House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

  Faunt frowned. “You’re as conscienceless as any woman! I suppose he’s making his fortune out of starving the army.”

  “I suppose so. Most of the commissary agents are getting rich.”

  “And you help him!”

  She said quietly: “My dear, I’d become a partner in any crime to get the things you need. And after all, the one little roast of beef I bought for you wouldn’t go far to feed the army.”

  “But a thousand roasts would go far, and ten thousand women like you would starve an army.”

  Nell smiled. “You needn’t scold me. I shall still buy whatever you need.” She said seriously: “It’s the Government that should be blamed, darling, not the women. Women will always feed their men and their babies if they can. But the Government manages badly. Food collected under the tax-in-kind is stored here in Richmond and allowed to spoil. The army doesn’t get it—it just spoils, with people begging a chance to buy some of it. I heard of a woman who tried to buy a barrel of flour, and the merchant wanted seventy dollars for it, and she said she couldn’t pay such a price and that she had seven starving children. He told her if she was hungry she could eat her children.”

  He laughed. “That’s made up. I don’t believe it!”

  “Neither do I,” she admitted, smiling with him; yet she added: “But it might be true. Faunt, if the hungry women in Richmond ever get mad enough, they’ll sweep the whole Government away.” Then, sorrowfully: “There, I shouldn’t tell you these things. They only anger you, and that’s bad for you.”

  “No,” he said. “No, it’s good for me. When I was on duty I didn’t think about how things were going here. I didn’t think much about anything except the men I was trying to kill; but maybe it’s not only Yankees that need killing.” His own words, for some obscure reason, woke a sudden memory, and he added: “By the way, Nell, I’ve been in Washington since I saw you.”

  “Washington?” Her tone was startled.

  “Yes.” And he added: “I may go again, some day. It’s very simple. There’s a regular highway back and forth, you know.” And to her sharp and anxious question, he explained: “Why, General Longstreet wanted to send a spy through the lines, and he asked Stuart’s help, and General Stuart spoke to Major Mosby, and he turned the task over to me. The spy was a man named Harrison. I proposed to take him toward Leesburg, but he said the simplest way was across the Northern Neck to Port Tobacco.” She was staring at him, her eyes wide with something like fear; and he asked: “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing! Just—frightened for you! Oh Faunt, they’d have called you a spy!”

  “Hard names break no bones.”

  “I know you’re never afraid, my darling; though I die a thousand deaths with fear for you. But they hang spies, even here in Richmond.”

  “Someone said they’d caught a woman spy here.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Patterson Allan. When they went to arrest her, she was visiting Mrs. Hoge. Mrs. Hoge’s son was dying, and Mrs. Allan was staying with her, and General Winder put a guard on the house till Lacy Hoge died, and then he arrested Mrs. Allan.”

  “But they didn’t hang her.”

  “No, but they put her in the Asylum of St. Francis de Sales, out on Brooke Road; and the poor woman has come down with brain fever, and they’ve shaved her head! That’s almost as bad.”

  He chuckled, touched her bright hair. “Don’t ever turn spy, my dear. But if you do, and they shave this lovely head of yours, I’ll scalp them all.”

  “I’m frightened for you,” she repeated.

  “Well, they didn’t catch me,” he reminded her. “We only saw two Yankees the whole way.” No need to tell her how he had dealt with those two.

  “But if Harrison knew the way, why did he need you?”

  “He knew where to go, and who to ask for; but he’d never been that way himself,” Faunt explained. “But of course Belle Vue was on the Northern Neck, and I knew every cow path in those woods. We rode down below Port Royal and found a negro to ferry us across to the Neck. We stayed that night in the pines near Belle Vue, and then went on to Mathias Point, to the farm of a man named Ben Grimes.” He smiled at his own tone. “I enjoyed it, Nell; the secrecy and the mystery. It was like a romance.”

  “It might have been a tragedy, Faunt.”

  “I don’t think so. They’ve never had any trouble. There’s a regular signal station in the swamp back of the Grimes house. Lieutenant Caywood and Sergeant Brogden are in charge. Over on the Maryland shore there are two houses on a high bluff, and if it isn’t safe for a boat to cross, a black signal is hung in the dormer window of one of the houses. A young lady, Miss Mary Watson, attends to that warning.”

