Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  “No. But the thirty-day enlistments give him thirty more days to convince the country to get behind the war effort.”

  “Buying time with blood doesn’t strike me as…” He shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I’ll shut up.”

  “Tell me something, Captain. Aren’t you in the least bit nervous about seeing the elephant for the first time?”

  Quincy looked surprised by the question. “The elephant? You mean combat? I’ve been in many battles, sir.”

  “Where? When?”

  “In Texas. We’ve had a hard fight with the Comanches, Lipan Apaches and Kiowa for most of my life. I was brought up inside a stockade.”

  “Oh, yes. I suppose that’s like being in real combat.”

  Quincy laughed. “If you’ll forgive me, sir. Until you’ve withstood a Comanche attack, you’ve not seen real combat. A small Comanche war party would cut Beauty Stuart’s vaunted cavalry to ribbons.”

  “I’m told that your cousin, Thomas’s boy, is with Stuart.”

  “Johnny.” Quincy nodded. “Indeed. What a shame.”

  “But his brother’s with our First Cavalry.”

  “I think so, sir. I pray that they never meet on a battlefield.”

  “This is going to be the bloodiest and dirtiest war in the history of the world. The victor is going to have to kill his brother to win.”

  July 20, 1861

  Washington, D.C.

  Nancy staggered sleepily from her bedroom wearing only a shirt-length cotton nightgown. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were puffy. “What’s all the noise?” she grumbled.

  Anna was standing on the small terrace of her fifth-floor suite in the F-Street Annex of the Willard Hotel. She pointed down at the street. “A parade, of sorts. General McDowell’s army is marching to Richmond.”

  Nancy leaned over the rail. “Has anyone told General McDowell that there’s a secessionist army on the other side of the Potomac that intends to stop him?”

  “I think he’s going in that direction to start, and hopefully end, the war.”

  “Well, he could have waited for a decent hour.” She waved at an officer who was grinning up at her.

  “Go put a robe on,” Anna chided. “Your legs are bare.”

  Nancy stepped back into the parlor. “No one is interested in my legs anymore.”

  “That’s not true,” Anna said. “For an old lady they’re not half bad.”

  Nancy cackled. “Oh dear. If you find my legs attractive you must be in desperate need of a man.” She walked to the full-length mirror by the door and fluffed her hair. “So am I, for that matter. Let’s go carousing tonight like the old days.” She looked at Anna. “Or do I mean tomorrow night?”

  “Carousing as we once did wouldn’t be the same.” Anna came in and shut the French doors, closing out the sound of drums and fifes. “In the old days, you weren’t married, and every man that saw you was interested.”

  “I don’t feel married and I have enough interest for everyone,” Nancy replied. “Is there any coffee?”

  “Tea.” Anna pointed.

  “I want coffee. Will you ring for it while I get dressed?”

  “I’m going out. I’ll stop by the desk and order for you.”

  Nancy looked at the clock. “It’s the middle of the bloody night, Anna. Where in the world are you going?”

  Anna moved beside Nancy to look in the mirror and began pinning on her hat. “On a picnic.”

  “A picnic? Now?”

  “Yes, a picnic. Now.”

  “Where and with whom?”

  “The picnic’s to be held on the lawn in front of Fairfax Courthouse. I think.”

  “You didn’t say with whom.”

  “A congressman. You wouldn’t know him.”

  “Does he have a friend?”

  “I’m not going to act your Cupid so that you can cuckold my brother, Nancy.”

  “Your brother shouldn’t have gone off to play soldier if he didn’t want to be cuckolded. Is that a word? Or should it be cuckheld?”

  “You’re a shameless hussy.”

  Nancy was looking in the mirror and supported her breasts with her hands. “An old hussy with saggy breasts.”

  “But they’re bigger now,” Anna said. “I remember when you wished for bigger breasts in your nightly prayers.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t include my hips and butt in those prayers.” Nancy dropped her hands to her sides with a sigh. “How long is the battle going to last?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Nancy turned away from the mirror. “Will it still be going tomorrow?”

  “That’s possible. Why?”

