“No further questions. Your witness, Captain.”
Harry Duke rose to his feet, came to stand directly before Beauchamp, and when he spoke his voice cracked like a whip, and his eyes were piercing, not sleepy. “You have known the defendant how long, Lieutenant?”
“He’s been in my command—”
“I didn’t ask you how long he’s been in your command,” Duke rapped out. “Will the court instruct this witness to answer the questions as they are asked?”
Colonel Andrews looked up with a startled expression, for Duke’s attack on the witness was unexpected. He said mildly, “The witness is so instructed—but I will instruct you, Captain Duke, not to bully a witness.”
Duke stared at the judge, seemed to weigh the matter, then turned back to Beauchamp. “You were present at a New Year’s Eve party at the home of Mr. Sky Winslow on January 1, 1861, were you not?”
“Why, I—I think I was.”
“Would you like me to bring in witnesses who will swear that you were at that party? I will be glad to do so.”
Beauchamp’s brow began to show a fine line of perspiration, and he said, “That—won’t be necessary. I was at that party.”
“Oh, so you do remember it, Lieutenant? I’m glad that you can remember a few things!”
“Objection!” Abraham shouted. “He is badgering the witness.”
“I will sustain that objection,” Andrews said, then gave a direct look at the unkempt figure of the defender. “You will show more restraint in your remarks, sir. I will not warn you again.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Duke responded. Turning to the witness, he presented another question. “Lieutenant, on that occasion, you were humiliated by Thad Novak in a shooting contest, were you not?”
“Objection!” Abraham was on his feet, the suave manner now gone. He snarled, “Such a thing has no bearing on this case.”
“How do you know, Captain?” Duke shot back. “You don’t even know why I’m asking the question! How can you possibly know if it’s relevant?”
“I know you’ll do anything short of murder to win a case!” Abraham raged. “I’ve seen your scurvy—!”
“Gentlemen!”
Colonel Andrews’ voice rose above the shouts of the two lawyers, and when they calmed down, he warned, “I may as well establish one thing right now—this court is not interested in the antics of two fancy big city lawyers. You can save that for the civil courts. This is a military court, and we are interested in one thing: Did the defendant commit treason? We will arrive at that decision when we have the facts. I will expel either or both of you if you persist in making a circus out of this court-martial. Do you understand me?”
Abraham nodded “Yes, Colonel!” and dropped into his chair.
Harry Duke made a sorry figure as he stood there in his wrinkled uniform, but there was something indomitable in his pale face. He said quietly, “Colonel, I suggest that you order me out of this court right now.”
A shock swept through the room, and Thad saw that every officer was staring at Duke. There was something audacious in his words, and they were all caught with his determined air.
“Why do you say that, Captain?” Andrews asked with a look on his face that was half anger and half curiosity.
“Because I do not intend to defend my client with half measures,” Duke responded in a ringing voice. He lifted his hand in a fierce gesture and cried out, “You call my actions ‘antics,’ sir. That is your privilege. I think, however, that you would not look with favor on any officer under you who failed to fight with every means at his command—and I suggest that if another officer ventured to call such fighting ‘antics,’ you would be offended. I will defend my client with every means at my command. That is my duty as a defender—just as it is the duty of a soldier to fight with whatever weapons he can lay his hands on—a sledge hammer if there is nothing else.”
Thad had been watching the faces of the officers, and saw that they were evenly divided over Duke’s blunt words. Colonel Briggs and Otis Clark showed anger in their eyes, but the other two, Major Stillwell and Major McClain, were almost smiling.
Finally Colonel Andrews, after staring at the brazen defender for a long moment, nodded, and Thad thought he could see just a glint of admiration in the colonel’s black eyes.
“You are to be commended for your zeal, Captain—this time. But I will not be bullied, any more than I will allow the witnesses to be bullied. The objection is denied. Continue with your examination of Lieutenant Beauchamp.”
