Woman in a Tattered Blue Dress
In early April of 1861, Clay Bartlett, the son of a prominent Roanoke physician, was a student at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. The young man, who was studying law, planned on joining his uncle's law firm in Richmond upon his graduation. Once he completed his education, he also intended to marry Coreen Sullivan, his childhood sweetheart. But sadly, those carefully made plans changed on April 12, the day Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor was bombarded by the South Carolina Militia. Five days later, on April 17, Virginia seceded from the Union.
"This means war, of course," Lyman Calhoun, who came from a family of wealthy Old Dominion tobacco planters, declared when he heard the news.
"Not necessarily," his classmate and close friend argued.
"Come now, Bartlett. You know Abe Lincoln will never let the Confederate states just walk away. In fact, he has already called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to fight against us."
Unlike the young man from Roanoke, Lyman had no immediate plans for life after college, neither of a personal nor professional nature. There was no job or sweetheart waiting for him. As such, the prospect of war did not worry him as it did Clay.
"Furthermore," he added, "I heard a rumor that Robert E. Lee is planning to resign from West Point and is going to lead volunteers from Virginia to fight against the Yankees."
"But his father, old Light-Horse Harry, was a Patriot. He fought the British to establish this country."
"Lee's loyalty lies with Virginia, as does mine. I've already decided to enlist. How about you?"
"I guess I don't have much of a choice. If Virginia needs me, then I'm bound by duty and family honor to fight for my home."
A week later, Clay Bartlett and Lyman Calhoun left campus and after a brief visit to Dr. Bartlett and his wife in Roanoke, they joined other Virginians who were volunteering to fight for the Confederacy.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Bartlett," Lyman assured his friend's mother as they said their goodbyes, "the war will be over by the middle of summer, and your son and I will return to school at the start of the next semester."
"One can only hope you're right," the doctor said without much conviction since he clearly did not share the young man's confidence.
It was not long before the two students from William and Mary saw action. On July 21, 1861, Stonewall Jackson's troops met up with raw Yankee recruits at Manassas Junction, Virginia. During what would become known as the Battle of First Bull Run or First Manassas (as it was referred to in the South), the valiant boys in gray sent their enemies in blue running.
"What did I tell you?" Lyman laughed when the battle was over. "This war will never last through the year."
* * *
Lyman's foolish optimism and prediction of a short war proved to be unfounded. The fighting went on, and neither he nor his classmate returned to William and Mary in the fall. On August 29, 1962, they did, however, return to Manassas Junction for the Second Battle of Bull Run.
As Stonewall Jackson's troops made their way to the railroad tracks that extended from Warrenton Turnpike to Sudley's Mill, Clay turned to Lyman and asked, "Did you see that woman on Warrenton Pike?"
"Which woman do you mean? I saw quite a few of them."
"The young one wearing the tattered blue dress. She had long blond hair, hanging down past her shoulders."
At a time when most women wore their hair either up or pulled back, he could not help but notice the unusual hairstyle in the crowd of spectators who had gathered to watch the Army pass through their town.
"I must have missed her. Why?"
"She was here last July just before the battle started."
"How do you know?"
"I distinctly remember seeing that golden hair flying free in the breeze."
"I'll bet Miss Coreen doesn't know how you ogle these lovely ladies that come out to see Virginia's finest marching off to battle."
"I'm not ogling anyone. I just think it's odd that I've seen the same woman both times we've come through Manassas."
"What's so odd about it?" Lyman replied. "Manassas isn't exactly Richmond, you know. How many people do you think live in this place? And, by the same token, how many times does an army march through a little town like this? It's only natural that a young woman would come out on both occasions and watch the troops pass through."
"And both times I've seen her she has worn the same dress, a blue one that is torn and stained. Quite frankly, my grandfather's slaves dress better than she did."
"She obviously can't afford better clothing. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born into the wealthy Bartlett or Calhoun families."
"I suppose you're right," Clay conceded.
In the heat of the battle that followed, the former law student temporarily forgot about the mysterious girl with long blond hair. When the smoke settled and the battle was over, it was apparent that General Lee had dealt another crushing blow to the North.
"You've got to hand it to those Yankees," Lyman laughed. "No matter how many times we beat 'em, they keep coming back for more. How long do you think it will be before they return again?"
"From what I hear," his friend answered, "Lee wants to take the war to the North."
"It's about time! I'm tired of fighting a defensive war. We need to take the offensive and win this thing once and for all."
