help me design, dig, and construct the escape tunnel.” Nathaniel read the disbelief etching across his fellow prisoners’ faces and the slight bulging of their eyes. “It’s okay men, we tried. We know how it was discovered, but we must forgive and not give into our natural desire to seek vengeance.” He held up both hands as he did the day he found his horse, Max. The memory of stopping that frenzied, out-of-control horse flashed through his mind. I miss riding Max. Did he survive the war?

“No men, if we are to know peace in whatever the Lord has planned for our future, we must choose the path of reconciliation.  God created all life to live under His liberty, but we can choose bondage. Because of sin, our nature is to gravitate toward bondage. It is easy to let someone else, other than God, lead us, guide us, and tell us what to do, how to live, etcetera. As Joshua admonished the Children of Israel in the last chapter of the book that bears his name, choose for yourselves who you will serve.  As for me, I choose to serve the Lord and learn from Him how to live under His liberty, even if I remain confined in this prison, never to see my espoused bride, or return to my Tennessee home, or, if it is His will, die in this place.”

Taking up the position of authority behind the lectern, Nathaniel drove his sermon to his concluding, essential point. He grabbed both sides of the podium and scanned the tiny congregation. Knowing they might not agree with his stand, he steeled his spine trusting he presented God’s opinion. “As your chaplain, as one who fought with you for the cause of liberty, as one who bears the scars of battle on my body, I adjure you to write to your friends and family members back home. Beseech them to ratify the amendment. Jesus Christ won the war for our eternal souls. It was for freedom’s sake that He died so all men, which He created, can live free. As His follower, how can I hold another believer in an institution of bondage? We have an opportunity to be the first former Confederate soldiers to embrace the abolition of slavery for the entire nation. If I could vote, I would cast my lot in favor of ratification. Should God provide you with the opportunity, I urge you to do likewise.

“For me the issue is settled, and I recommend this to your further and deeper consideration.” Nathaniel took a deep breath expanding his chest several times the normal capacity, and released its hold as he delivered his soul. Scanning his sparse audience he said, “Shall we pray and commit the rest of this beautiful spring day into His capable hands?”

After the closing prayer, hymn, benediction, and formal dismissal, Lieutenant Harris approached Nathaniel. “Major, may I speak freely with you, sir?”

“What is it Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I think I understand what you mean about our choices, but what you’re asking ain’t easy.”

Nathaniel placed his right hand on William’s left shoulder in an attempt to help settle the younger man. “William, I know and let me encourage you. God knows it is hard, too. But He will never leave us nor forsake us if we choose to follow Him. If we do, He has a way of making the difficult easy. But if we choose the easy way life offers, we may find it harder in the long run.” Nathaniel searched for signs of comprehension to manifest on Lieutenant Harris’ face. Seeing none, he inquired, “Do you remember our Bible study in the Sixth chapter of John’s Gospel?”

Lieutenant Harris’ eyes shifted and then fixed on the chapel’s angled ceiling for a brief second. “I’m not sure, sir.”

“That’s fair. We’ve covered a lot of material and it is easy to forget the details. So, let me summarize.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Our Lord’s teaching grew deeper and more difficult in content and required a deeper and greater commitment from His followers—more than the twelve. When they argued that His demands were getting too hard, in chapter 6, verse 66, many of His disciples turned away and ceased following Him.  Jesus turned to the twelve and asked, ‘Are you going to leave, too?’ Peter answered, ‘Where are we going to go? You have the words of life.’ ” 

Nathaniel waved his right arm, drawing attention to their surroundings. “William, where are we to go?”

Lieutenant Harris swiveled his head to his left, then back to his right. “I guess nowhere.”

Nathaniel blinked.  He missed the point.  I’ll have to try another approach.  “For now, Lieutenant, for now. Let us speak more about this later, maybe after supper?”

William seemed to force a smile. “I would appreciate it, sir.”

“I’ll look for you, then.”  Nathaniel patted Lieutenant Harris’s shoulder.

Lieutenant Harris appeared to accept Nathaniel’s encouragement, came about, and shuffled for the chapel’s exit.

After straightening up the chapel under the watchful eye of Federal sentry, Private Jacob Hakey, Nathaniel stepped outside, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lifted his face to absorb the direct, warm afternoon sunlight. He allowed the rays to wash over him, cleansing him in an unexplainable bath of energy.

“Are you alright, Major?”

Nathaniel shook himself into the present and snapped his head to his right, making eye contact with a confused looking young man in a clean and pressed blue uniform.  “Have you ever seen a prettier day, Private?”

“Uh no, not recently, sir.”

Nathaniel swiveled his head and stared at the open field in an attempt to relieve the perceived tension. Then, he inquired further, “Do you have any news for me?”

“Sir, you know I can’t.”

“Can’t hurt to ask...”

“Are you done here, sir?”

“Yes, Private.” Nathaniel placed his free left hand on his hip and took another deep breath.  His head shifted from left to right. “I believe I’ll take a walk around the exercise grounds.”

“You know I can’t leave you alone, sir.”

“I know. Your boss, Colonel Hill doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“He still considers you the biggest trouble maker in this camp.”

“But what do you think, Private?”

“Major, I don’t get paid to think.”

Nathaniel grinned as he peered over his left shoulder at his Yankee companion. “You coming?” Nathaniel hobbled down the two wood steps to the camp’s greening grass.

“Are you sure you can make it all the way around?”

“We’re going to find out. All I know, walking helps. My knee gets stiff if I sit for a spell. It’s too nice a day to let it go to waste, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shouldering his musket and taking up a position a few paces behind his prisoner, Private Hakey reminded, “Like I said, sir, I don’t get paid to think.”

