The Sword

by Gilbert, Morris

  All day he lay there, feeling alternately stunned and deliriously glad. Dr. Hardin came back by several times to lift the now-loose bandage and peer at Clay’s arm. He went away shaking his head.

  The men heard of it, and they talked among themselves, but they didn’t bother Clay. He just stared into space, sometimes smiling, rarely speaking to the doctors and medics. Sometimes he lifted the bandages himself and stared at his arm in disbelief.

  Late that afternoon Chantel came. Even before they had said hello, Clay asked, “Have you talked to Dr. Hardin?”

  “Yes,” she said, and her eyes were glowing. “He says your arm is healed.”

  “He says he doesn’t know how it happened, but I know, Chantel. I was awake, sometimes, when you prayed for me last night. I know this is God’s answer to your prayer.”

  “He really is the good God, Clay.” She reached out to take his hand—his right hand, now cool and not at all swollen—and tears showed in her eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”

  Lifting her hand, he kissed it and said, “Thank you, Chantel, for not giving up on me.”

  “I wouldn’t give up on you, Clay. I never could.” She bowed her head slightly and asked so softly that Clay could barely hear her, “And did you hear all my prayers, so?”

  “Most of them,” he answered. “I think, Chantel, that you are a very wise woman. I think you know that I care for you, that I’ve cared for you ever since I first saw your face, my angel in that dark time. And I would beg you to have me, right now … but I know this—I know that now you’ll only have a man of God. And I’m not a man of God. So I won’t try to push you, Chantel, as I did once before. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  Chantel looked up, smiled, and gently smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “God has healed you. You may not know it now, but you already belong to Him. You owe Him a great debt, Clay Tremayne, and once you told me that you are a man that always pays his debts. Oh yes, you owe God now. And one day, like me, you will learn to love Him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Flora watched her husband and son as they played. Long ago she had given up trying to tell Jeb not to toss the child around as if he were a kitten. As she thought this, she was reminded of those long-ago days, when Ruby had said exactly the same thing to her. For Jeb was like a very large friendly dog, and he played rough. But little Jimmy was like his father. He dearly loved to play “throw.”

  Jeb was lying flat on his back. Little Jimmy was on his stomach, and as his father held him high, he would laugh and swing his arms as if he were trying to fly. Even though Jimmy had grown, Jeb still tossed him up in the air, over and over again.

  Sitting in the rocking chair, Flora watched them, a smile on her face. But then, though she tried to fight it, a nagging worry came to her, as it so often did. She thought about the vulnerability of Jeb on the battlefield. She had heard his men talk about his absolute disregard for danger. It was even in the newspapers that they reveled in stories of General Stuart’s fearlessness. He seemed to court it, his horsemen said, riding to the sounds of the guns, waving his saber and laughing as if he were going to a party.

  Flora’s worry was as unfriendly and persistent as a wound, and there was nothing, it seemed, that she could do to stop it. She had learned to live with it, as women had, both North and South. They sat at home, waiting, hoping for the war to end and their men to return for good—and dreading and fearing the message that they were dead or wounded.

  She had been the daughter of an army officer for her first twenty years, but only a few scattered battle actions against the hostile Indians had broken the peace. They had not been serious, and her father had never been wounded. Though of course she had worried about her father, it was nothing like the painful constant thoughts that she could be a widow.

  Shaking off her fears, Flora said, “You know, Jeb, I was thinking of taking a walk and going over to see Mr. Steiner and Chantel. I’ve been hungry for a chocolate cake, and I don’t think there’s one bit of chocolate in any store in Richmond. But if there is any in this city, Jacob Steiner will have it.”

  “Throw,” Jimmy sternly ordered, and Jeb tossed him high, then caught him and set him on his feet.

  “We better escort your pretty mama to the sutler’s, or some soldier’s likely to snatch her up and keep her,” he said, rising quickly. For such a bulky man, he moved swiftly and surely.

  “That would never happen, Jeb,” Flora said, secretly pleased.

  He came to her, grabbed her around the waist, and swung her around, grinning as she protested.

