“The War Department knows that Mosby’s men intercept telegraphic messages, sir,” Chamberlain explained. “We wished to surprise him and his bandits.”
“It appears you did so,” Lee agreed. He eyed Chamberlain. “I’m not familiar with your record, Captain Green.”
Chamberlain puffed himself up in imitation of a self-important politician. “My commission is fairly recent, based upon my performance in the last presidential selection.”
“I see.” Lee’s tone, only formal to this point, dropped several degrees toward freezing, but that was fine. The less he thought of Chamberlain’s Captain Green persona the less he would hopefully concern himself with worries about this unheralded arrival of a cavalry company. “I will expect a full report in the morning, sir. You are to call on me promptly at nine o’clock.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee turned to go, then paused, and instead pivoted toward the supposed prisoners. “How many men do you have, captain?”
“Eighty-one, sir.”
“A bit understrength for such a mission. And how many prisoners?”
“An even dozen, sir.”
“You took them without a fight?” Lee pressed. “In Mosby’s territory?”
Chamberlain sank deeper into his role. “Of course there was a fight. I do not know what you are implying, sir.”
“Surprise that your column was not cut to pieces, captain, with an inexperienced commanding officer and such small numbers moving through such a hazardous region, and that no word of your movements from any source came to us prior to this. You and your men are to wait here while I telegraph the War Department and find out more regarding this matter.”
Mosby himself came up close to Lee. “I respectfully request that you remain here, colonel.”
Lee frowned at Mosby, the sort of Olympian glower which must have reduced many a lower-ranking man to helplessness over the years. “Your request is insubordinate, lieutenant.”
Mosby’s pistol came up and centered between Lee’s eyes. “I believe this outranks you, colonel. My request is now an order.” To either side, the sentries and the lieutenant were also being menaced and their weapons taken by other false cavalrymen from the column. The supposed prisoners in the column also produced weapons of their own and moved to help guard the regulars. “All of the sentries on the walls have already been disarmed and taken prisoner while we waited. As long as everyone remains silent, no one shall be harmed, but if anyone makes a sound they will be the first to die.”
Lee betrayed no fear, his icy gaze fixed on Mosby. “Do I know you, sir?”
Mosby inclined his head slightly toward Lee. “Colonel John Singleton Mosby of the Army of the New Republic, at your service, sir.”
“You are no colonel. Neither are you a soldier. You are a bandit and a traitor to your country. When you are captured, you shall hang.”
Mosby smiled, his teeth showing white in the darkness. “The capturing is the hard part, colonel.”
“Colonel Lee.” Chamberlain stepped forward, dropping his performance. “Surely you have seen that the government operates in violation of the Constitution of the Republic. You are being ordered to take actions contrary to the liberty our forefathers bequeathed us. If all good and honorable men would join in demanding that the government and the army abide by the Constitution and cease their tyrannical actions, then this country would be a republic of free men again in truth.”
Lee turned his frosty gaze on Chamberlain. “And you are?”
“Joshua Chamberlain, Professor of Rhetoric, Bowdoin.”
“Former professor, you mean to say,” Lee corrected. “When you are taken prisoner, you will find a cell here awaits you.”
“Better a cell here than the fields of a plantation! I was convicted of exercising free speech and other rights guaranteed by the Constitution! Nothing else! A professional such as yourself knows that partisan politics should have no role in the appointment and promotion of officers.”
“You do not speak for me, sir. Freedom does not mean anarchy. I will stand by those who believe in the rule of law.”
Chamberlain spread his hands. “You will not do the honorable thing, sir?”
Lee’s face reddened. “I took an oath, sir. An oath to obey all lawful orders. Every action being ordered of me is in compliance with laws passed by the Congress, signed by the President and upheld by the Supreme Court. Can you say the same?”
“The congress is owned, the president installed by the army and the supreme court packed with those who would agree to any expansion of the power of the few at the expense of the many!”
“They are the laws of this land,” Lee insisted.
Chamberlain shook his head. “This republic was founded by men who argued that unjust laws must be opposed.”