  “I’d like to see it too.”

  “If it does last, I’ll ask my friend if he has a friend and we can do it again tomorrow. Or if we stay overnight, I’ll send someone to get you.”

  “Thank you.” Nancy kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m going to do my best to find you a man that’s too old to scratch your itch.”

  “Oh well.” Nancy walked toward the living room and stopped. “Never mind ordering coffee. I’ll make do with tea and soak in the bathtub. Maybe I’ll scratch my own itch while I’m soaking.”

  Anna laughed out loud. “I’d rather not hear about it.”

  “I keep waiting for the change of life that’s supposed to stop all these adolescent itches. I wish it would come.”

  “My mother was sixty.”

  “Have you had any symptoms?”

  “Yes. But my sex drive hasn’t decreased. If anything it’s increased.”

  Nancy raised her eyebrows. “The world isn’t ready for me with an increased sex drive.”

  Anna laughed. “I have to go. Enjoy your bath.”

  “Enjoy your congressman.”

  Anna put her hand on the door handle, then turned to look at Nancy. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To come on the picnic. My friend will be meeting other friends. I’m sure there will be extra men and that no one will object to an extra woman.”

  “No, go on without me. It would take me at least half an hour to get ready.”

  “He can wait another thirty minutes.” Anna walked away from the door and pulled the room service bell cord. “I’ll order your coffee and pack a bag for you.”

  “Thank you. Are you taking any jewelry?”

  “Just a few costume pieces in case there’s a celebration with dancing. I’ll pack some for you too.”

  “How about gowns?”

  “No,” Anna said. “I think they would take up too much room in the carriage.”

  “What if there’s no room for me?”

  “We’ll find an old man who will let you ride on his bony knee. Hurry up.”

  ~

  Anna and Nancy walked out arm in arm under the Willard’s canopy, with four bellmen trailing behind them carrying picnic hampers and luggage. “Did you notice the prices they charged us for the hampers?” Anna whispered.

  Nancy wrinkled her nose. “No. I never look at prices.”

  “It must have been treble the usual price. Taking advantage of a war is unconscionable.”

  “Where is your congressman?”

  Anna looked back at the long line of barouches, carriages and cabriolets, then waved. “Quite far back. Do you see him waving?”

  “The one in the top hat?”

  “Yes.”

  Nancy giggled. “He’s a child.”

  “He’s twenty-nine and very energetic,” Anna replied with a huff. “Oh, look. I see that he has a friend with him.”

  “His friend looks even younger.”

  “Younger suits my purposes,” Anna said. “But please remember that you’re a married woman.” She turned toward the curb and waved at Senator Lafayette S. Foster and Congressman Alfred Ely who were picking up their passengers.

  “There’s that man Russell from the London Times,” Nancy said, as the nex
t carriage pulled forward.

  “Who’s that he’s picking up?”

  “I don’t know her, but she’s overdressed for a picnic.” Nancy held her hat as an errant breeze whipped along the street.

  “Underdressed, you mean.”

  Nancy checked her hatpins. “Bare backs and shoulders are the thing for evening in Paris.”

  “Maybe, but not in Washington day or night,” Anna replied.

  “What’s your congressman’s name?”

  “You won’t believe me if I tell you,” Anna said with a chuckle.

  “Tell me and we’ll see.”

  “Charles LaGrange.”

  Nancy laughed loudly, turning many heads. “Perfect for a hotel register. Mr. and Mrs. Lagrange.”

  “But he spells it with a capital G where Charlie used a lower case G,” Anna giggled. “Oh. And he insists that the nickname Charlie must never be applied to him. It’s too bourgeois.” She tipped up her chin and looked down her nose at Nancy.

  “Who’s my boy? Do you recognize him?”

  “Yes,” Anna said. “His name is Rupert Greene. He’s a lawyer, but we don’t know that he’s unattached.”

  “Of course we do. Your Congressman Charles was going to share you with his friend and I’ve spoiled your ménage à trois.”

  Anna gave her a disapproving look. “That’s not something that I’d ever try.”

