I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires

I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires

by Cathy Gohlke

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The bonds linking family and the lines separating enemies have become very blurry for 17-year-old Robert. With his father away fighting for the Union, Robert must decide to act alone in order to help his ailing mother, extricate his injured Confederate Uncle, and bring relief to his cousin, Emily. When he unwittingly gets entangled in a Confederate escape plot, Robert must forge his anger and shame into a new determination to save his family. And, perhaps, he must also realize that the saving might not be entirely up to him. Honor and duty to God and country aren’t as clear-cut as he hoped them to be.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780802487742
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Publication date: 09/01/2008
Edition description: New Edition
Pages: 336
Sales rank: 881,303
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

Born on a farm in the North Carolina Piedmont, CATHY GOHLKE was third in a family of four children. Cathy¿s first novel, William Henry is a Fine Name, was awarded the 2007 Christy Award for Best Young Adult novel, was a finalist for the 2007 Christy Award for Best First Novel, and was awarded second place for the American Christian Fiction Writers 2007 Book of the Year Long Historical. Her second novel, I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires, was released in September 2008 and was chosen by Library Journal as one of the best Christian fiction books of 2008. Cathy and her husband, Dan, live in Elkton, Maryland and have two grown children.

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I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires

By Cathy Gohlke, Cheryl Dunlop

Moody Publishers

Copyright © 2008 Cathy Gohlke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57567-403-2


Late May, 1864

Our worst spring storm broke on the edge of midnight, a river thrown from the sky. By dawn the Laurel Run had overflowed its banks and was busy stripping the lower fields clean. I knew it even as I lay in my bed, listening to the downpour.

Maybe it was the wind and thunder, or maybe my mind so bent on worry for our new crop, but I never heard the parcel thrust inside the parlor door, never heard so much as a knock or footfall. When at first light I found it, battered and beaten, bound by twine, I knew that the messenger had taken care to keep it dry. But the seal on Emily's letter was broken, proof that somebody knew our business.

It wasn't that violation that made the heat creep up my neck as I tore open the letter. It was the first words Emily'd ever penned me: "Dearest Cousin Robert." She'd written on Christmas Day—five long months before. Still, it was a miracle that it had come at all, the mail from the South being what it was.

"Yesterday," she wrote, "I was visited by Lt. Col. Stuart Copeland, of the 11th North Carolina, lately a prisoner, exchanged from Fort Delaware, Pea Patch Island. Lt. Col. Copeland informed me that Papa—Col. Albert Mitchell—there, I've written his precious name—was chest wounded, and captured at the battle of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, 3rd July, along with his remaining men from the 26th North Carolina. He said that Papa, like so many prisoners at Fort Delaware, suffers gravely from smallpox."

It was the first news shed had of him in more than a year, and she was desperate to know if he lived ... "I beg you, by all the love of family we have ever known, to forget the estrangement of this maddening war and do all you can for Papa."

I raked my fingers through my hair. It was a hard request. I'd turn the world over for Emily, if given the chance, but Cousin Albert was another matter. I figured him to be the reason, or a good part of the reason, Ma never came home.

"Gladly would I go myself," she wrote, "but the railroads are a shambles, and Uncle Marcus is not well. I do not know if he will see the spring." I couldn't imagine Ashland without Grandfather, or Ma without him—and why was all this left to Emily's care? She was no older than me. I took up the letter again.

"I would send Alex, but Papa sent him to school in England for the duration of the war, and we have heard nothing from him in two years. The blockades prevent all such communication."

I felt my jaw tighten, remembering Emily's younger brother. Alex's first priority was always Alex. I couldn't imagine him risking life and limb to help anyone, his father included, if it meant he'd inherit Mitchell House, and possibly Ashland, sooner. That was his life's goal, even before his voice began to squeak.

"As you can imagine, this horrible war has taken its toll on us all, especially your dear mother. I promise that Cousin Caroline will want for nothing that I can provide in this life as long as I live and am able to care for her. If there is any way you or Cousin Charles can come to her aid, I urge you to do so. But I beg you to see about Papa first."