  Nell smiled. “This begins to sound like a real romance, Faunt.”

  “I never encountered her,” he admitted; “but she is highly spoken of.” And he explained: “There was no warning signal that day. The boat put out just before sunset, because the shadows on the water help hide it then, and the pickets on the Maryland side don’t come on duty till about dark. We landed at the foot of a high bluff, and a man met us there and led us up a steep, deep ravine all tangled with honeysuckle to his house on top of the bluff. His name was Jones, Thomas Jones. He handles all the mail. If he’s not on the beach, they hide it in the fork of a dead tree and he comes to get it when he can; but Lieutenant Caywood had signalled him we were on the way, so he came down to meet us. His farm’s just below a place called Pope’s Creek; and there was a detachment of Yankee troops there, and another at Major Watson’s, within two or three hundred yards of his farm in the other direction.”

  She said smilingly: “You enjoyed it, didn’t you? You’re like a boy, telling about it.”

  Faunt chuckled. “As a matter of fact, there was a boy helping Mr. Jones. Warren Dent, the son of a doctor. He wasn’t more than ten years old. Doctor Dent used to call at Mr. Jones’s house on his rounds, to carry the mail to Port Tobacco or to Bryantown; but if he couldn’t come he sometimes sent his boy. It was the youngster who led us on, before daylight, toward a place called Allen’s Fresh; and a man there let us have horses. Harrison had no more need of me, of course; but I was interested and curious, so I rode on with him. We made a wide circuit through Bryantown to a place called Surrattsville, and put up at Mrs. Surratt’s tavern there, and rode into Washington that night.” He chuckled at the memory. “Harrison and I drank with more than one Yankee in the Washington barrooms before he and I parted.”

  “You reckless idiot!”

  He laughed reassuringly. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds! Washington’s full of Southern sympathizers; and of course Mosby’s men don’t wear any distinguishing uniform, so no one challenged me. But I didn’t push my luck too far. I was out of Washington and back at Mrs. Surratt’s before daylight, and back at Mr. Jones’s home that night.” He said in a different tone: “You can see for miles up and down river from his place, and that ravine with the trees all blanketed with honeysuckle is a natural covered way down to the beach. I could have disposed of every Yankee picket for a quarter-mile in each direction, but it would have made trouble for Mr. Jones.”

  “Bloodthirsty man!” Her tone was tenderly affectionate. “I can’t imagine you killing Yankees. But Faunt, promise you’ll never go again?”

  “Oh I’ve no notion of trying it again. I didn’t care for Washington, didn’t like the company. It was interesting, though. Harrison said that route is used all the time, not only by the mail, but by spies and smugglers. That part of Maryland is all for the South, of course.”

  “Don’t ever go again, Faunt. Promise me!”

  Her concern for him was wine in his veins, but he made no promise. “I certainly don’t expect to,” he assured her. “But I can look out for myself, you know.”

  She came to kiss him, shaking his head fondly between her hands. “Oh I know, I know. I expect you’re just as fierce as fierce can be; but I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine you really being in a fight, a battle, shooting at anyone. Y
ou seem so gentle here with me.”

  He smiled up at her, wondering what she would think if she knew some of his deeds. How little even the wisest women really knew of man!

  It was a full two months before Faunt left her. He might have gone before he did; but her persuasions and his own happiness held him for a while. Through her and through the Richmond papers Rufus brought, he began to see more clearly than before the weakness of the Confederacy. Because Bragg had failed to seize the ripe fruits of victory at Chickamauga, there was a cry for his removal so persistent that President Davis himself went to Tennessee; but there, he left Bragg still in command. Faunt and Nell agreed that the arrogant stubbornness which was so much a part of Davis could do disastrous harm. When the new wealth in the Cotton States seized political control of the South, the dominance of intellect and character was ended. “Even Virginia surrendered to mob rule in the convention of 1850,” Faunt reminded her, “when they gave up homestead suffrage and let everybody vote. Before that, no one could vote in Richmond unless he owned land—lots in the city worth at least a hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t suppose there were more than five or six hundred voters. There must be ten times that many now; and any loud-mouthed politician can tell them they’re the backbone of the state and they’ll elect him. Fifteen years ago it was the men who paid taxes who decided how tax money should be spent. Now the mob decides. They don’t have to furnish the money, so they’re all for spending it. So we’re doomed to submit to the tyranny of the majority; and God knows the majority is just poor white trash, not fit to rule!”

