“I noticed that the streets are somewhat deserted, sir,” Brent responded.
“Not that I truly expect any danger to our capital,” Davis assured Brent hastily. “Not when we have men such as Jackson and Lee heading up our fine Army of Northern Virginia!” His eyes narrowed as he stared at Brent. “But then you have kin in one of General Lee’s regiments, don’t you, son?”
“My father and my brother, sir, Florida Cavalry. I’ve been away a long time. I’ve been hoping to hear some word of them and of the war efforts, especially in Florida. I’m afraid I’m quite out of touch.”
Davis rose restlessly and strode to the cold fireplace. Florida was a point of discomfort to him. He raised his brandy glass to Brent. “Your ship is going to be laid up for about two weeks, I imagine. You’re welcome to use that time to ride out and join with the army. Find your father and brother and ride with them a day or two. As to the war . . . I don’t think we have ever been closer to glory. If only we can keep supplies coming in . . .” The president let the words hang; then he smiled. “As long as we have men such as you, Captain, we shall rise to triumph. Too often those who brave the Union gunboats do so only for profit. Ah, well . . .”
“What about Florida, sir?” Brent persisted quietly.
Jefferson Davis sighed. “We have not taken any of our forts from the Federals, Captain McClain. But neither have they been able to move inland. They remain in St. Augustine and Fernandina, and they have deserted and retaken Jacksonville. If you refer to a certain bay, sir, far south where the settlers aid our cause, then I can assure you that all is well.” He paused. “Mrs. Moore is still living safely under their care.”
Despite himself, Brent felt a blush tint his sun-darkened features. Did the whole damn world know about him and Kendall?
Secretary Mallory, who had been silent during the conversation, spoke up tactfully. “We make it our business, Captain McClain, to see to the concerns of those who serve the Confederacy when they embark upon dangerous journeys for her cause.”
“Thank you,” Brent said tightly. Maybe it was a good thing that everybody seemed to know his business. He’d been worried sick about Kendall the entire voyage. He had dreamed of her repeatedly and so intensely that he had awakened himself with his groans and tossing. And too often dreams had turned into nightmares, nightmares in which he had returned to find Kendall gone, and a Union sloop sailing away with her a prisoner in chains on board. And always John Moore would be in that dream, taunting him “My wife, Reb! My wife. Mine. The woman you want belongs to a Yankee and you have lost.”
He clenched his jaw and swallowed. God, how he wanted to get back to Florida. Forget the whole damn war and rush back and see for himself that she waited, alive and well and beautiful, smiling and free.
There wasn’t even a slim possibility of his getting back—not until his ship was seaworthy. The Confederacy couldn’t afford to provide him with another ship; he’d just have to wait for the Jenni-Lyn. And then he’d have another lousy night and he’d be leaving again. A wave of despair washed through him, and he fought it bitterly. Would the war ever be over? Would life ever be normal again?
He didn’t want to think of the answers. Richmond was an answer in itself. Nothing would ever be the same.
“Well . . .” Davis cleared his throat. “When your ship is in order, Captain, I need you to sail down to the Bahamas for an arms shipment. You’ll be given the particulars. Then you’ll, ah, be needed to take your cargo up the Mississippi.”
“The Mississippi?” Brent queried thickly. “Isn’t New Orleans still held by—”
“The Yankees, yes. They’re trying to cut us in half, Captain, by ruling the river. We mustn’t let them. You must slip through, and bring ammunition to Vicksburg. I’m afraid that city will be a target for the Federals.” Davis was quick to pass over the fact that he was asking Brent to do the impossible. “But, until then, Captain, why don’t you search out your family? We’ll provide you with a decent mount. And a map of the roads that we consider safe. Lee’s beginning an offensive now. He’s sent Jackson to take Harpers Ferry; then they will meet in Maryland. We do give you our heartiest gratitude, Captain. I can’t tell you what that morphine and laudanum will do for our brave men on the field.”
Davis didn’t need to tell him, Brent thought grimly. But he stood and shook the president’s hand, and then listened intently to all that Secretary Mallory had to say.
