Gone for a Soldier

by Ward, Marsha

  “Obliged for the advice,” Rulon replied, covering his head at the sound of a particularly close whistle.

  “We’d best leave here,” Leoyd commented. “That was a mite too near for my taste. Can’t you get rid of that feather?”

  Rulon grunted. He’d grown fond of the embellishment on his hat, especially since their colonel sported one so like Rulon’s on his own headgear. How long was his plume going to be a source of merriment and ridicule for the fellows in the company?

  He didn’t have time to dwell for long on the good-natured abuse he’d received. During a brief lull in the fire, he and Leoyd beat a retreat to their horses, and found the rest of their comrades to continue the patrol.

  When they returned to their bivouac, Ren Lovell announced that the company was to make all haste to Manassas Gap to cross the Blue Ridge. “General Beauregard is in a bad way. McDowell is on the move, and he’s got a right smart lot of soldiers with him. We’re ordered to battle, boys.”

  After that, the company rode toward the fray through fields alongside the infantry-clogged road.

  “Pull down that fence, Owen,” Ren called out. Both Rulon and Owen Leoyd dismounted, cast a wry glance at one another, and took the rails down so the company could advance. Dodging sleeping infantrymen in the way, crossing ditches, and riding over uneven ground ate up the miles, but sapped their strength, as well. Rulon tried to keep behind Von, as the man’s ugly temper had simmered over into vile curses at nightfall when he realized that the baggage train with rations had not kept pace with the cavalry.

  Finally, after thirty-six brutal hours in the saddle, the men of the regiment dismounted alongside the Bull Run.

  “Line up for rations,” a fellow called out, and Rulon stumbled over to do so. Head pounding from the dust and confusion, he procured the raw makings of his meal and found a fire on which he hoped to make it palatable. After he ate, he found a spot of grass, lay upon it, touched the handkerchief Mary had given him to his lips, and fell immediately into stupor.

  About daylight, he awoke to the sound of musketry and bugles, and rushed to follow the order to saddle his horse. Then he washed the sleep out of his eyes, watered and fed the horse, and ate a hasty breakfast.

  Captain Yancey ordered the company into line alongside the others, and Rulon sat his horse as Col. Stuart and a small detachment crossed the Run on a scout. After a while, they returned, and Rulon watched a trooper ride toward General Johnston’s headquarters. He figured the man would report the findings of the scouting party.

  The day grew hot as the din of battle increased on their left. They had received no orders, so they sat on the earth in the sun beside their horses, listening to the wood-shrouded struggles around them, and dodging wayward artillery shells.

  “Ah!” cried a man from the Howard County company, as a shell burst in their column. The horses scattered, riders futilely pulling on their reins and swearing profusely.

  “Anyone hurt?” called their captain. By some lucky happenstance, neither men nor horses were injured.

  One time, they were allowed to seek water for their horses. Soon, however, they formed back into company lines, but waited in vain for any action. He could see the restlessness of their colonel. After the noon, he began to send messengers off, and Rulon turned to Ren.

  “Where are they goin’?”

  “Humph. If it was me, I’d be sending word to the generals that we’re a-sitting over here with our thumbs up our butts and nothing to do.”

  Rulon hadn’t heard such coarse talk from Ren before, and figured he had as bad a case of nerves as any other man around.

  “We have to wait, then?”

  “I reckon so. We’re the pawns in this chess game, Owen. We do what we’re told.”

  Rulon eyed the man. “We’re not the knights?”

  “Mayhap we are. We still have to await the hand of the general to move.”

  Garth Von growled an excited curse, then added as he pointed a finger, “He’s staff, ain’t he?”

  Rulon turned to see a mounted officer coming from the woods at the gallop. At the sight, he got to his feet and looked to his horse, hoping the officer brought orders.

  Evidently he did, as he saluted Col. Stuart smartly and gave him a message.

  “Boots and saddles,” Ren said as the bugle sounded. “We’re in action at last.”

