Storm Clouds Rolling In & On To Richmond (Books 1 & 2 in the Bregdan Chronicles) by Ginny Dye - HTML preview

Chapter Eighteen

As the guard escorted Matthew back into the large room crowded with his fellow prisoners, there was a pregnant silence. As soon as the guard’s steps faded away, however, a cauldron of good-natured ribbing erupted around him.

“Your girl here to see you again, Matthew?”

“We’ve all decided to give you the most popular prisoner award, Justin!”

“If we’d known we were going to spend so much time in this hotel, we would have made contacts in the city, too.”

Matthew laughed and rubbed his stomach. He was only thinking of one thing. “Is breakfast about ready?” he called. “I’m starving!”

“This visiting can really build up an appetite,” another yelled, laughing.

“Am I going to have to fix my own breakfast?” Matthew yelled back. “Who’s in charge of the mess around here this morning?”

Finally, Mike Blackman, a colonel from the Massachusetts regiment, stepped forward holding a platter behind his back. “It’s ready, Justin. We were just waiting for you.”

Matthew stepped forward with a smile on his face.

Within seconds, all the men in his prison company were seated at the table, waiting expectantly. There was nothing but blank silence when Blackman proudly laid the platter on the table.

Matthew was the first to speak. “This your first time cooking, Blackman?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but the snickers of the men around him made it hard to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Well, yes,” Blackman responded, immediately defensive. “Something wrong with it?”

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Matthew reached forward and picked up the limp, dangling strip of pork. “Did you like this pig so much you were afraid to cook it?”

“He may have liked that piece too much,” another one hooted, “but he had something against this little guy.” He held out the charred piece of meat to make his point.

Laughter rocked the room while Blackman turned red in the face. “If you’re hungry, you’ll eat it,” he snapped.

Matthew shrugged. “I’ll have to think about that. Do you suppose they give sick leave around this place?”

Blackman stared around at all of them and finally joined in their laughter. “So, okay, I’m not much of a cook. I’ve never cooked anything in my whole life. Sorry, men.”

“Well, I guess we can fill up on biscuits.” Matthew looked more closely at Blackman. “We’ve got biscuits, don’t we?”

Blackman looked embarrassed. “If you want to call them that. I think maybe I put too much water in with the flour,” he admitted. He reached down beside him for the other platter.

Matthew stared at the flat, pancake-like objects, which were rapidly taking on a rock-like appearance. He reached forward and picked one up.

“I’d watch it if I were you, Justin. That thing looks like it could break teeth,” one of the men called out.

Matthew cautiously nibbled at one, then held it up and looked at it appraisingly. “Maybe we can mass produce these and use them in the next battle.”

The laughter and ribbing continued. All the while, Matthew tried to ignore his growling stomach. All of them had quickly learned that the best way to handle their imprisonment was to laugh at whatever they could. Still, he had already taken in his belt two notches, and he couldn’t deny he was hungry.

Suddenly, the door opened again. “Matthew Justin,”

the guard called out in a sharp voice.

“Yes, sir!” Matthew said, springing to his feet. What was it now? Surely he couldn’t have another visitor.

“This was just delivered for you.”

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The room was silent as Matthew walked forward to take the proffered plate, controlling the wide smile that wanted to spread across his face. “Thank you.”

The men around the table started cheering when the room was empty again. “Biscuits! Real, honest-to-God biscuits.”

One man raised his hands toward the ceiling. “I don’t know what we did to deserve getting you in our company, but I thank God,” he said. “You may be what keeps us from starving around here.”

Matthew grinned back and set the plate on the table.

The fresh-baked aroma delighted his complaining stomach with its promise of gratification, but it also caused waves of homesickness. He could see his mama back in their mountain cabin, standing over the stove, kneading her dough. The tiny cabin would fill with the wonderful aroma, until she would reach into the stove and pull out the soft, fluffy treats. Dabbed with butter and laden with honey, there was not anything better in the world.

Matthew shook his head and reached for a biscuit.

Thoughts like this would only make things harder. He had to stay focused on the present and not give up hope for the future. Sooner or later the country would figure out what to do with prisoners of war, and they would realize there was no sense in holding a civilian journalist.

An hour later, Matthew was lying on his spot on the floor, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. A strong odor caused him to turn his head toward one of the other prisoners, who was busy trimming his beard. Matthew had never before grown a beard but was now letting his grow out. All the officers, as was the custom, already sported beards when they arrived in the prison. They were determined to keep them neat.

