Beyond All Price Read online

  Beyond

  All Price

  Carolyn Poling Schriber

  For Nellie, whose life still inspires.

  His life was saved by one of those angels of mercy, a volunteer army nurse. He fell into good hands—the blessed hands of a kind-hearted woman! Even here, amid the roar and carnage, was found a woman with the soul to dare danger; the heart to sympathize with the battle-stricken; sense, skill, and experience to make her a treasure beyond all price.”

  —Frank Moore

  Women of the War: Their Heroism and Self-Sacrifice

  Roundheads Regimental Headquarters

  Beaufort, South Carolina

  March, 1862

  (left to right):

  Reverend Robert Audley Brown, Doctor Horace Ludington, Nellie M. Chase (seated), “Uncle Bob,” Colonel Daniel Leasure, Private. John Stevenson

  Photo courtesy of USAMHI

  Copyright © 2010 Carolyn Poling Schriber

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Katzenhaus Books

  P.O. Box 1629

  Cordova, Tennessee 38088

  Cover image: Cumberland River

  at Fort Donelson, TN

  Photo credit: Floyd A. Schriber

  ISBN: 0982774508

  ISBN-13: 9780982774502

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010929638

  1

  Old Acquaintances

  “Colonel Leasure, Sir?”

  “Yes, Private, what is it?”

  “There’s a lady to see you, Sir.”

  “A lady? Here? To see me? Are you sure you understood correctly?”

  “Yes, Sir, I did,” Private Stevenson insisted. “She’s out at the gate and says she won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  “Good God! It’s not my mother, is it, John?” asked Geordy, the colonel’s son, who had been laboring diligently over a stack of papers.

  “Geordy, you know your mother wouldn’t come here,” the colonel said.

  “No, Sir, it’s a young lady. Oh, I didn’t mean that your wife isn’t young. I mean, ah. . . .” The private blushed and stammered for words.

  “It’s all right, Private. I understand what you meant. Did she give you any idea of what she wanted? Does she look slatternly? Or is she refined and ladylike?”

  “I’m not really sure, Sir. She doesn’t look like a lady of the streets, if that’s what you mean, but she’s awfully forward and determined.”

  “She asked for me by name, did she?”

  “Yes, Sir. And she referred to you as the commander of the Roundheads.”

  “Humph. That’s odd. Secretary Cameron only blessed our regiment with that nickname a couple of days ago. Wonder where she heard of it?”

  “Well, Sir, she may have picked it up here. She was asking some of the boys who the best-behaved soldiers were.”

  “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to see her. Tell her I’ll be right out. But don’t let her into the camp. Right now we don’t need extra females wandering through this maze of huts and tents.” He glanced with some distaste at another regimental encampment across the dusty road, where whole families were settling into tents. Wives and children had accompanied their newly-enlisted men folk, and the camp was overrun with the clutter of trunks, pots, and all the accouterments of family life. War isn’t a game, Daniel Leasure wanted to tell them, and men surrounded by their loved ones will never make the kind of soldiers we need.

  Daniel Leasure stood from his makeshift desk, his hands moving automatically to the small of his back as he stretched his cramped muscles. He had spent many an hour drilling with his local militia units and considered himself in good condition. But the paperwork demanded by this new Union Army had kept him confined in his tent all morning, and he was more than ready for a stretch. The heat, too was beginning to bother him. Granted, it was late August, but back home in the hills of western Pennsylvania, even this much heat would have been tempered by breezes and leafy shade. Here in Pittsburgh, the natural vegetation had been leveled, and the dirt and smoke from the city seemed to hover above the ground in a miasmal cloud. It didn’t help, either, that this so-called Camp Wilkins had been established on the Allegheny County Fairgrounds, and all the odors and mess of a dozen livestock fairs permeated the wooden structures and the ground on which they camped.

  He shook his head at his own sense of discouragement, something he did not want his men to see. At least, I have my own tent, he thought to himself. Those poor farm boys who have followed me here may be used to barns, but I’ll bet few of them ever had to bed down in a communal pigsty before this week.

  “Geordy, while I deal with this woman, whoever she is, would you take these muster lists around to the various companies of the regiment and make sure they are complete and accurate? Heaven only knows when the army will be paid, but we need to be sure the records are accurate before we go marching off to some God-forsaken Confederate battlefield.”

