by Ward, Marsha
Was that the same thing as kindness? She thought of herself as kind. She always treated her maid Lula kindly. She never struck her, or spoke harshly to her. Was not that being kind? Was it compassionate? Perhaps so.
Or was compassion sympathy? She inhaled, contemplating the muddle in her brain. She was only confusing herself, putting too much thought into the affair. Why did it matter in the end? The doctor needed more hands to aid the soldiers in the hospital. She felt a chill run up her spine. Should Ben be wounded during his next encounter with the enemy and enter a hospital, would it not be her fondest desire that he have competent nursing care from some kindly woman? Yes, indeed it would.
“Dr. Allen,” she blurted out, interrupting her father in mid-sentence. “I should like to serve in the hospital.”
“Daughter, that is impossible,” her mother said, drawing herself into a stiff posture.
“No, it is not. I have very little work to do here at home, no purpose in my life. This is what I will do as my thanks to our fine soldiers.”
Her mother made a sound of protest, but her father jumped into the conversation with, “You see how it is, Louisa. She has set her mind to do this thing, and she will not be dissuaded.” He turned to his brother. “It seems you have a volunteer, Joseph. Be sure she is treated well.”
And that, Ella Ruth thought, is that. I shall be an excellent nurse.
~~~
Julia — October 4, 1862
On a Saturday morning, Julia entered the kitchen to begin breakfast, and found a folded sheet of paper propped against her large mixing bowl. Immediate dread flowed down her spine as though an icy finger had stroked her bare skin. She sank into her chair, holding the paper where her blurred eyes could see the words on the outside.
To Ma
“No,” she moaned, knowing what must be inside. “No.” This time, the word escaped her throat as a sob.
Almost as though her hands were controlled by another person, they unfolded the paper.
Ma,
I kno you will take this hard, but I am hon’r-bound to take Peter’s place. We lost so many good men at Manassas, and now that the Yankeys have been fot at great cost at Sharpsburg, Gen’l Bobby Lee needs me.
Do not dispare. I will be as a ghost in the mist attacking the foe. I sware to you I will return.
Your son, Carl
~~~
Rulon — December 31, 1862
31st day of Decemb’r 1862
Culpepper C.H.
Dear Wife,
You will have heard about the Yankees bringing war to us in Fredricsburg. They did not prevale, due to much delay in bringing the fight across the river. Our regimn’t was not much employed in the battle at Fredricsburg but We afterward embarked upon a bold raid across the Rappahannoc and into the realm of the foe. Nearly two Thousand of troops in three Brigades under Gen’l Stuart’s own leadership made the raiding party. We rode as far north as Dumfries before we went in other directions to impede the enemy’s designs and give him pause. Near a place called Greenwood Church, our Regmt had a encounter with some boys from Penn, who turned tail and ran when we charged into them. The command routed, at which we pursewed them for about two miles, taking many prisoners.
Gen’r Stuart captured a telegraph house and made fools of the Yankees in Washington, getting information that helped him decide where to attac next. Our Brigadeer Gen’l, Fitz Lee, took a party and pulled down the rail road brige over a creek.
We coold not attac Fairfax C.H., as the enemy seemed to know of our activities, but we have returned to safety in this place.
I hope our little son and yor dear person had a plesent Christmas celebration. I wish I coold be there to hold you in my arms and see the New Year come in. This war must end soon. The Yankees surely by now see our determination to be a country separate from them. They cannot carry on this conflict much longer.
If you see my mother soon, give her a kiss for me. Receev a special kiss from my lips as if it were placed upon your brow and all other places. I miss my sweet Sugar.
Yor Husband,
Rulon Owen
1st Virginia Regiment, Cavalry
Chapter 22
Rulon — February through May 10, 1863
Despite sorry weather, in February General Fitz Lee’s Brigade moved from their winter foraging in King William and Caroline counties back to Culpeper Court House to relieve Wade Hampton’s Brigade on picket duty. Across the upper Rappahannock, the Federal troops sheltered for the winter, but Rulon’s regiment picked away at the Federal videttes and lines of communication, in company with the other three regiments of the command.
