Someone slapped Lightning on the neck, and Clay looked down. A man stood there, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, wearing a wide-brimmed U.S. Cavalry hat. He was wearing a U.S. Army frock coat, but the insignia had been removed. As he looked up, eyes narrowing in the bright sunlight, Clay saw that he had blue eyes so bright they looked as if they projected their own light. His cinammon-colored mustache and beard were thick and bushy.
“Hello, sir,” he said, “that is a fine-looking mount you have there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Clay said, dismounting to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Clay Tremayne, from Lexington.”
“I’m Jeb Stuart,” he said, “of the great state of Virginia. I’ve just been commissioned as a Lieutenant Colonel of Virginia infantry. Are you here to enlist, Mr. Tremayne?”
“Yes, sir, I am,” Clay replied. “I was just on my way up to headquarters to see the adjutant.”
Stuart stroked Lightning’s neck then in the expert manner of a true horseman, ran his hands down his chest and forelegs. “Very fine animal.” Standing upright again, he looked at Clay, and again Clay was impressed by his piercing blue eyes. Just now they were dancing with joviality. “I’d like to invite you to join me, Mr. Tremayne. I’ve already assembled a very fine group of men, and I think you’d be a valuable addition.”
“Me or my horse, sir?” Clay asked, stolid.
Stuart laughed, a rolling, booming laugh from deep in his chest. The men surrounding him couldn’t help but grin, including Clay.
“Both,” Stuart said. “In fact, if you think you might want to join up with some other outfit, I may ask your horse to volunteer.”
“But sir, didn’t I understand that you’re a colonel commanding infantry?” Clay asked in confusion.
“So they tell me,” Stuart said with some regret. “But somehow, it seems, most of the men who have volunteered for my command have very fine horses. It looks like we may be mounted infantry. Until we’re cavalry, that is,” he finished with a devilish grin.
Clay thrust out his hand. “Sir, my horse’s name is Lightning, and he wishes to volunteer. And sometimes I think this horse is smarter than I am, so I generally do whatever he wants to do.”
Jeb Stuart said, “My kind of man.”
It was nine o’clock before Clay returned to Jacob’s wagon.
He and Chantel had stopped under a stand of trees just north of the fairgrounds, and they had been doing a brisk business all day. Although the government was provisioning the soldiers effectively, their numbers had grown to around eight thousand men in the city of Richmond, and so the food was spare and plain. Men flocked to the peddler’s wagon, buying candy and dried beef and canned foods.
Even at nine o’clock at night, there were still a bunch of them there, gathered around Jacob’s campfire, laughing and talking and trying to flirt with Chantel. Clay noticed that she smiled at them and was polite to them, but she took no part in any private conversation with any of them.
After a while they drifted away, and Clay rode in.
Jacob called, “Clay! Come in, come in. Share our fire. And I think that we have something left for supper, though I must say that we’ve almost been cleaned out of foodstuffs. I’ll have to get busy tomorrow and go to the warehouse district. I know I’ll be able to find wholesalers there. Anyway, we want to hear about your day.”
Clay dismounted and hurried to help Chantel, who was setting up a tripod over the fire. Soon they had it done, and she brought out a big iron pot. “I’ve been soaking these potatoes and carrots in beef broth all day, me,” she told Clay. “I put back one big slab of beef. I had to hide it or Grandpere would have sold it.” She gave him a very small smile.
Chantel had laid out the cot mattresses under the trees, and they went to sit by Jacob. Clay told them about Jeb Stuart. “And so Lightning volunteered to fight for the Glorious Cause, and Colonel Stuart is allowing me to come along with him. I hope you get to meet Colonel Stuart. He’s a very interesting man.”
Jacob looked out over the field, a sea of tents lit by hundreds of lanterns. “So many men,” he murmured. “And they’ve come so quickly to go to war.”
