CHAPTER TEN

Disturbing News from the Western Front

As he descended the chapel steps, Jamie raised a beatific countenance to the face of the friend beside him.  “Inspiring, wasn’t it?”

“Umm,” Adam murmured noncommittally.  The sermon by the college pastor had been both longer and more traditional than the chapel services conducted daily by the president of Yale, and in Adam’s opinion, its being the second one in the space of four hours added nothing to its capacity to inspire.  He wouldn’t have put a damper on Jamie’s enthusiasm for anything, however, especially since his own lack of response might properly be credited, at least in part, to residual fatigue.  Sometimes he thought he’d never catch up on the rest he’d lost.

“Adam, you’ve turned the wrong way,” Jamie chided with a chuckle.

Adam shook his head.  “No, I haven’t.  My direction is completely intentional, I assure you.”

Jamie caught up to his side.  “Where are you going?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Adam said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and stepping out briskly.  “Anywhere but back to our room.  I can’t face an open book just now.”

“We have put in a goodly amount of study already,” Jamie conceded.  As agreed upon the night before, they had dutifully spent an hour with their books between breakfast and the morning service and had put in another session in the early afternoon.

They walked north on College Street, past Wall and continued on another block.  Adam stopped at the corner and looked to the west, where stretched a large swath of lawn covered with shady trees.  “Let’s go there,” he suggested.

“The cemetery?” Jamie queried.

Adam laughed.  “You’re not superstitious, are you?  Not becoming in a future pastor, you know.”

Jamie responded with good-natured laughter of his own.  “No, not at all.  It would be a pleasant and cool place for a stroll, and it would do us good to be out in nature, I suppose.”

“I more than suppose it,” Adam said firmly as he turned to walk toward the massive gate set in a brown, ivy-covered wall and swung it open.  “You can’t house a sound mind in an unsound body, remember?”

Jamie bit his lip.  “I wish you wouldn’t say that, Adam.”

Adam stopped abruptly.  “Why?  Do you disagree?”

Jamie shook his head as he walked through the gate.  “I wish I did.”

Adam closed the gate behind him and hurried to Jamie’s side.  “Why?” he asked again, with concern this time.

Jamie sighed.  “Because I don’t have a very sound body, Adam.  I rather obviously demonstrated that last night.”

“I had problems with the smoke, too.”

As they walked beneath the sheltering elms and evergreens, Jamie gave his friend a look of rebuke.  “Not to the same degree and you know it, Adam.”

Adam put a supportive arm about Jamie’s slim shoulders.  “I do know it,” he admitted, “but I don’t know that it has to remain that way.  Look, why don’t we make a point of taking some exercise out in God’s good fresh air like this every week?  We’ll have you strong and sturdy in no time!”

As Adam flexed his biceps to demonstrate the new strength his friend would soon possess, Jamie laughed.  “The medicine’s enjoyable enough,” he said as they stopped to rest on a bench beneath the trees, “but I’m not as confident as you that it will affect a cure.”

“I can’t promise a cure,” Adam admitted, “but I do know that I always felt healthier at home on the Ponderosa than at school in Sacramento, where I kept my nose too much in my books.”  He leaned back into the trunk of the tree behind them, his hand idly rubbing the moss that was obscuring the inscription on a nearby tombstone.  “I wish I could capture the fragrance of the pines and give you three doses a day, but I do think a weekly dose of sunshine, fresh air and exercise can’t possibly hurt.”

“I’ll place myself in your hands, then, Dr. Cartwright,” Jamie said as he, too, leaned back and gazed at the fluttering leaves above them.  Inhaling, he tried to imagine himself taking deep draughts of the healing fragrance of Ponderosa pine.

* * * * *

            Dr. Cartwright and his premier patient spent two hours walking about the shady paths, talking over old times and new experiences and, whenever Jamie seemed to weary, resting on some convenient bench or “unoccupied” plot of grass.  “I declare, I do feel as though I were breathing more freely,” Jamie announced as they left the Grove Street Cemetery behind and headed toward Wall Street, where supper with the Vultures awaited.

Adam adopted his best imitation of Dr. Martin back home.  “That will not release you from your next dose of medicine, young man.  In fact, I believe a longer walk would be in order, perhaps to some more scenic destination.”

“I’m all for it,” Jamie said enthusiastically.  “Perhaps on Saturday?  We’d have a longer afternoon then.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Adam replied as they turned into Wall Street.  “I wonder what’s on the menu tonight.”

