The Sword

by Gilbert, Morris

  Flora sat shaking her head.

  But Stonewall Jackson and even General Lee laughed.

  After a while, the musicians left the platform, and Major Ball stepped up. “All right. We’re going to have a service right here. We’ve had our party, and now we’re going to hear a word from God.”

  Major Ball was a tall, thick-set man with a shock of black hair and a pair of strangely colored eyes, penetrating hazel eyes. His voice normally was quiet and even, but when he stood up to preach, it was like the sound of a trumpet. “I’m going to preach a very simple sermon to you today. My text is one that you all know—one that has often been called ‘the Gospel in a nutshell.’ I refer to John 3:16. You know the verse. It says, ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ ”

  Chantel was fascinated as the chaplain began to speak. He had a compassion for lost men that showed clearly on his face. He spoke of how God loved the world that did not love him. “We’re all of the world, and we’re all sinners. It is one of the great mysteries of the Bible and of life to understand why a just and holy and perfect God could love miserable sinners such as we all are. But the Bible says He loved the world, and He gave His Son. We’re going to speak now of that gift that God gave for our salvation.”

  As the sermon went on, Chantel had her eyes fixed on a young man who was across the way from her. It had grown dark, but there were lanterns stationed so that she could see his face clearly. She saw that he was very young and that he was somehow afraid. She could not take her eyes off of him, and she whispered to Clay, “Do you see that young man over there? The private with the yellow hair?”

  Clay looked over and nodded. “I can’t recall his name just now. He’s in the Stonewall Brigade.”

  “He’s so young,” Chantel said. “And he looks so afraid.”

  Clay studied the man and nodded. “I guess he is. Most of us are, I guess. I envy men like General Jackson and the major who don’t have to worry about what’ll happen if they get killed.”

  Major Ball was saying, “There you have it, dear friends! That’s who God is, a compassionate loving Father, but He still gave His only Son, His beloved Son, Jesus, and He condemned His own Son to death, so that He paid for our sins. How can we turn away from our Father God? How can we ever say to Him, ‘No, I don’t need Your love’? We can’t. Once we realize, deep in our hearts, what He has done for us, the great and eternal and kind love that He has for us, we cannot help but ask Him humbly to take us in and to be our most beloved Father.”

  The silence was profound, and Chantel saw that some men wept openly. She glanced at Clay and was shocked to see his dark eyes glint with unshed tears.

  The chaplain finished, now speaking quietly in the reverent silence, “I know you men. You’re like all men. You’ve dabbled in the defilements of the world, you’ve shamed yourselves, perhaps you’ve shamed your families. Maybe you’ve given up and you think, ‘God can’t care for me. I’m not worth caring for.’ But this Scripture says that He does. If you’ll just come to Jesus tonight, you’ll find out that He will open His arms and welcome you with a love that is everlasting.”

  The chaplain began to urge the men to come forward who wanted to be prayed for, and many came. It was just a few at first, but then more and more men, hats in hand, went to the chaplain and stood silently, heads bowed, as he prayed with them.

  Chantel turned to Clay and saw that his face was working; he was struggling. Even as she watched, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  Chantel knew that God was dealing with him. She slid her hand into his, and he grasped it as hard as if it were his only tenuous hold on life. Chantel bowed her head and prayed.

  Finally she sensed Clay relax, and his painful grip on her hand loosened, though he still held it. She looked up at him. His face was rather pale, but he looked back at her and smiled.

  She asked, “Did you ask the good God to save you, Clay?”

  “I did,” Clay answered steadily. “And just like you and your grandfather have told me, I feel different now. I know that He is in my heart. For the first time since this war started, I know I’m safe.”

  “Even unto death,” she said quietly, “we know we live. Forever and ever.”

