The Calm and the Strife

by David J. Sloat

  By Wednesday, the 17th, Wes, tired of the unresolved tension, was ready to join those going south to join the Confederate Army. He, Ben and several of the others were sprawled on the grass near Bridger’s, discussing that option when a stranger walked up to them and stood looking down at Ben. After squinting up at the stranger for a second, Ben’s face lit up with pleasure. He jumped to his feet and the two men exchanged a noisy bear hug.

  “Wes, meet one of my oldest friends. This here is Henry Kyd Douglas.” Douglas shook Wes’ hand, while Wes sized up the newcomer. He looked to be in his early twenties and was dressed in a gray uniform similar to that of the Guards. He was tall and bore himself with an easy grace, his intelligent blue eyes partially hidden by a mop of light brown hair.

  Ben slapped Douglas on the back. “Where’d you come from?”

  “St. Louis, of all places. I was there when they started shooting at Fort Sumter. So I boarded the first train that would get me back here.”

  Ben turned to Wes. “Kyd here is one of the original Guards. Can’t you tell from the look of this tattered old uniform he’s got on?”

  Kyd looked offended. “My mother was up all night mending this thing so I wouldn’t miss the fight.”

  “Fight?” Ben snorted. “What fight? We’ve been lying around for days waiting for a fight. We’re about ready to leave and go further south to get some action. What do you say?”

  Kyd frowned for a moment, his eyes focused on the distance. “That might be premature,” he muttered. Ben and Wes turned to see a horseman galloping down the street at full speed. The rider dismounted, not waiting for the horse to come to a halt. He landed gracefully a few feet from the Guard’s commander, Captain Butler, who stood at the door to the saloon. The entire Guard quieted expectantly.

  The messenger saluted. “Captain Butler, I bring a message from Governor Letcher. You are to proceed with all haste to Harper’s Ferry and gain control of the armory there. Other militia groups are headed there now, and together you are to compel the Yankees to leave.”

  Wes was close enough to hear all of this clearly and, with a surge of excitement, he and the others looked at each other and cheered. The captain straightened himself, pulled his hat firmly onto his head, cleared his throat and bellowed, “Form up!”

  It was just as they had practiced it hundreds of times, but this time they jumped to it with a tingling sense of anticipation. The lines straightened and the men stood stiffly, awaiting orders while the captain mounted his horse and rode to the front of the line.

  “Boys,” he said, “the governor is calling upon us to fight for our rights. We have grown up free and independent citizens of a free country. Now, the politicians in Washington have decided that they know more than the founding fathers did. Well, let’s find out how they change their tune when they see the Guards coming. Now, follow me!”

  With one voice, the Guards cheered, holding their caps high in the air. Wes was carried away by the moment, waving his cap with abandon and yelling until his throat hurt. The captain turned his horse and moved slowly down the road as the sergeant screamed orders, barely audible over the cheers. The front ranks lurched ahead and the rest followed, the files becoming ragged as the later ranks hurried to catch up.

  Wes saw that Kyd had an old pistol tucked in his belt and Ben was wielding what looked like the handle of an old axe. Looking around, he noticed that most of the others had brought assorted weapons with them, everything from hunting rifles to rusty sabers. Feeling conspicuously naked with his hands empty, Wes broke ranks and dashed to the side of the road to grab a good-sized branch. He fell back into line and, as he walked, started to convert his prize into a weapon by trimming it with his knife and smoothing it to fit his hands. Along the road, people gathered to witness the impromptu parade, waving kerchiefs and hats and shouting good wishes.

  Kyd, talking to one of the telegraph operators in town, had learned that Governor Letcher had finally responded to Lincoln’s call for troops with a cable that said simply, “You have chosen to inaugurate civil war.” Having broken its ties with the Union, the Virginia legislature began debating whether to join its sister states in the new Confederacy. But the governor’s order for the state’s militias to attack and capture Harper’s Ferry seemed to make that decision inevitable.

  Wes had been to Harper’s Ferry two or three times over the years and knew a little bit about the place. It had been the scene of an infamous uprising a few years earlier during which John Brown and a group of radical abolitionists had tried to seize the armory and raise an army of former slaves. The plot had failed and Brown and his followers had been hanged. Wes, aware of the irony of the moment, wondered whether things would be different this time; he and other bands of rebels were now on their way to capture that same armory.

  As if reading his mind, Kyd, marching beside him, spoke up. “I was there when they dragged John Brown out of the engine house. It feels strange to be going back there. I never thought it would come to this.”

  “I know what you mean,” Wes said thoughtfully.

  Kyd squinted at Wes. “Ben says you’re from Pennsylvania.” It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t a question either. Wes stared back at Kyd, trying to decide what he meant by the statement.

  Kyd understood Wes’ reaction. “I only ask because I’ve spent a lot of time in the North myself.” Then, looking up the road ahead of them he said quietly, “I don’t believe any man should be the slave of any other man.” He glanced at Wes, who was clearly surprised by this statement. “And yet I can’t stand by and watch the government push Virginia around. Is that why you’re here?”

