When they had gone past several tents, Clay said, “Sorry to put this burden on you, Dent. I know you don’t like it, and I know you don’t trust me. I’ll do my best to make no trouble for you.”
“All right, we’ll leave it like that,” Dent said. He was silent for six more paces, then added, “It’s going to be an awkward business.”
“You’ll have to be harder on me than on any of the other men,” Clay said flatly. “If you don’t, you’ll get criticized for showing favoritism. That goes for me and Lowell, as well. You know that, but I want you to pour it on, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll just do that, Private Rocklin!”
Two days after Clay signed up with the Richmond Grays, the regiment pulled out, heading for Manassas, Virginia. Dent had been true to his word, and Clay had taken quite a bit of hazing when it was discovered that he was a wealthy aristocrat and the father of the lieutenant—and an old friend of the captain’s. But the men had been convinced there would be no favoritism when Dent had assigned the worst work details in the company to his father and his younger brother.
Lowell had been almost as shocked as Dent when his father appeared in uniform. “Well, Lowell, here I am,” Clay had said evenly. “Looks like we’ve got a war to fight.”
He was a very quick young man, Lowell Rocklin. Instantly he knew exactly why his father had enlisted. He said huskily, “You didn’t have to do this, Father.”
“Yes, son, I guess I did,” Clay answered—and right then he knew that if he got killed with the first shot, he would at least have done one thing right with his family, with this son whom he loved so much.
The regiment marched to the train, flags flying and the band playing. When they got to the station, they were primed by refreshments and sent off with a fiery speech by the secretary of war. Then they moved to the flatcars and seated themselves, and with a blast of the whistle, the train gave a lurch and they moved out of the yard.
“There’s Mother,” Lowell said, waving to Ellen. “And there’s Grandfather and Grandmother! Look, sir, Grandfather—he’s smiling!”
So he was, Clay saw. Thomas Rocklin at last had found cause to smile at his son. Clay waved to his parents—then he saw Melora. She was alone, away from the crowd. He had seen her once before they boarded, but Ellen was there, and they had not spoken. Even now she didn’t wave, but their eyes leaped the distance and something passed between them.
Lieutenant Rocklin had stood beside the Reeds for one brief moment. When the warning whistle blew, he hesitated. Mrs. Reed glanced at Raimey, aware of the agitation in this daughter’s heart. She loved Raimey desperately, as a woman will love an afflicted child, and she knew—without Raimey’s awareness—how the girl felt about the tall soldier standing there. At once she made a decision. “I’m sorry to inform you, Lieutenant, but you’ll have to give this old woman a kiss.”
Dent grinned at her, understanding at once what she was up to. He glanced at Sam Reed, who was smiling, and said, “Well,
I guess you don’t get to kiss a good-looking man very often, Ellie.” He kissed her soundly, then moved to Leona and gave her a kiss. Then he stepped in front of Raimey, saying, “Don’t try to get away, Miss Raimey. It wouldn’t be patriotic.” He put his arms around her, and she lifted her face. Her lips were soft, and her hands tightened on his arms as he held her.
“Good-bye,” he said abruptly and left to step aboard the train, which was moving out of the station. The men of his company had seen him kissing the women and gave him a rousing cheer, which brought a flush to his face, but he knew it was in fun.
The crowd stood cheering until the train was out of sight. Then the silence that fell was heavy and oppressive. It was similar to that moment after a graveside service when the mourners don’t know what to do. Raimey felt the gloom and, as they walked away, heard one firecracker explode.
It was only a tiny popping sound, but she thought at once of the sound of cannons that would soon roar over the men who had just left. Then another firecracker made its miniature explosion, and Raimey was glad to move away from the station.
PART THREE
Bull Run
CHAPTER 13
PRELUDE TO BATTLE
The appearance of a great comet in the sky on June 30, 1861, seemed to many to be a sign. The tail was in the form of a bright streamer with sides nearly straight and parallel. The New York Herald wrote solemnly about the “celestial visitor that has sprung upon us with such unexampled brilliancy and magnitude …. Many regard it with fear, looking upon it as something terrible, bringing in its train wars and desolation.”