  Clay and his corporal, a sturdy man of about forty-five named Gabriel Tyron, were riding side by side slightly behind General Stuart. Clay was aware of the jingling of the horses’ harness, some of the men laughing and talking, the ever-present sounds of the night in the South. A thousand crickets called, in the distance bullfrogs sang out their throaty single notes, the nightingale trilled her lonely sonnet. This was all a familiar scene to him, and now that he had become a Christian, he was not at the mercy of his fear. He felt alive and alert and strong.

  “I think this battle is going to be bad, Lieutenant,” Corporal Tyron said.

  “Why do you say that, Corporal?” Clay asked curiously. The man was a career soldier, and he, like Clay, had already been through terrible battles. It was unlike him to say such a thing.

  Tyron shrugged. “I got me a bad feeling.”

  “That’s just superstition, Tyron,” Clay said firmly. “We’re heading for a fight, for sure. But no matter what happens, it can’t be much worse than what we’ve already seen.”

  “No, this is different. My mother, she had what they call second sight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that she saw things that couldn’t be.”

  “What kind of things, Corporal?”

  Tyron frowned. “My mother saw her brother after he was killed.”

  “What do you mean? At his funeral?”

  “No, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Her brother, my uncle, was killed in a mining accident out west. One day, Mama, she looked up and saw my uncle standing in the door. She was surprised, and she asked him when he had come back from the West. He just smiled and said nothing, and then in a minute he was gone.”

  “I don’t understand,” Clay said with some impatience.

  “My uncle, he had been killed the day before. It was a full week before Mama got the letter. But she saw him that day.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true,” Clay said in a more kindly manner. “Not that I doubt your mother, but she must have been mistaken.”

  “You think what you like, Lieutenant, sir. But I think that God speaks to us in different ways, and I think He spoke to my mother in that kind of way.”

  The cavalry rode on, and late that night they made camp. They had been there for a couple of hours, and Clay was seeing to the well-being of his men, going around to ensure they had something to eat, talking to them, encouraging them.

  He was at the edge of their camp, and he looked into a clearing a little ways away from them where there was a small fire. With a shock, he realized that General Lee was there. He was sitting on a cracker box, and across from him, not five feet away, was General Stonewall Jackson. General Stuart was with them, and General Lee was speaking to him in a low voice.

  Stuart nodded then turned and walked fast, back toward his tent. As he passed Clay, he said, “Saddle up again, Lieutenant. We’ve got to ride.”

  They rode west, and Clay, as always, stayed close behind General Stuart. Sometimes, in the night, they heard talking and laughing just on their left, and Clay realized they were riding very close to Union pickets.

  Every once in a while, Jeb would throw up a hand for the column to stop, and then he would listen, his head cocked as if he were waiting for something. Then he would nod with satisfaction and move quietly on.

  They were in a wilderness, with rough tracks for roads that seemed to begin out of nowhere and then end abruptly. Finally Stuart called for the column to halt, though he didn’t dismount, so neither did Clay. Stuart took a map out of his jacket and called for a lantern. An aide brought him one, and Stuart studied the map, his right leg thrown over the saddle horn in a negligent gesture, on
e that Clay had seen many times.

  “I think that Reverend Lacy lives around here somewhere,” Jeb said quietly to Clay, who had lingered close to him. “If we can find him, I’ll send word with him back to General Jackson and General Lee.”

  Finally they found the Reverend B. T. Lacy’s small cabin. He was Stonewall Jackson’s chief chaplain. Jeb roused him and said, “Go back to camp, just east of here, close to the old Wellford railroad yard. Tell General Lee that I have found the end of their line, in a clearing about eight miles from them, and it looks to me like they’re up in the air.”

  In Stuart’s absence, the two generals had made a momentous decision, and some audacious plans.

