House Divided (56 page)

“Oh, Mama!” Vesta felt a shock of sorrow. “Leaving Great Oak will just about kill Grandma!”

“We can stand anything we must stand, Vesta, and so can she. Don't let it spoil these days for you, my dear. When Tommy has to return to duty, you stay here and wait for us.” She hugged Vesta hard. “Be happy, darling,” she repeated. “Make Tommy happy. I'm very proud of my new son.”

Vesta when she and Tommy rode away looked back and saw proudly Cinda's smile and her eyes not dimmed by tears. “Oh, Tommy,” she whispered, “aren't mothers wonderful?” She came close beside him, her hand in his; and her heart was big with dreams.

Spring, 1862

 

T
HESE weeks of winter and early spring while he watched the slow disintegration of the army had been for Trav a troubled time. Clearly the army was weaker every day. Disease was the immediate and deadly foe. In some companies a score of men had died, and as many more were so weakened by dysentery or by kindred ills that they had been sent home to recover. Wet and cold and filth and inadequate or improper food reduced the strength of the men to such a point that sickness ran among them like a forest fire; and boredom was in its way almost as bad as sickness. To escape the monotony of their days they turned to any diversion, from snowballing to cock-fighting to gambling to drinking.

With warmer weather, flies and mosquitoes tormented sick and well alike; and chiggers and fleas were always with them. But worse than any discomfort for Trav was his growing certainty that they must presently abandon or destroy the mountains of stores accumulated behind the lines at Centerville and at Manassas. His mathematical mind reduced the situation to figures, and in mid-February, when the General, after the death of his children and after taking Mrs. Longstreet and Garland to Lynchburg, returned to headquarters, Trav put the problem before him.

“Colonel Northrop is setting us an impossible task, sir. He's sending supplies on here faster than we use them. General Johnston wanted to keep a million and a half pounds of rations on hand; but today the army has over three million pounds—three and a quarter million, actually—and two million pounds of meat curing, and tremendous herds of cattle waiting for slaughter. When we fall back, we can drive the
herds. It will strip weight off them, but that can't be helped. But we can't move much over a quarter of a million pounds a day by the railroad. It would take us twenty-two days to get all this surplus eaten up or moved away, and once we decide to move we won't stay here that long.”

Longstreet, in a tone dull with grief, agreed with this careful calculation. “Figures mean a lot to you,” he commented. “To me too. But war's a wasteful business, Currain. And it's better to have too much than too little.”

This was small comfort; and when in early March the withdrawal began, Trav's fears were realized. The precious stores were destroyed or left to fall into enemy hands; for the Yankee scouts pressed close on the heels of the retreating troops, deceived only briefly by the empty defenses armed with dummy cannon which were left to frighten them.

General Longstreet's command was the first to move, marching by the Warrenton pike to Culpeper. The teamsters over whom Trav had supervision seemed to use an extraordinary ingenuity in getting into trouble. They took wrong roads, and in trying to correct their mistakes they involved the columns in hideous confusion. Before his trains were safely across the North Fork of the Rappahannock, he had worn himself ragged, battling against the stupidity and the casual indifference of men to whom it seemed to be a point of personal honor not to submit to command. Trav said that night: “They're stubborn as so many mules, General! They won't move till they choose, they loaf, they fall out to rest, they stop at any excuse or at none; and they're so ignorant and at the same time so sure of their own wisdom that sometimes I'd like to take a blacksnake to them!”

The General nodded, his eyes dark. “The foot soldiers are as bad,” he said. “They can't bear to leave behind any of their possessions, so they load themselves down. Knapsacks, muskets, frying pans, coffee pots, haversacks, chickens and turkeys and pigs spitted on their bayonets; and half of them tote a bag full of God knows what trash. So after a mile or two, they begin to lag. I've ordered the mounted officers to follow our columns instead of leading them, to herd the stragglers along.”

Trav cut a bit of tobacco; he mopped his brow. “Well, we've come
this far, somehow. The last of our wagons are safely across the river. Will you have the bridge burned?”

“Not till we must. It's easier to defend one bridge than miles of shallow, easily forded stream. We'll leave the bridge as bait. Perhaps the Yankees will try to force it.”