Duke nodded, then proceeded to lay bare the circumstances of the shooting match. Beau had long been ashamed of that incident, and the longer the questioning went on, the worse he looked to the court. He could not avoid Duke’s probing, and admitted that he had formed a bad opinion of Novak. Perspiration ran down his cheeks, and his hands trembled with anger and humiliation as he was forced to admit that he had spoken against Novak time after time, trying to make Mark Winslow get rid of him.
Abraham longed to get rid of the witness, for he was wise enough to recognize that Beauchamp’s testimony was worthless, but it was out of Abraham’s hands. He sat there sullenly as time ran on, and was totally out of patience by the time Duke concluded, “I don’t believe I have any more questions. The court can judge the value of Lieutenant Beauchamp’s testimony.”
Beau stumbled from the room, his face pale, and did not even stop in the outer room, but left at once, relieved to get outside.
Lieutenant Mark Winslow was the next witness called by the prosecution, but he was of no help to Abraham. “I was beside Major Lee when the attack came, and I saw the cavalrymen come riding up from the flank.”
“Could you identify the Confederate with them?” the prosecutor demanded. “Was it Thaddeus Novak?”
Mark gave an agonizing glance at Thad, then said, “Yes, it was.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Your witness.”
Duke asked, without getting up, “You were with Major Lee when the attack came, I believe?”
“Yes, I was. He was giving me some final orders before the charge.”
“Major Lee refused to identify the defendant. He said the distance was too far, the smoke was too thick, and the hat was over the rider’s face.”
“Objection! Objection!” Captain Abraham’s face was purple, and he shouted, “He is putting words in the mouth of the witness, Judge!”
“Objection sustained!” Andrews snapped. “You know better than to pull such a stunt, Captain Duke! This is one of those ‘antics’ I mentioned, and I am strongly tempted to put you out of this courtroom!”
His anger was real, and Thad was terrified. He expected Duke to challenge him, but instead the lawyer dropped his head. He stood there looking crushed, and his voice was husky as he lifted his eyes to the judge and said, “Colonel, I should not blame you. I can only apologize to the court and ask for your leniency. I was quite wrong.”
Colonel Andrews had the words on his lips that would send Duke out of the room and off the case, but he was swayed by the sudden act of humility, so out of character for such a man. He looked swiftly at his fellow officers, then said gruffly, “Very well, sir. Very well! I will be very alert to see if your behavior is in line with your repentance.”
Duke replied, “I thank the court.” Then he turned to Mark Winslow and asked quietly, “Can you swear before God that the man you saw was the defendant, Thad Novak?”
“No, I can’t.”
The answer pulled Captain Abraham out of his seat, his face contorted, but he knew full well that he would get nothing out of Winslow. He cursed himself for a fool, but said nothing.
The morning dragged on endlessly. When they broke for lunch, and during the interim, Major Stillwell, with a twinkle in his blue eyes and creases of laughter in his pink face, commented, “McClain, that Jewish lawyer is fit to be tied. He never had a doubt about proving Novak’s identity as the soldier who came riding in with that Yank cavalry. Now Duke’s made him look like a fool!”
“That’s right,” McClain nodded. “But the waiting room’s full of witnesses who’ll identify the man. After all, Jason, the entire Third Virginia saw him.”
“Maybe so, but we’ll be here until the war’s over if Duke keeps wiping the witnesses out.”
The afternoon went on much as the morning, with Duke coming as close to badgering the witnesses as safety would permit. Abraham fumed, but he said to his assistant, “He’s good, that goy! We’ll get him in the end, but he is a real mensch!”
Finally the day ended, and when Duke emerged from the court, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Winslow still waiting. Going over to them, he said, “Well, I stretched it out as long as I could. It’s going to be harder tomorrow, though.”
“How does it look?” Sky asked.
“It looks like that Yankee relative of yours had better get here soon.”
Winslow questioned him, but there was nothing of substance for Duke to say, and he got away from them as quickly as he decently could.
Sky and Rebekah rode back to the house in silence, for they had said all there was to say.
As they approached the house, Sky exclaimed, “There’s Toby!”
He pulled up the horse, and Toby came running to meet them. “Heah’s a letter from Miss Pet, suh.”