  There were rumors that President Davis and members of his cabinet—Mr. Memminger, the Secretary of the Treasury, was named as one of them—were selling their property and converting the money into gold and sterling exchange and sending it to England for security. To Faunt’s question whether that was possible, Nell said passports could be bought, and permits to take tobacco out of the country and to sell cotton to the enemy.

  “Anything you want in Richmond can be bought today,” she assured him. “These speculators even bribe the railroads to work for them, while food for the army spoils because there are no cars to carry it.”

  “I can’t believe it’s as bad as you say,” he protested; and to prove her point she found a month-old paper and read him a paragraph from a letter President Davis had written to an organization in Mississippi.

  The passion for speculation has become a gigantic evil. It has seemed to take possession of the whole country, and has seduced citizens of all classes from a determined prosecution of the war to a sordid effort to amass money.

  “But if he’s right,” Faunt protested, “why doesn’t he do something about it?”

  She shook her head. “What can he do, Faunt? Rich people won’t let him tax land and slaves, even if he wanted to. They say the Constitution forbids it. The Congress passed a law last April to tax bankers and auctioneers and liquor dealers and store keepers and apothecaries and all sorts of people, lawyers and doctors and surgeons; but what little they pay doesn’t amount to anything. Congress put a tax on incomes, but it doesn’t have to be paid till January; and honest people haven’t any incomes worth taxing, and dishonest people will say they haven’t. There’s a ten-percent tax on profits people made last year, but the speculators won’t pay it. But Mr. Davis has to have money to pay for the war, so he has to borrow it or just print it. Up to this month, the Government has collected less than five million dollars in taxes; but they’ve spent six hundred millions, printed money! So money’s worth less and less, so naturally people would rather have things than money, and prices go up and up.”

  “You make it sound as though everything in the Confederacy were rotten but the army.” And he added in sudden challenge: “You sound as though you were glad of it, too!”

  Her eyes met his honestly. “I’ve no reason to love the South, Faunt; none except that I was born here.” She smiled a little. “It’s my own fault, of course; but I’m outside the pale. I expect even you are sometimes ashamed of loving me.” He did not speak. What she said was true, and he would not lie to her. “I have no illusions, you see. Perhaps that’s why I treasure so deeply what you feel you can give me.”

  He rose with a swift movement, came to her. “Nell, will you marry me?”

  She caught his hand, pressed it to her cheek. “Don’t be silly! Of course not, my dear.” Then, in tender teasing: “But don’t let me see so plainly the relief you feel when I refuse.”

  He could not deny this. “Damn the whole damned world!” he said.

  She laughed softly. “It’s all right, darling. We couldn’t possibly have anything richer or finer than we have.”

  He moved restlessly around the room. “Even the army—” he said, his thoughts reverting. “Even the army’s rotten in spots. Men are deserting all the time. But that’s because they’re starving, or their families are. The men are all right.” He came back to sit near her. “But we’re not as good as we were, Nell. We used to be able to charge three or four times our numbers of Yankees and scatter them. They’d run away, fall off their horses like a lot of clowns, surrender by dozens. But now they fight back, and they’ve learned to ride, and their horses are better than ours. Ours are half-starved. We can’t keep them properly shod, and we work them too hard, wear them out. Half the men in every cavalry regiment are in Company Q most of the time.”

  “Company Q? What’s that?”

  “Men whose horses are sick, or worn out, not fit to fight.” He turned to her and said in flat tones: “Nell, we’re going to be beaten in the end.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Will it hurt you so? I don’t want you hurt, my dear.”