 

While Longstreet's headquarters were at Culpeper, Trav, on his way to Great Oak to consult with his brothers about removing the Negroes before the Yankees came, stopped in Richmond. Martial law had been proclaimed there, and passports were necessary. At the passport office at Ninth and Broad Street, and in the Commissary General's office and wherever business led him, Trav found an infuriating disorder and a slovenly confusion. He met Redford Streean, who insisted on taking him home for supper, and Trav spoke of the things he had seen that day.

“Why, the government offices aren't even clean!” he said harshly. “Filthy pallets and beds piled into every empty room; the glass at the hydrant smelling of stale whiskey so badly I couldn't drink from it; no towel by the washstand.”

“The clerks have to sleep somewhere,” Streean reminded him. “And we work under such pressure that only liquor keeps us going. Every apothecary in Richmond is selling brandy on forged prescriptions.”

“It all makes things worse for the army.”

“It's the spies that hurt the army,” Streean retorted. “Too many passports to the North are being issued, too many enemies allowed to depart, too many mail carriers come and go. Every one of them takes information north, and they have plenty to tell. When General Johnston criticizes President Davis, they know it and carry the word.” He added: “But Johnston won't be long in command.”

Trav had heard enough of the distrust between General Johnston and the President so that this prediction did not surprise him. “Who will take his place?”

“Lee, probably; old Granny Lee. Oh, they'll make Johnston fight a battle first. You know he gets wounded in every battle. Probably that's why he prefers a retreat to battle. But Davis will make him face the music once, at least. If he'll be considerate enough to get himself killed, it will save removing him.”

Trav colored with resentment. He was enough of a soldier to be loyal to his commanding officer. “I judge you'd be glad to see him go.”

“He's too ready to criticize the supply services. First he says we don't send him enough; then that we send too much; then that what we send costs too much! Why, damn it, everything costs more in war!”

“Maybe too many men are trying to profit from the army's needs.” Trav's slow anger for a moment had its head. “A few courts martial, a few fusillades would put an end to that!”

Streean chuckled. “I didn't know you were so bloody-minded.” His smile was lightly mocking. “After all, you soldiers have the glory of serving in the field; but we who stay at home and do the army's chores—well, surely we're entitled to some reward!”

 

Trav was glad to get away from Richmond, from greedy scheming, from disorder and confusion, from jealousy and knavery, from bungling and selfishness. He and Brett and Tony went to Great Oak, and the day he returned to Culpeper, Longstreet sent for him.

“Currain,” he said, “I've always talked to you more frankly than to anyone else, because I've observed that you don't repeat what I say.”

Trav wondered what was coming. “Yes, sir.”

“General McClellan is preparing to attack us.” Longstreet spoke only to put his own thoughts in order. “He may come down on Manassas, he may hit us in flank at Fredericksburg, he may make a landing near Urbana and cross our rear, or he may land his army at Fortress Monroe. But he must first and always defend Washington! If he lands an army at Fortress Monroe, Johnston can advance to the Potomac and force McClellan to meet him there. Yet there is another possibility: a strike north from the Valley, threatening to take Washington in the rear. That move will call McClelland's army to meet it, will disorganize his plans.” His eyes at his own words began to blaze. “McClellan's a deliberate man. If he's made to hurry, it will upset him.”

He seemed to expect some word, so Trav said: “I don't like to hurry myself. It upsets me.”

Longstreet, if he heard, did not comment. He went on as though
Trav had not spoken. “Currain, sometimes, even within the rigid framework of a soldier's duty, there comes an opportunity to act. General Johnston and General Smith have gone to Richmond. That leaves me in command here. If I try what I propose and fail, I'll be court-martialled; but if I succeeed, it will dislocate all McClellan's plans. Knowing how deliberate he is, I see no risk—to the South, that is—and a chance of great gain. The risk is to me personally; but I'll take that risk, on the chance that to do so will serve the South.”

He paused, and after a moment he asked: “What do you think? Should I be bold?” But before Trav could reply, he said quickly: “Never mind. I must make the decision.” So Trav held his tongue; and after a moment Longstreet nodded.

