House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

  She said Lynchburg was full of refugees, and she told them laughingly of an incident in Mr. Kimble’s church. “He announced from the pulpit one Sunday that the congregation didn’t like refugees crowding into their pews, and asked all the strangers in church to take seats up in the gallery. They did, and then he read off the hymn, and the last two lines of the first stanza were:

  “ ‘Haste, my soul; oh, haste away

  ‘To seats prepared above.’

  “That made everyone laugh, and since then the wardens always try to seat refugees with the congregation, but they prefer the seats prepared above!”

  After she was gone back to Lynchburg, while they waited to see what General Burnside would attempt, some of Longstreet’s old joviality returned. There was again an occasional poker game at headquarters, and someone organized amateur theatricals. The army itself was in a mood for frolicking. When snow fell, mock battles were fought; and regiments that faced enemy fire unflinchingly, dodged and faltered under the white bombardment of flying missiles. Longstreet, watching one of these affrays, spoke of this.

  “But it’s natural enough, Currain. You can see a snowball. If bullets were visible, no regiment could ever be brought to charge.”

  Trav sometimes felt his heart warm with pride in these ragged, men who were the army. He had seen Richmond full of “bombproofs,” young men who by influence or by purchase had secured some easy detail and an exemption from the conscription, and who endured no hardship except contemptuous glances. Here in winter quarters the few officers and men who had means could achieve a minimum of comfort; but they were few among the many. The soldiers huddled in their huts, two might share a single blanket, and in that snow battle he had seen many who were barefoot, with neither socks nor shoes. Their rations were plain corn bread and meat, but the meat was tough and stringy and sometimes it had begun to rot, and corn bread became deadly monotonous, and there was frequently not enough in the daily ration to satisfy a man. Except for the North Carolina regiments, most of the soldiers were inadequately clad. Body lice were a universal affliction from which not even officers could keep themselves free. Yet these hungry, cold, dirty, miserable men were ready at the least pretext for a jest or a frolic—or for a battle and wounds and death. Trav had learned at Chimneys to like and to respect the simple men who were his neighbors there; now that feeling grew stronger, like an enriching flood; filling him with love and faith. Men of the class of which he was a part had always distrusted the poor whites and even the small farmers, opposing any political change which gave their votes new weight. Jefferson Davis had been elected provisional and then permanent President of the Confederacy not by the vote of the people but by the vote of the states, each state casting one vote. The people were not trusted to make any important decision at the polls. Trav knew all the arguments in support of this point of view. Let all the people vote? Why, that was ridiculous! Half of them were poor whites who could neither read nor write. Two-thirds of them did not own any slaves at all. No one except ignorant demagogues—like Lincoln, for instance—wanted to give such men any voice in affairs. Was it not obvious that with the extension of the suffrage, the demagogue replaced the statesman in public office? No gentleman would demean himself by pandering to an illiterate and unthinking majority; so the stature of men in public office must steadily decline. Even in Virginia, the good old days when none but gentlemen could aspire to political preferment were ended; and any nobody or the son of a nobody might be elected Governor, or sent to Congress. The state, yes and the whole South, was sinking into a slough of democracy. Trav had heard the phrase often enough. Governor Letcher was the son of a butcher; down in Georgia Governor Brown was a cracker from the red hills; in Mississippi Governor Pettus had made his office as common as the public rooms in a tavern. To be a successful politician one need only learn how to befool the ignorant; then the voters were easily led, as a blindfolded horse can be led from a burning stable. The nimble tongue was the key to victory. An unthinking audience forgot the speaker’s matter in his manner, cared less for what he said than for the way he said it. To let ignorant men vote was to deliver power into the hands of the unscrupulous. The plain man was not fit for the suffrage. Trav had heard that assertion, in a thousand forms, a thousand times.

  Yet watching these plain men who made up the Army of Northern Virginia while their betters skulked in safe details at home, seeing them every day through the weeks after Fredericksburg when no suffering could long subdue their high spirits or dim their silent valor, Trav thought they wore a certain grandeur. Lincoln was right! If the meanest men were capable of these greatnesses, then they were capable of having sound opinions, and of expressing them at the polls.

  Longstreet, he found, agreed with him. “After all,” the General reminded Trav, “that’s the theory behind the old Union: the idea that the majority is entitled to rule. The Confederacy doesn’t accept it. We don’t admit that because the North outnumbers the South it has a right to decide what the South shall do. When we seceded, we repudiated the rule of the majority and drew our swords. It’s as though we said: ‘There are more of you, to be sure; but we’re the better men.’ ”

  “Suppose we lose this war?”

  For a moment the other’s eyes were shadowed. Then he said: “Why, we’ve appealed to the God of Battles. If He decides against us, we should accept that decision.”

  During this interval of idleness Trav listened to long talk among his fellows on the staff about the lessons learned during the summer’s campaign. For one basic weakness in the Southern soldier there was no remedy. He would follow a gallant leader anywhere, but he must be led, not sent. For a commander who failed to meet this requirement, the men had a scornful phrase. “Swap him for a brush pile, and set him on fire.” When a regiment faltered at Blackburn’s Ford in the first major skirmish of the war, someone asked the men derisively: “Why did you run? Why didn’t you hide behind the trees?” A soldier retorted: “There weren’t enough trees for the officers.”