  It was indeed a daring move, one that could have been an utter catastrophe. Robert E. Lee had asked Jackson to find a way to get at Hooker’s army, and he had decided, when he got word from General Stuart, to try and flank them at the weakness in the line that Stuart had found. Stonewall had asked Lee if he could take his whole corps, leaving only two stripped-down divisions with Lee. Robert E. Lee had about 14,000 men left with him as Jackson made his flank sweep. Joe Hooker had about 100,000 men. All Hooker had to do was to drive straight at him, hard and fast, and the Army of Northern Virginia would be destroyed, and the Civil War would be over.

  It never happened.

  Fighting Joe Hooker talked a good game. Once he called the Army of the Potomac “the finest army on the planet.” Before the battle had even begun, in his headquarters he boasted, “Robert E. Lee and the Confederate Army are now the legitimate property of the United States.”

  At the beginning of the battle, he was cocksure, filled with confidence, but he had never tackled the likes of Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. As events unfolded, he grew unsure, indecisive. Instead of rushing his men into the fray and taking Lee head-on and running over the inferior force, which he easily could have done, he lingered, he made excuses, he stalled.

  Then Stonewall Jackson and his corps appeared, apparently out of nowhere, shielded by Jeb Stuart’s fearless cavalry, and struck his flank. Hooker completely lost himself and ended up helplessly frittering away every chance he had to effectively fight back. He never had control of the battle, and finally, in the end, he met the fate of others who had run up against Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson.

  Jackson’s corps had, in effect, cowed Joe Hooker, and as a result, the Army of the Potomac was like a loaded cannon, but one that no one would aim and shoot. Still, Stonewall Jackson was never a man to be satisfied. Even as the darkness fell, he was leading some of his officers, looking for a way to strike Hooker another blow.

  They were in the deep woods, with the lines so close and entangled that from one foot to the next they couldn’t tell if they were closer to Federal troops or to Confederates. An overeager, keyed-up North Carolina infantry regiment fired a volley that knocked Jackson out of the saddle, wounded in the left shoulder, the left arm, and his palm. Jackson was carried away from the battlefield. His war was finally over.

  “General Stuart,” the messenger said, “I have terrible news.”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “General Jackson has been shot. He’s not expected to live. General Lee orders you to take command of the army.”

  What could have been the proudest moment of Jeb Stuart’s life turned out to be one of the most bitter. He had admired Jackson all of his military career; in fact, the two men, polar opposites though they were, had made fast friends. It was said that Jeb Stuart was the only man in the world who could make Stonewall Jackson laugh out loud.

  Now his great head dropped, and he said, “I will assume command.”

  Jeb Stuart was a cavalryman. But he took command of an entire army, infantry, artillery, and all, and he did a fine job. He managed to send Hooker back to Washington in disgrace. But there was no joy in Stuart’s heart nor in the heart of any Southerner. In losing Jackson, they had lost so much, and they had loved him well. General Lee, when he heard that Jackson’s left arm was shattered, had sent word, “You’re losing your left arm, but I am losing my right arm.” A pall fell over the Confederacy. It seemed that the army would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY–THREE

  If Jeb Stuart had expected to be promoted after serving so well and salvaging the Battle at Chancellorsville, he soon found out that this was not to be. There were mentions of his bravery, the excellence of his command during this battle, but he remained in charge of the cavalry. No doubt both General Lee and President Davis were convinced that this was his most valuable contribution. And though Stuart might have felt some twinges of regret at being passed over, in his heart he likely agreed with them. He loved the cavalry above all.

  In midsummer he arranged for a review of the cavalry at Brandy Station. There had been little action, so the troops were all available, and by the time the review was set in motion, ten thousand cavalrymen sat their horses in lines almost two miles long, and Stuart galloped onto the field.

  One of his gunners, George Neese, said of Stuart:

  He was superbly mounted, and his sidearms gleamed in the morning sun like burnished silver. A long black ostrich plume waved gracefully from a black slouch hat cocked up on one side, held with a golden clasp. … He is the prettiest and most graceful rider I ever saw. I could not help but notice with what natural ease and comely elegance he sat his steed as it bounded over the field … he and his horse appeared to be one and the same machine.