  “You put me down right now, Jeb.”

  “No, I won’t do it. I guess I’m just too much in love with you to keep my hands off of you.”

  In spite of herself, she laughed, and she was almost dizzy when he finally put her down.

  Swooping little Jimmy up, he took her arm. “I’d like to see Mr. Steiner, too, and thank him. He’s been so good to my men. I don’t know how he ever makes a cent. He gives away more than he ever sells, I think.”

  They went out into the August evening. It was still hot and sultry, but Flora found the evening air pleasant. The light scent of jasmine was carried on a light evening breeze. “I can’t imagine where he’s getting his supplies, either,” she said. “He never seems to run out of anything. Somehow I can’t imagine Mr. Steiner as a daring blockade runner.”

  Jeb laughed, a rich joyous sound that Flora never tired of hearing. “I think he’s like Elijah, and that sutler’s wagon is his cruse of oil. I think every night God just restocks it for him.”

  They walked through the forest of tents, the camp of Jeb’s 1st Virginia Cavalry. The men stood stiffly and saluted him, and usually Jeb returned it with a joke or a question about them, their supplies, their sweethearts, their ailments.

  Jeb put little Jimmy down and let him run around, for he was a favorite among the soldiers. Flora and Jeb walked slowly to let the men see their son, ruffle his thick hair, pick him up and hold him, and tease him about riding out with them on patrol.

  Flora’s eyes shadowed a little. “Your men—they’re such good men. They’d follow you anywhere, Jeb, even to the death.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “They’ve done it, time and time again. I’m grateful to God to have such men, to have the honor of fighting alongside them.” He glanced at Flora then added awkwardly, “Please don’t trouble yourself too much, Flora. You know that all we can do is ask God to give us strength and courage. We’re all in God’s hands.”

  She sighed heavily. “I know, Jeb, and I do try. But I can’t help worrying about you.”

  Flora realized Stuart was well aware of her concerns for him, he knew her as she knew him, but like other soldiers, he avoided making any promises he might not be able to keep. Despite what people said about her husband’s eagerness for battle and the strange moods that seemed to strike him when the guns sounded and the bugles rang out the charge, she knew he was not unaware of the dangers. He had said once, “All I ask of life is that if I have to die, I do it in a cavalry charge.” He was a simple man, no deep thinker, but an excellent officer and leader of men. And a wonderful husband and father.

  Now he laughed, as he often did when trying to allay her fears. “I’m too tough to kill, Flora. And even if they did kill me, they couldn’t kill me but once. Don’t worry. Put it all out of your head.”

  She knew that her fears were a burden to her husband, and she had to be strong and not add to his cares. She managed to smile up at him. “I can do that, husband, for you. Now, you’d better go get Jimmy. I declare, I think that boy is actually going to set him up on that enormous horse.”

  Jeb went over to the group of men standing around a big chestnut gelding. Flora watched, and even though she knew what was going to happen, she still rolled her eyes when Jeb swung Jimmy up high and set him on the horse. All the men laughed, and the young man who had been holding Jimmy yelled, “Charge!”

  When they reached the sutler’s tent, a ge
ntle twilight was cooling down the air.

  Jacob and Chantel sat around a small campfire. One of the men had made Jacob a little table out of some spare lumber, and a bright lantern sat on it, bright enough so that he could read.

  They greeted the Stuarts happily, and Chantel immediately scooped up little Jimmy. “You’ve grown, you! Soon you’ll pick me up, no?”

  He giggled and said, “Throw!”

  “I think I’ll leave that to your father,” Chantel said.

  Jacob asked them to stay for a while, but Jeb said, “No, thank you, sir, we won’t be staying. We just came out for a short walk. My wife is on a search for chocolate, and since she mentioned it, my mouth’s been watering for one of her chocolate cakes. Would you have any such thing in that tent?”

  “Oh yes, I believe we do,” Jacob said. “Chantel, you know where everything is. Won’t you take Miss Flora and give her all the chocolate she needs?”