Lyman and Clay, like so many of their fellow Confederate soldiers, wished the war was over. Not only did they miss their families and long to return to their homes, but they were also running low on ammunition and food to feed the troops.
* * *
In early September of 1862, Corporal Bartlett and Private Calhoun crossed the Potomac River and headed toward Maryland. Lyman marched with a slight limp.
"What's wrong with your leg?" Clay asked.
"The leg is fine. The problem is with my foot. The sole of my boot is worn as thin as a sheet of paper from all the marching we've been doing. I stepped on a rock this morning, and it cut right into the ball of my foot. It hurts like hell!"
"When we stop and make camp, you'd better bandage it up."
"The rate at which old Stonewall is moving, I don't think he plans on stopping until we reach Washington."
Lyman's limp was more pronounced as the army neared the town of Sharpsburg. On September 16, Jackson's brigade marched toward the West Wood. Along the way, they passed a farmhouse in front of which a group of people stood and watched.
Clay saw a familiar face that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through his body.
"Did you see that?" he cried.
"What?" his friend asked.
"It's that blonde again—the girl from Manassas."
Lyman looked over his shoulder, saw the woman with the flowing flaxen locks and whistled.
"No wonder you noticed her in a crowd of people. She's a beauty!"
"She's wearing her hair the same way, and even has on the same old blue dress that she wore the other two times I saw her."
"So? You're wearing the same clothes, too, aren't you?" Lyman teased. "Why are you so surprised? There's a war on, or have you forgotten? During times of war, things like food and clothing—especially shoes—are hard to come by."
"I wonder what she's doing in Maryland," Clay mused. "I thought she lived in Virginia."
Lyman, eager to take his mind off the impending battle, replied, "Maybe she's a camp follower, one of those women who make their living trailing behind the army and selling their favors. I've heard that Fighting Joe Hooker has so many of those women going in and out of his tent that the Union Army now calls them 'hookers' in his honor."
The young corporal laughed and shook his head.
"If that blonde is forced to rely on our Army to make a living, no wonder she's still wearing the same rag of a dress."
The following day the two armies met near Antietam Creek, where Union General George McClellan halted Lee's advance in one of the bloodiest battles of the war to date.
* * *
Three months later, in December of 1862, Lee's Army of Northern Virginia gained a strong position on Prospect Hill in Fredericksburg. On the eve of battle, the two college friends ate their meager rations and rested their tired, aching bodies.
"It looks like we won't be home for Christmas this year," Lyman said, displaying none of the bluster he had at the start of the conflict. "I'm beginning to forget what it was like to sleep in a real bed."
"I remember the last Christmas I spent with my family in Roanoke," Clay recalled wistfully. "We had a stuffed goose, sugared yams, pumpkin pie ...."
"Enough already!" his friend groaned. "Talking about food is torture."
"Hot buttered rum," the corporal added with a laugh. "I think I'll write a letter to Coreen. It's been a few weeks since I've written her. She might be worried about me. Do you have any paper left?"
"No. I stuffed the last of it inside my shoes last week. While we're on the subject of women, though, have you seen that pretty blonde since we left Maryland?"
Mention of the woman in the ragged blue dress troubled Clay. Although she was beautiful, as his friend had pointed out, there was something frightening about her.
"I saw her again this afternoon, as a matter of fact. I don't know who she is yet, but I doubt she is one of those camp followers."
"Maybe she's a spy. I hear a lot of Southern women are passing intelligence to our officers."
"That's good," Clay laughed, "because if there's one thing many of our officers lack, it's intelligence!"
The following day, December 13, Union General Ambrose Burnside launched a disastrous frontal attack against Lee's forces. More than ten thousand Yankee soldiers were killed or wounded in what was later referred to as "Burnside's Slaughter Pen."
Bartlett and Calhoun, who had been discouraged by the heavy loss of life at Sharpsburg, had their waning hopes lifted.
"Maybe this damned war will be over by Christmas, after all!" Lyman declared hopefully.
"But the holiday is less than two weeks from now."
"I'll settle for the first of the New Year then."
* * *
Christmas and New Year came and went, though, and still, there was no end to the war in sight. In early May of 1863, Lee's army was in Chancellorsville, Virginia. There, the general divided his forces and sent Stonewall Jackson to attack the Union flank. Lee's strategy worked, and Hooker's troops were badly beaten.
Corporal Bartlett took no pleasure in their brilliant victory, however; for during that battle, General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson was accidentally shot by one of his own men and died a few days later. Even more tragic as far as the young man from Roanoke was concerned, Lyman Calhoun was hit by exploding shrapnel.