Nathaniel collected his thoughts while enjoying the afternoon walk around the interior grounds. He took note of the leafy green trees beyond the northeastern fence line and wondered if he would ever see the outside world again. It’s been a month since General Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia and a couple of weeks since General Joe Johnson turned over his eighty-nine thousand soldiers to General Sherman in North Carolina. Shouldn’t that be good enough to let us go home? But the specter of President Lincoln’s assassination ruled, like a brutal dictator, over all who sympathized with the broken, beaten, and now subjugated South. Eleven days have passed since the Yankees killed that maniac, Booth. That vile, little man silenced the lone and strongest voice of reason, and destroyed the best friend the South ever had.

Since regular warmer air returned to the island, these afternoon walks before evening roll call had become his routine. Each day, weather permitting, Nathaniel’s right leg grew stronger, but the limp remained—a permanent feature, like an identifying scar across a man’s face. He passed the now quiet and unused baseball field he and his fellow prisoners built. Grass grew in sporadic patches throughout the once active diamond. By order of the commandant, there would be no more games. Nathaniel missed them. Several were rather entertaining and helped relieve a prisoner’s worst enemy—boredom.  Nathaniel feared many of his comrades still blamed him for the loss of the sport and all other privileges. At least the Federals let them walk.

Nathaniel glanced at the traversing sun. They’ll round us up for roll call, soon. Two other prisoners approached. Nathaniel outranked both men, but no one saluted in recognition or respect of another’s station since the war had ended. Nathaniel overheard them discussing the latest news. The Yankees were closing in on the capture of Confederate President Jefferson Davis somewhere in the State of Georgia. Nathaniel mused. If they capture him, the war will be over for certain. Then what?

When the soldier closest to Nathaniel passed, he let his left shoulder crash into him, causing Nathaniel to stumble. If not for Private Hakey’s quick catch, Nathaniel would have landed on his backside.

“I got you, sir.”

“Thanks, Jacob.”

“Seems to me not many of your Rebel friends like you much.”

“It’s okay, Jacob. I don’t blame anyone for their feelings. It’s between them and God.”

“Well, sir, I’ve learned one thing about you.”

“What’s that?”

“You practice what you preach.” Jacob smiled.

“I’m trying. If not for some expecting me to teach the scriptures, I’d be just another struggling sinner trying to figure out life and make it through day-by-day.”

Nathaniel limped forward and his Yankee protector followed keeping a watchful eye for any further disturbances. Thirty minutes passed. They lapped the baseball field, horseshoe pits, and gardens. Nathaniel dodged a fiery dart of guilt as he considered how the produce kept him and his fellow prisoners well-fed during last summer, fall, and winter while his comrades protecting Petersburg and Richmond starved to death. He wondered if his best friend, Marvin Jenkins, survived.  His thoughts drifted next to his fiancées brothers and considered what it might have been like vanquishing men they fought against for close to four years. But one image consumed his mind and caused him to focus his mental energies—the woman who captured his heart. One question repeated, Is Eleanor well?

As Nathaniel neared the rear of barrack number 11 with Federal Private Hakey straddling behind, he heard the sound of the evening roll-call assembly. Private Hakey encouraged, “I reckon you’ll have to pick up your pace, sir.”

“We’re almost there, Private. I suspect I’ll make it on time.”

“I don’t want to nag you, sir, but you don’t need to anger Sergeant O’Brien again.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can, Private.”

“Can I help you, sir?”

Nathaniel sensed he should accept. “Come to think on it, Jacob,” he said to his gracious jailor, “I could use a hand.”

“No offense, Major, but you could use a leg.”

The enemy friends laughed and Nathaniel accepted the human crutch. Together they hustled between barracks 9 and 11 and hopped to Nathaniel’s fellows forming their lines in front of blockhouse number 5. Taking his second in command position, Nathaniel stood at attention, at least a close facsimile of the correct military posture. Sergeant O’Brien took his time counting heads.  Before he finished, Colonel Hill appeared on the catwalk above the compound gates. Nathaniel assumed there must be news to report.

After supper, Nathaniel sought out Lieutenant Harris to fulfill his earlier promise. The younger prisoner sat across from his chaplain, fidgeting. Nathaniel noticed his edginess, and the deepening etchings forming on his usually wrinkle-free forehead. “So, what’s on your mind, William?

“Can we keep this just between us, sir?”

Nathaniel gave his affirmation.
Lieutenant Harris rubbed the top of his thighs, then moved his hands above the wood-planked table and folded them together. “I wanted to hear your opinion on a matter I’ve been thinking on it for some time...it has to do with what Colonel Hill talked to us about out there.”

“William, are you thinking about taking the oath?”

Lieutenant Harris leaned forward and in rapid succession twisted his head to his left and right as if to see if anyone listened to their conversation. He almost whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Nathaniel controlled his expression like a seasoned riverboat poker player.  With a reciprocating tone, he said, “I see.” Nathaniel tilted his head and scratched his thinning hair. “You said you wanted my opinion. It sounds to me you’ve made up your mind.”

“Sir, can you blame me? I want to go home.”

“But William, you know the terms. Colonel Hill has offered them several times. I suspect he’s getting pressure from the war department, but even if you apply, take the oath, and receive a discharge, they won’t let you go home.”

“I know that, sir. But I figure a year of service in the Yankee army is better than being—” He scanned the barrack—“cooped up in this place.”

“You know Colonel Hill will post your name so all can see, and most of these men will think you a traitor.”

“I’m aware of all these things, Major. There’s no telling how long the Yankees will keep us here. So if this is a way I can get home, I’m going to take it.”

Nathaniel felt his facial muscles tighten.  Maybe I should take the oath, too.

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