It was rumored that an elderly slave named Oola, who belonged to the Baynes family—close friends of Mary Todd Lincoln and her husband—had an evil eye and could “conjure spells.” The slave woman was tall and large of frame, with eyes like gimlets and gray-black skin drawn tightly over her forehead and cheekbones. She said of the great comet, “Ye see dat great fire sword, ‘blaze in de sky? Dat’s a great war comin’, and de handle’s to’rd de Norf and de point to’rd de Souf, and de Norf’s gwine take dat sword and cut de Souf’s heart out. But dat Linkum man, chilluns, if he takes de sword, he’s gwine perish by it!”
When Mrs. Baynes told the Lincoln boys about Oola’s prophecy of war, carefully omitting the dire prediction regarding their father, Tad was greatly impressed and carried the story to his father. Mrs. Lincoln laughed, but the president seemed strangely interested.
“What was that, Tad, that she said about the comet?” he asked.
“She said,” Tad answered, “that the handle was toward the North and the point toward the South and that meant the North was to cut the South’s heart out. Do you think that’s what it means, Pa?”
“I hope not, Tad,” answered his father gravely. “I hope it won’t come to that.” But Mrs. Baynes reported that the president often looked intently at the comet, a forlorn look in his deep eyes.
Comet or no comet, everyone knew there would be a battle—the president, the army, the people, and certainly the press. There had to be a war! Hadn’t the Rebels threatened the very substance of the nation? Horace Greeley thumped the patriotic drum daily in his newspaper with headlines that shouted, “On to Richmond!”
The young men of the North flocked to enlist by the thousands. Lincoln had called for seventy-five thousand volunteers after the fall of Sumter, but he could have trebled that number and not been disappointed. At times the whole thing looked like a big picnic. One Ohio boy wrote home about “the happy, golden days of camp life, where our only worry was that the war might end before our regiment had a chance to prove itself under fire.” An Illinois soldier wrote to his people back home of “the shrill notes of the fifes and the martial beat and roll of the drums as they play in unison at early twilight.” It was the sweetest of all music to him.
It did beat clerking. Boys whose recruit roster was not full rode about the country in wagons, drummer and fifer to play them along, seeking recruits. The cavalcade rode into towns with all hands, yelling, “Fourth of July every day of the year!” The training the recruits received once they reached camp was very sketchy. Almost all of them, including many of the officers, were amateurs, and it was not uncommon to see a captain on the parade ground consulting a book as he drilled his company. Most of the privates had been recruited by one of their acquaintances and, having been on a first-name basis with their officers all of their lives, could see no point whatever in military formalities. Gideon Rocklin heard one private of the Washington Blues call out after a prolonged drill to his lieutenant, “Hey, Jim, let’s quit this fooling around and go over to the sutler’s.” These civilian-operated shops, which were located on army posts, were a favorite gathering place for the troops.
Professional soldier that he was, Rocklin had turned to rebuke the soldier, but his commanding officer, Colonel Bradford, had only laughed, saying, “You can’t do anything about that, Major. These boys aren’t professionals and don’t intend to be. After we put the run on the R
ebels, they’ll take off their uniforms and go home again.”
“Colonel, if we can’t get the men to obey orders on a drill field, how can we expect them to obey when the bullets are flying?”
It was not a new argument, and a line of irritation creased the colonel’s brow. He had raised this regiment with his own money. At first he had listened to advice from his adjutant, Major Rocklin. But as the war fever had risen in Washington, Bradford was more and more convinced that the war would be one quick battle and the Rebels would scatter. Now he turned to the Major with a superior air. “Gid, you’re a good soldier, but you don’t know politics. The South has some great orators, and they’ve convinced themselves that they can pull out of the Union, but they don’t have a chance!”