“All over the South there are camps like this,” Clay said. “And we’re spoiling for a fight. In fact, Colonel Stuart already has his orders. In a few days, we’re going to Harpers Ferry. The commanding officer there is a Colonel Thomas Jackson. He’s already invaded,” he told them, grinning. “Colonel Stuart told me he crossed the Potomac and seized Maryland Heights. Sounds like a good start to me.”
“It sounds as if you and your colonel spent some time talking,” Jacob observed. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but then he’s not like any officer I ever heard of,” Clay answered. “He’s not at all standoffish. We started out talking about horseflesh and went to see some of the horses that his men have. Then we just started talking about the forces and some of the plans the War Department has already formed. And then he did something else I’ve never heard of.”
“What’s that?” Chantel asked curiously.
“He gave me a note to take to the adjutant when I enlisted,” he said. “I thought it was something to do with the regiment. But when I went in to enroll, the clerk looked up at me and asked, ‘Have you attended West Point, sir?’ Of course I said that I hadn’t, and then he told me that Colonel Stuart had recommended me as an officer. Second Lieutenant,” he finished with pride.
“Is—is that a good thing?” Chantel asked uncertainly.
“Sure is. I mean, this is a whole new way of forming an army, so a lot of the companies that form elect their officers. It’s not as if you have to have a commission from the War Department, unless it’s a promotion to a colonel or above. But still, I can’t imagine why Colonel Stuart just decided like that to make me one of his second lieutenants. Maybe it was because it’s so obvious that Lightning is a gentleman of quality.”
“Maybe,” Jacob said lightly. “But then again, maybe he saw the same thing in you.”
“Doubt that,” Clay said, smiling a little at Chantel. She didn’t return it, but he thought that maybe her expression was not quite as remote as it had been.
“I wonder,” Jacob went on, “just how many men will join this new army in the South. It will take many, many men to form an army that could defeat the United States Army in the North.”
Carelessly Clay said, “Who are they, anyway? They’re businessmen and merchants and farmers. In the South we grow up with rifles in our hands from the time we can walk. I believe with leaders like Colonel Stuart we will outfight them every time.”
“Maybe,” Jacob said softly. “I only pray God will shorten the time, and it will be over quickly.”
“It will be,” Clay said confidently. “I think that we’ll whip them, Jacob. And I think that they’ll turn and run right back across that river and leave us alone.”
Jacob nodded, but his thoughts were nowhere in agreement with Clay’s. He had lived in the North, traveled around it for years. He had seen the enormous bustling cities and gotten a sense of the hundreds of thousands of men who were of age to be in an army. He had seen the great factories, the commerce, the prosperity of the northern parts of America.
All of these were in stark contrast to the South. It was sparsely populated, its economy was based on cotton, and almost all of the industries that existed were based on cotton, too. There were no great munitions factories in the South, and as far as he knew, it had not developed an import-export trade to the extent that they could easily import arms.
But he said nothing of this to Clay, who was so obviously excited. Since he had known him, Clay had seemed to be a beaten man, aimless, unhappy. At least now he had a sense of purpose.
Chantel was saying, “But you said you’ll be leaving in a few days?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s the word.”
“You mean, you’re going to go, and there will be fighting?” “The war has started,” Clay said. “Not here in Richmond. But yes, Mis
s Chantel, I am going to leave, and I am going to war.”
She started to say something and then seemed to change her mind. Finally she said, “May the good God watch over you always, Clay.”
PART THREE: CLAY & THE GENERAL 1861—1862
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Go to sleep, little baby.
Go to sleep, little baby.
Four angels around your bed.
To calm your sleepy little head.”
Chantel was singing softly to Little Flora, or La Petite, as Jeb and Flora had begun to call her sometimes, who had gone to sleep on her lap. Looking across the room, she saw that Flora was watching her with a smile on her lips.
Flora was holding Philip, and they were playing with some wooden blocks.
“Why are you laughing at me, Miss Flora?” Chantel asked.
Flora said, “I was just thinking what a good mother you would make.”
“Me? I don’t have a man. I don’t have any plans to get one, me.”