  Wes thought about all the reasons that had brought him back, but realized that the answer was too complicated to put into a few words. Looking at Kyd, he nodded his head. “Yeah, I suppose that’s why I’m here, too.” Kyd smiled approvingly and Wes felt as if he had just passed another test. He wondered how many more tests awaited him.

  They completed the ten mile trip before dark, every foot of which was torture for Wes, still bleeding from his beating at the hands of Jack and the others. Atop the hills overlooking the little village of Harper’s Ferry, they met another militia group from Charlestown. The two companies eyed each other suspiciously as their captains talked the situation over. After a few minutes, the group from Charlestown led the way down the hill, with the Guards following close behind. By the time they reached the outskirts of town, darkness had fallen.

  Wes was quiet, like most in the group, nervously listening to the sounds from up ahead. Off to their left, the Potomac flowed noisily away into the darkness. Approaching the outskirts of the town, they noticed a glow in the sky and were assaulted by an acrid smell. Word spread through the ranks: “Fire!” The Yankees were burning the armory. They had seen the militia coming and were trying to destroy the place to keep the munitions out of rebel hands. The men surged forward. Wes, Ben and Kyd lost sight of each other as the formation broke and men ran in confusion toward the fire. When they reached the center of town, they discovered at least three buildings ablaze.

  The first men on the scene were yelling for buckets and trying to organize the troops into a fire line. In the distance, riding up the hill to the southeast, Wes could see a few dark shapes with torches galloping away from the fire. Some of the Guards on horseback took off in pursuit. Buckets appeared and the men formed lines from the river up to the burning buildings. Wes found himself on the front end of one bucket brigade, throwing water directly on the flames. Shouts rang though the night as men ran chaotically in every direction, silhouetted by the leaping flames. The heat was like a wall and the fire licked out at him as he ran forward, repeatedly hurling buckets-full into the thirsty flames. His arms grew heavy, his face stung viciously from the heat, and his bruised body protested every effort, but he ignored the pain.

  The work continued for an hour, until Wes, faint with exhaustion, was scarcely able to lift another bucket. The heat was becoming almost unbearable and, despite their be
st efforts, new fingers of flame kept leaping out of the building, reaching for him. Eventually the fire began to subside, and as the heat lessened, men came forward to pull away the charred wood and smash the burning embers with the flat of their shovels.

  When the fire was under control, a relative quiet returned to the town. The shouting subsided and darkness returned as the last flickering flames died away. Men patted each other on the back, exhausted but pleased with their efforts. Wes and some others found a stable nearby and lay down on the soft straw to rest. He was instantly asleep.

  When he awoke, the sun had just risen and around him men moved slowly. Some wandered out to examine the fire’s damage. Wes stood and stretched his aching muscles. He had marched ten miles and then fought the fire long into the night, still suffering from the effects of his beating.

  He walked over to the building which he had tried to save. It had apparently been a storage facility for military equipment. A large hole had burned through the roof leaving fragments of wood hanging down at odd angles against which the low morning sun cast eerie shadows. The wreckage still smoked and crackled, giving off an overpowering stench. At the far end of the ruin were what was left of several horse stalls. Wes assumed that army mounts had been stabled there.

  A voice from behind startled him. “They pulled out, all of them.”

  He turned to see Captain Butler examining the damage, talking to an officer from one of the last militia groups to arrive. “Most of them were gone before we got here. The rest set the fires when we got close. But we did good. Most of these buildings can be saved.”

  “How about the weapons? Did they burn the arsenal?”

  “Some were destroyed. But we saved about half the rifles. Thousands of them.”

  The other officer nodded and the two moved off down the street. Wes explored the rubble for awhile, then, when he saw some of the others rising, set off in search of breakfast. He begged a loaf of bread from one of the shops, whose baker was happy to trade it for details about the action of the previous night.

  Wes made his way up a steep hill. At the summit he found a church which looked down on the spot where the Potomac and the Shenandoah Rivers meet to embrace the town. The sign indicated that it was a Protestant Episcopal Church. Wandering hesitantly inside, he found the sanctuary empty and sat in the back pew, resting for a moment and listening to the quiet.

  He was not a praying man, but he had been raised in a religious home. His parents had taken him to church every Sunday and, although he had the feeling that they did it for the sake of appearances, deep in his heart he knew that it all had a serious meaning. He peered through the gloom of the dimly lit church. A single light hanging in the chancel caught his eye, and for a moment the world around him lost its focus.

  He found his thoughts wandering back to Ginnie and the memory of her running away from him. He could feel again the heavy weight which pressed on him, keeping him from pursuing her. If only he had tried harder to convince her, she might have come with him. But then the old doubts crept back into his thinking, the certainty that she had never loved him, that he had been a fool all along. Instead of loving him, she despised him, thought he was a traitor.

  Traitor. That word made little sense to him anymore. Each day made him more certain that he was a true patriot. The northerners were the real enemies of freedom; they were ignorant of the significance of what Washington was doing, and too indifferent to take action to stop it. Everything that mattered to him, everything that he cared about, was now in the South.

  He wondered if his mother was watching over him. In this place, he could almost imagine her there beside him. Knowing that she would be able to answer his questions and soothe his inner turmoil, he closed his eyes tightly and pictured her face.