  “Yes, Father, . . .uh, Sir.” Geordie Leasure was barely out of adolescence and was trying hard to maintain his military demeanor. When his father had first announced he was going to respond to Lincoln’s call to arms, Geordy had begged to go along. Despite his mother’s tearful protests, his pleas and his father’s encouragement had won the day. He had enlisted for a ninety-day term and happily served as a private in the Twelfth Pennsylvania Regiment, although that regiment had never seen any action, nor had they ever fired a shot. This three-year enlistment, however, promised to be a much more dangerous one, and he had been allowed to re-enlist on the understanding he would act as his father’s aide-de-camp and would be kept out of harm’s way. Geordy correctly assumed he was here only on a probationary basis. This was his testing time—the chance to prove he was a responsible adult. Any lapse on his part would have his father sending him scuttling back to New Castle and the family farm.

  The young woman waited for Colonel Leasure outside the hastily-erected picket fence surrounding Camp Wilkins. She was tiny, dressed in a simple dark dress of bombazine and a bonnet that shaded her features. But her erect posture, chin lifted and eyes raised to stare straight at the scene before her, made it clear she was neither demure nor humble. Even as the colonel returned her stare and recognized her obvious youth, he was aware she was a formidable personality.

  “Madam, I am Colonel Daniel Leasure of the Roundhead Regiment, at your service, M’am.”

  “Good morning,” she nodded with a miniscule lifting of the corners of her mouth that might have passed for a smile. “I am Nellie Leath. Mrs. Leath,” she said. “I have come to serve as your matron.”

  “Ahhhh, I see. And what, exactly, is a matron?”

  “It is my understanding, Sir, that each military regiment is to be accompanied by a skilled woman who can handle the housekeeping chores, so to speak. A matron, as I interpret the term, oversees meals, supplies, and minor medical needs for the soldiers.”

  “Oh, I see. And you have been sent by the Sanitary Commission, I presume.”

  “Not exactly.” Now the young woman laughed openly. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

  “You have me at a disadvantage, M’am. Have we met before?”

  “Oh, yes. At York, last June?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him, but he still appeared confused. “You were the adjutant with the Twelfth Regiment, and I was a volunteer nurse, assigned to assist Doctor Speer and his small group of surgeons. There wasn’t much need for battlefield services. I spent most of my time helping the women of York who had taken in our soldiers as boarders. You came to York one day to visit some of your men who had fallen ill. I was helping care for two of the most serious cases, Corporal Robert Gibson and Sergeant James Miller. You remember them, I assume.”

 
“Yes, of course. I found their eventual deaths most upsetting because I had helped to recruit them. And I do remember a young nurse being particularly helpful. But your name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “I was using my maiden name then—Nellie Chase.”

  “Ah, yes, I do remember that name. There was a fuss over you, as I recall. Something about you being related to Lincoln’s new Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase?”

  Nellie winced. “We are only distantly related, if at all. I assure you I have never met the man, and he has never even heard of me. Still, people assumed I had gotten my position with the regiment through some sort of nepotism, while I wanted to be judged on my own merits. That’s why I started using my married name, instead. I’m sorry if that confused you.”

  “I still don’t know how you come to be here. Who sent you?”

  “No one. I come as a volunteer. I remembered you clearly from York. You impressed me with your kindness, your concern for your men, and your medical knowledge. When I heard you were recruiting a new regiment, to be composed of sincere, God-fearing, and highly moral young men, I sought you out. I want to continue to help in the war effort, and you would seem to be in need of a woman such as I.”

  Just then, a commotion broke out behind them as two sopping wet young recruits came running for the camp, arms flailing. “Ow, ow, oh, ouch, ow,” they yelled. As they neared the colonel, he could see that their faces, red and tear-stained, were covered with angry-looking blotches. Their bare arms, too, were mottled and marked with welts.

  “Whoa,” said the colonel. “What company are you in? And what in the devil’s name have you boys gotten yourselves into?”

  “Bees, Sir,” said Billy Simpson, the taller of the two. “We’re in Company H, from Lawrence County. Zeb here saw some bees leaving that old hay barn down the road. They were a’comin’ out from behind a loose board, and he pulled on it, hoping to find him some honeycomb. But there was a whole swarm of them and they attacked. We got away by jumping in the cow pond, but not before they took their revenge.”

  “We’ve been stung a hundred times, I know,” said Zeb Elliot. “Ow, ow, ow. Sorry, but it burns like fire, Sir.”

  “How are you going to be a soldier and stand up to battle, if you can’t even endure a small dispute with bees?” the colonel asked.

  “Well, I would hope the rebels don’t come with stingers, Sir.”

  “Be that as it may, you must learn self-discipline, soldier.”