“Something thoroughly tasty, I’m sure,” Jamie said.  “Mrs. Swanson is a genius in the kitchen.”

Adam laughed.  “I wouldn’t go quite that far.  She’s good—very good, in fact—but I believe Hop Sing could outmatch her.”

Jamie clapped a hand to Adam’s shoulder.  “My dear Dr. Cartwright,” he intoned soberly, “I do believe you’ve taken too much of your own medicine, and this excess has brought on a case of intense homesickness.”

Adam paused just outside Mrs. Swanson’s door.  “And do you have a cure for that, my friend?” he inquired with a wry smile.

“Alas, no,” Jamie declared with a dramatic sigh.  “I fear I suffer from the same complaint.”

But the drama soon became all too real, and the case of homesickness more definitely incurable.  No sooner had the plates of fried oysters and Saratoga potatoes been passed than George Miller, seated across from Jamie, asked, “Aren’t you from Missouri, Edwards?”

“Yes,” Jamie answered cautiously.  None of the Vultures had ever made any comments about his western origins since that first meal, and all had been courteous at table, as the rules demanded.  But Miller was, after all, a sophomore, and, therefore, a creature that merited watching.

“What part of the state?”

“St. Joseph.”

Such a thick pool of silence met the simple statement that Adam laid down his fork and asked sharply, “And what’s wrong with St. Joseph?”

“Oh, I say, I am sorry,” Miller muttered, diving desperately into his oysters.

Jamie and Adam exchanged a swift glance of concern.  Something was wrong, and everyone seemed to know it but them.

“You might, at least, have waited until the lad had his supper, Miller,” the steward, Andrew White, chided.  He turned kind eyes toward Jamie.  “You haven’t seen a newspaper today?”

It was Adam who answered.  “No, we haven’t.  What is it?  The war?”

“Brace yourself, lad,” White said to Jamie.  “The news out of St. Joseph is quite bad.”

Jamie straightened in his chair, literally squaring his shoulders as if in obedience to the steward’s direction.  “Tell me.”

“The rebels are in full possession of the town,” White explained, “and they have it completely blockaded.  No mail or passengers allowed in or out, and they’ve seized the steamer Omahato halt river traffic.”

Jamie’s complexion, pale to begin with, blanched nearly white.  Beneath the table Adam reached for his hand.  He’d seen for himself the tension in St. Joseph, even under partial occupation, but this report sounded as if conditions had worsened.

“Do you still have family there, my boy?” asked Robert Raines, the other senior Vulture.

“My father,” Jamie whispered.

“Union or Secesh?” asked Edgar Warington with barely contained aggression.

“Union!” Adam declared staunchly.

“No politics at table, Warington,” White warned.  “What matters is that one of our Vultures has a parent at risk.”

“Perhaps not,” Raines inserted.  “The paper did say that most Union men had crossed over into Kansas, taking the ferry with them.  Unless you hear otherwise, young Edwards, I suggest you believe that your father is among them.”

“How is he supposed to hear if the mails have been stopped?” Warington snorted.

“Be civil, sir, or I will ask you to leave the table,” White said sternly.

“My apologies, sir,” Warington said stiffly to Jamie, “though the question seems reasonable.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Jamie sighed.  He pushed back from the table.  “Would you excuse me, gentlemen?  I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”  When Adam stood to leave with him, Jamie protested, “Please don’t miss your supper on my account, Adam.  I’m going straight home, and I’ll be fine.”

“Wait long enough for Mrs. Swanson to package up your share of the food,” White suggested.  He gave Jamie an encouraging smile.  “You may feel more like eating once the initial shock has worn off.”

Jamie had considerable doubt about that, but mostly for Adam’s sake he accepted the gracious offer.

“I’ll tell her,” Miller said, hurrying out to the kitchen, as if intent on making amends for his premature mention of a painful topic.

Adam moved from the table to offer his friend a supportive arm.  White followed and drew them to one side.  “Now, you mustn’t despair, lad,” he said warmly.  “It’s an old and perhaps trite saying, but sometimes no news really is good news.”

“Yes,” Jamie said, “and I will hold to that until I know otherwise, as you and Mr. Raines so wisely advise.  Thank you, sir.”  He nodded, as well, at Robert Raines, who had left his place at the table to join them.

“You can be confident that Union forces will retake the town as soon as possible,” Raines said with an encouraging smile.  “Keeping the mails running is vital to maintaining the loyalty of the western states and territories, and St. Joseph is a key link in that chain.”