* * *
His men were elated to be given two weeks’ leave in Richmond town. The naval engineers promised that the Jenni-Lyn would be as good as new within the fourteen days. Aware that the taverns and whorehouses of the Confederacy’s capital would be lively well into the night and that his crew would receive a well-deserved rest, Brent became anxious to get on the road. He hadn’t seen his father or Stirling in more than a year, and given the opportunity to do so, he damn well didn’t want to waste any time.
Following the Army of Northern Virginia wasn’t an easy task, even when one had knowledge of that army’s movements. As Brent traveled the Virginia countryside—bursting with late summer beauty—he could well understand why the Federal generals had such a difficult time keeping up with Lee.
And even he had a hard time remembering the blood that had already bathed Virginia. Birds sang along the trails; the grass and foliage were lush. The first shades of warm fall colors were just coming to the trees, and everything spoke of beauty—and of life.
Yet he couldn’t allow himself to be lulled. Virginia was a battleground. He was aware that he might run into Union troops almost anywhere outside of Richmond, and that awareness made him constantly alert as he traveled in a circular route along the pike around Washington, westward, following in the wake of the Army of Northern Virginia.
Brent traveled for three days, avoiding farmhouses and towns and spending his time in solitude. Nights camping out in the open beneath the canopy of the sky were peaceful and filled with yearning. Living with the simple bounty of nature reminded him of seasons in the Glades with Red Fox. He longed for the virgin wilderness that composed so much of his state. He wanted to go home, then remembered that he no longer had a home. But it didn’t really matter when he lay at night beneath the stars with his saddle beneath his head. He could share the beauty of the night sky with a certain woman. He knew he would be at home wherever she was.
On his fourth day out he ran into an army scout—luckily, a Confederate, as the men almost literally collided in a copse and would have shot each other had they not been too startled to draw weapons. Brent learned that Stonewall Jackson—commanding six divisions of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia—had just taken Harpers Ferry. Lee was awaiting Jackson’s divisions, which were to rejoin the main army at the town of Sharpsburg by a little stream called Antietam Creek. Brent should have no problem finding the army soon if he just stayed on the road.
“But I’ll warn you, Captain,” the gaunt scout warned him, “Lee’s already met up with McClellan’s forces. There’s one big battle about to go on. T’aint really the time for a friendly visit. You navy fellers aren’t much for fighting on land, are you?”
Brent shrugged. “If the Florida Cavalry is fighting, I’ll fight alongside them.”
The scout narrowed his eyes at Brent, then nodded. “Guess so, Cap’n. You got kin with the cavalry?”
“Under Stuart,” Brent replied. “My father and my brother.”
“Stuart’s cavalry covered Longstreet from South Mountain. Most of the big generals are all gathering already. You’ll find Jeb’s cavalry at Sharpsburg, all right, if’n you’re sure you want to.”
“Yeah, I want to.”
“Guess so. Well, Lee’s set up headquarters in a grove off the Shepherdstown road right outside of Sharpsburg. Don’t mind tellin’ you he was expecting some sympathy from Maryland—a welcome, kinda. Ain’t been what he was hoping for. I won’t hold you up anymore; like as not you’ll want to find your kin while they’re still living. Another couple hours and you shoul
d make Lee’s headquarters.”
The scout doffed his hat. Brent continued onward.
Within two hours he came face-to-face with the three men who were the heart of the Confederate forces: Robert E. Lee, Thomas Jonathan Jackson, and James Ewell Brown Stuart. Lee appeared both surprised and amused to be welcoming a naval captain into his headquarters tent, but his humor was brief. The situation of his army was too tense for levity. Brent had never met Lee before, yet he quickly saw that all he had heard about the brilliant man with the quiet dignity was true.
No matter what the situation, Lee was a gentleman. He hid his surprise and amusement and introduced Brent to Stonewall Jackson and Jeb Stuart.
