The Ratten Expedition

She heard all the people cheering—something about General Lee meeting with General Grant at Chattanooga to surrender his army. She saw the shadow drift across the cheering scene as one of the giant army airships patrolling the city’s harbor approached, its crew yelling themselves hoarse and adding to the din.

None of this mattered to the girl; nothing meant much to her except that she was hungry, so hungry she did not even feel it anymore. She was weak; that she could feel. It was in her mind that she knew instinctively that she needed food. Momma had given her food, but that was a long time ago. Momma had been warm when she held her, but she did not remember being warm too well; it was a faint memory. She saw soldiers in the streets and knew something about the war being over or almost over or some such, but it meant nothing to her. All she knew was Momma was gone and she needed food.

The policeman heard the cry of the street vendor and saw the little child running toward him. He ducked back around the corner. Showing no visible effort, he snared the kid as she turned around the corner where he lay in wait. Once he had the kid in his arms, he noted she was female, so skinny it was hard to tell at first. He noted just how thin she was and so weak she could not run very quickly. Another street urchin, he thought, probably turned out by parents who could not feed her. The child screamed and then fainted in his grasp.

The street vendor showed up, telling the copper to arrest her for theft, the apple still in her hand.

The copper looked down at the unconscious little girl and told her without much feeling, “It will be the workhouse for you, me darling.” With that, the officer put manacles on the child. He had seen how these urchins could fight when they woke up, the fear coursing through them. He did not need the scratches on his face just because he felt a bit sorry for her.

Later, the girl, having regained her weakened faculties, sat alongside some other criminals in a hard, cold jail cell. At least she had gotten some old bread and water while she awaited her fate; it was like a banquet to her. The door was unlocked, and the turnkey told her to come with him. The child followed along. However, as soon as they cleared the cell block, she bolted for the doors. She had almost reached her destination and, with it, her freedom when a rather large, well-dressed man who looked more like a banker than a policeman, seemingly coming from nowhere, grabbed her and picked her up. She clawed and bit like a wildcat, but the man ignored her attempt at freedom.

He set her down and looked at her. “Relax, girl. I am not here to harm you but to take you to a better place. Do you understand?”

The child looked back at him. She knew she could not escape. The man had a firm grip on her arm. His hand felt like the iron shackles the crusher had used to bring her in.

He continued in a firm but not harsh tone “What is your name, girl?”

The child looked at him. She did not know what to make of this situation. At eleven, she did not have enough experience to process what had happened to her—that and her body was still weak from lack of food, which made it even harder to think. He shook her again as if to show her he was in charge. She realized that she really didn’t have much to lose. She looked up at him. “My name is Julia.”

Julia tried to make sense of what was happening as the turnkey came up and said, “What do you think, Mr. Anderson? I told you she’s a feisty one.”

Julia continued to process the scene as the man looked down at her again. And then he spoke to the officer while still looking at her. “Indeed she is. I think she will fit into my school’s educational program very well, very well indeed. The usual finder’s fee, and, of course, you will see all the arrest records are eliminated, Murphy.” This last was not even said as a question but more of an order.

She saw the turnkey smile. “Indeed, Mr. Anderson. Yes, sir. I understand. She was never here. The city’s finest has never heard of a Julia. As always, very nice doing business with you, sir, a fine government representative such as yourself.”

Murphy smiled as several greenbacks and gold coins were handed over. What did he care what the man wanted the girl for, although he could guess some men liked them that young—not his sport. But anyhow, it was not his problem anymore—just one less vagrant, hungry street kid for the city to deal with and feed.

The man called Anderson did not care what the copper thought of him. He looked down at the girl. “I run a special school for young women such as you. The food is good and plentiful, the course of study quite interesting. I think you will like it.”

The girl looked fearful but resigned. She knew that she was going with this man whether or not she wanted to. She asked him in a resigned voice, “What do I call you, sir?”

Julia took in that the man’s face softened a bit, and he smiled as he was looking down at her. He said, “You can call me Uncle William. Come along. You have quite a few classes to worry about, Julia. I think you will enjoy meeting the other girls.”

With that, the two left the police station and stepped out into the city, where people were joyfully celebrating the end of ten years of the Civil War. They climbed into a carriage and started the trip to the special school Anderson ran. The little girl wondered what her life would be like from now on.