Clay finished her unspoken question. “They don’t think she’s going to make it. You know, Chantel, you really helped Miss Flora when she was ill. I think you were a real comfort to her. Maybe you could stop by and talk to her. She’s glad to be with General Stuart, of course, but she doesn’t have any real close friends in Richmond. I think she’d be glad to see you.”
“I will see her,” Chantel said. “Maybe I can help with La Petite.” She sighed. “I don’t know about losing a child, me. But I know about losing ma mere. Sometimes friends can help when no doctors can.”
Chantel went to the Stuart house, unhitching faithful Rosie and riding her the two miles to the little farmhouse. She passed through the hastily erected log huts that Stuart’s men had built for the winter, and many of them called out to her as she passed. They never called out rude or suggestive things anymore. They had all come to know their vivandiere and were as proud of her as if she were a star on the stage. Sutlers, particularly beautiful vivandieres, were very scarce in the blockaded Southern army.
She reached the house, and after she knocked on the door, it was a long time before it opened.
She saw that Flora had dark shadows under eyes, and her hair had not been carefully done as it usually was. Her blue eyes were shadowed with weariness and sadness. But at the sight of Chantel, they brightened a little. “Chantel, how wonderful it is to see you. I’ve been thinking about you. Please come in.”
Flora led her into the sitting room, seated herself on the sofa, and patted the seat next to her for Chantel to sit by her. “I’ve been thinking about you, because you’re such a wonderful nurse. When I first came to Richmond, I was so ill. I don’t know what we would have done without you, Chantel. And now…our La Petite is ill.”
“Yes, Miss Flora, Lieutenant Tremayne tells me this. I came to see you and to see La Petite, sweet baby. How is she doing?”
Flora sighed and dropped her gaze. “She’s not well at all, Chantel. She is very sick.”
Jeb came in and kissed Flora then smiled rather weakly at Chantel. “How are you, Miss Chantel? It’s so kind of you to come by and see my Flora. She gets lonely here in camp sometimes.”
“I brought some chamomile, for tea,” Chantel said. “And honey, too. Maybe La Petite, she can drink some tea. Even when you’re very sick, it makes you feel better.”
She and Flora made tea; then Flora took her in to see La Petite. She slept, her body wasted away to that of an infant. The little girl’s eyes fluttered open once, and she smiled a little at Chantel. Chantel took her fevered hand and murmured little endearments to her. But Little Flora never stayed awake for long, and in a few minutes she had passed out again.
Chantel could see very clearly that the little girl could not live long. She offered to help Flora in any way she could and asked if there was anything that she and her grandfather could bring them.
In a distant voice, Flora answered, “Thank you, Chantel, but there’s nothing in this world that you could bring to help La Petite now. But you come back, please. She was glad to see you, I think.”
She left, deeply saddened. It was things like this that confused Chantel about the Lord. How could He take a sweet, innocent little child like La Petite? How could He do such a terrible thing to good Christian people like Miss Flora and Jeb Stuart? Chantel didn’t know. She thought that she would never know.
Two days later little Flora Stuart died. The doctors did all they could, but typhoid was a devastating disease with a high mortality rate, especially among children.
Chantel and Jacob called on the Stuarts.
Flora was so devastated she could hardly speak, holding herself stiffly erect on the sofa in the sitting room, her eyes haunted and filled with sorrow.
Jeb stood by her, his hand on her shoulder. “God has taken our little girl, Mr. Steiner. But Flora and I know that she is with Him, and she suffers no more. And one blessed day we’ll see her again in heaven.”
“It is a good thing to know the Lord Jesus in these terrible times,” Jacob said, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. “He alone can comfort us in this dark night of the soul. She rejoices, General Stuart, and those who are left behind must know that and rest in Him. May the peace and blessings of God be on this house, and on you both, now and forever.”
When they left, Chantel found that she was almost angry. “I’ll never understand God, Grandpere,” she said in a low, tense voice. “It seems that if ever He would bless someone, He would bless Miss Flora and General Stuart.”