  “Pity.”

  “You have?”

  Nancy fluttered her eyelashes. “There’s very little that I haven’t tried, Anna.”

  Anna made a disgusted face.

  “You must read On Liberty by John Stuart Mill,” Nancy said. “I’ll buy you a copy the next time we’re near a book store.”

  “I take it that John Stuart Mill approves of ménages à trois?”

  “He approves of everything that doesn’t harm anyone else. He says that the individual is the ruler of her body.”

  “Just remember that slipping into the bushes with Rupert Greene would harm my brother,” Anna said.

  “Not if you didn’t tell him.”

  “I suppose that’s true, but then it would be me that’s harmed by having to keep a secret from Robert.”

  “If I slip into the bushes I won’t share the details with you, and you therefore won’t know anything for certain.”

  Anna shrugged. “You do know that I’m notoriously bad at keeping secrets.”

  “I know you have that reputation,” Nancy replied, “but I also know the truth of it.”

  The carriage bearing Congressman LaGrange and Rupert Greene arrived at the curb and LaGrange leaped down to help Anna and Nancy aboard while Greene saw to the baggage. “What luck,” LaGrange said, giving his hand to Anna. “Every available source of transportation in Washington has already been hired, so when Rupert begged to come along, I just couldn’t say no.”

  “Of course you couldn’t,” Anna said. “This is my dearest friend Nancy Vreeland.”

  “Charmed,” LaGrange said. He seated Anna in the carriage and offered his hand to Nancy.

  Nancy accepted his hand and stepped up, flashing a smile of gratitude at Anna for using her maiden name. “I’m so glad that I won’t be a fifth wheel, Congressman.”

  “Please. You must call me Charles. And let me introduce my friend, and soon to be colleague, Mr. Rupert Greene. Rupert, this is my lady friend, Mrs. Anna Lagrange and her charming friend, Miss Nancy Vreeland.”

  “Enchanté,” Greene said, examining Nancy’s tastefully low-cut neckline.

  “Well,” LaGrange looked behind them. “They’re getting impatient back there. Is everyone ready?” He climbed in and let the Willard’s doorman close the door. “Did you ladies pack ball gowns?”

  Nancy looked at Anna. “No. Will they be necessary?”

  “I’m quite sure that there will be a victory ball in Richmond,” Greene said as the carriage moved away from the hotel and joined the slow-moving procession.

  “There should be ample time to find one in Richmond,” Anna said. “Most of the fashionable dressmakers keep ready-made gowns on the racks for emergencies. Nancy and I are of an average size that will require little alteration.”

  “If you’ll forgive me for being so bold,” LaGrange said, “neither of you ladies is what any sighted man would call average.” He looked pointedly at Nancy’s breasts.

  “Indeed,” Greene agreed.

  “Did we intend to go all the way to Richmond tonight?” Nancy asked to avoid replying to the off-color compliment.

  “Oh, no,” LaGrange replied. “The battle may last as long as two or three days. We thought that we would follow along with the army’s march and stop at some quaint little inn for the night – if necessary.”

  “Unless you ladies object, of course,” Greene said. “If you do, we can bring you back to the Willard each night and then fetch you the following morning.”

  “I pray that you don’t object to nights at the local inns,” LaGrange added quickly. “If we must return to the Willard each night, we risk missing some action.” He smiled knowingly.

  “I have no objection to nights in quaint little inns,” Nancy said. “Anna?”

  Anna took a moment to answer. “No objection. Staying at an inn would be fine. Nancy and I are well accustomed to sleeping in the same bed.”

  July 21, 1861

  Fairfax Courthouse, Virginia

  The caravan of revelers had traveled two abreast through the moonlight and into the following morning, singing and exchanging delicacies and the occasional ribald joke. At noon, they stopped to sightsee and to feast upon the treats that the Willard had packed. “This is quite good,” Congressman LaGrange remarked as he gnawed on a chicken wing. “Does anyone else think that eating with one’s hands enhances the flavor?”

  “Indeed,” Greene said. He had taken an undivided interest in Nancy’s cleavage and didn’t look toward LaGrange.