My heart raced to think of going to Emily, and to Ma, that they might need me, might want me. It was the first news I'd heard of Ma in months. I tried to conjure their faces, but they wouldn't come. I remembered that Emily was a younger, darker version of Ma, that Ma's eyes were blue and Emily's brown. But four long years had passed since Ma'd left, it had been longer still since I'd seen Emily, and there was not so much as a tintype to remind me. I forced myself back to the letter.

"With this letter I enclose a parcel of comforts for Papa. I have no hope that they would reach him if I sent them directly to the prison. We have heard such stories of the prison guards...."

I set the letter on the parlor table and counted the days since the battle of Gettysburg. After ten months, stuck in a Union prison—chest wounded, and with smallpox—I couldn't hope that Cousin Albert lived. But for Emily's sake, and for all she'd done and bound herself to do for Ma, I vowed to heed her plea, to go and see and do my best by him.

As soon as I'd seen to Cousin Albert I'd head for North Carolina, no matter that Grandfather had disowned me and forbidden Pa or me to set foot on Ashland. Grandfather couldn't keep me from Ma if she needed Pa or me. And Pa was gone south more than a year now, drawing maps of back roads and terrain for the Union, though no one was to know.

Pa'd gone as a civilian, not willing to carry a gun. He said he wanted to help secure the Union's power to settle the slavery issue, but he wouldn't fire on his countrymen. It didn't seem to me that the secessionists, the secesh, were our countrymen anymore. But Pa figured it was the politicians that seceded from the Union, that the Southern people weren't our enemy. He'd long ago decided he'd not take the life of another man. It angered me that Pa would not protect himself, that he'd march into enemy territory without a gun. It was the only thing in life that stood between us. I didn't know if he was still alive.

So it was up to me. I'd bring Ma home—Emily and Grandfather too, if they'd come. But it must be done quickly. My eighteenth birthday was in two months, and I wouldn't wait one more day to enlist. I wanted Ma and Emily out of the South before then. It would put to rest every worry I carried over fighting the Confederacy.

I packed my bag before walking up to Mr. Heath's to tell him and the Henrys I'd be going. I almost packed Pa's heavy black Bible, the one from the mantle that we'd always used for the evening read, then set it back. I wanted it to be here, to be waiting when Pa and I returned. I'd kept that read all the months Pa'd been gone, every night. I could never make the words stand up and sing like he did. I didn't know whether I'd ever draw the faith or strength from the Word, same as him. But I knew that reading it was a path to life, and that you never reach a thing without setting your feet straight and walking toward it. Leaving it seemed a pledge that I'd make it home, that we'd all be together again.

I set my bag in the parlor, by the front door, and picked up Emily's letter. I stopped the pendulum of the mantle clock. Already the house felt empty. But it wouldn't be empty long.

When the rain had stopped, and the wind died to a stiff breeze, I walked the lane to Laurelea's Big House, straddling the puddles. I pulled my collar high, tight around my neck, and bent my head to my thinking.

I knocked on Mr. Heath's open study door. He'd been snoring in his chair by the fire, though I don't think he wanted me to know. When I gave him Emily's letter he pushed his lap rug aside, pulled his spectacles over his ears, and carried the letter to the window, catching the late afternoon light to read.

Aunt Sassy walked in, balancing a tray of steaming sassafras tea and fresh molasses cookies. My mouth watered at the sight, the smell.

"You'll leave soon?" Mr. Heath asked.

"First light. I'll do all I can for Cousin Albert—if he's still at the fort—still alive. Then I'll leave straight for Ashland, and Ma." I didn't say, "and Emily."

"Ashland?" Aunt Sassy's bronzed face jerked toward mine. She sloshed tea across the tray.

Mr. Heath didn't answer, but nodded, handing the letter back to me. "That he's a colonel should help him. They generally treat officers better than enlisted men." His brow furrowed. "I only wish Charles were here."

"But he's not, and Emily said Ma needs me." I wouldn't back down. "I know I promised to stay till I was eighteen, but it's only two months, and I—"

Mr. Heath waved his hand. "I understand that. I know you must go, but you're nearly of age now. It won't be so simple to pass through the South out of uniform."

Aunt Sassy teetered. "What about our crop? You can't leave Mr. Heath with no crop!"