The successful cavalry raids brought a response once the weather warmed a trifle. Rulon found himself tagged for courier duty during one of the encounters, and wrote to Mary of the recklessness of the task, dashing about the battleground taking messages from one commander to another. He embellished the patriotic elements of the duty while toning down the danger.
For the rest of the month of April, Rulon was occupied with picket duty and riding in support when a picket post at Rixeyville was reported under attack.
On the way back the next day, Ren said, “I reckon false reports will wear a body out quicker than a nice fight.”
“It surely gets the blood up to no good purpose,” Rulon replied. “My horse is about beat to death.”
At the end of the month, though, Hooker’s army crossed the Rappahannock. The 1st Virginia Cavalry struck the Federal advance on the Germanna Ford road, but Rulon’s company was ordered to guard another road, and while there, captured enough prisoners to send good information to General Robert Lee about the Federal commands opposing them. The regiment rode all night through the Wilderness on winding roads, then was put into a fight the next day, without rest.
Moving through the woods, the column came to a standstill when they came in contact with the enemy. After a courier had come from General Stuart several times, bidding Colonel Drake to hurry on to Chancellorsville, and the colonel had sent him back with the ill tidings that they could not fulfill the order, Colonel Drake sent Rulon with the courier to emphasize the futility of the dispatch.
Soon General Stuart came up with a brigade of infantry, and although the soldiers were deployed in front of the regiment, the enemy was firmly entrenched in an old railroad cut and could not be dislodged.
General Jackson’s corps later rolled up the Federal flank, and the Yankees retreated toward Chancellorsville.
Although the enemy was on the run, matters turned deadly serious when General Jackson rode out in front of his lines on a reconnaissance and was mortally wounded by his own men on his return.
Caught out of position during the battle, Rulon’s company joined General Rooney Lee’s Brigade in chasing the Federal cavalry south led by General Stoneman toward the James River. The pursuit lasted over eight days and nights, and although no major battles ensued, they skirmished with the Yankees nearly every day.
When General Stoneman’s cavalry eluded capture, the 1st Regiment camped at Orange Court House.
Rulon threw himself onto the ground after he saw to his horse. “I declare I am dead of hunger,” he said to Ren.
“Did you find any more crackers in your saddlebags?”
Rulon snorted. “I’m not a magician. I ate the last one two days ago.”
Ren expressed his disappointment in sharp words.
“I can hear your stomach growl from over here,” Rulon retorted, and tore up a handful of grass. He looked at the bright blades. “Do you reckon it’s edible for humans?”
“Cats eat it. And goats. Horses graze on it.” He sat beside Rulon and picked a blade of grass. “Why not us?” he said, and stuck the grass into his mouth.
~~~
Ben — May 13, 1863
Word spread through the Confederate Army like wildfire that General Jackson had died. Some said losing his arm had disheartened him. Some said being shot by his own troops had put him in a mortal state of grief. After a tim
e it was understood that the great general had died from pneumonia. That did not erase the sense of gloom that overshadowed his command.
My darling Ella Ruth,
I hope this finds you well and happy as can be expected, given the circumstances.
You cannot imagine the pain we endure in the Brigade. I do not know your feelins toward the General, but his death has thrown us into despair.
The heart within me seemed to break when the news came that the dread day had arriv’d. We hoped and prayed that God would spare Gen’l Jackson to lead us agin. I suppose God wanted him more than we did, but oh! The grief cuts us sore and deep.
The Yankees have so many men they seem to come from a deep well. We are drafting schoolboys and greybeards. Some come with no weapons, no shoes. I suppose they dragged them off a hill hideout in Tennessee. North Carolina sent good fighters early on, but the recroots now are reluctant to stand. Pray for the Cause, sweet girl. Pray with fervent heart that we will overcome the foe, and soon. We cannot go on like this forever.
Ben added a few lines about his plans for expanding crop production on the farm after the war, then continued.