Colonel Bagley had found a polished piece of tin he was using as his mirror. He had even fabricated a lantern

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out of a tin food can by cutting one side out and placing a candle inside. Matthew watched as he held a piece of wood over the candle until it was glowing. Once it was hot enough, he pulled it away and held it to the whiskers of his beard, singeing them. The smell was pungent, but he hardly noticed it. It merely mingled with all the other smells of the room—body odors, food, tobacco smoke, and the cologne Congressman Ely had persuaded the guard to purchase for him.

Matthew watched for a few moments and then turned back to finish his inspection of the ceiling. The spider he had been watching for days was almost done building the elaborate web spreading out over his head. Following the industrious little guy’s progress had given him something to do.

He was jolted upright by the sound of the door crashing open and a voice shouting, “Fall in!”

“What the...”

Men sprang to attention all around him. Some were slower to move, so surprised were they by the sudden intrusion.

“I said, fall in!” Lieutenant Todd shouted from where he stood at the door.

Matthew hurried to his place in the line and turned to look at the three men accompanying Todd. All but one were holding pistols, as was Todd. The other one gripped a mean-looking bowie knife.

Todd, a fierce scowl on his face, strode along the hastily formed lines, looking the prisoners up and down.

A deathly silence gripped the room. All eyes followed the officer as he returned to the front of the room.

“Gentlemen, information has been received that the officers have concealed weapons in this building. I have been ordered to conduct a search.” Satisfaction was evident in his voice.

Colonel Bagley was the first to respond. “We have no hidden weapons here. You may search to your heart’s content.”

Lieutenant Todd sneered. “We have received information to the contrary.”

Bagley shrugged. “Go ahead. You will find nothing.”

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Matthew watched as the four men spread out around the room. Protest and grumblings rose up as they pulled back and turned over bedding. Lieutenant Todd used his sword to pick at clothing as if he were afraid he would be contaminated by touching Yankee belongings. The other men poked through scant personal items lined up on the shelves, paying no heed when they fell to the floor.

One of the men, the rough-looking one with the bowie knife, picked up two papers lying on one of the beds and began to read them.

“That’s a letter to my wife. Isn’t it bad enough it has to go through the censors?”

The man holding the papers looked up with a sneer.

“Bet she’s right nice looking, Captain. Too bad she’s probably in bed with one of your friends back home.”

Matthew leapt forward just as the captain lunged for the man. “He’s not worth it. Let it be,” he urged, holding the angry man back. He gave a sigh of relief when the captain straightened and deliberately turned his back on his tormentor.

The other two men with Lieutenant Todd had remained silent up to this point. Finally, one, a Confederate captain, shook his head in disgust.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry. Our information was clearly wrong, and I apologize for this crude man’s behavior.” He turned to the man he was referring to. “You may leave, detective. We will complete the search without you.”

Matthew peered at the offending man more closely. He must have been the one claiming to have the information about hidden weapons.

The detective flushed red. “Whatever you say, Captain.

I don’t cotton to coddling prisoners. Guess you and me feel different about that.” He turned to leave the room, catching Lieutenant Todd’s eye. He was laughing as he left.

The room fell silent as the search continued. At the end of a half hour, the only weapons found were several penknives.

Matthew almost smiled at the bitter disappointment on Todd’s face. He had no use for the Confederate officer.

He rarely saw him when he was not inebriated. The man’s drunken condition seemed to only exacerbate the anger

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that seethed within him, as if his role in life was to subjugate his prisoners into constant indignity and hardship. Matthew was glad this search had given Todd no satisfaction.

Grumbling, the invading men finally left the room.

Matthew watched the door shut and then sagged against the wall with relief.

The voice beside him was quiet. “That was close.”

Matthew nodded. “Fifteen minutes sooner and the game would have been up.” He shook his head when he thought about what would have happened to him if his writings had been found. He knew one of the privates in the next building had been killed for sticking his head out of a window. He shuddered as he imagined what they would have done to him.

Slowly, he walked over to the table and picked up the plate Opal had delivered the biscuits on that morning. It had not attracted even a whit of attention. Matthew smiled as he balanced it on his hand. What the Confederates would have given to know the contents of the letters carefully hidden inside the false bottom. Not even all the prisoners knew that Matthew, aided by the light of a single candle, wrote long into the night about their life here, detailing all the officers, as well as the word-for-word comments spoken by the guards outside when they thought no one could hear them. It might not be worth anything, but then, other people might have a different perspective. They had received coded information in the plate requesting that the reports continue, so someone must think the letters had value.

Matthew replaced the plate on the table with a smile.

He would call for the guard later that day when things had settled down. He knew Opal would be back for it tomorrow.

All was well.

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