Sarah knew Benton’s command possessed but one small advantage. The Yankees did not believe the Rebels would put up a fight, let alone attempt to hold their ground against such extraordinary odds. She also knew these men, filled with the desire for battle and inspired by their leader’s heroic words, would be nerved to the point that they would cheerfully attack anything in their path.
It was good they trusted him, Sarah thought, as she watched the men look with supreme confidence toward Benton. They would have full need of blind obedience to orders today. If he decided too soon or delayed too long, they would be doomed. Yet Sarah wondered how Benton would devise a scheme that had any hope of success, for he had blundered into land he couldn’t defend and from which withdrawal was now impossible. So much had to go right, and so much had already gone wrong, that it seemed the situation was growing more desperate by the minute.
For a moment, she allowed her gaze to shift to the beauty of the world around her. Snow clung to each tree, adorning each limb and branch like lace, making her surroundings feel peaceful and calm. How strange that the enemy was out there lurking, silent and ill intentioned. The sound of Benton’s calm voice drew her back irresistibly to the present and reality.
“Gentlemen, we must win or die, and as dying can do our country no good, we must win.”
The other voices Sarah heard seemed generally to signify assent, making it obvious that the ambition to hold Benton’s esteem amounted to passionate devotion. These men would forfeit their lives in emulating the virtues of the leader they so admired.
Sarah looked down and kicked at the white mound at her feet. Murderous, murderous snow. Although the peninsula was wide enough to hide for a while, the snow would render their tracks into the woodlands unmistakable.
The men, already fatigued by their long and exhaustive march, were in no condition to make the long march back—even if the way was not blocked by Federal troops. Yet every moment of delay now was precious. Every minute could mean a life; every hour the loss of the battle. And the loss of this battle with these men could strike a huge blow to the Southern cause.
Another scout rode in, and Sarah overheard the news. The enemy had found their tracks and was but a day’s ride away. Their advance, although not rapid, had apparently been steady. Standing in the shadows, she watched the intelligence being given to Benton. She saw his eyes sweep across the camp again, at the men he had fought with for almost three years, and the sacrifice he knew was imminent.
But his composure remained calm and unruffled as the threat was absorbed and the complications assessed with a mere nod of his head. Sarah’s heart throbbed in her throat as she gazed at his unemotional face, for it was at this instant that she realized with certainty that death held less consequence for him than dishonor. Even with disaster looming, nothing could subdue his gallant spirit.
Sarah turned her attention to the expressions of the men, and saw concern now, but no panic. One of the men walking by patted her on the back as if for encouragement, and she gave him a lackluster smile. She had been accepted by these men—hesitantly in some cases, but almost universally—and felt like she belonged for the first time in her life.
Feeling Benton’s eyes upon her, Sarah looked up and met his gaze, surveying his expression as he surveyed hers. What he saw in her eyes at that moment she would surely never know—what she saw in his was nothing but strength and determination. The look lasted only a moment, but it was a measurement of time she would remember forever.
In that instant, a feeling of divine comfort and peace consumed her. She had the power to change the circumstances and alleviate the burden that consumed him. She could accept the final outcome with no fear and no hesitation—but could he?
She saw Benton nod and turn away. As his large, looming figure dissolved into the darkness, Sarah knew that everyone awaited the dawn and whatever the light of day would bring, but no one more so than Colonel Benton.
Chapter 18
Well, if we are to die, let us die like men.
—General Patrick Cleburne, last words, 1864
Colonel Benton stood lost deep in thought as he groomed his horse in the shadows, alone and apart from the others. Although he wasn’t sure why, it seemed important that the animal be immaculate in advance of the coming day’s fight. He heard the sound of muffled footsteps approaching a few moments before Sarah walked out of the darkness and stood by the head of his horse. Her smile had rewarded him abundantly earlier that day, but he could see in one glance that the feat was not to be renewed. Her expression was serious and grave.
“You intend to fight then?”
Benton did not stop his work. “I do not intend to surrender without a stand.” He paused and shot her a look that displayed courteous, intolerable pride. “I am prepared to die, if that is what you mean.”
Sarah remained quiet for a few long moments, and when she did finally speak, he noticed she kept her eyes pinned on his horse’s forelock as she distractedly ran her fingers through the hair. “Soldiers should always be ready to die, I suppose.” She bit her cheek and looked up at him. “But, Colonel, I believe you are worth too much to the country to perish like this here.”
Benton paused a moment and looked down, curious about the sound of her voice and the grave tone it bore. “It cannot be helped.” He turned back to Vince and resumed his duty. “We must beat them or perish in the struggle.”
Sarah sighed heavily and shook her head as if his words were exasperating her. “Considering the unevenness of the numbers, it appears a battle should not be risked except in the last extremity—and hardly even then. Perchance the hand that guides us will open some other door.”
Benton brushed away the comment as he continued to brush his horse. “The time for another door to open has passed. It is a consequence of my bad judgment that we are so arraigned. I must do what I must do.”