I reckon you have had every good thing in your life. My hope is that as you consider becoming my little farm wife you will hav no regrets. Be assured that I adore you, but you will need to learn many tasks that will dirty your hands. My ma has felt great satisfaction in doing hard work for her family. You will feel the same joy as you learn the work.
He ended the letter expressing his fervent love, and then, signed it simply,
Ben
~~~
Mary — May 15, 1863
Dear Husband,
My, how my arms do ache! We made soft soap today from the winter’s ashs. Mama sent India to the store in my place so I could pitch into the labor. I hope Papa did not take offence at having a jun’r worker instead of his right-hand Mary.
The fire roared, the kett’l bubbled and splash’d, and Roddy lern’d how to hold up his dress to toddle toward the center of the excitment. I could not let harm come to yor son, so I fashn’d a pen of chairs and blankets in the hedge of the garden. He is a smart creature for merely 15-months-old, and found a way to dig out between the bushes. I was forev’r putting him back in place and piling dirt up to keep him contain’d. Mama became so alarmed that she sent Ida to the store and India returned to tend the boy.
This made more work for Sylvia and me, but at the end of the day, we had poured out a quantity of soap for bars. I enclose one, wich I hope did not leek on the paper, as I wrapped it in the last oilcloth I could find.
I must hide my pleasure to see Papa treating with his grandson. With only girls in his projeny, havin a boy about the place is a novelty. I hast’n to add it is a joy to him. He looks for trinkets in the store to bring home to Roddy. I am ever cautining Papa about small items, for the boy still puts everything to a taste-test before he plays with it. I do not want him to choke, as a child did in New Market the past week. The moth’r is inconsoalable. She blames the Yankees, passin down the Valley again, for scaring the baby into swallowing his sugartit. I keep Roddy out of their way when they come thru town.
Yor Mother had a siege of sickness amongst your kin during the winter. All have recover’d and pray for an end to this conflict. Rulon, my prayers are constant on yor behalf. Keep safe, dear Life, and return to me whole and strong.
I take Roddy’s hand in my own to make his mark
X
All our love,
Mary
~~~
Rod — May 17, 1863
My dear Julie,
I am well. The cough that playged me during the cold spell has gone away. When I lost my good horse I had a rough time finding a remount, but finally acquired a sturdy bay mare that is coming along well.
When you rote me Carl had gone into the army I was not much surprised. I have kept my eyes open for him. He was in a regular horse company, but Jeb Stuart gave John Mosby permission to form up a company of partisans under the Act thet Congress passed. As soon as he could, Carl joined Mosby’s Men.
How I wish I could see you and comfort you as you continue this year of mourning. If it will give you peace, Peter’s captain told me of his valor upon the field of combat. He fought with bravery and honor. Cap’n Thomas said our boy passed quickly and painlessly in a charge against the foe at Portici Plantation. I hope that knowledge will suffice to give you pride in our son and comfort at his loss.
We have been much exercised in determining the position of the enemy as their army moves. It is fortunate that we have good forage for the horses now. I’m sure yor prayers have been effective, little Wife. Thank you for keeping our sons and me and my men in them.
Give the girls a kiss for me and embrace my sons at home. Receive a kiss upon yor brow and an especial sincere hug from yor husband,
Roderick Owen
Cap’n, Owen Dragoons
~~~
Rulon — June 5 through 9, 1863
The ranks of the cavalry had swelled considerably with new recruits and the return of a couple of brigades, and Jeb Stuart called for a general review of the entire command for June 5.
Such a hullabaloo, Rulon thought as the 1st Virginia Cavalry Regiment passed in rigid order before a group of ladies and invited guests. The invitees included 10,000 Texans of Hood’s Division, who were neither quiet nor politic in their assessments of the Virginians. Things might get rowdy tonight.