Gideon knew argument was hopeless, so he clamped his jaw shut. The two of them were on their way to a meeting with General Scott, and afterwards to a flag raising in front of the Capitol. There had been several of these, but this time, Rocklin realized, there would be action. He listened to Colonel Bradford speaking cheerfully as they drove to the War Department, but his mind was on the problems looming ahead—problems to which men like Bradford and some of Lincoln’s cabinet seemed blind.
General Scott shared the major’s concerns. He’d said to Gideon, “Blast it, Rocklin! I feel like a man on lookout up on the mast with icebergs dead ahead! And no matter how loud I shout, the politicians and the newspapers seem deaf! Do we have to rip the bottom from the ship before they’ll wake up?”
When Bradford and Rocklin arrived at the large room where the president met with his cabinet, they found Scott already under fire. The old general, dropsical and infirm, a swollen and grotesque caricature of the brilliant soldier who had won the Mexican War, was flushed with anger. As the two officers entered and moved to stand along the wall, he was almost shouting, “You think the Confederates are paper men? No, sir! They are men who will fight—and we are not ready to engage the enemy at this time!”
Edwin Stanton stared across the room with hostility in his cold blue eyes. “General, we’ve been over this time and time again. I concede that we are not as well prepared as we would like to be, but neither are the Rebels. And I must insist that we have here more than a military problem. Surely we all realize that our people must have a victory now. If you do not know how transient and changeable men are, I do! If we do not act at once, the issue will grow stale. Already the antiwar party is shouting for peace—and many are listening. We must strike while the iron is hot!”
The argument raged back and forth for the best part of an hour, but Gideon noticed that the president was taking no part. He was sitting with his long body slumped in his chair, fatigue scoring his homely face. He’s got an impossible load to carry, Gideon thought.
But suddenly the president stood up, his action cutting all talk short. Every man in the room was alert, waiting for his word. When it came, it was given softly, without special emphasis.
“Gentlemen, I have listened to you all—and I have prayed for wisdom. I presume that Jefferson Davis is praying for that same quality,” he added with a faint glow of humor in his dark eyes, but at once he shook his head. “We have little choice. I feel that from the military point of view, General Scott is absolutely correct, but as Mr. Stanton has pointed out, there is the matter of the people. They must agree to this war, and they must have something immediately. Therefore … the army will move at once. General McDowell will be in command. He has his orders to march as soon as possible and engage the enemy. Some of you disagree with this decision. I can only ask you to put aside your objections—and join with me in prayer for our Union.”
That ended the meeting, but General Scott grunted to Gideon, “Come along to the flag ceremony. I want some uniforms surrounding the president.”
Gideon and Bradford followed the president and the cabinet to the front of the White House, where a large crowd had gathered to witness the raising of the flag. The platform was crowded, and the president took his place by his wife. Gideon looked over the brilliant groups of officers and their aides, the cabinet, and the cluster of ladies in hoop skirts and blossoming bonnets, then centered his gaze on the tall spare form of the president.
After the inevitable speeches, the moment came for the flag to be raised. The Marine Band played the national anthem, and all rose, officers at salute, civilians with their heads uncovered. Lincoln moved forward, took the cord, and gave a pull—
And the cord stuck. He pulled at it harder, and suddenly the Union flag tore, the upper corner coming off and hanging down. Those close enough to see the sinister omen gasped with surprise and horror, and when no one moved, Gideon leaped forward to where the ladies sat, extended his hands, and hissed, “Pins! Pins!”
Several were placed in his hands almost at once, women taking them out of their lace collars and dresses. Swiftly and efficiently, Gideon pinned the corner and nodded at the president.
With a look of gratitude at Gideon, Lincoln pulled the cord, and the flag rose to the top of the pole. The band had continued to play, and the people standing at attention below did not notice anything unusual except that there was a slight delay.
When the ceremony ended, the president extended his hand to Gideon, saying, “Major, you have my thanks.” His hand was hard and gave the impression of tremendous physical strength. Lincoln apparently forgot that he was gripping the officer’s hand. The Union’s chief defender was staring at the nine stars torn from the flag by his hand. He finally released Gideon’s hand, saying again, “Thank you, Major.”