The moon appeared just then, pouring in through the somber shafts of the forest’s canopy to cast an eerie glow on the snow and create distinctive shadows beneath the trees. It disappeared just as suddenly, and all was dark and strangely quiet again, as if all heaven had withdrawn to leave them alone for a moment.
“Colonel Benton, I believe you know how perfect my confidence is in you and how deep my affection.” Sarah looked down for a moment, seeming to lose her nerve. “But it seems a lesser sacrifice can be made than your life.”
Benton stopped grooming, though he did not turn to her. “It is an honor to hear you say so.” He made a valiant attempt to keep his voice from trembling. “It has long been my hope…that I would someday be held in the same high regard as your late husband.”
Sarah touched his arm hesitantly. “I have perfect faith, Colonel Benton, that you will attain your goal.”
Benton turned toward her, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice. “I fear Fate will make it necessary to accept who I am now. I only wish to die without an earthly regret.” He looked at her with wistful admiration that her downcast eyes failed to see. For a moment, Benton considered revealing the full extent of the promise he’d made to himself that snowy night at Waverly. But as she gazed at the old wound on Vince’s neck, it was clear her thoughts were on that joyous spring day many months earlier when the horse had been returned to its owner. He went back to his grooming. “The time for conversation is over,” he finally said, bending down to brush Vince’s legs. “I will do as I am inclined to do. You know my intentions.”
“Yes, I know your intentions,” Sarah said mechanically as she gazed on neither sky nor earth. “War to the death, I believe.”
Benton stood. “Yes, war to the death.”
Sarah laid her cheek against his horse’s forehead and closed her eyes as if thinking of a proper response. “Hear me then, Colonel,” she said, seeming to finally find the resolve to say what she had come to say. “We are here in God’s care and for some wise purpose of His own. I beg of you think of those who you lead, and do not misjudge the opportunities that are placed before
you.”
“The enemy is between us and the mainland. The only way out is to fight our way out.” His words were harsh, but anyone could see from his eyes that his heart burst with admiration and high regard for the one to whom he spoke.
Sarah put her hand on his wrist to stop him from grooming. “But if it were not the only way out”—she looked straight up into his eyes, refusing to relinquish her hold or his attention—“would you accept it and move on and be at peace with what fate befalls you?”
Benton sighed, deeply confused and exasperated with the whole conversation and went back to grooming his horse. “What are you trying to say?”
“What if the enemy turned and retreated?”
Benton laughed loudly and majestically. “I do not believe even your prayers could accomplish that feat.” He looked down into her serious eyes. “Why would they suddenly decide to turn and run when they possess every advantage?”
“What if they received intelligence that the trap they thought they had set for you, was really a trap you have set for them?”
Benton laughed again. “It’s a plan that would require more than a little help from Heaven, and I’m not sure I’m in a position to ask for it.” His smile faded when he saw the seriousness of her expression. “Anyway, I would never order such a thing. It’s too dangerous.”
Sarah shrugged. “Any rational possibility of defusing this crisis must be entertained, no matter the source and notwithstanding your orders.” She stared up at him as if to see if he understood. “Fate may decree other orders—orders from a higher authority, relating to duty here.”
“A higher authority than me?”
Sarah’s tone showed she was beginning to lose her patience, yet she gazed at him intently with wrinkled brow, as if memorizing his features for some future occasion. “Orders that would require equal fortitude and faith in the Almighty as a bloody battle would.”
“And just what are these orders?”
She contemplated his question for a moment, then turned away. “That is for Providence to reveal,” she said solemnly.
“When will He reveal them?” Benton shook his head. “I hope it’s soon because I have a battle to fight.”
Sarah blinked as if at a painful wound. Her calm, holy eyes stared beseechingly into his, and the woeful conviction within them caused a shadow like doubt—or perhaps dread—to begin to invade his mind.
She did not lower her eyes, but continued to gaze at him with a look that was straight and frank and fearless. “I beg of you remember, your greatest defense is the Almighty.”
“God?” he said, continuing to brush his horse because he didn’t know what else to do. “What does He have to do with it?”
“If you do not know, Doug,” she said gravely, placing her hand on his as it lay on his horse, and squeezing it gently, “I hope the lesson Providence provides is a kind one. Good night.”
She bowed her head and disappeared while Benton stood dazed in the darkness as stunned by the sound of his name on her lips as he was disturbed by the tone of finality in her voice. He stared into the darkness that had swallowed her, and then at his hand where her trembling fingers had pressed, and wondered why he had the feeling she had been saying more to him than the mere words he had heard or understood.
He turned around in desperation and spoke her name, but small footprints in the snow were all that remained to give evidence she had ever been there.
Chapter 19
Then two shall be in the field; the one shall be taken and the other left…
Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.
—Matthew 23:40, 42
Colonel Benton had to fight the impulse to scout the peninsula himself, but knew he had to remain where his orders could reach his subordinates promptly and stay where their reports could find him without delay. He had been planning his tactics all night, but hoped fate would allow him to meet the enemy in the open.