"The crop doesn't matter, Sassy," Mr. Heath interrupted. We'll replant what we can when we can. We have enough workers. Robert has to go."

"They shoot you for a spy." She trembled, and the pot of tea slipped, crashing to the floor. "They shoot you and not know who you are or where to send your dead body."

"Sassy, that's enough," Mr. Heath warned her gently. "Robert has no choice if Caroline needs him."

"Miz Caroline got along fine without you these past four years." Aunt Sassy'd never spoken against Ma. "Don't be taking off. Don't leave us, Robert."

I bent to pick up the broken pot, to mop the floor with her tea towel. I wouldn't look in her eyes.

Aunt Sassy and her husband, Joseph Henry, were slaves when Mr. Isaac and Miz Laura Heath freed them the year before I was born. Aunt Sassy had cooked for the Heaths for as long as I could remember, and Aunt Sassy'd nursed Miz Heath—Miz Laura—through her long illness, till the day she died. Two days later the Henrys' only son—my best friend, William Henry-was killed, hit by a train. Those losses shadowed her every day.

"I'll be back with Ma, and maybe Emily and Grandfather if they'll come, before my birthday, Aunt Sassy. I promise." I didn't look at her, didn't say I'd be going off again, enlisting for the Union right away. But they knew my plans, had known them all along.

Her mouth set, grim. She swayed, taking that in, rocking back and forth softly.

I finished mopping the tea and set the broken pot pieces on the tray

"You be needing this, then." She pulled a small, round tin from her pinner pocket. "Mama brought it up here this morning, said to give it to you, make sure you take it along."

I reached for the tin. "What is it?"

"Salve. Some kind of salve she concocted. Said it's for rope burns, that you be needing it."

I swallowed. I didn't want to ask how Granny Struthers, Aunt Sassy's ma, knew I'd be needing a salve for rope burns, what that meant, or how she knew I'd be going off. Granny Struthers was an old midwife and herb doctor, black as the crow that flies, small and ancient, bent and gnarled like an old apple tree. She knew things before they were spoken and understood what went on inside people's four walls—even in their heads-long before they did. The salve wasn't a good sign.

Mr. Heath squeezed my shoulder. "Robert, your times, like every one of ours, are in God's hands."

"Yes, sir," I said, knowing Pa would've said the same. But Granny Struthers' salve made it hard not to wonder.

Aunt Sassy cooked my favorite meal that night, a feast of roast chicken and hot dandelion greens poured over potatoes. She baked apple dumplings, cinnamon and molasses oozing out the tops, and brought out the last of the coffee. "You be thinking on this cooking when you're off half-starved, and come on home."

"Yes, ma'am." I grinned. "Fast as I can." Since Miz Laura and William Henry had died, since Ma and then Pa left, the four of us—Mr. Heath, Aunt Sassy, Joseph Henry, and me—took our meals together at Mr. Heath's table. We made a family, two black, two white, bound by missing those we loved most.

"Be careful visiting that prison. They's sickness of every kind there, and no secesh, kin or no, is worth you dying for," Aunt Sassy fussed as she heaped another ladle of sweet cream over my dumpling.

"Sassy, don't be filling this boy's head with your bitterness." Joseph Henry shook his head at his wife.

"I want this boy back to this table, safe and sound!" Aunt Sassy shook her dripping spoon. "I won't lose him too!" And then the brewing storm broke. Joseph Henry looked away. I stood and cradled her in my arms. The Henrys should've had a whole passel of kids to spread their love and worry over.

"You'll write as soon as you know anything about Albert, before you leave for Ashland?" Mr. Heath tried to steer the talk away

"Yes, sir. As soon as I find him, or if I don't."

That night, once the lights of Laurelea were snuffed, I stole away to the colored cemetery, to William Henry's grave, and set a blanket next to his marker. It was a peaceful place, a place that kept the world and its troubles outside the gate. I talked things over with William Henry there, just like I'd done all my life, and his. Only more and more I'd start talking to William Henry and end up talking to God. I wondered if sometimes the Lord thought kindly of that roundabout prayer, but figured mostly He'd understand.

