And young or old, rich or poor, his followers had something else in common—they were too reckless and too wild for the discipline and monotony of the regular army. Hunter’s perilous style of warfare suited this group of men perfectly. The detached nature of his command and the mystical nature of its commander added to the appeal of its outlaw allure.
Truth be told, Hunter thought, these men would not know how to pitch a tent if they were handed one or how to execute a lateral oblique if they were ordered to. The only strategic movement they understood was “split up,” a command rarely ever ordered with more than a wave of his hand, because each man knew instinctively when to initiate the action. Their camp was the saddle, and their homeland was the battlefield.
When not on active duty, this gallant band of men protected themselves by disappearing into the homes of Virginian families equally devoted to the cause of Southern independence. It was on the generosity of these families the cavaliers relied for meals, and as a result, kings were neither better fed nor more reverentially treated.
Hunter’s musings ended when the unwelcome bugle call of Union cavalry fell upon his ears. In fact, the sound of the approaching train and the sound of the approaching enemy reached the group at the same instant.
All eyes fell upon Hunter. After a loud curse, he gave the order to mount up. “Meet at Ebenezer,” he yelled as his men began to scatter.
Blazes, how did they know? The image of a young, skinny kid skirted across his mind as he turned his mare south. Urging her faster, he damned the Yankees for stealing his chance to provide the ailing Confederate army with needed supplies, and for robbing his men of their just reward for service.
* * *
Hunter leaned his shoulder into the door-jam of the church and studied his men. Some were occupied with writing letters to sweethearts while others were engaged with playing cards—but all displayed on their faces disappointment over the failed raid. The result of the disrupted foray was more serious than just the loss of spoils. The effect on morale could no longer be tolerated.
Turning over the day’s events in his mind, Hunter remembered something one of his scouts had reported to Lieutenant Carter. He walked around the side of the church with deadly purpose, scouring the yard until he found the face for which he searched.
“Twiggy, gotta minute?” Hunter paused to light his pipe.
“Why sure, Cap’n. What’s on yer mind?”
“That boy you saw today,” he paused, searching for the right words. “What’d he look like?”
“Like I told Lieutenant Carter, Cap’n, jus looked like some farm boy,” he replied in a slow Southern drawl. “Figgered he was one of yer new recruits.”
“Well, did you notice anything at all unusual about him?”
“Naw, not really.” Twiggy rubbed his whiskers, pondering the question.
Hunter let out a sign of relief. “Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.” He turned and started to walk away.
“Well, of caws, thar was that haws.”
Hunter froze and felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. “That horse?” He did not turn around. He did not need to. He knew what Twiggy was going to say next, and his hands clenched into tight fists.
“Yea.” The rebel scout spit and wiped his mouth with the back of a dirty coat sleeve. “Big black thing, it was. Prettiest darn piece of haws flesh I’ve seen fer quite awhile.”
Hunter let out an oath with the breath he did not even realize he’d been holding, then stomped away, not uttering another word until he reached Dixie. “Mount up!”
From all around the churchyard, loafing—and startled—Rebels leaped from where they rested. Spurs, belts and pistols clattered as they were hurriedly gathered. Bridles and saddles flew from tree limbs, bushes, and fence rails, as a few dozen men scrambled to follow the order without delay.
* * *
After delivering the dispatch, Andrea rode a short distance before coming to two conclusions: Justus needed a rest, and Catherine would have to wait a little while longer for her message from J.J.
Pulling her canteen from her saddle, she plopped down on a sun-warmed rock and mulled over the day’s events. She pushed from her thoughts the image of the Confederate scout she had encountered, and dwelled instead on the handsome figure of Colonel Delaney. Then she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of that vision as well. She did not have the time or the inclination to deliberate upon the officer’s superb martial bearing or how she felt about it.
Laying her head back on the rock, Andrea realized how physically exhausted she was. The few hours of sleep the night before had done little good, especially with the excitement and danger she had undergone today. The heat of the rock soaked into her like a warm embrace, and the low sun made her drowsy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes a few minutes, she thought, gazing at the terrain around her. She was on a small knoll, with a few trees shielding her from the vision of anyone coming across the fields below. If she needed cover, she had only to ride up the hill behind her where larger boulders offered protection. Who would find me here anyway?
Andrea awoke later sensing something was amiss. Finding Justus nearby, she began to tighten his girth when she heard a loud crack that sounded like a horse kicking a stall door. That peculiar sound was followed almost instantaneously by a strange thwack of something striking a rock near her. She stared drowsily at the rock and then shifted her gaze to a cloud of dust traveling like a fast-moving thunderhead down below. She continued to watch for a moment, too stunned to move. The approaching horsemen rode in distinct columns of four. It cannot be Hunter, she thought. His men ride in a come-as-you-may order.
Barely awake, she stood contemplating the possibility that it was indeed Hunter’s men attempting to appear like a Union scouting party to confuse her. Another bullet whizzed by her head, convincing her that the possibility was in all probability a certainty. Stay calm, she told herself as she scrambled and clawed her way over the rocks. She jumped on Justus without bothering to tighten the saddle and headed up the hill full tilt. War is no game, Andrea. Those words replayed in her mind again as the image of J.J. scolding her appeared before her eyes.