“And He has blessed them,” Jacob said gently. “The Bible tells us that when someone dies, we must rejoice. I know that we cannot be happy and carefree on the outside. But when we know the Lord Jesus, our hearts have joy and peace always. Even when a child dies. Because we know that this earth, this old terrible world, is not our home. Our home is in heaven, a glorious place, where there are no more sorrows, no more tears. General Stuart and Miss Flora may be here, yes, and they will grieve. But their hearts are already at home with Little Flora and with the Lord Jesus. There they will always be, forever, and they will be at peace.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The burden of office lay heavily on Abraham Lincoln, and not the least of his problems was General George McClellan. McClellan was a small man and was already called Little Napoleon by some of his admirers.
In all truth, he had more confidence in himself than any man ought to have. It was revealed in a letter to his wife in which he wrote: “The people think me all powerful, but I am becoming daily more disgusted with this administration. It is sickening in this extreme and makes me feel heavy at heart when I see the weakness and unfitness of those in charge of our military.”
The president often discussed military strategy and tactics with McClellan, but he saw quickly that McClellan had little confidence in anyone’s opinion except his own.
Once a secretary, who had overheard McClellan speaking arrogantly to Lincoln, said angrily, “The man is insolent! You need to get rid of him, Mr. President.”
Lincoln had said merely, “I will hold McClellan’s horse if he will only bring us success.”
A year had passed since Bull Run, and there had been minor battles, but only one major battle in the western theater, the Battle of Shiloh. It had been bloody, and as usual the Confederates had been outnumbered, but they had driven the Yankees back, licking their wounds.
Lincoln was anxious to move on, and he had pressed his views upon McClellan, telling him, “General, you need to follow through on the same plan we had for the first attack. We could still go right through Bull Run, and we have a powerful enough army now to overcome any resistance.”
McClellan flatly refused to admit that this plan had any virtues. He stubbornly insisted that Lincoln was not a military man, and he must leave the disposition of great armies, and the military plans, to the generals. In particular, to him.
For their part, the South had been lulled into a sense of false security by their victory at Bull Run, although strategically they had accomplished little. The only grand strategy that was working at this time was the North’s blockade.
The Southern economy went downhill quickly. Meat was fifty cents a pound, butter seventy-five cents, coffee a dollar fifty cents, and tea ten dollars. All in contrast to cotton, which had fallen to five cents.
The South was hemmed in, and the blockade was working all too well. Their only hope was to be recognized by England or a foreign power that would encourage the peace party in the North to declare the war over.
Jeb was sitting on the floor playing with little Jimmy. He doted on the boy, who at the age of two was definitely showing a precocious side. He was an attractive child, resembling his father in being sturdy and having the same russet-colored hair. Jeb was throwing the boy up in the air and catching him, and little Jimmy was laughing and gasping for breath.
“Jeb, you stop that! You’re going to hurt that baby,” Flora said sternly.
“No. He likes it, don’t you, Jimmy?”
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“Yes!” he said. At the age of two, he had learned a few words, and now he said, “Throw! Throw!” which was his signal for his father to toss him up into the air.
Flora came over, took little Jimmy away, and said, “You get up off the floor now, General. Dinner is on the table.”
“All right, sweetheart.” Jeb came to his feet in one swift motion and followed her into the dining room. He sat down at the table and said, “Mashed potatoes and fried chicken. What could be better?”
Flora put Jimmy in the improvised high chair then sat down.
Jeb at once bowed his head and prayed. “Lord, we thank Thee for this food and for every blessing. Bless us and our Glorious Cause, and we ask that You give us victory. In the name of Jesus, we ask this. Amen.” Immediately he dumped a huge dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate and picked up both wings. “My favorite part. You can have the white meat, Flora.”
Flora fixed a plate for little Jimmy and let him dabble in his mashed potatoes, trying to keep the mess to a minimum. Flora fixed her own plate and began to eat, but she looked up to say, “Jeb, I’m so happy that you haven’t been in any more big battles.”