“Do not lecture me on honor. A traitor, a civilian, a college professor, and a northerner. You have no concept of honor.” Lee deliberately turned his back on Chamberlain.
Mosby, finishing giving orders for his men to release the prisoners in the fort, smiled at Chamberlain. “You could challenge him to a duel now.”
“What would be the point of that?”
“If you were a southerner, you wouldn’t even ask that question. But then if you were a southerner, you would know that men such as Lee who grow up owning slaves come to believe that all other men can be equally inferior to themselves. They also have very strong opinions on the protection of property, said property most importantly including slaves. He will not listen to any argument that you and I could make.” Mosby gazed around ruefully. “As God is my witness, I would love to seize this fort and make a stand here. Imagine the ruckus that would raise. More than government censorship could cover up. But they would overwhelm us sooner or later, and we would have no means of retreat.”
Chamberlain eyed the massive fortifications. “The defenders of the Alamo inspired the Texican Rebellion.”
“Little good that did those defenders,” Mosby noted dryly. “I am a fox, sir, and a fox does not allow himself to be trapped in a hole with no chance of escape.”
“The fox has his wisdom,” Chamberlain agreed. “I am in no position to argue with yours.”
A man hurried up to Mosby. “There’s no sign of anyone stirring in the barracks, colonel. We’re watching the doors, but we can’t seal them without making too much noise.”
“Keep a close watch. How are the prisoners coming?”
Another man arrived just in time to answer that question. “Good, for the most part, but there’s not nearly enough horses in the garrison for them all. We’ll need to take some wagons.”
“Hellfire and damnation,” Mosby muttered. “Get the wagons ready. Quickly and quietly. Damn this night. It covers our movements but its silence betrays almost our every action. Chamberlain, go check on the released prisoners. Make certain that Lincoln is among them.”
“Yes, colonel.” Chamberlain ran toward where the cells should be, the sword scabbard slapping annoyingly against one leg until he reached down to hold on to it tightly. He found a crowd milling around, Mosby’s men making constant efforts to keep everyone as silent as possible. Even in the darkness, one tall, thin shape stood out among the others. “Mr. Lincoln, sir?”
The man turned, revealing a familiar and homely face. “At your service, sir. You are not one of our jailors despite your garb. No! I see now that you are the one who spoke up at our mock trial. Life on the plantations did not suit you?”
Chamberlain could not help grinning at the question. “I was fortunate enough to escape the fate intended for me, Mr. Lincoln, and to find those who are friends to us and to the Republic. You are needed in Illinois, Mr. Lincoln.”
“May I ask who it is who needs me?”
“The people of this country, sir.”
A smile appeared and grew. While Lincoln was indeed unattractive, the smile transformed him as much as anything could. “I will serve no other masters, save liberty and the Republic governed by our Constitution. Can
you get me to Illinois?”
“We will try, sir.” A rattle of harness and creaking of wheels announced the arrival of four wagons with teams hitched to them, the sounds seeming to Chamberlain to echo in the night like the hammering of a blacksmith at work. Mosby’s men boosted released prisoners into the wagons while Chamberlain stood back, watching but seeing no need to interfere. To his annoyance, though, Lincoln insisted on waiting until everyone else was in a wagon before taking a place in the last one.
When Chamberlain and the wagons reached the gate, Mosby’s men were just finishing binding and gagging the regular soldiers who had been on sentry duty. Lee stood nearby.
Mosby spoke quietly to Lee. “Sir, will you give me your bond to remain silent on this spot until my men and I have departed this area?”
Lee did not look at Mosby as he answered. “I cannot in good conscience give my bond to a traitor and a bandit.”
“Then I regret that my men will be required to bind and gag you, sir.” Mosby motioned and his men began trussing Lee’s hands.
Before they fastened a gag on Lee, the colonel turned to look at Chamberlain. “Mr. Chamberlain, I have been told that when you were taken from the prison train you were in company with an officer.”
Chamberlain nodded. “Captain Armistead.”
