Chapter twenty-four
Wilmington — July 1863The sharp shift from the fighting front in Virginia to the blockade-running port in North Carolina was an eye-opener for Franklin Taylor. This was living. Here he was, soaking in a round metal bathtub inside a second-story Fountain Hotel room, his arms slung over the sides, a long, blockade-purchased Cuban cigar in his mouth. It was his second genuine hot bath in over a year. The first had been yesterday, in the same tub. Washing himself in a cold river with other soldiers didn’t count. Those weren’t real baths. But this was.
For the twenty-four hours since meeting Eli Jacoby, Taylor had been enjoying himself tremendously, eating the best of foods, and sleeping in clean sheets with a roof over his head. He was glad to get away from the starving,