When Clay saw his best friend fall, he picked him up and carried him through the thick of battle to a nearby wooden shack that served as a Confederate field hospital. Unfortunately, the young man's bravery was for naught. Twenty-year-old Lyman Calhoun died before the overworked doctors had the chance to examine him.
Moments after the private took his last breath, Clay reached over and gently closed his friend's eyes. Then he wiped the tears, blood and sweat from his own face and returned to the battlefield. As he walked toward his regiment, he turned to look back at the hospital and say a silent, final farewell to his oldest and dearest friend.
In the doorway of the building stood the blond woman in the tattered blue dress.
* * *
Despite the lack of food and ammunition, Confederate morale remained relatively high. The boys in gray had beaten the Yanks at Manassas, Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville. Once again, General Robert E. Lee promised to take the war to the North. General Richard S. Ewell was appointed to assume the duties of the fallen Thomas Jackson, and in June 1863, he and his men headed toward Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
On the twenty-seventh, he reached Carlisle, but the following day General Lee—afraid of having his rear units scattered—ordered Ewell to march toward the town of Gettysburg where on July 1, he drove Union troops from the town and forced them to take up defensive positions on Cemetery Ridge.
Once the fighting died down, an exhausted Clay Bartlett took a cold drink of water from a spring, sat down among a group of his fellow soldiers and listened without comment to their pre-battle gossip.
"I hear Lee wants us to take the high ground at the northern end of Cemetery Ridge."
"What are we waiting for then?"
"General Ewell doesn't want to attack until Johnson's division arrives."
"That's crazy! The longer we wait, the more Yankee troops will arrive."
On the evening of July 2, 1863, Ewell commenced his attack on the Union forces on Culp's Hill. Although the Confederates failed to take the hill, the men were able to occupy the trenches, which had been vacated by two Yankee divisions that were sent to the left of the Federal line. Unfortunately, these two divisions returned during the night, and on the following day, they were able to push the enemy out. On the third day of the battle, Ewell renewed his attack on Culp's Hill.
"This is it, boys," Clay's commanding officer yelled. "Remember, we fight for Virginia!"
Corporal Bartlett ran toward the hill. The Yankee artillery fired down at the advancing force, and men fell all around him. Clay said a prayer as he dodged enemy fire. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He pitched forward, fell to the ground, did a somersault and landed on his back. A second bullet struck him in the side of his chest.
The wounded soldier tried to stand, but the pain was excruciating. He lay on the field, slipping in and out of consciousness as the battle raged around him. Then the Confederate forces began their retreat.
"Help!" he called weakly to his comrades as they headed back down the hill.
Either no one heard him or they were too anxious to save themselves to stop for an injured man. After the retreat, only the sounds of distant cannons and gunfire could be heard.
Clay raised his head and saw Yankee soldiers walking among the dead and dying from both armies. He realized that if he survived—which was unlikely—he would be sent to a Union prison camp. He laid his head back on the ground and closed his eyes in defeat.
Suddenly, a soft, cool hand touched his cheek, and his eyes flew open. Kneeling on the ground, leaning over him was the woman he had seen in Manassas, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville. Once again, her blond hair was cascading down her shoulders, and she was wearing the same tattered blue dress stained with blood.
"It's you," he said, wincing in agony.
The woman laid one hand on his knee and one on his chest. At her touch, his pain lessened.
"Are you a nurse?"
She silently shook her head, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Warm energy radiated from her fingertips to his wounds, and soon his pain was gone.
The young soldier was able to stand without any difficulty.
"Thank you," he told her.
She smiled sadly, turned and walked toward another wounded man.
The corporal spied a Union lieutenant heading his way. He was prepared to surrender, but the Yankee passed by him.
"That's funny. He looked right through me!"
Clay turned and began to descend the war-torn hill, heading in the direction of the retreating rebel army. But with each step he took, the Pennsylvania farmland of Gettysburg became more transparent, until it finally disappeared altogether.
He was not alone. He found himself among other men who had fallen in battle that day, from both the North and South. Like him, they were all walking toward a bright light, an entrance to the hereafter. Near the light, an angel stood pointing the way. Her blond hair hung loosely past her shoulders, yet this time, the Angel of Mercy wore a shimmering white robe rather than a tattered blue dress.
I don't know about the woman's tattered blue dress, but I do know why my couch is frayed.