  “Excuse me,” Nellie interrupted. “Do either of you have some tobacco? If so, may I have it?”

  “I had a stogie in my pocket a while back, but I expect it’s pretty soggy by now.” Billy pulled a dripping cigar from his pocket and held it at arm’s length, “Uh, you surely wouldn’t want this, M’am.”

  “Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what I need. Hold still, now.” She took the cigar from him and began to pull the wet leaves apart, tearing the tobacco into inch-long pieces. Carefully she layered the patches onto the welts left by the bee stings.

  “Ouch,” the men protested as she worked. “It hurts when you touch them.”

  “I know. But wait a few minutes. Let me try this.” When she finished, she stepped back and allowed a faint smile to move beyond her lips to light up her eyes. “How do you feel now?”

  “Ow! Ah—aahhh. It’s gone!”

  “You’re right. They don’t sting anymore. How’d you do that?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Leath.” Colonel Leasure raised an inquiring eyebrow. “How did you know to do that?”

  “That’s what a matron does, Sir.” Nellie suppressed a laugh and resumed her serious demeanor. “To answer your question, Granny Merrill—my grandmother—lived with us when I was growing up. She was known as something of a wise woman and treated the minor ills and injuries of the neighboring families. She taught me some of her secret remedies. Wet tobacco for insect bites was one of them.”

  “You know, in civilian life, I am a trained doctor,” the colonel told her. “I might have prescribed a paste of baking soda, but tobacco would never have entered my mind. I am impressed.”

  “We all have our little stores of useful knowledge, I suppose. Zeb, Billy, leave those patches on until they dry and fall off. You should be fine. And the next time you want to satisfy your sweet tooth, here’s another use for that stogie. Light it and let the smoke penetrate the crack where you think the bees are. It will make the bees sleepy, and you’ll be able to help yourself to a chuck of comb without risking another disaster.”

  “Yes, M’am,” they said.

  By now a smattering of curiosity-seekers had begun to assemble around the gateway, watching to see what the mutton-chopped colonel was going to do about the young woman who had solved a problem for him. Murmurs and suppressed snickers passed through the crowd. From somewhere near the back, a soft whistle revealed what the onlookers suspected. Reluctant to put on a further show, Colonel Leasure bowed slightly, and offered his arm. “Well, come with me to our headquarters, and we can discuss this further.”

  The two picked their way through a mass of soldiers, some cooking over an improvised fire. others pounding tent stakes or practicing their drills in the dust. As they passed, every eye watched them. The homesick soldiers saw Mrs. Leath as mother or sister, or neighbor; the more worldly-wise had other notions. But all were struck by the self-assured figure of this lone woman in a campground full of men.

  As they walked, the colonel’s eyes remained slightly downcast as he picked their way around the inevitable obstacles of a makeshift military camp. This also allowed him to keep his surroundings slightly out of focus, so he did not have to see the curious stares or leering grins of the men who watched their progress. Nellie, however, was openly fascinated. She noted everything as they passed, as if she were keeping a mental inventory. Her eyes twinkled when she noticed a chicken sizzling on a stick over an open fire, while four obviously guilty soldiers pretended to be interested in everything around them except for the purloined fowl. She reacted with a sympathetic smile to a miserable young man who sat staring at a much-creased picture. She noted with interest the men who were reading or writing in their journals. And occasionally she wilted a forward young stud by sneering at his wiggling eyebrows. Nellie recognized and categorized them all as they passed. By the time she and the colonel reached the command tent, she may have known the regiment more intimately than he did.

  “Private, I need to interview this lady. Stand by the tent flap and see to it we are not disturbed.”

  “Yes, Colonel. But what if. . . ?”

  “Use your judgment, soldier. Don’t interrupt us for an enlistee’s petty problems. If a general appears or the war breaks out here in camp, let me know.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Private Stevenson grinned.

  “Now, then, Mrs. Leath.” Colonel Leasure nodded toward a camp stool. “Please sit down and tell me a bit more about yourself. You are a widow, I presume.”

  Nellie glanced down at the black bombazine gown she wore and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Not exactly. My husband and I are separated, and I have found it safer to pass as a widow than to be seen as simply an unattached female. The tenement where I’ve been living is a bit rough.”

  “So you deliberately set out to purchase a disguise that would mislead people? I fear these are not the actions of the type of person I want in this regiment.” The colonel stood and moved toward the entrance, ready to usher her out of the tent.

  “Please, wait. Let me explain.” Nellie looked so stricken that despite his best instincts, Colonel Leasure returned to the table.