  Rulon had never seen such chaos, nor before felt such a rush of energy as he experienced several times over the remainder of that day. Although worn out from the long ride out of the Valley through the pass, the cavalry companies nevertheless feinted and parried with Federal forces the rest of the day, capturing some here, some there, breaking away when necessary, but mostly pressing forward, as was Colonel Stuart’s wont.

  General Early’s brigade came up and Stuart sent the general a message. Early’s soldiers waded into the battle with courage and speed. Then Rulon’s company dashed into another skirmish. Upon returning with prisoners, he noticed that a sixteen-gun artillery battery commanded by Lieutenant Beckham had become attached to their flank. After each cannonade from the guns he worried for his hearing, but the fire was most welcome, as the shelling drove the Federal troops into cover and prevented them turning the left flank.

  They were on the move again once the company had secured the prisoners. As they rode around a house, Col. Stuart sent another messenger. Beckham’s guns then opened fire upon a Federal regiment drawn up in front of a wood, and the enemy began to retreat. Troops from Early’s brigade took over the chase while Beckham’s guns continued the cannon fire, but when the enemy moved out of range, the battery fell silent. Rulon only had time to attempt to shake the ringing sound from his ears when his company moved on the chase once more, with Beckham’s battery following.

  Rulon and two others soon dropped out from following the Federal flight when they were detailed to the rear accompanying a squad of captives. He learned over the campfire that night that the very last of Stuart’s chasers followed McDowell’s army a full twelve miles.

  He said to Ren Lovell, “The Colonel surely does cotton to the chase,” to which Lovell replied with hoots of laughter.

  “They name Jeb Stuart ‘the dashing cavalier’ in some parts,” he said when he could talk. “He does love the chase, and all that it brings.”

  “Glory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Honor?”

  “Of course.”

  “The attention of the fairer sex?”

  “Not as much as you’d think. To some degree, though.”

  “Is he a married man?”

  “Yes, and reputed to be happy in his union.”

  “Good for him.” Rulon thought of his little wife, of the privations of the day’s campaign, and of the relief he now felt at being safely delivered from any harm he could have met on the field of battle. He needed to write to Mary again soon to let her know he was hale and hearty.

  ~~~

  Rulon — July 22, 1861

  Rulon’s first opportunity to write home after the battle came the next day in camp, when he snatched a moment to pen a letter.

  22 Jul 1861

  Fairfax C-H, Va.

  Dear Wife,

  I rite in haste to inform you of my good health following the rout of the Federals at Manassas junction. We are all well in the Company except for one poor fellow who met His Maker upon the field of honor, and another who suffer’d two wounds. Now we have moved forward to picket posts at Fairfax court-house Upon our journey here we come upon much salvagable goods that will stand us in Good sted. We feast’d upon Yankee provisions, and I tell you, wife, it is good to have a full belly again.

  I picked up a picnick-basket droped by some fair Yankee ladie come to watch us Confederates get our come-uppance. Instead, we sent the Federal boys flying back to Washington City, making as quick a retreat over the same ground as it took them two or three days to advance. Mr. Lovell and I enjoied the ham sandwiches therein, after which I gave the basket to a farmwife. She was h
appy to receive the striped tablecloth and napkins, along with silver tableware. We don’t have a use for those fancies in the cavalry.

  Our Colonel Sturt covered himself with glory in the late campaign. The men of a few companies feel he works them too hard, but I’m glad of his spirit and daring. I have lerned a good deal from his example.

  Mr. Earl, the old tracker, tells me I have sum talent in the skill. I continu to lern what he teaches me. He says I may soon track for a patrol on my own. I reckon his prais gives me prideful feelins but I trust not to exces. I want yor pa’s hat to fit my head when this war is won.

  Mary, I look forward to coming home to you soon, sinse the Federal Yankees know we are fighting men and will keep our country.

  Until that happy Day,

  Yor husband, who holds you most dear,

  Rulon S. Owen

  When he had given in the envelope to be dispatched at the next opportunity, Rulon wondered when mail from home would catch up with them. Surely by this time, Mary had discovered if she was with child or not. He yearned to know if it were true. He hoped she was carrying his babe. If he should be taken by a shell or a musket ball, a child would be a comfort to Mary, and to Ma and Pa, as well. He whispered a silent prayer that he would not be taken from her, and went to curry his horse.