The regiment avoided much of the shenanigans planned for them by Hood’s veteran scrappers by marching across the ford on Hazel River and riding until two the next morning to Jeffersonton. Rulon dismounted as though his legs were made of apple jelly after the extended ride. He planted the side of his head against the saddle blanket and breathed deeply, trying to get enough air flowing to clear the dust from his lungs.
“Imagine walking that far,” Ren Lovell said, his crooked smile a pale imitation of the one he used to turn on Rulon. “I’ll go see if the Captain has orders.”
Rulon hadn’t shifted from leaning against his horse when Ren returned.
“Don’t unsaddle. We’re going on picket as soon as we get some grub into our bellies.”
“I’d rather sleep,” Rulon muttered.
“Do it quick, then. We’re riding at sunrise over to Waterloo Bridge.”
Rulon fished a portion of a hard tack cracker out of his saddlebag, just in case he had a yen to put something the army called food into his mouth, and led the horse to a lane. He tethered it to a tree and lay down nearby.
Owen Leoyd shook him awake before the sky had lightened. “Time to go, Owen,” he said, the old joke worn thin by now.
Rulon stirred, opened his eyes, and got to his feet. The inside of his mouth made him think he’d ingested sand during the night. He took a swig of water from his canteen, swished it around, and spit. He found the cracker and put it into his cheek to soften until he could chew it. A roast chicken would taste better about now. He wondered if there were any chickens in the county. He shrugged off the thought. He didn’t have any money to buy one if they were to be had.
When he was ready to mount up, Ren came by and said, “General Lee’s stove up with rheumatism. Colonel Munford is taking the brigade until he comes back.”
Rulon groaned. Every commander had a distinct leadership style. He was too tired to deal with Munford, so he hoped Old Fitz got well in a hurry.
Rulon drew a short straw and paired with Garth Von at a picket post. The surly fellow proceeded to pare his fingernails with his knife, and Rulon determined not to blink while he was in the company of Von.
Shortly after noon, Rulon’s eyes sprang open when he heard carbine fire from a position closer to the bridge. Surprised he was still alive, he drew his weapon and looked around. Von had gigged his horse out of the trees toward the fight, and Rulon followed, gnashing his teeth at the thought that he had slumbered.
The other men from “I” Company joined the skirmish with a small detachment of Yankee
cavalrymen. When the enemy had been driven off, Ren assessed the squadron and discovered that Private Whitmore had been injured.
Rulon promptly volunteered to take the man back to the surgeon at Rixeyville, and Ren let him go.
“Coward,” Ren whispered as he bent near.
Rulon shook his head and mouthed, “Von.”
Ren raised an eyebrow, but nodded and waved Rulon and Whitmore off in the direction of the regiment’s headquarters.
A few days later, a buzz went around the brigade. The Yankee cavalry had crossed the Rappahannock and attacked Stuart’s main encampment near Brandy Station. “Boots and Saddles” blared from multiple bugles, and men ran around the camp as though demons chased them. Although the distance to the battle wasn’t that far, moving the men and horses of the Brigade effectively was a daunting task for a newly designated commander.
Colonel Drake wanted the 1st to leave first, but Munford had other ideas, and with all the hubbub, the brigade didn’t arrive on the field until about four o’clock.
The 1st was ordered forward, and Rulon drew his sabre and galloped forward at the charge, yelling at the top of his voice. He heard Ren scream, “Give ‘em the sabre, boys!” Desperate to drive back the Yankees, the men of the 1st Virginia called on all the boldness and dash they possessed.
A melee of men swirled around Rulon as the charge disintegrated into small fights in isolated pockets. He found himself in the midst of fierce action with his weapon, clashing in individual contest with one Yankee after another. One almost slashed his arm with a thrust but he parried at the last moment and the man went off his horse instead. Rulon incapacitated the man with a quick thrust of his own, not pausing to wonder how he did this so callously, as he had done at the beginning of the war. It was wound, or be wounded, kill or be killed, and the clash of sabres around him, the smoke and dust clogging the air, the screams of downed horses, the rattle of balls, and the roar of artillery reminded him that combat of this sort was intensely personal.