Her saddle began to slip, her heart to pound. Not knowing where she was heading, Andrea slowed Justus down as the terrain became more difficult. Glancing back over her shoulder once, she saw the riders had started up the incline and were gaining on her. She tried to choke back her fear, but the litany of what she had done and should not have done continued to run through her mind. Had she not delivered that last dispatch she would be at Catherine’s by now. Had she not rested . . . Had she kept riding . . . Had she . . . “Oh, blast it!”
A bugle blaring in front of her caused Andrea to lift her head in surprise. About twenty yards up the hill sat Colonel Delaney wearing a careless smile. Turning in his stirrups, he yelled a command to a small detachment of men before heading straight down the hill at a reckless gallop. “Careful, boys. It’s Alex again. And I think he’s mad.”
A few of Delaney’s men dismounted and saluted the approaching force with a crackle of carbines. Andrea slid from Justus and slumped to the ground behind a boulder, her legs trembling too much to bear weight. With her head between her knees, she listened to the fury down below, knowing beyond a doubt the skirmish would not last long. Hunter would scatter his men, recognizing it was useless to fight on such ground; and Delaney would pull back, knowing the obvious danger of pursuing rebels skilled in the art of ambush. The notes of the Union bugle recalling the cavalry troopers soon confirmed her belief.
Within minutes she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves striking the rocks as it approached from below. Too tired to move, she closed her eyes and prayed it was not one of the enemy.
“Thanks for being our decoy. I owe you one.”
Andrea smiled at the sound of Daniel Delaney’s voice, but was too weary to set the record straight on who was in debt to whom.
Delaney crossed his hands over his pommel and gazed dow
n at her. “You look a bit worn. How about joining us at camp? It’s not far from here.” Dismounting and extending a gauntleted hand, he helped Andrea to her feet.
“I appreciate the invitation, Colonel, but I’m already behind schedule. I should get moving.”
“Nonsense.” He cut her off. “You can’t possibly be thinking about riding out now. It’s too dangerous with Hunter’s men around, and I would feel responsible.” His voice was persuasive and filled with brotherly compassion. “Anyway, a hot meal and a good night’s sleep will do you good.”
Andrea preferred to move on, but her exhausted body told her she should rest. Coupled with the fact that her ankle throbbed and she was too tired to come up with a rebuttal, she nodded her head.
“Are you injured?” Delaney’s tone was laced with concern at her limping gait.
“Only a sprain. I’m all right.”
Without giving her a chance to mount by herself, Delaney lifted her into the saddle and then climbed onto his own horse. “Wherever did you get that beast?” he asked, after they had ridden a short distance.
“I’ve had him since he was a foal.” Andrea did not bother to say more, did not believe it necessary to tell him she had stolen him from her father’s stable in South Carolina.
“Does he know how to walk?”
“This is his walk,” she replied nonchalantly. “He has two other gaits. Fast and faster.”
Andrea smiled shyly at Delaney’s look of surprise, and then they both began to laugh. From that moment on, Andrea felt at ease with Daniel Delaney, and understood why J.J. cherished him as a friend.
* * *
The camp contained only a small contingent of men, and when they retired after dinner to a large campfire, Andrea studied the colonel’s face in the soft light. Dark complexioned and strikingly handsome, he possessed eyes that appeared audacious and mirthful, not grave and stern like when she had first hailed him. He had a distinct gentleness about him that made her feel safe, and a courteousness that conveyed a man with firm upbringing. And though he appeared strong and commanding in his role as an officer, there was something reckless and boyish in the way his blue eyes twinkled that was both fascinating and attractive.
It was late before the other men retired, but despite her weariness, Andrea waited until the last one had departed. “I understand you are looking for a contact in Richmond,” she said casually, as though she’d not been burning to ask the question all night.
Daniel stared at her, showing surprise at first, but then he acquired the same thoughtful gaze J.J. had. He cocked his head to the side. “Colonel Jordan told you about Richmond?”
Andrea grinned. “N-not exactly. I … overheard a conversation.”
Daniel put his head back and laughed. “Ah-ha. I see.” He winked at her, but gave Andrea little time to analyze the look. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he became all business. With his blue eyes assessing her, he asked in a hushed tone, “You would be interested in such a position?”
Andrea nodded earnestly. “I was born in South Carolina and schooled in Richmond.”
“I did not detect your accent.”
“I was tutored in speech and diction befoe the wah, suh. But I declayah, talking like this comes natchral enough.”
Daniel laughed and leaned back. “It would be extremely dangerous nonetheless.”
“I understand.”
“Colonel Jordan is comfortable with you accepting the assignment?”
Andrea began to answer yes, but stopped mid-breath when she looked into Daniel’s honest eyes. “N-not exactly. I believe he wished to confer with you first.”