  “Oh, I won’t be here!” She cried out in soft tender protest, and he said affectionately: “It’s all right, Nell. I’ve had all the happiness a man’s life can hold, since I knew you.” Her heart, at his words, was cold with fear.

  It was late August when he came to Richmond. Early in October, the news of Lee’s move around Meade’s flank made Faunt resentful of his own inaction here. But Lee’s maneuver ended in futility, for Meade drew his army back so skillfully that his losses were slight, and he had not even to abandon any considerable stores. After a week of fruitless marching, General Hill fought and lost a costly skirmish at Bristoe Station, and Lee fell back to the defensive lines along the Rappahannock.

  Thereafter Faunt was increasingly anxious to return to the field. Nell tried to dissuade him, arguing that Mosby and his handful of men could do no real hurt to the Yankees; but Faunt disagreed. “Fifty of us, free to hit his lines of supply where we choose, can tie down thousands of his men to guard duty. If he could get rid of us it would be worth an army corps to Meade.”

  She said with narrowed eyes: “I wish the Yankees would gobble up Mosby and all his men! Then you’d stay here with me!”

  He smiled affectionately. “Don’t talk nonsense, Nell!”

  “I mean it!” she insisted; then, seeing his sombre eyes: “At least I think I do.”

  He chuckled, forgiving her. “Well, the Yankees won’t get Major Mosby,” he assured her. “But just to be sure—I’d better go back and take care of him.”

  Before October ended,. he rode away. Nell gave him her farewell kiss, and her smile, and shed no tears. “Come when you need me, Faunt. Whenever you come, I will be here.”

  He left in the hour before dawn, and he took the journey easily, angry to find how soft he was become. He went at first toward Charlottesville and thence up the eastern flank of the mountains to Sperryville, hardening his horse and himself, relishing the crisp fall days. At Sperryville he heard that Mosby was recovered from his wound and that there was a rendezvous appointed at the crossing of Thumb Run, northwest of Warrenton. When Faunt reached the spot, he was fit and ready for any work in hand.

  Mosby greeted him warmly, with many questions. “I thought we’d lost you for good and all, when you didn’t come back from Annandale.” Faunt confessed that he had been ill, and Mosby nodded in
understanding sympathy. “You’ll need to take better care of yourself,” he said. “Try to sleep a little more often indoors.” And then as though on sudden inspiration he said: “See here!”

  Faunt waited, but Mosby was silent so long that he asked at last: “See what?”

  “I was thinking. Speaking of taking care of yourself reminded me. You know we’re short of medicines in the hospitals.”

  “I’ve heard so.”

  “Quinine’s worth any price, a hundred dollars an ounce, perhaps more. Opium’s just as scarce. Even blue mass costs twenty dollars an ounce.”

  Faunt smiled. “Without the one to counteract the other, the doctors must be hard put.”

  “Our laboratories try to make it,” Major Mosby told him. “But the mercury seeps out of it. But the point is—we need all that sort of thing.” Faunt waited curiously, and Mosby said: “You know the underground route to Washington.”

  “I’ve been there, yes.”

  “I’ve had word that one of our friends in the North has acquired a lot of quinine and opium and wants to give it to us. He seems to have heard of me, says some day he’d like to ride with us; and he offers this gift of medicines as an introduction, if we’ll send and get it. I could hire someone to smuggle it through, but that would cost three or four times what it’s worth; and I don’t want to trust the ordinary blockade-runners anyway. Will you go?”

  Faunt remembered Nell’s pleading. “I don’t object to—ordinary danger,” he commented. “But this might be difficult.” He asked: “Could your generous gentleman meet me, say, at Surrattsville? That’s a few miles this side of Washington.”

  “He can’t,” Major Mosby explained. “He’s an actor, playing at Ford’s New Theatre there this week and next. He says he’d bring it himself if he could, but that he’s too much in the public eye. I think actually he hopes I will come myself. It may be a trap, but I don’t believe so. A Baltimore friend of mine brought me his letter, says he can be trusted.” He chuckled. “Being an actor, he likes theatrical gestures, of course; so he’s arranged a rigmarole. My messenger is to go to the stage door of the theatre and ask for peanuts, and say his own name is Shell.”