"I guess you know about Emily's letter. I've got to go, William Henry—you know I do. And I want to! I want Ma to come home ... I'm glad Pa's not here. I want to be the one to go." I dug the twig I carried into the ground, worrying it back and forth. "Maybe she'll come with me, where she wouldn't come with him ... I just hope we can get back through the lines ... I promised your ma I'll be back for my birthday." I rubbed circles in my temple and sighed. "I'm tired of sitting home while every boy I know is off fighting the secesh. You'd feel the same. I know you would ... I just didn't figure my first trip out would be to a Union prison." The twig snapped.

It was late, but I sat long, listening to the lonesome call of the hoot owl and the baying of a far-off hound, watching the old man move across the sky.

I leaned back against William Henry's marker and looked up at the stars dancing, winking in their constellations. Cousin Albert had taught me their names. I remembered how we'd wondered if the Pleiades was really the home of God, like it said in Job. Those four years seemed so long ago. Now he was an officer—a colonel—and my country's enemy, locked in a Union prison. He was also my blood kin, and except that I resented that Ma had gone south to live near him, near all of them, I knew he was a good and decent man.

"But his view of slavery." My voice in the night prickled me. "He treats his slaves better than most, but it's still buying and selling, owning people." And Cousin Albert was willing to fight and die for the right to do it. I didn't understand that.

I didn't know what I'd find at Fort Delaware. I dreaded not finding him—for Emily's sake. Emily. My heart picked up a beat. I felt the heat travel up my neck at the memory of her, and tried to squelch the rising hope in my chest.

I hadn't seen Cousin Albert or Emily or her brother, Alex, or even my Grandfather Marcus Ashton since Christmas Eve 1859. That night, as they sang in church, then danced a midnight ball at Mitchell House, I'd run north with Jeremiah, Grandfather's son by a slave woman.

I could not abide that Grandfather'd planned to sell his own son, like he'd sold Jeremiah's ma, Ruby. So together we stole away. We were both thirteen at the time. It set my feet on a path, and I've never looked back, never been sorry, but for the loss of Emily's friendship and for wondering if things could have turned out different with Ma.

"Show me the straight path, Lord. Watch over Pa, wherever he is, and Ma, and bring us home again." I knew God heard me. I also knew His will sometimes ran a mystery to mine.

I traced the letters of William Henry's name across his marker. "I'll be back, William Henry. God willing, I'll be back."


I rode before first light, not wanting to say more good-byes, not wanting Aunt Sassy's tear-stained face to be my last memory of home. Loaded down by my bag and Mr. Heath's gifts of blankets, a set of clothes, spirits, and all the food I could carry, I still made good time.

We'd long heard that Northern prisons ran cold, and prisoners north and south near starved. Fort Delaware's pox epidemic had killed more than 150 Confederate prisoners, even some Union soldiers. I carried all the supplies I could, but it was little enough.

I reached Elkton as the sun's rays warmed my face, and made Delaware City long before the light waned. I searched the docks, eager to find a boat to take me across the river to Fort Delaware, Pea Patch Island. The pier bustled with fishing and supply boats, all pulling in.

"You'll have to wait till morning, son. Nobody's putting out this time o' day." The brawny fisherman looked me over, tossing his torn net ashore. "Fort Delaware, you say?" I nodded. He glanced up and down the pier. "You can likely go over first thing with Tom Ames," he said, jerking his head toward a boat just pulling in. "He supplies the fort every day or two. I don't think the Jenny was over today. He'll probably put out tomorrow or the next." I thanked him and was about to walk away. "Most people try to get out o' that fort, not into it."

"My cousin's there. I've come to see about him," I answered.

"Union or secesh? That'll make the difference, you know." He eyed my bundle, then squinted his suspicion toward the river.

I felt my heat rise. "He's a prisoner, my ma's people. But I'm Union, through and through."