  “Can I help you, son?”

  Wes turned quickly to see a priest standing beside him.

  “No, sir. I just stopped in for a moment.” He stood abruptly, anxious to leave.

  “It’s all right. You’re always welcome here. No matter what side you’re fighting for.” The priest gave him a wry smile. “God doesn’t take sides, you know. We’re all his children.” He moved off toward the chancel humming to himself and Wes slipped out the door back into the sunlight.

  About noon, the sergeants gathered the Guards together. The group chattered excitedly, pleased with their success in foiling the army’s attempt to destroy the town. Wes found Ben and Kyd, sat down alongside them and listened to their stories about last night. They had helped fight the fire at the arsenal itself, and related in comic detail how the fire was just about to reach the gunpowder when they had finally doused it. They all felt as triumphant as if they had already won the war.

  Captain Butler gathered the men around him. “I have a message from the governor congratulating you on your success in driving off the Federals last evening. He is calling for troops to join in the fight against the North. The day before yesterday, our legislators voted on a resolution to sever Virginia’s ties with the United States. The resolution was passed.” The Guards cheered wildly.

  The captain continued, “We are no longer a part of the United States, but a free and independent state. As the militia, we are called upon to defend our state against the attacks of all outside forces. Therefore, we will be calling you forward singly to fill out the proper papers. From that moment on, you will no longer be Guards. You will be members of the Virginia Volunteers.” There were more cheers. “And,” he concluded, “you will be paid eleven dollars a month for your services.”

  The men cheered even more enthusiastically at this announcement, then lined up to sign their names in the regimental book. When it came Wes’ turn, the sergeant handed him a pen which he dipped solemnly in the ink. Carefully, he spelled out his name and date of birth, then hesitated when he saw the line marked “Birthplace.” After a moment’s reflection, he scrawled “Gettysburg” as illegibly as he could, purposely omitting the state name. He looked at the sergeant to see if he would object, but the man, bored and tired, was oblivious.

  Wes looked again at his name, tucked under many others, in drying black ink. With a sudden thrill, he realized that now he was really a soldier. There would be no more play-acting at war, as the Guards had been doing for years. This was for real, and he was going to be a part of it. Here was the opportunity to prove himself, at long last, a success.

  Chapter 9

  A NEW ALLIANCE

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  April 17, 1861

  It was a declaration of war on the South and it signaled that there would be no turning back. Ginnie struggled to maintain her balance among the jostling people as she read the shocking words. Henry Stahle, editor of The Compiler, Gettysburg’s Democrat newspaper, had just displayed in his window the front page of his latest edition. The street in front of the little clapboard building, only a block north of Ginnie’s home, was filled with people shouting the news to one another. Ginnie read the proclamation quickly, feeling her anxiety increase with each word.

  Whereas the laws of the United States have been for some time past and now are opposed...in the States of South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas by combinations too powerful to be suppressed by the ordinary course of judicial proceedings or by the powers vested in the marshals by law:

  Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, in virtue of the power in me vested by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to call forth the militia of the several States of the Union to the aggregate number of 75,000, in order to suppress said combinations and to cause the laws to be duly executed....

  I appeal to all loyal citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of our National Union and the perpetuity of popular government and to redress wrongs already long enough endured.

  I deem it proper to say that the first service assigned to the forces hereby called forth will probably be to repossess the
forts, places, and property which have been seized from the Union....

  Done at the city of Washington, this 15th day of April, A.D. 1861, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-fifth.

  ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  Ginnie looked at the faces around her, seeing in them a mixture of fear and determination. The Capital was in desperate peril due to its proximity to Virginia, which was expected to secede at any time. Lincoln, determined to protect Washington, had initiated historic actions which were moving faster than people’s ability to keep pace.

  Pennsylvania’s governor, Andrew G. Curtin, an old friend and close political ally of Lincoln’s, had been the first to respond to the proclamation. He had announced that, by the end of the week, he would be sending five militia companies from Harrisburg to the defense of Washington. Army officers had already arrived in Gettysburg and were at that moment setting up stands on the Diamond to begin recruiting a company of local men. This news was the only topic of conversation in Gettysburg. The governor’s call had created in the residents of Gettysburg tremendous alarm, and they were determined to be among the first to come to the defense of the nation.

  But, while every man under the age of thirty seemed anxious to go to war, Ginnie was appalled by the whole idea. She could not understand why the entire country seemed to have erupted into hatred, or why any of the southern states should want to secede, or why the North should want to stop them if they did. None of it made any sense to her.

  She kept thinking of Wes and the way they had parted. The day after their argument, she had gone to his house only to find that he had already left town to go back south. Over and over she pondered their argument, trying to figure out how she might have responded differently. If she had been more moderate in her reaction, could she have persuaded him to stay, at least until the war was over? He was no traitor, she was certain of that. She knew he loved the South and was trying to make a future for them, but why couldn’t he understand that the war had temporarily interfered with their plans? His hatred for Gettysburg and its people had originally driven him away, and she wondered if, because of her refusal to leave with him, he had decided that she was just one more person who rejected him.