Gideon was not a superstitious man, but in the long days of war that followed, he often thought of that torn flag—and of the strange look in the eyes of Abraham Lincoln.
Amos Steele looked at the dress his daughter had donned for his approval. As Deborah whirled around, he noted the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes and said, “Looks like you’ve succumbed to the allure of foppish attire, daughter.” He added solemnly, “I saw some mission lassies on my way home. Now there are ladies who know how to wear modest attire!”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t be silly!” Deborah lifted the skirt, curtsied deeply, then came to hug him. “You’d be shocked if I went to the reception wearing a dowdy old black dress.” Then she laughed, adding, “Of course, I could go with a tambourine. The lasses like to shake those.”
Her mother came in and caught the last of the sentence. “You young women will do anything to catch the attention of a soldier, but I forbid you to take a tambourine tonight.” She was smiling, but then she frowned slightly. “A letter just came for you, Deborah. It’s from Richmond.”
Deborah took it at once, stared at the writing on the envelope, then said as she tore it open, “It’s from Aunt Susanna.” She scanned the lines and then became aware that her parents were watching her closely. They had said little about her attachment to Denton Rocklin, but she knew they were both concerned.
“She says that the world’s upside down there, every man going for a soldier.” She read a few more lines, then looked up with surprise. “Dent is a lieutenant now—and he’s seeing a young woman quite a bit.” Reading on, she seemed to stop and reread the lines; then she lowered the letter. “Her name is Raimey Reed. She’s the daughter of a wealthy planter from Alabama—and she’s blind.”
The Steeles exchanged looks; then Amos said, “That’s a strange one. Is he serious, does she say?”
“No. Just that he’s seen her fairly often.” Quickly she read the short letter, giving them the essence of it. “Uncle Thomas isn’t well. Susanna’s afraid he’s going down, and the doctors can’t seem to do anything.” She hesitated, then added, “She gave me an invitation—more or less. But I don’t think I’d want to go back, much as I’d like to see her.”
Laura Steele nodded. “It might be difficult with the war hanging over us. Not very pleasant for anyone from our world to be in Richmond.”
Amos pulled out his watch, squinted at it, and said, “Deborah, I’m going to see Colonel B
radford this morning. Any message for him?”
“No. He’s taking me to the reception tonight. I’ll see him then.” There was no excitement in her face, but she brightened when she said, “I’m meeting Pat and Noel downtown at noon. We’re going out to eat, and then I’ve got a surprise for Noel.”
She turned and ran away to change, and Amos gave his wife a baffled look. “Do you think she’s serious about this man Bradford?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s serious enough about her,” Laura said. “He’s taken her out three times. I don’t care much for him, Amos. He’s wealthy and fine looking, but a very worldly man.”
“Well, he’ll be gone with the regiment soon. Now I must go.”
“Amos, are you sure this war is of God?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in my life!” He turned and left, whistling off-key as he went.
Noel Kojak stood somewhat in awe of Pat Steele. The tall brother of Deborah Steele was handsome and well educated, and at first Noel had hung back. But the two of them, being in the same platoon, soon came to be fast friends. Pat, of course, had been coaxed by Deborah to show attention to Kojak, and he did so, out of curiosity, wondering what his sister could see in a lowly workingman. He was prepared to be condescending to the young fellow but discovered to his dismay that young Kojak was a better soldier than he was.
Some of the companies got easy duty, but Lieutenant Boone Monroe of the Second Platoon, A Company, Washington Blues, had other ideas. He was a tall, raw-boned Tennessean who had come up through the ranks and was hard as nails. He worked his men hard, and Pat was soft. His first contact with Noel came when the two of them were assigned to dig a ditch. By ten o’clock Pat was gasping for breath and his palms were covered with blisters.
Noel had been watching Steele, and since they were the only two on this duty, he said, “Pat, you’re going to ruin your hands. Take it easy and let me dig this old ditch.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 52