The close proximity of the foe seeking to overtake him had awakened a sense of imminent danger among all of the men. For now, the fringe of trees in which they hid was sufficiently thick to screen their movements, and the darkness concealed them—but morning would bring a revealing light that would be merciless and cruel.
When at last he heard the sound of a horse coming in fast, Benton stepped out from beneath a tree to greet the incoming rider. He’d been up all night and there was only about another hour until dawn. Yet he felt little need for sleep as he prepared for what this day would bring. The man pulled his horse to a sliding halt, spraying snow on the colonel, but he seemed not to notice.
“They are moving back, Colonel.”
“Retreating?” Benton grabbed the horse’s rein to steady him, and glared up at the scout as if he could not possibly have heard the man correctly. It was obvious to those who watched that he was more startled by the retreat than he had been at the advance.
“It appears. Snipe’s forces are almost to the gap. If we move swiftly, we can squeeze by them in the event they change their mind.”
“Your duty is not to recommend or advise but to report and obey,” Benton snapped, his nerves strung to their limit. “I asked for information—not your opinion of it!”
Benton seldom showed explosive anger, but when he did, it was remembered by all who witnessed it. Nonetheless, his harsh words were promptly forgotten as he agreed with the scout’s course of action.
Not wishing to waste even a moment of time, he gave the order to mount up. Instantly there could be heard the tramping of feet as men charged toward their horses, followed by the shouting of orders to others further down the line.
“Sir?” A private saluted, and stood waiting nervously amid all of the chaos for a response.
“Yes, what is it?” Benton was already motioning for Connelly to move up for more orders.
“I know she told me not to, but I’d feel better if I hung back and waited for Lieutenant Duvall to return.”
Colonel Benton hauled back on the reins to stop his prancing mount. “Return? Return from where?” He looked around and then nodded toward her horse, standing alone now on the picket line. “There stands Chance.” The disorder of the night and constant reports from scouts had kept Benton busy. After his short conversation with Sarah, it had never occurred to him to wonder where she was or where she might not be.
“B-u-u-t, she didn’t take Chance.” The confused soldier stared at the horse as if just realizing something was seriously amiss.
The men already mounted seemed to understand something was awry as well and moved closer to hear the forthcoming explanation. No one seemed able to fully realize the exact nature of what had occurred, but all were conscious of an impending calamity.
“Take him where?” There was a sense of urgency in Benton’s voice. “Where is she now?” He turned in his saddle, his severe eagle-like glance scanning the soldiers around him as if expecting to see her face.
“Sir, I was on picket duty. She said she had a dispatch to get through the lines. She was on—” He paused for a moment, then swallowed hard, and finished in a low voice. “Old Ironsides.”
Benton gave a grimace of resignation, or perhaps one of regret, as an expression of vague dread spread across his face. Everyone watched the breath go out of him as he stared over the soldier’s shoulder into nothing. Ironsides was a horse used primarily for prisoners because no amount of spurring would increase his slow pace. The evidence was therefore accruing that if someone took Old Ironsides while in close proximity to the enemy—they wanted to be caught.
Others seemed to sense the importance of the picket’s words too. Where once there had been clamoring and commotion, all had turned solemn and silent. Lieutenant Duvall had ridden out on Old Ironsides and had not returned. They were not sure what it meant, but they knew the absence of the lieutenant and the departure of the enemy were probably somehow related.
“You did not try to stop her?” Benton’s face had grown pale, though he spoke more calmly
than from his look one would expect him to speak.
“Sir, I told her I would do the duty, and find someone to take my place on the line,” the soldier responded, stammering now. “But she insisted. She said she was the only one who could do it properly.”
Benton looked as if he had just suffered a mortal wound, but he did not speak aloud the words he was thinking. No one of my command could be less spared.
He swept his gaze around to the faces of his men. Some looked confused as if they did not understand what had happened; others appeared angry, as if they did.
“I did not authorize it,” Benton mumbled. “I did not take her seriously.”
“Sir?” Major Connelly pulled his horse astride with Benton’s and looked at him questioningly.
Benton stared at the rising sun and the eerie mist it created as he spoke. “Last night she suggested we let the enemy find a dispatch that would lead them to believe we have set a trap for them.”
“But how would that be accomplished?” Connelly seemed utterly bewildered. “Why would they believe it?”
“They would believe it if it were found on a known spy.” Benton’s voice was so low and grave, it was hard to understand. He swallowed hard as he pictured the scene. “She would have hidden it—so they would think she did not want it to be found. But find it they would.”
“But you can’t be sure that is what happened, surely!” Even as he said the words, it was evident Connelly knew in his heart that is exactly what happened. Everyone knew her well enough to know she would make just such a sacrifice. That woman-child with the mysterious wisdom in her eyes would figure out a way that it could be done, rather than fret about ways it couldn’t.
All eyes moved to the colonel, and it was obvious what they were thinking. He was partly at fault—if not entirely to blame—for the circumstances. He had gotten them into a blunder, and she had gotten them out. The mistake—eternal in its consequences—was his, and it was obvious many were wondering if their escape was worth the price she had paid to grant it.
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