Lee hesitated. “I should be greatly in your debt if you would inform Captain Armistead that, should he surrender himself to me, I will ensure he is well treated and make every effort to see that his conviction is reversed.”
“I will certainly pass on your words to Captain Armistead, sir,” Chamberlain replied in a solemn voice. “However, I feel I must inform you that Captain Armistead appears unlikely to accept your offer. He has told me that he believes his honor requires his own present course of action.”
Lee stood silent for a moment. “I deeply regret that. I hope Captain Armistead will reconsider. If I encounter him under other circumstances than his surrender, I will be forced to do my duty.”
“I will tell him that as well, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain.” Lee stoically endured having the gag placed on his mouth and having his legs bound, his eyes watching as Mosby’s men mounted up, half of them preceding the wagons through the gate and the rest waiting for the wagons to pass through.
“Go with the lead element,” Mosby ordered Chamberlain. “Play your role the rest of the night as well as you did until now and we shall see total success.”
“Thank you, colonel.” Chamberlain mounted, but as he started to ride through the gate heard a querulous voice sounding across the courtyard.
“Who ordered those wagons out?” Someone was standing in a doorway, his shape barely visible. “Captain of the guard! Where the hell are you?”
“Time to go,” Mosby declared, waving Chamberlain and the rest of his men through the gate, then brought his horse around to answer the man. “Orders from Colonel Lee. We’re sorry to have disturbed you, sir.”
“Colonel Lee wouldn’t have sent those wagons out without informing me! Why isn’t the captain of the guard answering me? Where’s Sergeant Pennington?”
“You’ll have to ask them,” Mosby answered. “Good evening, sir.” With that, he spurred his horse through the gate and past the bound figures of the sentries and the captain of the guard. “On the double! The alarm will sound soon!”
The column had cleared the causeway and was clattering down the road away from the fort, the wagons making what seemed to be a cacophony of noise, when the report of a cannon boomed from one of the fort’s walls, the echoes of its firing reverberating across the land and the waters of Hampton Roads. Chamberlain waited for the sound of shell but saw Mosby shaking his head. “That was an alarm, a gunshot meant to alert all defenders. The sleeping giant will awaken quickly now.”
After half a minute the alarm was answered by a cannon fired on one of the warships anchored off shore, then several more cannon shots boomed near and far as the warning spread. The urgent summons of trumpets began sounding in what sounded like all directions as Mosby galloped to the front of the column and urged it to move faster, then headed back to ensure no one was falling behind.
The first check point loomed ahead, every soldier occupying it standing in or beside the road, rifles in hand. By a great effort, Chamberlain subdued the tremors in his voice so that it came out commanding as he yelled. “Raiders at the fort! Colonel Lee has sent us after them!”
The soldiers hesitated. “We haven’t seen anyone!” one of them called back.
“We’re moving to cut them off!” Chamberlain shouted. “Clear the road!”
With almost a hundred horsemen and four wagons bearing down on them, the half-dozen soldiers did as Chamberlain ordered, scrambling to the side of the road and watching the column tear past.
But at the second check point they encountered a barrier placed across the road, the soldiers manning the check point arrayed behind the barrier with rifles at ready. Chamberlain once again yelled at them to clear the road.
“Our orders are to halt all traffic!” the sergeant in charge of the check point replied. “Halt your column, sir!”
Chamberlain hesitated, but then Mosby was riding beside him, pistol in hand. “We have no time for bluffing, professor. There are probably a thousand men converging on this spot as we speak.” Galloping up to the check point, he leveled his pistol at the sergeant. “Clear the road or we’ll send you to hell!” Mosby cried.
The sergeant, with more courage than sense, tried to bring his rifle to bear. Mosby shot him, the other soldiers at the check point scattering as the horsemen stormed the barrier.
Unfortunately, it required a few moments for some of the riders to dismount, swing the barrier out of the way, and remount. The pause gave the sentries and possibly reinforcements hastening to their aid time to recover. As Mosby’s column surged into motion again, rifle fire resounded in the night, the muzzle flashes creating discordant patterns of light on both sides of the road.