“Well, I expected there to be more, but since Bull Run, all has been quiet, here at least. There have been some actions over to the west, but out there they taught the Yankees a lesson, too.”
“I hope they never come.”
Jeb’s mouth was stuffed full, and he talked around it. “Oh, they’re coming, Flora. McClellan’s built up an enormous army, well equipped. Our spies have kept tabs on him, and the latest word is that they are already beginning to move. We know they’re on their way. We just don’t know exactly where they’re going to cross into Virginia. Yet.”
Flora took a small bite from the breast, chewed it thoughtfully, and then asked, “Jeb, do you think General Johnston is the right man to lead the army?”
President Davis had appointed General Joe Johnston as commander of the Southern army. He was a slow-thinking, slow-moving, cautious man. For a moment, Jeb hesitated, and she could see that he was troubled. “Sometimes I think he’s timid, Flora, and that’s not what we need. We need men like Stonewall Jackson. I wish we had a dozen like him! Look what he’s done in the valley.”
Indeed, Stonewall Jackson’s Valley Campaign had been the only bright spot in the Confederate military picture. With one small army, Jackson had moved from place to place, traveling hundreds of miles on foot so that his men were called “Jackson’s Foot Cavalry.” He had singly defeated two Union armies.
Jeb went on, “General Jackson is the most popular man in the Confederate Army right now. Jackson scared Lincoln so bad that he pulled back two different armies so we won’t have to fight them.” When he finished, Jeb got to his feet and said, “I’ve got to go, sweetheart. I don’t know what will happen, but you’ll be all right here. We’ll never let them get to Richmond.” He leaned over, kissed her, and then picked up Jimmy and held him. “You be a good boy, Jimmy. Be good like your mother. Not like your wicked old father.” He kissed the boy, handed him to Flora, and then left.
“The Yankees are coming!”
The spies had brought word that McClellan’s huge force was headed up the peninsula, and Jeb and his cavalry were in the thick of the fighting. As usual, Clay’s 2nd Richmond Company stayed close behind their general.
The action was bloody and was called by some the Battle at Fair Oaks and by others Seven Pines. Both sides lost many men—dead, wounded, and captured.
But the most significant event was that General Joseph Johnston was severely wounded. Jefferson Davis, without hesitation, made the wisest move he had made since his inauguration as president. He appointed Robert E. Lee to head the Southern forces. Lee at once took charge and renamed the army the Army of Northern Virginia.
“General Stuart, I have a task for you.”
Jeb had been called to General Lee’s headquarters, which was nothing more than a simple soldier’s tent. The two men had been good friends when Stuart studied at West Point. Jeb’s eyes were fiery blue as he said, “I’m anxious for action, General Lee. Just tell me what to do.”
Lee studied Jeb Stuart carefully. “I want you to make a movement in the enemy rear. Inspect their communications, take cattle and grain, burn any Federal wagon trains that you find.”
“Yes, sir.”
“General, the utmost vigilance on your part will be necessary. The greatest caution must be practiced to keep you from falling into the enemy hands. And let me remind you that the chief object of your expedition is to gain intelligence for the guidance of future movements. Should you find that the enemy is moving to his right or is so strongly posted as to make your expedition inopportune, you will return at once.”
Jeb Stuart could not conceal his joy. He was like a small boy as he slapped his gloves against one hand and said, “General, if I find a way open, I’ll ride all the way around him. My father-in-law is in charge of their cavalry, you know. I’ve never forgiven him for going with the North, so I’m going to show him up.”
Stuart left and handpicked twelve hundred men, including Robert E. Lee’s son, nicknamed Rooney. He rode at once to share the news with his men, and he made a gallant figure. His gray coat was buttoned to the chin, he carried a saber and a pistol in a black holder, and he wore his polished thigh-high cavalry boots with the golden spurs. As always, a black ostrich plume was stuck in his hat, floating above the bearded features. His eyes were brilliant, and he made the perfect picture of a dashing cavalier.