  In those few golden days of summer, it seemed as if the enemy was a world away.

  Stuart’s officers were gathered together, and he explained that there was a drive to invade the North. “Our job,” he said, addressing his men, “is to cover the Union Army, to find out their dispositions, to see if we can find a weakness in their flank. They are just over that ridge.” He pointed east, to the Blue Ridge Mountains. “That will be an easy enough task. We’ll have no trouble.”

  Afterward Clay was talking with several of the other officers. Clay had noticed some difference in General Stuart’s manner, and he was worried. “He doesn’t seem to be as alert or as focused as he usually is.”

  “General Stuart knows what he’s doing,” a major scoffed. “He’s never let the army down.”

  Clay could argue no more against his superior officers, and so he kept his mouth shut and followed Jeb Stuart, as always. But Clay had been right. Instead of watching the Union Army and sending reports to Lee on the western side of the Blue Ridge, Stuart led his army on side trails and in ineffective and meaningless skirmishes. Once they captured a huge wagon train.

  Clay was worried, and Corporal Tyron could see it clearly. “Lieutenant, won’t this train slow us down?”

  Clay shrugged. “General Stuart says he’s ordered to interfere with their supply lines. This is interfering.”

  On the other side of the mountains, Robert E. Lee worried as the Union forces began to move against him. Without Stuart’s intelligence, he was blind.

  And Jeb Stuart’s mistakes were going to haunt him.

  “General … General Longstreet, please wake up!”

  Longstreet came awake instantly and sat up on his bed. He pulled his fingers down through his thick beard and said, “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “Harrison’s back, sir.”

  “The spy?”

  “Yes, sir. He says he’s got information and you have to hear it.”

  “I doubt it.” Nevertheless, he got up and said, “Have him come in.”

  The officer departed, and Longstreet sat down at a chair behind the field desk and waited. He did not care for spies as a whole, but this one seemed to be better than most. As soon as the man entered, he pulled off his hat and said, “Hello, General. I’m back.”

  “What have you got, Harrison?”

  Harrison grinned and said, “I came right through your lines. It’s a good thing I wasn’t a Union Army.”

  “What have you got?” Longstreet repeated.

  Harrison was a slight man w
ith a foxy face, innocent-looking enough. He was able to pass for a farmer or a workman of any kind. For this reason, he was able to move anywhere unobtrusively and get information that others could not. “I got the position of the Union Army.”

  Longstreet grunted. “Where are they?”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  “I’ve no doubt, Harrison, and I admit you’ve always done us a good job. So where is the army?”

  “Less than a day’s ride away from this here spot.”

  Instantly Longstreet straightened up. “Can’t be,” he muttered.

  Harrison was offended. “I’m telling you, General, they’re less than a day’s ride away, and they’re going to get you if you don’t do something.”

  “Show me.” Longstreet pulled out a map, and Harrison began pointing out different locations, telling him of their dispositions. Then he added, “Oh, and I forgot to tell you. They got ’em a new general.”

  “Who is that? What happened to Hooker?”

  “Lincoln got tired of him, I reckon, after that last dust-up at Chancellorsville. Now he’s got George Meade. That’s what the papers say.”

  Longstreet knew that a catastrophe had suddenly reared up ahead of him. He got up and said, “We’ll have to tell General Lee.”

  The two left Longstreet’s tent and made their way to Lee’s tent. They found Lee seated at his desk. “Harrison here says that the Federal Army is not a day’s ride away, sir.”

  Lee stared at the scout. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Harrison, sir.”

  “Well, Harrison, you saw this for yourself?”

  “Plain as day. I saw General Buford leading his corps.” He began to name off other units, and Lee and Longstreet were both silent.

  Finally Lee said, “We are in your debt, sir.”

  Harrison knew this was his dismissal. “I’m glad to be of service, General.” He turned and left the tent.