“There’s a battle already happening, Captain McClain. The first shots were exchanged this afternoon. We’re not at sea, sir. You’re not under my command, and I can only warn you that this engagement will be harsh. As usual, the numbers of the Federals far exceed our own.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Brent said quietly but firmly. “But you’ve a company of Florida Cavalry here that is composed of men I grew up with. My father, my brother, and a dozen other Jacksonville gentlemen. I rode with them in peace, and I can ride with them in war. I’m a sharpshooter, sir. I won’t be in the way.”
“Jeb?” Lee, his strategy plans laid before him, raised his eyes to Stuart. “Cavalry’s yours. You know anything about this young man’s family?”
“Sure do,” Stuart replied. “Captain Justin McClain and Lieutenant Stirling McClain. You’ll find them camped about a quarter of a mile down—the farthest tents.”
Brent saluted sharply and turned to leave the command tent. Lee called him back, blue eyes momentarily twinkling despite the hardships of fighting a war.
“Don’t get yourself killed, young man. I understand you’re invaluable to the navy.”
* * *
Brent saw the horses, tethered for the evening, before he spotted the men of the Second Florida Cavalry. And a look at the horses was frightening. They were too thin and ragged looking to proudly carry a noble cavalry into battle.
He felt his stomach tighten and sink as he approached a group of men gathered around a campfire beneath the dark sky that promised rain.
The men were more tattered than the horses. Several were bootless, with scraps of material wrapped about their feet.
Their uniforms were piecemeal, ragged and worn, and like the army scout he had encountered earlier, they all appeared gaunt.
Before he reached the fire one of the tattered scarecrows stood.
“Brent! By God, Stirling! It’s Brent!”
The scarecrow rushed toward him and nearly knocked him off his feet, exerting tremendous force for such a scrawny creature. But Brent didn’t mind. He hugged the enthusiastic man, not objecting to the thunderous pounding upon his back. At last the man pulled away, and Brent stared into deep gray eyes amazingly similar to his own.
“Pa! Damn, it’s good to find you! I’ve been afraid—”
“Afraid I might have taken a bullet and you hadn’t heard?” Justin McClain queried sardonically. “Not yet, son. The old bones may be brittle, and the old head quite gray, but the soldier has life in him yet!”
“Brent!”
Brent turned from his father to embrace his brother—another ragged scarecrow. He pulled away from Stirling with an awkward smile.
“No offense meant, but you both look like hell.”
Stirling shrugged. “That’s one of the reasons we’re moving into Maryland. Virginia’s been raped, Brent. Lee can’t clothe us or feed us properly because the countryside has been bloodied, pillaged, and burned. We’re hoping to pick up some Yank supplies.”
“You look great, son,” Justin said proudly.
Brent grimaced. “I just came from London.”
“You haven’t been home?” Justin demanded anxiously. “Not since early spring. Why?”
“I get letters from your sister, but I worry about her just the same. She says things are just fine. The Yanks come in and out, but they leave the townfolk alone.”
Brent felt a tremor constrict his throat. Obviously Jennifer hadn’t mentioned that South Seas was nothing more than a past glory.
“Jennifer looked fine when I saw her, Pa. Pretty as a picture.”
He couldn’t see any reason to tell his father or brother about South Seas. Not when they were about to engage in battle.
“What the hell are you doing here, little brother?” Stirling demanded with a broad grin. “Not enough action on the seas, huh? Or in London? Don’t that beat all, Pa? We’ve been running our asses ragged out here while Brent’s been partying in London. We should have joined the navy, Pa, not the cavalry!” Stirling laughed loudly as he clapped Brent’s shoulder. “Well, brother, you want a little action, and you’ll see it tomorrow. McClellan’s arranging his whole damned army to meet us tomorrow.”
“From what I hear,” Justin interjected with the same good humor his elder son had offered, “Brent’s seen a might of action already on the seas. But what are you doing here?”
Brent shrugged. “The Jenni-Lyn was all shot up. She’s being fixed at the naval yard in Richmond. I had a couple of weeks to wait. Jeff Davis himself suggested I come out and find you two.”
“That was right nice of him.” Stirling approved. “Well, come on then, Brent, and say hello to the boys. You know Cliff Deerfield, Craig Hampton, and a few of the others. Old man Reilly was killed at Second Manassas, but we’re still a damned good troop.”