“Well, I’ll have to think about it.” He stood up and brushed off his coat. “Colonel Jordan implied he had something to discuss with me, but it will have to wait. At any rate, it’s late. You must be exhausted.”
Andrea sighed and nodded.
“Next time you’ll have to tell me about yourself. I fear I bored you with talk about me and my men all night,” he said, helping her to her feet.
“I was not bored in the least.” Andrea looked up and met his gaze. “As for me—it’s a long story.”
Daniel placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s funny,” he said in a soft, serious tone, “but I feel like I’ve known you all my life, Sinclair. Yet I know nothing at all about you, not even your real name.”
His words caught Andrea off guard. A part of her felt bewildered, ready to run. Yet another part found comfort in his eyes, a feeling she could tell this man anything—and perhaps everything. She cleared her throat and tried to suppress the emotions raging within her. “I think I’d better say good night, Colonel.”
“Yes, of course.” Daniel led her toward a row of tents. “I apologize for keeping you up so late. I know you’ve had a long day.”
“Actually, there is one more thing I’d like to ask you.”
“Of course.” Daniel stepped closer. “What would you like to know?”
“When I, when we, were being attacked, you called the Confederate officer by his given name, Alex. Are you acquainted?” Even in the dim light from the campfires she saw a shadow fall across his face.
“Yes, I know him very well.” His voice was almost a whisper, and he averted his gaze. When he looked back, a somberness that had not been there before filled his eyes. “But that’s the way of this war, is it not?” He said nothing more, just tipped his hat respectfully and disappeared into the darkness.
Andrea wrapped herself in her blanket and laid down, but instead of falling instantly to dreamland as she had anticipated, she lay awake thinking about the gallant Colonel Delaney. She recalled how he made her laugh and how comfortable she felt in his company. Although she lived, ate, and slept around men every day, they were simply friends and comrades, nothing more. But this one’s indescribable charm made him somehow different. He seemed so gentle, kind, tenderhearted—the complete opposite of the infamous Captain Hunter. Andrea shuddered at the thought. Yet when she did finally drift off to sleep, it was Captain Hunter’s piercing gray eyes she saw in her dreams, not Colonel Delaney’s sparking blue ones.
Chapter 5
“For if destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author.
… We must live through all time, or die of suicide.”
– Abraham Lincoln
Andrea’s visit with her cousin was a pleasant one, though it did not last long. Anxious to get back in the saddle after only one day, she rode well into the night to return to J.J.’s camp. It seemed she had no sooner laid her head down before Boonie was shaking her awake. She stared drowsily at the rose-colored sky that revealed a new day had already begun.
“You gonna sleep all day, boy?”
Andrea groaned. “Darn it, Boonie, I ain’t slept but a few hours in the last week.”
“Tell yer problems to Jordan. He wants to see you.”
Andrea closed her eyes and tried to remember what she may have done to aggravate J.J. Unable to think of anything, she sat up. “What for?”
“Dunno and didn’t ask. I’m a soldier, not yer mother.”
Andrea hurried and dusted off her pants as best she could. Maybe he had something to tell her about Richmond. Or maybe he had changed his mind. She quickened her limping pace toward headquarters without a backward glance.
* * *
“Sinclair.” J.J. frowned with anxiety when he saw her. “This is Captain Warren. He’s here under orders to request you for special service detail.”
Andrea nodded in the direction of the officer and then turned her attention back to J.J.
“And I have told him I cannot allow it. You are too valuable here.”
J.J. knew if given the opportunity, Andrea would seize it, and he would never be able to rein her in. There would always be another assignment, each more dangerous than the last. When Andrea looked at him with evident surprise at his response, he took satisfaction in the fact he had avoided lighting her volatile temper. Had he just said “no,” he would have had a figh
t on his hands.
“General Whittington is asking a favor, not giving an order,” the captain said to Andrea. “But he did say he wants you.”
“He is not available.” J.J. sat down at a table and began writing a dispatch, making it appear time was of the essence. “He will be on his way forthwith to Centreville. For me.”
The captain stood for a moment and then, apparently realizing any further attempts would be futile without a direct order, turned to leave. “As you wish, sir.”
Andrea flopped down on the cot. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
J.J. did not bother to answer other than to grunt something under his breath that suggested extreme annoyance.
“I think I’m getting old, J.J.,” Andrea groaned. She put her hand on her head and stretched out her legs. “Everything hurts.”
J.J. stopped writing and looked up. “Does that mean you’re ready to stop this foolish game?”
Andrea sat straight up. “No.”
“I thought not. I need you take a dispatch to General Lawson.” J.J. tried not to appear nervous as he put the finishing touches on the communication. “He’s in Centreville. Report directly back to me with his response.”
Andrea stood up and grabbed for the dispatch, but he held onto it.
“After you deliver the message, head back through Hopewell Gap. I’ll be in the vicinity of Monroe’s Mill. Do you understand?”
Andrea nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s dangerous out there, Andrea. This area is not all behind our lines.”
Andrea gazed at him as if he had told her nothing more significant than that it might rain, then stood and saluted him. “Yes, sir!”
Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia Page 4