“You’ll get a man. I’m sure of that, and a good one, too.”
Chantel continued to rock, studying the face of the child in her lap. “She is such a pretty girl,” she whispered softly.
“We think she’s going to look like her father. She has his eyes.”
“I think no. I think she’s going to be pretty like you. It’s hard to tell what your husband looks like with that bushy beard. Why don’t you make him shave?”
“I gave up on that a long time ago,” Flora smiled. “He’s proud of his beard. Besides, he says it hides his ugly face, but I don’t think he’s ugly. I think he just hates to shave.”
From the open window, the sounds of birds singing drifted in. Chantel listened, and memories came to her of the different birds she had known in the bayou. She missed the large herons and the brown pelicans and the other birds that she knew so well.
The door opened, and Jeb stepped inside. He always looked as if he was in a hurry, and he never seemed to be tired, which always amazed Chantel. “Don’t be so loud. You’ll wake La Petite,” Chantel warned.
“She’ll be glad to see me.” Jeb smiled. He kissed Flora and Philip, then came over, put his hand on Little Flora’s head, and stroked the soft hair. “Well, you won’t have to be taking care of us any longer, Chantel.”
Chantel stood up. “You found someone?”
“Yes. She’s a widow woman about thirty-five, I guess. Her husband was one of my men killed at Harpers Ferry. I had to go tell her of her husband’s death and found her all alone. She truly needs the money. I think she’ll do well.”
Chantel felt a sudden pang and said, “I will miss your family. I will even miss you, too, sir. I will. Even if you are a general.”
Suddenly Jeb laughed. His laugh, like the man, was big and rollicking and seemed too large for the room. La Petite stirred and opened her eyes. Jeb picked her up and swung her around, as he still did Flora sometimes. She squealed with delight.
His command had indeed been changed to the cavalry, and he had received promotion first to full colonel and then to brigadier general. Now he was commanding the 1st Virginia Cavalry. Ever since this had happened, Jeb had been happier and jollier than ever before.
“Jeb, you are going to make that child dizzy and give her a sick stomach,” Flora said with mock sternness. “Just because you’re the best officer in the Confederate Army doesn’t mean you can mistreat the children.”
Jeb walked over and put his hands on Flora’s shoulders. “You always think I’m the best soldier in the world.”
“Because you are,” Flora said firmly. “Everyone knows it.”
“All of this ‘everyone’ you’re talking about doesn’t include my men. They think I’m a slave driver.”
“I think you are the best cavalryman and the best officer, Jeb,” Flora said. “You never get tired. You’re so strong and active. Most men wear out at the pace you drive yourself.”
“Well, when they decided to join the cavalry, that’s what they signed on for.” He moved toward Chantel, fishing in his pocket. “Miss Chantel, I don’t know what we would have done without you.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out to her. “Here. I added a little extra to your wages.”
“You don’t have to do that, General Stuart,” Chantel said. “I like your family, and Miss Flora has been a good friend to me.”
“You’re worth every penny of it. Now, you be sure and come back and see us all. Especially the children. They’ve grown very attached to you.”
“Please do visit me, Chantel,” Flora said sincerely. “You’ve been a good friend to me, too.”
“I will do that,” Chantel promised. She had only stayed with the Stuarts that first week, while Flora recovered from her illness. After that she had come every other day, bringing supplies and food, cooking staples, taking care of the children, and giving Flora a rest. She had no belongings at the Stuart home, so she said her good-byes and left.
She reached the main street of Richmond, which was, as usual, swarming with all sorts of activity. The streets were clogged with wagons being brought in and others that were outward bound, filled with supplies to be carried to various points of the Confederacy. The air echoed with the noise of people shouting and talking, and even the curses of the mule skinners came to her loud and clear. She had often wondered why mule skinners spoke in such rough language but had given up trying to figure it out.
Suddenly a man stepped in front of her and stopped her. “Well, I know who you are. You’re the woman that took up with Clay Tremayne.”
“Let me pass.”