Sky opened it, scanned the contents, then said, “Rebekah—she’s gone with Dooley!”
“Oh no, Sky!”
“Toby—why didn’t you bring this before?”
“Suh, Miss Pet tol’ me not to bring it till today.” He looked worried, and asked, “Did I do somethin’ wrong, Mistuh Winslow?”
Sky shook his head, then sighed heavily, “No, Toby.” He got out of the buggy, helped Rebekah down, and gave her the note.
Papa,
I am going with Dooley to find Captain Winslow. I don’t really think the note you wrote will be enough to make him come, but I can convince him. Don’t worry about me. And don’t hate me, please, Papa!
Your loving daughter,
Pet
Rebekah read the note, lifted her head, and broke into smiles. “I’m glad she went! If she gets her hands on the captain, he’ll have to come!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PET’S RIDE
By the end of their first day of travel, Pet realized that she could never have made the ride to the lines alone. She’d collected the passes from Major Lee, found Dooley at his home, and as soon as Young found out what she wanted, his eyes had brightened. He had produced three fast horses and stopped by Belle Maison long enough for her to change clothes and get Blackie. As dawn broke, they rode out, each leading a horse with a long tether.
It was her clothes, Pet discovered, that caused the trouble. She wore a well-worn pair of light tan overalls, a light blue cotton shirt and a pair of fine riding boots. She had another outfit much the same in the bedroll slung behind her saddle. It was the sort of clothing she had worn when riding around Belle Maison, but her slim figure had blossomed in the past year, so that the first two men they passed on the road gave her some bold looks, and one of them called out a crude remark. Dooley had wanted to go back and teach them proper manners, but she had urged, “We don’t have time, Dooley.”
All day long they kept up a hard pace, and by night they were camped beside the York River, west of Williamsburg. They cooked a supper of bacon, making sandwiches with thick slices of homemade bread, then washed it down with river water. When they had finished, Dooley leaned back against a tree, lit his pipe, and commented, “We made good time today.” He considered Pet as she sat across the fire, finally asking, “I guess this here ride is for all the marbles, ain’t it, Miss Patience?”
She nodded, and hugged her knees to her chest. The stars were covered by low-flying clouds, and the trees beside the river moaned as the night wind stirred and shifted their branches. “The lawyer said so.” She raised her head and the yellow flames of the small fire made her eyes look golden as she stared at him. “We’ve got to do it, Dooley! We’ve just got to!”
Dooley nodded. “Guess you better be sayin’ an extra good prayer. We ain’t really got no show in the natural.” Then he added, “Best git to sleep. I aim to half kill them hosses tomorrow—and mebby us, too.”
He was not joking, for they rose at dawn, and stopped to rest the horses and snatch a quick meal at noon. By night they camped by a small spring, and Pet asked, “Where are we, Dooley?”
He picked up a stick and drew several lines. “This here is the York River where we was last night. Over here”—he drew a set of wavy lines to the left of the river—“is the Shenandoah Valley. We’re comin’ up to the top of it.” He poked a dot at the top, saying, “This here is Fredericksberg, and we’ll pass that tomorrow sometimes.”
“How much farther to the Union Army?”
“Well, as we don’t rightly know where they are, I can’t say,” Dooley replied and threw the stick down. “But from what the officers was sayin’, it looks like Pope will be linin’ up somewhere west of Washington—jest ’bout where we whupped the Yanks the first time—at Bull Run.”
They slept hard that night, but started out at dawn. At noon they stopped at a farmhouse, and Dooley arranged to leave the horses they’d be riding back so the animals would be rested on the return trip. “We’ll be back in mebby three days or less to pick ’em up,” he told the farmer. “Grain ’em and let ’em rest.”
They continued at a rapid clip, but were passing troops now, all headed toward the north. “Them’s our boys headed to meet Mr. Pope,” Dooley said. Here again, Pet’s face burned as the soldiers called her “honey” and “sweetheart,” and a few things she didn’t understand. Dooley had been philosophical about it. “Can’t stop a bunch of lonesome soldiers from starin’ at a good-lookin’ gal, Miss Pet. Jest shut your ears and don’t pay ’em no mind.”