As the troop left, one officer called out, “When will you be back, Stuart?”
“It may for years. It may be forever.” Stuart laughed and spurred his horse forward. The troop thundered around McClellan’s men. Several times Federal horsemen appeared and tried to make a fight of it, but Stuart’s yelling riders simply swallowed them up.
Clay was watering Lightning when they had stopped to rest their horses. He watched Stuart, who was contemplating the country ahead of him. “What next, General?”
“Well, we’ve already come eighteen miles southeast of Hanover Courthouse. The enemy is going to expect me to go back to camp, I know. I’ve already learned what General Lee sent me to learn. The right flank of McClellan is in the air, and there are no trenches on the ridges on the west. The enemy could be struck in the flank by an infantry assault.”
Clay did not speak; he merely watched and listened. Finally he saw Jeb Stuart straighten up and order, “Move the column ahead at a trot.”
“Yes, sir.” The pace picked up and they soon became a group of cheerful horsemen. From time to time they had to spur their horses when pickets appeared and took after them, and they had a couple of skirmishes.
But in the end, Jeb Stuart completely encircled McClellan’s enormous army, something that had never even been thought of, much less accomplished, before.
When Jeb Stuart rode in with his men, he gave his report in such colorful phrases and in rhetoric that was almost epic in praise of his officers. “Their brave men behaved with coolness and intrepidity in danger, unswerving resolution before difficulties….They are horsemen and troopers beyond praise.”
General Lee’s order in reply reflected the pride of the command in Stuart’s feat. “The general commanding announces with great satisfaction to the army the brilliant exploit of Brigadier General J. E. B. Stuart…in passing around the rear of the whole Federal army, taking a number of prisoners, and destroying and capturing stores to a large amount….The general commanding takes great pleasure in expressing his admiration of the courage and skill so conspicuously exhibited throughout by the general and the officers and men under his command.”
Word spread like wildfire across the entire Confederacy, and everywhere was heard the name of Jeb Stuart. He was a hero, and the newspapers could not find language elevated enough.
“You’re going to get bigheaded, I’m afraid,” Clay said, grinning at Jeb as the two of them were riding to check on the men.
“Aw, if
I do, Flora will take me down a peg or two. We showed those Yankees though, didn’t we, Tremayne?”
“Yes you did, sir. What do you think will happen now?”
Jeb stared to the north, where the vast Federal armies were waiting. Clay saw that he was more serious than he had ever seen him. “We’re going to be hit with an army of a hundred and sixty thousand men, Lieutenant. We’re outnumbered, clearly five to one. It’s as I said all along, we can’t match the Yankees man for man. But we will always best them in daring and courage.”
At that moment, Clay Tremayne saw what it was in Jeb Stuart that made men follow him right into the mouth of guns, straight toward almost certain death. There was that quality in him that few men had. Confidence, courage, audacity—it was a mixture of all of these, plus a joy in battle that few men ever experienced.
Clay observed, “That lesson you taught them, General Stuart. You’ve embarrassed and humiliated McClellan, and he’ll throw everything he’s got at us.”
“And we will stop them, Lieutenant. God will surely lead us to victory.”
Historians writing about what came to be called the Seven Days Battle have great difficulty. They were days of confusion, of missed or misunderstood orders, of men wandering, lost in the unmarked countryside.
McClellan’s army got caught on the wrong side of the river so that he was never able to bring his full force together at once to hit the Confederates—or so he maintained afterward.
The Confederates, on the other hand, were not accustomed to the tactics, and the sometimes vague orders, of Robert E. Lee. From the first battle to the very last, some colonel or general got confused, and men who should have led failed miserably. Even the great Stonewall Jackson faltered.
In battle after battle, no one was the victor except death and the grave.
Finally the long terrible days wore both armies down. McClellan had had all he could take, and again he ordered a retreat.
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