  Yes, these men must be led. But the consequence of that fact was that too many good officers were killed, or so badly wounded that their services were lost forever; and the South had not enough first-rate officers to waste them needlessly. Already, even among the generals, the list of losses was a long one. Maxcy Gregg and Tom Cobb had died a month ago at Fredericksburg, and there had been many others. Suppose Longstreet were killed, or Jackson, or even General Lee. Lee had risked his life at Fredericksburg, making a dangerous reconnaissance within easy range of the Yankee lines.

  Yet could an officer send his men where he himself would not go? The question led to hot debate, and no conclusion.

  There were other arguments. Was the Parrott gun as good as the Whitworth? Would breech-loading rifles, if you could get enough of them, shoot as far and as hard as a muzzle-loader with the bullet well rammed home? Certainly to be rid of the ramrod would make for rapid fire; and it would save casualties, since most men shot in the arm were hit while loading. A musket well charged with buckshot was deadly at fifty yards. Yes, but a good marksman could sometimes kill at five times that range with a rifle. Thus the conflicting views. The long hours of talk covered every aspect of battle and of camp; and Trav wondered how men equally well-informed could so completely disagree.

  When in January General Lee went to Richmond, Longstreet was left the ranking officer in the field. At once, as though to take advantage of Lee’s absence, Burnside in the camps across the river began to stir; and General Jackson came to Longstreet’s headquarters and the two drew apart in talk together. When Jackson rode away it was with something resentful in his bearing; and Trav wondered what had happened. That afternoon, riding with Longstreet and General Alexander to inspect the defensive works along the high ground upstream, he took advantage of a moment when he and Longstreet were alone to speak of the incident.

  “We thought there might be some movement planned,” he explained. “Major Moses began to worry about rations.”

  Longst
reet shook his head. “No, we will not move. General Jackson thinks Burnside will try another crossing below us; but mud and swamplands won’t let him go far that way. Jackson wished to march down river to be ready for him, and I declined to consent.” He added reflectively: “Jackson’s genius is for battle. Idleness distresses him. But my decision was to stay where we are; and, whether I’m right or wrong, it was my responsibility to decide. When the enemy attacks it will be by the upper fords.”

  Trav could read into the other’s words more than they said. General Jackson must have asserted his right to use, in Lee’s absence, his own judgment; and it had taken courage to remind him that neither the authority nor the responsibility was his. But Longstreet had courage to spare, and a stubborn strength. Right or wrong, he would always have an opinion, would always hold to it.

  Before Lee returned, the staff knew by whispered rumor of this small clash between the two commanders; and when Lee’s opinion accorded with that of Longstreet they felt a loyal pride. When a day or two later Burnside did try to move down river, and mired his wagons and his guns as Longstreet had predicted, in their eyes Longstreet’s prestige grew.

  The General, during these weeks of winter, directed the construction of defensive positions all the way to United States Ford; and General Jackson came one day to see these works, and complimented Longstreet on his use of the traverse to protect men against a cross fire. Longstreet disclaimed the credit

  “It was General Alexander’s suggestion,” he explained. He said to Trav afterward: “Jackson’s a fine man, Currain.”

  “I can see there’s a lot of sense in that way of building entrenchments.”

  “Oh, that was nothing. He just took that way of telling me he understood my insistence the other day; of conceding that I was right and he was wrong.” He added: “I’m glad he spoke. Jackson and I are General Lee’s two arms; he has a genius one way, and I another. But it’s necessary for us to agree. When generals quarrel, their armies lose the fighting edge.”

  In mid-February, General Longstreet was ordered to proceed to Richmond. Burnside, over across the river, had been relieved from command and replaced by Hooker; but the Yankees were active in North Carolina and were threatening to move from Norfolk to Suffolk and on toward Petersburg. Trav’s old friend, General Harvey Hill, had been sent south a month ago to be ready to meet them. Pickett and then Hood followed him; and General Longstreet, since these divisions were drawn from the First Corps, went to take command.

  When they boarded the cars, he and Trav were together. “I’ve telegraphed Mrs. Longstreet to meet me in Richmond,” he told Trav. “I’ll be some time in Petersburg, and I can have her near me there.”

  “Stay with us, as long as you’re in Richmond,” Trav proposed. Enid might not relish unannounced guests, but she must welcome them. “Cinda will want you, but so do we; and we’ve plenty of room. Garland must come too!”

  “Very glad to do so,” Longstreet agreed. “At least till Louisa can find quarters for us in Petersburg.”

  “Do you look for any action down there, sir?”

  “I think not,” the General told him. “General Pryor has had some small contention along the Blackwater, but I doubt there’s any strong Yankee force there.” He chuckled. “President Lincoln will keep Washington covered as carefully as a lady draws her shades before she disrobes. No, the North tried the Peninsula last year and had a bad licking. They’ll waste no serious effort down here. Our movement is largely to simplify the task of supplying the army. Everything has to go to the Rappahannock on a single line of railroad; but at Petersburg, we can feed our divisions from North Carolina.”