“He’s right,” Adam said, giving Jamie’s arm a bolstering squeeze.

Miller jogged over with a paper-wrapped package.  “Here you go, boys,” he said, thrusting it out, “and—and I really am sorry, Edwards, to have caused you such concern.”

Jamie put out his hand, which Miller clasped.  “You’ve done me a service, Mr. Miller.  I was bound to learn, sooner or later.”

Miller smiled with relief.  “Don’t let the oysters and chips get too cold before you indulge,” he advised.  “You’ll enjoy them more.”

“Thank you,” Adam said for both of them.

Other members of the Vultures called out farewells as they left, which each boy acknowledged with a wave of the hand.  As they walked quietly down Temple Street, Jamie paused in front of the North Church and gazed up at its steeple as a focus for his faith.  “I know Father’s in God’s hands,” he said, “but it is hard not to worry, not to know whether he made it safely over the river to Elwood.”

“He’s not in Elwood,” Adam said, quickly adding, “When I came through St. Joe, I urged him to come this way . . . to us . . . if he decided to leave, and he promised he would.  I believe that’s what he’s doing, Jamie.”

“Yes, I remember now!” Jamie cried.  “You told me the first night you arrived.  Oh, Adam!  Do pray with me that he will come through safely and that we’ll soon see him.”

“With all my heart,” Adam vowed fervently.  He smiled ruefully.  “And, perhaps, you should pray for me, as well.  Remember that letter I mailed yesterday to a certain demanding little someone?  It’s not going to get through, at least not anytime soon, and I will be in trouble with the little prince of the Ponderosa.”

Jamie laughed, for a moment forgetting his own problems, as Adam had intended.  “Indeed!  Your troubles may be graver than mine, little brother.”

* * * * *

            It was well that both Adam and Jamie had put in more than adequate study time before hearing the news from Missouri, for practical concerns were a distraction from classical ones in the Monday morning recitation.  Jamie even earned a sharp rebuke from the Latin tutor for his lack of attention, an event unheard of in his entire previous academic career.  That embarrassment, however, proved itself a blessing in disguise, for it shocked the young freshman back to reality and reminded him of his father’s sacrifices to send him to Yale and that failure here would only add to his parent’s sufferings.

Just in time, thought Adam, as Jamie flawlessly worked one of Euclid’s propositions at the blackboard.  Mathematics being his friend’s weakest area, he couldn’t have afforded an unfocused mind here.

After that noon recitation, the two friends joined Marc and Lucas for the short walk to the Vultures’ dining hall.  As usual, their path seemed lined with sophomores, snickering out taunting catcalls.  “What a pretty freshman!” called one, pointing to Marc.

“Oh, see his pretty necktie,” rejoined another.

Marc’s fingers automatically reached for his cravat, but the freshmen otherwise ignored their tormentors until one shouted the typical, “Oh, Freshie!”

Lucas had taken all he intended.  He turned on his heel and yelled back, “Oh, Sophie!”

Adam took him by the shoulders and spun him back around.  “You’re asking for trouble, boy,” he chided, “and neither Jamie nor I feel up to a row with sophomores this morning.”

“Sorry,” Lucas said contritely, for he did not wish to add to the burden his friends carried, “but sooner or later I think a row is owed those imps from—”

“Lucas,” Jamie cautioned.

“Oh, all right, preacher boy.”  Lucas stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved out ahead of the other three.  When he swiveled back to face them, his face had resumed its normal lively countenance.  “Race you to dinner!” he challenged and took off, with the others in hot pursuit.

* * * * *

            Tuesday morning the trees on campus appeared to have sprouted new foliage, for each was bedecked with a poster of either blue or red.  On closer inspection Adam and Jamie noticed the red ones all announced the first meeting of Linonia, while the blue ones listed the program to be presented the next evening by the Brothers in Unity.  “Well, shall we remain true blue to our colors,” Adam quipped, “or sample the scarlet letters of Linonia?”

“Attendance isn’t required,” Jamie pointed out.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Adam insisted.  “For now, at least.  You need all the distraction college life affords right now, my friend.”

Jamie offered a wan smile.  “It is hard to think of anything but Father, but I know only time will settle that issue.  You’re right, Adam, as you so often are; it is better to spend that time in some useful pursuit, rather than just fretting away the hours.  However, if the debate proves as boring as the Statement of Facts, I may revise my opinion of its usefulness.”

“Let’s stick with our own society this time,” Adam suggested.  “The topic for debate on those blue posters seems a bit more interesting than Linonia’s.”