  ~~~

  Ella Ruth — July 22, 1861

  Ella Ruth regretted her sporadic fits of crying over the last two days. All the thinking and the tears had given her a tremendous headache. Even so, excitement bubbled in her stomach. In an effort to cheer her up, Poppa was taking her with him to Harrisonburg. She planned to shop to her heart’s content.

  The day began too early for her taste, but Poppa insisted on an early start to avoid the likelihood of meeting with enemy troops on the move. The Yankees were said to be tucked in safely down the Valley in Martinsburg, unlikely to come up to battle against the steadfast Virginians holding the line, but Poppa seemed cautious lately.

  She climbed into the buggy with his assistance. “It is mighty kind of you to include me in your trip, Poppa,” she said with a smile as she settled into the seat and adjusted her hat and veil. She turned to look at the servant getting on a horse behind the buggy. “Will Thomas be able to keep up with your prize team?”

  “He rides well enough.” He lifted the lines and clicked his tongue at the horses. Once they were on their way, he said, “I will not be able to accompany you for shopping, but Thomas will be with you to carry all your baubles.”

  “Poppa! I will be just fine alone. I do not plan to buy more than five or six ‘baubles,’ as you put it. I must have a new hat, however. This old veil is too thin for the sun.”

  “You won’t go unaccompanied, daughter. I cannot allow you that liberty.”

  “Pish and tush.” She looked again at the old black-skinned man following them. “He does seem to know how to ride. If you insist on him coming along, I suppose I shall endure it.”

  “Thomas is reliable, Ella. You will treat him well.”

  “Of course I will, Poppa! To hear you speak, one would think I was heartless.”

  He glanced over at her, but said nothing.

  “I’m not heartless. I treat everybody well.”

  “Then what of your tears the past days?”

  Ella Ruth sniffed. He knew she had been crying over her lost love affair. “You should have permitted me to marry Benjamin. If you had been agreeable, I would not have rejected him when he surprised me, when he told me out of the blue that we had to marry right away, without any friends around us. I was caught off guard, and yes, I did treat him badly. I’m sorry I did.”

  “You’ve had the household in quite an uproar, daughter.”

  “I miss Ben. I was wrong to turn him down so precipitously.” She turned away. “Don’t make me think about it now. I am on the point of crying again.”

  After the day-long drive, Poppa got them situated at the finest hotel the city offered, although it seemed to be teeming with people. As a result, she was obliged to sleep on a cot in the same room with Poppa, and Thomas was sent off to take a spot in the stable. How scandalous to share quarters with her father at her age!

  During the evening she kept to the room reading a lady’s fashion magazine while Poppa met with a business partner. Growing restless, she went to the window, lifted aside the drapes, and peered out. A group of men carrying torches had gathered opposite the hotel, and she shivered at the ominous looks on their faces. What had occurred to give them such long jaws?

  After a while spent gazing at the men, she was no more enlightened on the matter, and let the drapery fall closed. She picked up her magazine once again and tried to find the most delightful items with which to make a shopping list.

  However, she could not concentrate on that simple task. She had been so thrilled to accompany Poppa on this excursion to town, but now disturbing thoughts of Ben intruded. Where was he these days? Was he well? She supposed he was somewhere down the Valley, guarding the river against a Yankee invasion. She hoped he was getting enough to eat. How the man liked to eat!

  She put down the magazine, unable to keep to her task. Poppa seemed to be worried these days. Did he entertain thoughts that Mr. Lincoln’s army would come up the Valley and wreak havoc upon his business? Everyone prattled on about how the Yankees would try to overrun Virginia, but with men the likes of Ben on duty, she was sure that could never happen.

  He always talked about how much he loved his native land, Virginia. Surely no one would stand stronger against the enemy threat. Her stalwart Ben! How hard he had worked at the mill, throwing about those bags of grain like a common laborer. She adored how his muscled arms were built like iron. How could a girl have any fears when Ben guarded the border, protecting her?