  Trav had been troubled for months by the army’s lack of proper food. A scrap of bacon, a little flour and rice, some miserable beef; that was the fare. Men were down with scurvy, and stragglers scoured the countryside like half-starved dogs. “Food’s short in Richmond too,” he suggested. “The railroad could bring more than it does, if rations were to be had. We may be able to collect enough to send some to Hamilton’s Crossing.”

  Longstreet nodded. “The first step to victory is to feed our men. If we can help a little in that direction, this movement is worth while.”

  In Richmond, Trav saw proudly the fine welcome that greeted Longstreet’s appearance. While the General was at the War Department he went to tell Enid that the Longstreets would be their guests. He was prepared for objections, but to his surprise Enid cried delightedly:

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! I like him so much. Remember how jolly he was the night we did charades at Cinda’s? We must have a party for him!”

  Trav said the General would be in no mood for parties. Then Lucy heard her father’s voice and came running downstairs to throw herself into his arms, and Trav hugged her close, and over her shoulder he said to Enid:

  “Mrs. Longstreet will join him here.” He smiled at Lucy. “And Garland’s coming,” he told the girl. “Remember him? He’ll be a beau for you.”

  He left them to decide which rooms these guests should have; and on the way back to the War Department he stopped at Cinda’s, and admired Vesta’s little Tommy; but he thought his mother was changed. “Is she well, Cinda?” he asked, when he could.

  “Why, I think so,” Cinda assured him. “But of course she’s older all the time.” She spoke softly: “She’s—drifting away into a world of her own, Travis.”

  He told her the Longstreets would be his guests and Enid’s; and she said: “I hope Enid can find something to give them to eat. But there, she and Dolly are together all the time, and I suppose Mr. Streean can get her anything she wants.”

  Her words suggested a criticism of Enid, but Trav shut his ears. He asked for news of Brett and the others, and she said he had missed Brett by a day. “He was here almost a week, trying to get a pardon for some poor man who had been sentenced to be shot as a deserter, and who probably wasn’t guilty. Brett found witnesses and papers and things and got a pardon for the man; but he had to hurry back to camp because the man was supposed to be shot day after tomorrow.” She said Burr had not been in Richmond recently, but Faunt had stopped for a moment about two weeks ago. “By the way,” she asked, “do you ever hear from Tony?”

  “No. Why?”

  “He isn’t married, is he?”

  Trav, remembering the last time he saw Tony, remembering that shameful moment in the dining room at Chimneys, said: “I doubt it. Why do you ask?”

  “He was buying dress materials and finery here in Richmond a while ago. He took Dolly to advise him and to—try things on; but he was very mysterious about it, just laughed at questions.”

  Trav thought in a sombre anger that Sapphira looked not unlike Dolly. She was quite as beautiful, with the same dark hair; and her skin was only faintly darker. But for Tony to use Dolly in this fashion was unspeakable. However, Cinda need never know Sapphira existed. “Well,” he said lightly, “that’s interesting. Perhaps he’s playing Prince to some Martinston Cinderella. No, I haven’t heard from him since I was down there.”

  When he left her, snow had begun to fall, a northwest wind driving the small, hard flakes like sleet into his face. He found General Longstreet, and a hackney cab took them to the house on Clay Street. The snow by that time came in clouds and flurries, and the wind was strong to buffet them. Trav thought of the soldiers in camp on the heights above Fredericksburg, sharing thin blankets, half-frozen, half-starved, ill-shod; and when he came indoors he was not surprised to hear the General say:

  “Gives you a damned guilty feeling, doesn’t it, Currain, to be warm and comfortable, and to remember our men on the march?”

  Trav nodded. “But to make ourselves uncomfortable won’t help them, General!” It was his part to play the host; and it was pleasant to see the other relax and take his ease, to see Enid so prettily excited that her flushed cheeks and her laughing eyes and her hair lustrous from long brushing made her lovely as a girl again.

  Dolly, she told them, had meant to come for supper; but
this storm would keep everyone indoors. Longstreet said it was just as well. “With Lucy here, and you, Mrs. Currain, another beauty would be too much for one man’s eyes!”

  Lucy, sitting by Trav’s side, squeezed his arm in shy delight, and Peter put many questions to the big man. “Did you ever shoot anybody, General Longstreet?”

  “Not for a long time, youngster.”

  “I’m going to shoot a hundred Yankees some day.”

  Longstreet chuckled. “Be sure they don’t shoot back.”

  “I wouldn’t be scared!”

  The big man asked teasingly: “Hardened to blood already? How old are you, young man?”

  “I’m eleven! But I’ve seen them shoot a lot of old deserters out at Camp Lee, and I saw them hang that nigger woman up back of the almshouse for killing the baby, and I’m going out to see them shoot John Broderick Monday!”

  “Hello!” Longstreet looked at Trav in disturbed surprise; and Enid said hastily:

  “Peter’s awfully morbid, General! I declare I don’t know what I’m going to do with him! Peter, it’s time you went to bed. Now you march, young man.”