  Chantel and Flora went into the big tent, where goods were stacked all over four long tables that Jacob had bought when they made their semi-permanent camp. “Here’s the chocolate, Miss Flora. Powdered or bars.”

  She still held little Jimmy, whose eyes lit up when he saw some hard candy wrapped in shiny red paper. “Mine,” he said, pointing a stubby little finger.

  “Jimmy, no, not yours,” Flora said firmly.

  “Oh, can’t he have just one piece, Miss Flora?” Chantel pleaded. “If it’s all right with you, of course.”

  “Well, just one,” Flora relented. “And you must add it to the bill. I’ll have the bar chocolate, please, and a sack of sugar. What a pleasure, to just walk in and be able to buy them. Jeb and I were saying how hard it is to find even meat and bread these days, much less such luxuries as chocolate and sugar.”

  “Ma grandpere, he’s a good scrounger, the soldiers say,” Chantel said proudly.

  Flora smiled. “Jeb says he’s like Elijah. We think God just restocks your wagon every night.”

  “I don’t know Elijah yet, me,” Chantel said, her brow furrowing. “It’s going to take a long time to learn all the Bible.”

  “I don’t know of anyone that knows all of it,” Flora said lightly, “except for maybe your grandfather. Other than that, how is your new life, Chantel?”

  “Good, ver’ good,” she answered with satisfaction. “I feel so much better now in the hospital with the soldiers. I can talk to them about the Lord, instead of running like a little rabbit for Grandpere.”

  “It is so good, what you’re doing for the men. Those poor wounded boys in the hospital, they’re terribly lonesome.”

  “Yes, and they’re afraid,” Chantel said a little sadly. “They don’t say so, but I can see it in their eyes. They want their mothers or their sisters.”

  “Yes, but from what I hear, they’re always so glad to see their vivandiere. And what about that young captain who was courting you. Have you been able to see him much lately?”

  “Captain Latane? Yes, he comes to visit sometimes. He’s a Cajun, like me, so we have fun together.”

  Flora nodded. “Jeb told me about Lieutenant Tremayne, about how his arm was miraculously healed. You know, that happens sometimes. It’s always a mystery, but who can know the mind of God? But I know what good friends you are, and I know you’re so happy for him. Jeb was very glad to have him back.”

  “Yes, it was a miracle, thank the good God. I—I see him, too, sometimes. But General Stuart has kept him busy, I think,” she said hesitantly.

  Seeing her reluctance, Flora merely smiled and said, “Well, I think this is all we need for now, Chantel. Now, how much do we owe you?”

  Chantel shook her head as they left the tent. “Grandpere, he decides about the money. You’ll have to ask him, Miss Flora.”

  Jacob staunchly refused to let Jeb pay him. “It’s a gift, General Stuart, for your wife and your fine boy. All I ask is that you send me a piece of your chocolate cake, Miss Flora.”

  They gathered up little Jimmy, who was sucking on a second piece of candy that Chantel had sneaked him. Jacob and Chantel watched them walk slowly away in the evening shadows, arm in arm.

  “He’s a fine man, General Stuart,” Jacob said. “Rarely does one see such a warrior with such a heart for God.”

  “She worries for him,” Chantel said in a low voice. “It must be hard for your man to be a soldier.”

  Jacob glanced at her then patted her shoulder. “It’s always hard for the ones left behind, daughter. So we must pray that much more.”

  Stepping out of the wagon the next morning, she found Armand waiting for her with a smile. “Good morning, cherie.”

  “Hello, Armand. What are you doing this fine morning?”

  “I came for some of that special tea you sold me last time.”

  “You must have really liked it.”

  “Well, I did. But it’s actually for my sergeant. He absolutely loved it and says he won’t fight a war without it, him.”

  Chantel walked toward the tent, which was closed up. Jacob was still asleep in the wagon. Since they kept it cleared out now, he and Chantel had plenty of room to set up their cots. Armand helped her fold up the tent flaps. She asked, “So. You and your sergeant, are you moving out soon?”