“Just a minute, missy. You’re a right pretty girl. You may have been Tremayne’s woman, but you need a real man like me. I’m Ed Howard.”
Suddenly things came together. “You are one of the men who shot Clay.”
“Sure am. I’ll do it again, too, if I get a chance. Come along. You and me will go have something to drink.”
“Leave me alone!” Chantel tried to pull her arm out of Ed Howard’s grasp, but he held it tightly and laughed at her efforts. She slapped at him, and her hand made a red outline on Howard’s face.
“Why, you little cat!” he snarled and started to shake her.
But then his wrist was grasped so tightly he grunted involuntarily. He turned and saw that Morgan Tremayne was holding him. Morgan was not a big man, but he had a wiry strength, and his mild blue eyes were now hot with anger.
“Let go of me, Tremayne,” Ed said, grunting, writhing a little in the awkward postion. “What do you care about this little bit of sauce?”
“Apologize to the lady,” Morgan said, and twitched his hand just a bit.
Ed Howard cried out as the pressure on his hand grew intense. “Leave it, Morgan. You’re breaking my fingers.”
“You need to learn some manners,” Morgan said. “I said, apologize.”
Charles Howard came up behind Morgan. He had a cane in his hand, and Chantel saw him swing it and cried, “Look out!” But it was too late. The cane struck Morgan in the back of the neck, and he fell forward.
Both men laughed, and Charles said, “So, this is Clay’s little piece. That’s right, little lady, I want to have a word with you, too.” Both brothers started toward her.
From down the street, Sheriff Asa Butler had seen Charles knock Morgan down, and he had hurried to stand in front of the brothers like a big wall. He put his hands—they were wide and powerful—on both brothers’ chests and shoved them so hard they staggered. “Back off, you two.”
They both started yelling at Butler, but he made a quick cutting motion with his hand, and they shut up. “So, lemme get this straight. Morgan hurt your dainty little hand, Ed. And you, Charles, you’re kinda getting in the habit of sneaking up on people and hitting them from behind, aren’t you?”
Charles’s face turned a deep crimson, but then he said rather sulkily, “C’mon, Ed. Waste of our time anyway.” They went strutting down the street.
Chantel said, “Thank you, Sherif
f.”
“You be careful, Miss Chantel. If these two bother you anymore, you just let me know. You look kind of shook up, Morgan. You all right?”
Morgan had gotten to his feet during this exchange. He rubbed the back of his neck where Charles Howard’s cane had hit him with the force of a hammer. “Aw, guess I’m all right, Sheriff. Probably have a good headache tonight though.”
Butler considered him. “You know, Morgan, I could arrest Charles Howard for assault. If you want to press charges.”
“I think our two families have tangled enough,” Morgan said drily. “Thanks, though, Sheriff.”
The two men shook hands, and the sheriff walked back down the street.
Chantel said to Morgan, “You tried to help me. Thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t enough help,” Morgan said. “I sure am sorry that I couldn’t keep those swine from insulting you.”
“Well, you tried, and that’s what counts. You’re a much better man than them, you,” she said disdainfully.
Morgan made a little bow. “I’m Morgan Tremayne, ma’am.”
“Yes, I heard the sheriff. You’re Clay’s brother?”
“I am. He’s told you about me?”
“Not really,” Chantel said. “Mr. Tremayne, he doesn’t talk much about his family or his past.”
“But he’s told me about you,” Morgan said. “When I was walking by, I heard what Ed Howard said. I knew you must be Chantel, the angel that saved my brother’s life.”
Chantel shrugged. “I must go back to camp now. Ma grandpere will be waiting for me.”
“There’s going to be a celebration at the fairgrounds tonight. There’ll be some food and music and fireworks and speeches. I don’t like the speeches much, but the food will probably be pretty good. Would you go with me?”
Chantel considered it then said carelessly. “Yes, I’ll go with you, Mr. Tremayne. But only if ma grandpere comes with me.”
The Sword Page 17