The ringing of the chapel bell forestalled further discussion as it heralded the beginning of another full day of recitations and study.

* * * * *

            On Wednesday Adam and Jamie woke to a beautiful, sunny day, with scarcely a whiff of wind, and the balmy weather was a portent of bright hope to come.  As they took their places in Latin class that morning, Lucas slipped a folded copy of the New Haven Morning News to Adam.  “Show this to Edwards whenever you think it prudent,” he whispered.  “I think it’s good news.”

Behind his textbook Adam surreptitiously peeked at the headlines and smiled broadly when he read, “ARRIVAL OF THREE UNITED STATES REGIMENTS AT ST. JOSEPH.”  Latin was forgotten as he scanned the article and learned that the rebels had been expelled from Jamie’s home town.  He was just into the third paragraph when he felt a hard elbow ram his side.  “Translate,” Lucas hissed under his breath.  “Line 44.”

Adam jumped to his feet, the Morning News dropping to his feet as he held up his text and began translating the passage.  Rattled, he made two mistakes, but corrected them before going on.

“Less exemplary than heretofore, Mr. Cartwright,” Tutor Wilder Smith pronounced.  “Can we have so quickly reached the limit of your western school’s tutelage?”

Adam flushed, more with anger at the insult to his Sacramento academy than embarrassment.  “No, sir,” he declared firmly.  “My attention wavered momentarily.  I apologize, sir.”

There had been nothing apologetic in his tone, and nothing but token acceptance in the tutor’s reply.  “Please review today’s assignment conscientiously before beginning your preparation for the next.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam said tersely and took his seat.

“What is the matter with you?” Jamie asked as they left the Athenaeum at the close of the session.  “I know you’re as concerned about Father as I am, but—”

“No, I’m not,” Adam said.  He’d planned to save the news until they reached their room, but couldn’t contain his give-away grin.

“What is it?” Jamie asked breathlessly.  “You know something!”

Adam nodded.  “St. Joe’s been relieved,” he said.  “Rebels out, Union men back in, as of Friday.”

“Father’s safe!  I know he is!” cried Jamie.

“I believe so, too,” Adam said as they turned from College St. onto Chapel.  “Where is now the question:  Elwood, St. Joe or somewhere between here and there?”

“You said he promised to come east,” Jamie said, almost dancing as they turned onto Temple St.

Adam nodded, but looked far from convinced.  “But he might have gone the other way temporarily, for safety’s sake . . . or the other Union men may have demanded that he go with them or be termed a Rebel himself.”

Jamie sobered.  “I suppose anything’s possible in such a volatile situation.”

“Now, you’re not going to start worrying again, are you?” Adam chided.  “It is good news.”

Jamie smiled again then.  “It is, and I’ve learned a lesson through this, Adam.  We first heard about Father’s danger on Sunday, and the situation had been resolved two days before that.  How often we worry about problems when the answer has already come or is, at least, underway in God’s perfect timing.  I won’t do it again . . . well, if I can help it.”

Adam threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “That’s what I love about you, pastor: you see a lesson in everything, but are wise enough to realize they may take time to learn.”

They had reached the boardinghouse and as they climbed the front steps Jamie said, “I’m wise enough to know I have to prepare for our next recitation—Father would expect no less—but I’d much rather spend the time writing an urgent plea to him to come to us without delay.”

They entered and took the stairs to the second story.  “We’ll do our duty by our studies first,” Adam agreed.  “Pa would expect no less, either, but we’re free after the noon recitation today, so we’ll have ample time to write this afternoon and still make our first Brothers in Unity meeting.”

“But where do we send the letters?”  Jamie again asked the all-important question as he opened the door to their room.

Adam dropped his Latin text onto his desk.  “Send yours to St. Joe.  That’s where I think he is, but to give us a double chance of reaching him, I’ll write to Elwood, general delivery, and tell him that there’s a letter from you waiting in St. Joe.  And if he’s already left there, it won’t matter if the letters miss him, because he’ll already be doing what we’re urging him to!”  He pulled out his mate’s desk chair and gestured toward it authoritatively.  “And now, sir, buckle down and do your duty by Euclid.”

Jamie bowed gracefully and took the proffered seat.

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

Wilder Smith is listed as tutor of Latin in the Yale catalog for 1861-62, available online.

The Confederate occupation of St. Joseph and the resulting blockage of the mails is detailed in the New York Times of September 15, 1861.