  Armand followed her closely as she moved down the tables looking for the tea. “You know, cherie, I think maybe you are a Yankee spy out to get military secrets from me. If you don’t let me have my way with you, I’ll turn you over to the guard.”

  He had put his hand on her shoulder and tried to look fierce, but Chantel laughed and pushed him away. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a captain if I were a spy. I’d find me a general. You don’t know enough about what’s going on, you.”

  “Oh, you hurt my heart,” he said, placing his hand on his chest theatrically. “And you’re wrong, my cruelest love. I know everything about what’s going on.”

  “Then tell me,” Chantel demanded.

  “Well, I may not know everything,” Armand said, putting two chairs out for them to sit down. “But everybody knows we’re going to invade the North. General Lee will hit them hard. We’re tired of them coming into our country. It’s time to go up there and put a stop to it.”

  Chantel was concerned, for she really liked Armand. “You be careful, you. Don’t you get yourself hurt.”

  “Would you miss me?”

  “Oh yes, Captain. You’re the only Cajun I know in this place.”

  He made a face and said, “I must settle for that, although—”

  “I know. It hurts your heart,” Chantel finished for him.

  On September 13, 1862, three soldiers were crossing an open field that had been a recent Confederate campsite. They stopped long enough to take a break, and one of them noticed a long, thick envelope lying on the ground. He picked it up and found three cigars inside wrapped in a sheet of official-looking paper. One of the soldiers, a man named Mitchell, examined the documents. “Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia, special orders 191.” The three men took it at once to the company commander, who took them to regimental headquarters. Eventually they were standing in front of the commanding general, General McClellan. He studied the paper and saw that this was Robert E. Lee’s complete battle plan for the invasion of Maryland. McClellan said with excitement, “Here is a paper with which if I cannot whip Bobby Lee, I will be willing to go home!”

  Indeed it seemed that McClellan had the men, the ordnance, and now the secret plans that should have enabled him to destroy the Confederates. But when the two armies lined up facing each other across Antietam Creek, a fast-running small river that ran close to the town of Sharpsburg, it seemed that none of these great advantages did him any good.

  In essence, the Union general began sending his men across the bridges that spanned Antietam Creek. From the very first, his method was wrong. Again, instead of sending a huge overwhelming force, he sent his men in piecemeal. They fought bravely, but there were not enough of them in any one charge, and the Confederates entre
nched across the creek shot them down by the hundreds with musket fire and artillery.

  Three times McClellan renewed the strategy, and each time he again failed to send the complete force he had. If in any of these three attempts he had sent his entire command across, the Army of Northern Virginia would indeed have been destroyed. Lee and Jackson were engaged in shifting the few men they had from one spot to the next location that was attacked. In each of the three charges, the Confederates barely survived. But they did, and three times they beat the Union forces back. It was a case of nerves, and McClellan had no taste nor stomach for this kind of fighting.

  It was the bloodiest day in American history; more men were killed on that day than any single day. Lee waited for McClellan to come across the creek in force, certain that he would. He knew that he had far too few men left to defend another attack. But to his amazement, the attack did not come.

  Lee gathered his wounded, bloodied army and made his way back toward Richmond. Once again he had survived along with the army, as tattered and beaten as it was. Thousands were dead, and more thousands were wounded.

  Abraham Lincoln was exceedingly angry when he heard how McClellan had, once again, let the Confederate Army slip out of his grasp. He did not say so then, but he had, no doubt, made the resolution McClellan would never command the army again.

  When discussing the fighting later, Jeb Stuart said sadly to Clay, “The troops we lost today were the best that General Lee had, the best that he could ever hope to have.”

  “What does it mean, General?”

  Stuart had lost many of his own men and could barely speak, for he loved his soldiers. Finally he answered, “We will keep on fighting. God in His mercy will help us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE

  Chantel noticed as she moved among the throngs on the Richmond streets how threadbare and worn some of the clothing of the citizens was. In truth, the blockade had been more successful than the North had even expected. Occasionally a ship would slip through and disembark its cargo, and in every case hundreds of people would be standing there waiting to pay almost any price to get precious goods that were unobtainable anywhere in the Confederacy.