They made good time that day, but it rained that night and they were forced to find shelter in an abandoned barn. The next day as they rode out, Dooley said, “I reckon we might git some idees ’bout where the Yanks is linin’ up. Can’t be too far away now.” They came up to a line of infantry, and Dooley asked the sergeant, “Hey, Sarge, where’bouts you reckon I could find me a piece of Mister General Johnny Pope?”
The sergeant spat on the ground, nodded his head toward the north, and said, “Word is he’s over to the Warrenton Pike. We figure to catch up with him there and give his nose a pull.”
“What outfit?” Dooley asked.
“Stonewall Brigade,” the sergeant answered proudly.
“Whoopee!” Dooley yelped, then said, “Let’s git, Missy. If Ol’ Blue Light is on the march, we’ll find the Yankees not far off.”
They rode hard for the rest of the day and ran into a Confederate cavalry patrol at dusk. “You can’t go any farther this way,” the lieutenant said, staring at Pet. “The Yankees are building up just past that timber.”
“Who is your officer?” Pet asked.
“Why, General Sheridan.”
“Take us to him.”
“I can’t do that, miss!”
“I have a message here from President Davis. Do you want to explain to him why you refused to honor his signature?”
The lieutenant gulped, stammered, “Well—I guess maybe the general might want to see that.”
He led them past rows of campfires until they came to a tent on a low rise. An adjutant challenged them and took the lieutenant aside for a brief conference. When it was over, the lieutenant rode rapidly away, and the adjutant said, “I’ll get General Sheridan.”
“Ain’t never met no generals,” Dooley remarked. “But I heard they wasn’t too fond of bein’ told what to do.”
He cut his words off, for a slight man with a general’s insignia emerged from the tent and came to stand before them. “I hear you have a paper with President Davis’s signature on it?”
“Yes, sir.” Pet opened the leather case, took the larger envelope, and handed it to Sheridan.
The general studied it by the
light of his small fire. “Who is this Captain Winslow?” he asked, putting the letter back into the envelope.
Pet told him the whole story, shortening it as much as possible. He stood there, a small shape with a blunt face, and when she had finished, he slowly pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, lit it, then studied the pair through the haze of blue smoke. “This Novak, he’s your sweetheart?”
“Oh . . . I don’t . . .” Pet faltered, then lifted her head and said, “He’s a good friend, General, and my cousin.”
“I see.” Sheridan smiled and shrugged. “Well, if the President of the Confederacy says to do it, I’m not going to say no. But you’ll have to wait till morning. You’d get shot if you tried to go through their lines tonight. Tomorrow I’ll send you through with a white flag.”
The irrepressible Dooley said, “Well, if you don’t think it’ll give ’em funny idees ’bout us givin’ up, General.”
Sheridan smiled at the bandy-legged Dooley and responded, “I guess they’ll not make that mistake.” He puffed on his cigar for a minute. Finally he turned and said brusquely, “Be here at dawn. I’ll have you taken over.”
Dooley and Pet rolled up in their blankets far enough away from the soldiers so that they could not hear their talk. Dooley went to sleep at once, but Pet rolled on the hard ground for most of the night, wondering how she could convince her distant relation to come to Richmond. Finally she prayed for a while, and as the stars came out overhead, she slept.
****
“A rebel and a woman?” General Phil Kearny stared at the captain who had come to the table where he sat looking at a map. “What in blazes are you talking about?”
“Well, sir, they just came in down the line under a white flag. They had an escort from General Sheridan.” The captain grinned. “They’re looking for one of Sherman’s men, a Captain Winslow, 6th Cavalry.”
Kearny got up and grinned unexpectedly. “Show them in, Captain. It ought to be more entertaining than anything else I’ve got to do.”
He stood waiting, and when the captain returned, the general looked at the pair as the introductions were made. “Private Dooley Young, Third Virginia Infantry, and Miss Patience Winslow.”
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