It didn’t even occur to Chamberlain to draw his pistol and shoot back, but some of Mosby’s men fired at the muzzle flashes as they rode. “Cease fire!” Mosby commanded. “You’re just giving them targets and telling the entire countryside where we are! Keep moving and keep as quiet as you can!”
Chamberlain remembered the rest of that night as a series of darkened roads, occasional unlit buildings rushing past, the world silent except for the rattle of harness and wagons and the thud of horse hooves upon the dirt or wooden or macadamized road surfaces they crossed. He grew increasingly weary, having no idea where they were, just following Mosby’s guides as they rode ahead, and listening to the occasional bursts of sounds in the distance which marked pursuers searching for them. Once, distant volleys of gunfire brought a tired chuckle from a man riding near Chamberlain. “They think they’re shooting at us,” the man explained. “Wonder who they’re really throwing lead at?”
Dawn found them in a heavily-wooded area, on a deeply-rutted track barely wide enough for the wagons, going up and down an apparently endless series of ridges. Everyone was walking now, leading horses as tired as the men who had ridden them. As Chamberlain trudged onward, Mosby came up beside him, looking grim enough to rouse Chamberlain from his fatigue-induced daze. “Is something wrong, colonel?”
Mosby exhaled heavily, his own visage haggard with weariness. “Almost perfect, professor. Almost perfect. But those regulars at the second checkpoint who fired upon us ruined the score.”
“They hit someone?”
“Several someone’s. The wagons made perfect targets. One of the men we freed is dead, and several others wounded.” Mosby rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Lincoln is one of the wounded. In the leg. We’ve a man with some small medical experience with us, and he’s done what he can, but we need to get Lincoln to a decent surgeon soon or we’ll likely lose him. There’s a town we can go through up ahead where we have a lot of support. Pray to God, sir, that their surgeon can save Lincoln.”
Longstreet sat down, looking even gloomier than usual. “He’ll live.”
The dissonance between Longstreet’s appearance and his news momentarily confused Chamberlain and the others, then Hancock laughed. “Do you have any more bad news, James?”
“Yeah, Win, I do.” Longstreet rubbed his head with both hands. “He can’t walk, can’t ride. Not for some time. We’ll need to transport him by wagon, and we can’t move too fast or over roads too rough.”
“That is bad news,” Hancock agreed. “How long can we let Lincoln rest here before we move?”
Mosby came in just then and shook his head. “Not another day. Our attack on Fortress Monroe has stirred the giant to action. Scouts are reporting the federals are mustering strong forces at a dozen points around my territory. They mean to quarter this region, find Lincoln, and do as much damage to my forces as they can. We need to get Lincoln out before the neck of the bag is tightened.” Dropping a map onto the table, he spread it out, then beckoned to Hancock. “You are still resolved to lead the escort for Lincoln?”
“Yes, colonel,” Hancock replied.
“The further we get from my area the less I know of the roads, but this map is supposed to be a decent one.” Mosby’s finger moved as he indicated a route. “You have two advantages. They do not yet know our full strength and may underestimate how much we can send with you, and they do not yet know that Lincoln was hurt, so they are going to assume we will try to move him out by going due west or northwest and avoiding good roads. That means they will not have as much guarding the decent roads and will not be expecting a move through the relatively open country to the north, so if you are strong enough you will be able to break through any pickets and keep going.”
Longstreet snorted. “Once they figure out what we’re doing and in what strength that advantage will not last.”
“No, it will not,” Mosby agreed. “You will have to move as fast as the roads and Lincoln’s condition permit. Take the best roads north, cut through Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then angle west. If what Captain Longstreet says is true, and we have no reason to doubt him, the closer to Illinois you get the more likely that the local populace will spring to your aid when they learn you are escorting Lincoln home. Get through Pennsylvania to Ohio and, though you will still face federal sympathizers and military forces, you will probably be through the worst of it and picking up new volunteers every mile you go.”
The Last Full Measure Page 4