Excerpted from I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires by Cathy Gohlke, Cheryl Dunlop. Copyright © 2008 Cathy Gohlke. Excerpted by permission of Moody Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 7 reviews.
debs4jc on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I was pleasantly surprised to find this excellent sequel to Gohlke's William Henry is Fine Name. This civil war tale of a young man torn between a father who lives in the north and a mother who lives in the south can't help but tug at your hearstrings. Robert is determined to enlist in the Union army as soon as he is of age--even if he has to fight agains his relatives. But an urgent letter from a cousin from down south changes his plans and he finds himself heading toward a Union prison to check on a relative who is imprisoned there. What follows is an adventure that teaches Robert a lot about life and love and following God's mysterious will. The scenes and characters of this book are still quite vivid in my mind. I heartily recommend it to anyone with an interest in history or who enjoys well told adventure stories that illustrate important matter of faith.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
TrishPerry More than 1 year ago
One of the finest qualities of Cathy Gohlke's I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires is the way lines become blurred between Union and Confederate sympathies. And I don't simply mean the sympathies of the endearing, believable young hero, Robert Glover. Any reader of this touching, exciting novel will be surprised to find herself rooting for the southern inhabitants as often as for the northern. By dividing Robert's family, Gohlke shows the reader how our divided country suffered; how the conflict wasn't as simple as pro-slavery vs. abolition, states rights vs. Federal power. And, best of all for this reader, Gohlke never reaches for sentiment. Still, she managed to move me to tears more than once. An excellent read for teens and up.
La-Pluma More than 1 year ago
Fantastic read with believable characters and plot. Each chapter will keep you turning the pages to see what happens next. Very thought provoking and will lead the reader to really think about what the War Between the States was like for families caught on opposing sides. The lines blurr between God, country, family, and foe. Where would you stand?
R_Alexander More than 1 year ago
I¿m not the biggest fan of historical books, but I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires was a major exception. This book was incredible.

At the start, seventeen-year-old Robert is waiting the few months till he can enlist and become a Union soldier. But Robert receives a letter from his cousin, Emily, asking him to see her father, who had been captured in a battle.

When visiting Emily¿s father and other unfortunate events lead him to be declared a Confederate spy, Robert must forge a way to his mother and Emily. While running for his life, he receives help from unlikely sources and learns what it really means to put all his trust in God.

Cathy Gohlke writes with eloquent prose that draws a person in as though he/she is part of the story. I was right alongside Robert as he found himself in scrapes and struggles; I cheered him on and felt his pain. A definite must-read, for historical and non-historical fans alike!
Novel_Teen_Book_Reviews More than 1 year ago
I couldn¿t wait to read the sequel to William Henry is a Fine Name, and Cathy Gohlke didn¿t disappoint. I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires hooked me from page one.

Not yet eighteen (which is old enough to enlist) Robert Glover bides his time at home in Maryland. Pa has gone off to the Civil War and his mother has been living the past five years at her childhood home in North Carolina. A letter from Robert¿s cousin, Emily, begs he visit her father, a Confederate colonel who¿d been captured during the battle of Gettysburg. Unbeknownst to Robert, her father uses him to pass secret information to his men, helping them escape the prison.

Now thought to be a Confederate spy, Robert is on the run. He heads for North Carolina, hoping to get to his mother and cousin and be of use. But war has ravaged the land, and Robert is in danger at every turn. He berates himself for not joining the Union and fighting against slavery like his Pa and other young men his age, but he learns that his plans are not always God¿s plans. As Robert cheats death again and again, he discovers slavery comes in many forms and only by becoming a slave to Christ will he ever be truly free.

Very highly recommended.
LeAnneH More than 1 year ago
This sequel to William Henry is a fine Name is equally well written. Robert is five years older and makes a new friend who is a Confederate soldier. The author seems to make a point of keeping him a non-combatant, sympathizing with the abolition of slavery, but never actually enlisting in the Union army. I think I would have been more comfortable with this if she had made him a Quaker who struggles with pacifism in the face of injustice on both sides. As it is, she seems to be trying so hard to bring out the good and bad of both sides in the war, that neither is really effective. Parts of the plot seemed contrived to prolong the journey and give opportunity to portray yet another aspect of the Civil War. I enjoyed revisiting some of the people Robert met on his trip north in the first book as he now travels south to rescue his mother. The resolution of her story is both tragic and inevitable for a 'happy' ending. That and some of the other content is pretty strong, not suitable for younger readers.