  Nancy leaned forward to pour Greene some more wine. “Those ladies with Congressman Ely said that they were going to Centreville.”

  Greene was beginning to perspire heavily. “Indeed.”

  “They say the army’s there and that there’s a victory celebration in progress.” Nancy let him look for a few more seconds, then she sat up straight, pulled her shoulders back and gave him a dazzling smile. “Goodness. It’s hot.”

  “Indeed,” Greene offered. “Indeed.”

  “What say you, Charles?” Anna asked. “Shall we go celebrate with the troops in Centreville?”

  “What say you to a little nap after this fine dinner?” LaGrange asked. “I’m sure we can find some private, shady spot.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

  “Perhaps at Centreville, we could find one of those quaint little inns you mentioned,” Anna replied. “Napping in the grass and getting leaves and bugs in my hair is not terribly appealing.” She gave him a smile like the one that Nancy had bestowed upon Greene.

  “Driver?” LaGrange called. “Do you know the way to Centreville from here?”

  “Yes, sir.” The driver tugged the brim of his cap.

  Centreville, Virginia

  The afternoon was hot and humid. Sounds of cannon and musket fire mingled with the sound of cicadas. In the distance, smoke floated lazily above the trees where Blackburn’s Ford crossed the creek called Bull Run. A messenger on a lathered horse rode into the U.S. Army camp at Centreville, asked directions and spurred his weary mount toward Captain Quincy Van Buskirk. “Orders for Colonel Sherman from General Tyler, sir.”

  “I’ll take them.” Quincy reached up and accepted the pouch.

  “There’s hell to pay, sir,” the messenger said. He turned his horse and raced away.

  Quincy opened the pouch, read the orders, climbed the steps and walked into the house where William Tecumseh Sherman was sitting at a large desk. “From General Tyler, Colonel.”

  “What does it say?” Sherman asked, without looking up from the document he was writing.

  “We’re to reinforce General Richardso
n’s brigade at best possible speed.”

  “Very well.” Sherman put his pen in the inkwell. “Assemble the brigade.”

  Quincy stepped onto the porch and circled his right hand over his head with his index finger extended. Within moments, the sound of bellowing sergeants, cheers, excited conversation and running feet drowned out the gunfire and silenced the cicadas.

  Colonel Michael Corcoran, commander of the 69th New York, was the first to his horse. After making sure that his regiment was assembling, he rode over to meet Quincy. “Was that Ayres’s battery that just went forward?” Corcoran’s Irish accent was stronger when he was excited.

  “Yes, sir,” Quincy replied. “The new orders are for the whole brigade to advance forward of Ayres.”

  “Do we know who we’re t’ be facin’ down there?”

  “No sir. The operation was only to be a reconnaissance in force, but it seems that Richardson’s brigade has tangled with more than was expected.”

  “Where’s General Tyler?”

  “The messenger came from the direction of Blackburn’s Ford. I presume he’s there with General Richardson.”

  Sherman came out onto the porch. “What’s the delay?”

  “There’s no delay, sir,” Quincy said.

  “Where’s my horse?”

  Quincy pointed at the animal that was tied to the porch rail. “Would you like me to bring him to you, sir?”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” Sherman growled. “I didn’t recognize that ugly beast.”

  Colonel Corcoran chuckled.

  Sherman gave him a scathing look, then untied the horse and mounted. “When I find the bastard that shot my horse I’m gonna hang him.”

  “Your horse dropped dead from old age, sir,” Quincy replied. “The men were just showing their respect by cooking him for supper.”

  With a sour look, Sherman rode out toward the road, raised his fist over his head and pumped it twice.

  “Brigade!” Quincy shouted, drawing his sword.

  “Regiment!”

  “Battalion!”

  Quincy raised his sword. “Forward, by ranks, quick-time – march.” He watched until the 13th New York, the 69th New York, the 79th New York and the 2nd Wisconsin were on the road, then he kicked his horse and joined the column. When the last man was on the road, he raced forward and once again raised his sword. “Brigade!”