Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (5 page)

             
Till de Lord shall call us home.

             
Moses stopped and listened as the song rolled across the night toward him.  His men’s voices were quieter than usual tonight - they knew what was coming.  There was none of the usual high-spirited singing and dancing that usually erupted around the fires every night.  Some of the men were cleaning their guns and staring thoughtfully into the distance as their cloths worked up a bright polish.  The glow of cigarettes filled the air like fireflies as men contemplated what was to come when the sun rose again.  Fervent prayers could be heard around some of the smoldering fires as men prepared for what America had been sure would never happen - black men raising arms against white men in defense of their country. 

             
Moses stood quietly, allowing the words of the song to work their way deep into his soul.  He had chosen to fight for the liberty of his people who had toiled under cruel bondage for so long.  He had chosen to fight for the freedom of those who would come after.  He had chosen to fight for his unborn child.  As they did several times a day, Moses’ thoughts flew to the Contraband Camp located at Fort Monroe.  He would give anything to be able to lay down his gun and walk away from it all - to be with his beloved wife, Rose, when she gave birth to their child. 

             
Moses moved over to a fallen log and sank down on it, his unseeing eyes staring into the distance.   If he concentrated hard enough he could almost see Rose’s beautiful face beaming up at him when she had told him they were going to have a baby.  They had only had a few days together at Christmas; then he had been called back to duty.  It had eaten at his heart to leave her alone in the contraband camp.  The fact that his sister, June, was now living with her was some comfort, but every particle of his heart longed to be there. 

             
The distant call of a hoot owl pulled him back to the present.  Would he live to see his baby?  Would he still be alive when the dust and gun smoke settled from this battle?  Moses heaved a sigh and pushed up from the log.  He had made his choices.  He would live or die with them.   He had gone less than one hundred feet when a voice called out to him. 

             
“That be you, Moses, suh?”

             
Moses walked over to the glowing campfire.  “It’s me, Pompey.”   He almost smiled at the look of righteous indignation on the face of the man old enough to be his father.  Pompey had told him many times he had been the first in line when the federal government opened the army to blacks.  The older man had escaped with his wife from a plantation in Georgia over twenty years ago, but he had never lost the burning desire to see the rest of his people free.

             
“There’s some o’ dese boys here a mite nervous,” Pompey said scornfully.

             
Moses smiled sympathetically.  “Battle can be a horrible experience.  There’s nothing wrong with being a little nervous.  It doesn’t mean everyone won’t fight hard.”

             
“But we be fightin’ under de flag, sir!”  Pompey snorted.   “We got right on our side!” 

             
Moses opened his mouth to tell him
right
didn’t always keep you from dying, but Pompey kept talkingand stood to add intensity to his words. Moses knew from experience that it was best to let the self-proclaimed orator talk; the gray-haired man often had many words of wisdom.

             
Pompey positioned himself so that the flames of the fire illuminated his lithe form and then pulled himself to his full height, his shadow dancing across the bushes behind him.  “Our old Southren mas’rs dey had lib under de flag, dey got dere wealth under it, and ebrything beautiful for dere chillun.  Under it dey hab grind us up and put us in dere pocket for money.  But de fus’ minute dey tink dat ole flag mean freedom for us colored people, dey pull it right down, and run up de rag ob dere own.”   He paused dramatically, staring hard at the men gazing up at him. 

             
Moses watched the faces of the soldiers staring up at Pompey.  He knew all of them were brave, good men.  Part of him yearned to prepare them for the horrors of battle; the sick reality of thousands of men wounded and killed.  At the same time, he knew mere words could never prepare them - words would do nothing but instill fear.  Their baptism into the truth of war would come soon enough.  He welcomed whatever words would give them courage and determination to fight. 

             
“But we’ll neber desert de ole flag, boys,” Pompey cried, lifting a fist in defiance to the sky, his voice ringing out into the night.  “Neber!”  He stopped, letting his words sink in.  “We done libbed under it for lots of years.  We’ll die for it now!”

             
The cheers and applause of the watching soldiers exploded into the night.  “We’ll die for the flag!”  Their voices raised in unison and were soon caught up by troops in the near vicinity.

             
Moses listened quietly for a few moments but then moved on.  How many of them were prophesying their own future?

Robert threw aside his blanket and strode to the warmth of the campfire.  His gut instincts told him the waiting was over.  The last three days of maneuvering and posturing were over.  Today they would fight. 

              One of his men handed Robert a cup of coffee.  Sipping it thoughtfully, he moved away to stare out over the morning mist.  The events of the last few days had mystified him.    Hooker had crossed the Rappahannock with his men three days ago, but not before sending about ten thousand cavalry toward Richmond.  Instead of sending General Stuart and the Confederate cavalry after them, Lee had ordered them to remain on his flank, depending on Stuart to inform him of Hooker’s movements.   For the last three days, Hooker had moved his men around, but there had been no attack.  Had Lee’s refusal to respond predictably thrown him?  What was happening in Richmond?  Were there enough troops to protect the city from marauding cavalry?