With Justin in the middle, the three McClain men linked arms and joined the group about the fire.
* * *
The flames had died down; the encampment, except for the pickets, had bedded down for a restless night.
Stirling McClain, staring silently at the frame of his tent, nudged his brother. “Brent.”
“Yeah?” Brent replied softly in the darkness.
“What’s this rumor about you stealing some Yankee’s wife?”
Brent stiffened, instantly awake and alert. “It isn’t a rumor, Stirling. It’s more or less true. Only I didn’t steal her; Red Fox did. Then the Yankee stole her back, and then she escaped from him and came back to me.”
Stirling exhaled a soft whistle. “All those years when no girl seemed to do for you! And now you’ve got yourself messed up with a married woman.”
“Her husband’s a brute, Stirling.” Brent was silent for a moment. “And she’s worth anything I have to go through to keep her, brother. I’m going to marry her, Stirling, as soon as we can get her a divorce.” Again Brent hesitated uncomfortably. “If you’ve heard about this, Stirling, I guess Pa has, too.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s nothing dishonorable about it, Stirling. I love her. And I don’t care if we’re talked about from here to kingdom come. I just hope Pa’s sense of pride isn’t wounded.”
A voice suddenly broke in on them from the darkness. “Your pa’s sense of honor ain’t tinged in the least, son. I trust your sense of honor. You just do what’s right by that girl, you hear?”
Brent smiled in the blackness of the night. “Yeah, Pa, I hear you.”
“Now, will you two please hush up and let an old man get some sleep. I swear you’re worse than a pack of belles at a tea party.” He hesitated, then added gravely, “And tomorrow isn’t going to be any tea party, sons. Get some sleep.”
* * *
September 17 dawned gray and drizzly.
Jeb Stuart’s cavalrymen were ordered to cover Jackson’s flank and the mile between Jackson and the Potomac, The horse artillerymen were to hold their line and create the illusion that that line was solidly held by shifting gun positions between bursts of fire.
By seven o’clock the battle was raging in full. And death could be seen all around.
The men had fought in a cornfield, the ears golden for picking, the stalks green. But there was no longer any corn. No tall green stalks. So much artillery had blasted through the fields from both sides that the corns
talks had been sheared off just above the ground.
All that was visible was a sea of bodies. Where the corn had been now lay a field of tangled corpses clad in blue and gray.
The cavalry held off Union General Doubleday when he tried to move in on the Hagerstown road; they riddled the fields about them with artillery. Stonewall Jackson held his line with tenacity, yet the loss of life around those still standing to fight was awesome and devastating.
Brent worked alongside his father and brother, loading a Parrott cannon. It took six men to load and fire the cannon, and if one was picked off by sharpshooting advance troops, another man was called in to take his place. Constantly they shifted the guns under his father’s command.
Stirling tried to sing and joke during the endless morning hours when the battle raged before them, the bodies piling high in the vast expanse of the cornfield. Blue and gray. Blue and gray.
Brent’s hands were black with powder; his muscles were strained. He learned something about the Army of Northern Virginia that day: it didn’t quit. Its men were fighters. Its generals survived on tenacity and audacity and they could encounter a foe with far superior numbers and still fight on with nothing but willpower.
It was difficult to tell who was winning the battle. From seven to twelve the intense fighting continued through the cornfield to a tiny little Dunkar church. And by noon the reports were that the Confederates had lost about six thousand men, the Federals about seven thousand. Staggering statistics. But they were more than statistics. They were the tangled heap of men who lay where there had once been corn.
“What are we doing here, Brent?” Stirling asked tiredly, wiping sweat from his brow and leaving his face marked with black powder.
“We’re fighting for the Confederacy,” Brent replied tonelessly.
Stirling laughed dryly. “The Confederacy. Brent, we started this war mainly to preserve states’ rights. Sure, slavery was the right in question, but we all wanted states’ rights. And here I am in Maryland watching men drop beside me while my home has been invaded and I’m nowhere near to protect it”
Tomorrow the Glory Page 27