“I'll give you a note to say that you will explain my views. Go to the Valley, find General Jackson. Tell him I propose, if he agrees, to lead a detachment of the army to join him for a quick strike at the force in front of him. Tell him why I suggest this. Bring me his answer.” He turned to the table beside him, wrote hurriedly. “Here, this is all you will need,” he said. “Go as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Longstreet gave Trav the scribbled note unsealed, and fifteen minutes later Trav rode away. He had never seen General Jackson, knew little about him except that at Manassas he had turned a reproachful epithet into an honorable nickname. On that desperate field, General Bee, hard-pressed, sent to Jackson for help; but Jackson did not respond and General Bee, seeing the other's troops still motionless, cried: “Look at Jackson, still standing there like a damned stone wall!” Yet it was on that stone wall that Bee's driven regiments rallied, and the battle was won, and now Bee was dead; but he would be immortal because of that angry outburst that gave Jackson his sobriquet.

Trav had an impression that since then Jackson had made mistakes, had lost some minor engagements; but if Longstreet thought well of him, so did Trav. Jackson was reported now to be at Swift Run Gap. Trav went by rail to Orange Court-House, took horse from there and rode up the well-farmed valley of the Rapidan through Burtonville and on. Toward dusk he came down the long grade into Stanardsville; but as he drew nearer the mountains there were not so many farms, and ahead the tangled hills were dark with forest, so he lodged
at Stanardsville that night, and was early on his way. Two miles or so beyond the town, while the heights on either side of the Gap rose high and higher ahead of him and he began to dread the long ascent, the road dipped into still another deep valley. He descended, then settled to the steady climb. More than once he had to breathe his horse before at last he reached the divide, and through the notch where the road cleft the forest he saw the blue reaches of the Valley far below.

The descent was easier; he came down to a crossroad, and saw dust to the north and turned that way. When by and by he overtook a marching column, he spoke to the mounted officer.

“The General?” the other echoed. “Why, sitting back there on the fence, watching us pass.”

Trav turned back toward the man indicated; he rode near and dismounted, and secured his horse to the fence. The General, intent upon the troops in the road, had not yet looked toward him. Trav had unconsciously expected to see Jackson wear a visible dignity and grandeur. Instead, here was a shabby, dusty, bearded man with a dingy cap pulled low over his eyes, and wearing the biggest cavalry boots, presumably on the biggest pair of feet, that Trav had ever seen. The General perched on the fence with knees drawn up, heels on a rail; he was sucking at a lemon, his eyes upon the marching men.

Trav approached, saluted, stood waiting. When Jackson looked toward him in silent inquiry, he said, surprised to find himself suddenly hoarse: “Captain Currain, sir, of General Longstreet's staff, with a message from General Longstreet.”

Jackson said softly: “Deliver your message.”

Trav remembered the letter he carried; he produced it. The General turned it in one hand. The lemon was in the other. “Not sealed,” he commented in a toneless voice that suggested disapproval. He fumbled the letter open, still with one hand, and read it slowly. Then he put the lemon into his mouth to free his hands and slowly tore the letter into little bits. A strong breeze was blowing; he tossed them into the air.

“Deliver your verbal message, Captain.”

Trav, speaking by rote, repeated Longstreet's every word. The other did not interrupt till Trav was done; then he asked:

“You memorized that?”

“No, sir. I remembered it—the sense of it.”

The General sucked hard at his lemon, looked at it reproachfully. “General Longstreet proposes to come to the Valley himself?”

“‘To lead a detachment' were his words.”

The lemon again. “He ranks me,” General Jackson remarked, as though thinking aloud. “But my men are used to me.” He sat for a long time, head bowed, eyes shadowed; and Trav shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uneasy at this silence, till at last the General's shoulders lifted a little and he spoke.

“Tell General Longstreet you gave me his message, Captain.”

Trav hesitated. “Is that all, sir?”

The other's head turned, and Trav under the impact of that glance felt his cheek burn. Jackson did not speak. Trav hurriedly saluted.

“Yes, sir,” he said. He went to his horse and mounted, finding himself absurdly clumsy, hoping the other was not watching. As he passed where Jackson sat, he ventured a sidewise glance. The General was absorbed once more in watching the marching men who filled the road.

When Trav came back to Culpeper he saw eagerness in Longstreet's eyes, saw that eagerness fade as he reported Jackson's reply. The General nodded.