             
A shot rang out in the still morning.  Men bolted from the ground.  Robert stiffened then continued sipping his coffee.  It was too early for an engagement.  The sun was barely creeping onto the horizon. 

             
“You reckon it’s gonna start now, Captain?”

             
Robert smiled briefly.  “I don’t think so, Crocker.”  The intense lad in front of him reminded him of Hobbs, the youth who had helped save his life at Antietam.  Hobbs’ unrelenting search for Robert after the battle had left Hobbs behind the battle lines too long and resulted in one of Hobbs’ legs being several inches shorter than the other.  Carrie and Dr. Wild had been able to save his life, but the necessary crutches had ended his fighting days. 
Lucky kid,
he thought grimly.

             
“You reckon it’s coming today, Captain?”  Crocker persisted.  “How come Hooker ain’t blasting us with all those men he’s got?”

             
“That’s a good question,” Robert replied, taking another long sip of coffee.  “All any of us can do is speculate.  From all the reports I hear, Hooker almost had his men in the position where they could do us the most harm.  They met a small line of our defenders, and instead of ordering their destruction, Hooker pulled his units back.”  Robert shook his head. 

             
“I reckon he knows our reputation,” Crocker boasted proudly.  “I guess we’ll smash right through their lines this morning.”  His eyes gleamed with the light of battle.

             
Robert said nothing, but he seriously hoped that wasn’t Lee’s plan.  Whether Hooker was playing games with them or was genuinely nervous, Lee’s army simply wasn’t strong enough to smash into a force twice as strong as their own.  Robert felt himself tighten at the picture of how many men would die.  As usual he would simply wait for orders.  The lives of almost 200,000 men - both North and South - hung on the decisions of their commanding generals.  

             
“Get some food,” Robert finally muttered.  “It’s going to be a long day.”   Crocker nodded and strode away.   Robert ambled over to the fire, filled another cup with strong coffee, and walked away to stare at the woods looming in the distance.  Why
had
Hooker moved his men back?   The Federals had come close to securing the open farm land that would have afforded them the maneuvering they would need.  Instead, they had been pulled back into what was known as the wilderness, almost fifteen miles of dense, gloomy second-growth forest full of irregular ravines and low hills.  No one in his right mind would choose to stage a battle there. 

             
“Captain Borden, sir,” a voice snapped behind him. 

             
Robert spun around to face the messenger addressing him.  “What is it?” he asked sharply, sensing that whatever would happen was about to begin. 

             
“Pull your unit together and prepare to march.”

             
Robert listened in almost wry amusement as the messenger outlined the plan.  Lee was sending over half of his available troops with Jackson to swing around to the right of Hooker’s army.  Reconnaissance had revealed the weakness of the Federal right end, and Lee was out to exploit and crush it.    Robert knew Lee’s decision was the riskiest of all the risky decisions he had made thus far.  He also knew the general was counting on Hooker’s cautiousness.  If the Federals refused to act their part, if they got wind of Lee’s attempt, there could be 70,000 men sweeping down on the approximately 14,000 men Lee was leaving to face them.   It was a brazen move - even for the daring Lee.

              Within the hour, a long line of infantry began its march across the country.   Speed was what mattered now.   Robert, from astride Carrie’s massive Thoroughbred - Granite, stared out over the men marching south.  Would their evasive movement make Hooker think they were retreating?  Granite strode forward eagerly, his beautiful head tossing proudly.

             
Robert allowed his thoughts to turn to Carrie as the sun greeted the morning and dissolved the mist and evaporated the dew.   Their night together had been all he could have imagined, but the agony of having her for just one night, only to be wrenched apart again, tore at his heart.  Almost, it would have been better never to have experienced her sweet closeness.  “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered angrily.  If he were to die in battle today, at least he had had that one night with her. 

             
It was three o’clock when Jackson and the marching troops reached their destination.  Order and relative calm reigned as the men occupied their positions.  Robert could only hope that Hooker’s right line still resolutely faced south, completely unaware that an army was poised to strike from the west and northwest.  The afternoon was quiet, the absence of gunfire indicating their ruse was working.  Robert leaned back against the towering oak stationed behind him.  He knew the order to advance would come soon.

Every nerve taut,
Moses paced back and forth between the cook fires.  The last few days had stretched each nerve till it felt they must surely snap.  He watched as his men stacked their arms and prepared supper.   Everything in him screamed danger was imminent, but nothing on the surface validated his fears.