  A chill disturbed her reverie and she wrapped her arms around herself. She could not help remembering the look on his face before she had whirled in anger and left the yard behind the mill on that horrible day. She felt as though a leaden casing wrapped around her heart. Ben wasn’t standing guard for her. She had ruined their bond with her foolish pride and fancy dreams.

  Perhaps it was just as well when Poppa came into the room, his face a thundercloud.

  He said right away, “I’m sorry to spoil your outing. We leave before the crack of dawn to return home.”

  “But Poppa—”

  “Not a word, Ella Ruth. There’s been a battle. The war has come into Virginia.”

  She inhaled sharply. Ben!

  “There, there,” he said, softening his countenance as he approached. “We’re not in immediate danger. We’ll arrive home in time if we leave early enough.”

  “Poppa, I’m afraid.” She heard how thin her voice sounded, and it frightened her still more.

  He put his arms around her and she nestled into them. Poppa wasn’t as strong as Ben, but he would do, for now.

  ~~~

  Ella Ruth — July 23, 1861

  The journey home began even earlier in the day than had the one to Harrisonburg. The buggy moved through a ghostly mist that swirled as high as the tops of the wheels and obscured Ella Ruth’s sight of the hills and gaps that she knew lay out there in the semi-darkness.

  She sighed. Mist nearly always made her feel giddy, a bit excited, especially if she were on her way to meet Benjamin. But such was not the case today. Today, she thought, today is not the same. Today the mist caused her an unfamiliar sense of unease, a chilling sensation that all was not well, that the mist was not friendly, would not hide her escape from the house to meet Ben.

  Ben. Perhaps she would never, ever see him again. That was entirely her own fault. She might never see Ben because— She drew a quick breath.

  Please don’t let Poppa hear me if I cry, she thought, struggling against the emotion sweeping through her body. Grief, hard as granite and bitter as quinine, ripped at her insides, tearing open a hole in her heart that only Ben could fill. She had nothing upon which to lay the blame but her own stiff pride.

  Onl
y that stubborn pride would get her through this moment, mask the trouble in her soul from Poppa, keep her alive in the unfulfilling future she saw stretching before her, endless and sterile. A future without Ben.

  “You’re quiet this morning.” Poppa’s voice broke into her solitary thoughts. “Disappointed not to spend my money on a new bonnet?”

  She shook her head. “I suppose I’m tired,” she answered, knowing it to be partly true. Her brain and bones and sinews reeked of tiredness. Was she disappointed that her shopping party had been terminated so abruptly? No. Not really. Her overwhelming pain stemmed from the grief, and yes, anxiety, on top of it all.

  Poppa had mentioned a battle. Ben had gone for a soldier. Had he been involved? Was he wounded? Had he been... She couldn’t even bear to think of the word. Ben, so alive, so vital.

  She shifted on the seat cushion. He would not be dead. She would not entertain the notion. She glanced sideways at her father. Perhaps engaging in conversation would rid her of this pall.

  “You’re a mite quiet yourself,” she said, struggling to put a tease into the words.

  Poppa looked over at her. “I have a few things on my mind,” he said. “I don’t fancy ruination, daughter.”

  Ella Ruth did not answer. Poppa seemed too preoccupied to pay mind to her. So be it. She would be silent and endure the ride home as best she could.

  When the sun finally lifted above Massanutten Mountain, the mist began to burn away, revealing first the treetops, then more foliage, then entire trees, glistening with dew, green and tall and comforting, and at last, the pike.

  They were alone on the Valley Pike, she and Poppa. The wheels chattered slightly on the rock surface. The clip-clop of hooves behind them reminded her that one other person accompanied them. Thomas. She wondered if he was annoyed at Poppa’s early start for a second day in a row. He was growing older, with grizzled white patches on his head where there had always been black kinks before. Older folks sometimes complained of rheumatism and such. No matter. It was his duty to obey Poppa’s directions, even if they were tiresome at times. Like this morning.