On the last Sunday in May, Great Oak had visitors. Sunday was always a holiday for the people, but Trav rode away at dawn to inspect certain old fields grown up to briers and loblolly and sedge, which unless the Yankees came he meant to have the people clear this summer. On his return, the Negro boy who took his horse excitedly reported:
“Mars’ Tony here, Marste’. Him and all de gin’r’ls.”
Trav in warm pleasure turned toward the house, and in the hall Tony came to meet him, and Trav felt at once the change in his brother; the strong hand, the high head, the steady tone. Then Julian appeared, a tall young man grown inches since Trav last saw him; and in the drawing room two others waited. He saw Ed Blandy first, and shook his hand; and Ed said, turning respectfully to the fourth man.
“Here’s another old friend, Mr. Currain.”
“Major Hill!” Trav was delighted to greet again this sharp-tongued, bitter-humored little man, and Tony said:
“But it’s Colonel Hill now, Trav. Commanding the First North Carolina Volunteers. That’s our regiment. We’re at Yorktown, rode over to pay our respects.”
It was fine to see Ed Blandy again and to see Tony so changed and steady and sure, and to renew his old friendship with Colonel Hill. Trav heard from Tony the story of the Martinston company; and he said to Ed in friendly amusement: “Well, I’d never have looked for anything like that. The way you all used to talk down there, I didn’t expect to see any of you in uniform.”
Colonel Hill spoke strongly. “Those who best love peace fight hardest when the time comes, Mr. Currain.”
“It was Colonel Hill’s idea, our raising the company,” Ed explained.
“Who all is in the company?”
Tony answered him, and hearing familiar names of old friends made Trav wish to see them. “I’ll have to ride over to Yorktown. How long will you be there? When did you come?”
“We reached Richmond Tuesday night,” Tony said. “Came to West Point by the railroad day before yesterday, came by steamboat the rest of the way.”
Trav chuckled. “I expect some of your men never rode on the cars, before.”
“This wasn’t their first time,” Tony explained. “We marched to Salisbury but we took the cars from there to Raleigh, so Julian could teach us some soldiering. As far as Raleigh the men were pretty quiet, but when we left there they knocked out the sides of the box cars, and a lot of them rode on top of the cars till we looked like a chicken coop on wheels. They yelled and hooted at every man they saw. They’d got hold of liquor, of course. But they’ll be good fighters, Trav.”
“Do you look for fighting soon?”
Colonel Hill answered him. “Not unless it’s forced on us. We’re here just to keep the Yanks where they are as long as we can. We’ve a line of pickets from Yorktown to the Yankee outposts at Hampton and Newport News; but if there’s to be any fighting, they’ll have to start it. They outnumber us five or ten to one.” The Colonel chuckled. “I call that an even thing—even though you may question my arithmetic; but if General Butler is reinforced faster than we are, he may decide to try something.”
Trav said apologetically: “I expect my staying at home seems to you poor business, Colonel; but I know more about farming than I do about war.”
“Why, farming’s the foundation of fighting, Mr. Currain. Men must eat before they can fight; and before this business is over, food will be scarcer than muskets.” Colonel Hill added a warning word. “But unless the Yankees are bigger cowards and fools than I think, you’ll not make many crops here.”
“You think they’ll come this way?”
“It’s their safest road to Richmond, with their ships to control the York and the James and protect their flanks.”
“I’ll have to take my mother away before that happens.”
“You’ll have time enough.” Colonel Hill spoke bitterly. “There’s no sign of hurry on the part of the Yankees—and it’s too late for us to hurry now. Two months ago—if Virginia and North Carolina had reached an earlier decision—we could have marched into Washington. Now it will take a long time.”
Mrs. Currain joined them for dinner. Enid, she told them, was indisposed; and Trav dutifully went upstairs to show some solicitude. It was nothing, Enid assured him; her head ached, that was all. He saw that actually she was furiously angry, and as husbands will he felt guilty without knowing why. “Perhaps if you came down and ate something—–”
“I certainly will not!”
“Well, I’m sorry your head aches.”
“My head doesn’t ache! You know that perfectly well.”
“But you said—–”
“Oh, don’t pretend to be more stupid than you are. I simply refuse to sit at table with that white trash Ed Blandy.”
“Why, Enid, Ed Blandy’s a real fine—–”
“That’s right!” she cried. “Stick up for him! You always did! You’re as bad as he is, Trav Currain! You’re low! That’s what’s the matter with you. You’re just plain low!”
He took a familiar refuge in silence, but his silence only made her more angry than before, till he escaped and rejoined the others, making himself forget Enid in good talk with them. His mother appeared to be completely unconscious of the fact that they were in uniform; when they spoke of warlike matters she seemed not to hear. He found himself wishing it were as easy for him to shut out of his world the bitter knowledge which she refused to accept.
After dinner she excused herself to rest a while. The others must take the road, and he called for his horse too, and went with them for a part of the way, proudly pointing out to Ed and to Tony work already done here, and work planned. When they said good-by at last and he turned homeward loneliness rode with him; he felt himself an outsider, excluded from the comradeship which bound them.
He planned to go soon to Yorktown to see these men and the other Martinston folk; but before he could do so, Brett one late afternoon arrived at Great Oak, his horse’s feet splashing in the puddles still standing from a night and morning of rain. To him Trav and Enid gave an eager welcome; and Enid exclaimed with admiration at his uniform, his red “Garibaldi” shirt, short jacket, slouch hat. The Howitzers had reached Yorktown at noon that day; and Brett had a message from Cinda. Burr and Barbara would be married on the twenty-ninth of June, and Cinda insisted that Mrs. Currain and Trav and Enid come and bring the children.
“Mrs. Pierce wanted to wait longer,” Brett explained. “She’s one of those people who instinctively tries to put things off; but she’d promised a June wedding, and the children held her to it.”
Mrs. Currain said at once that she couldn’t think of going to Richmond. “Why, I wouldn’t go as far from home as that for my own funeral!” They laughed with her, but Enid caught Brett’s eyes with a reassuring nod, as though promising that she would manage the older woman. She began to ask him many questions. He said the Howitzers, although they had but just reached Yorktown, would move out tomorrow with the North Carolina troops to Bethel Church. Scouts had reported that the Yankees were preparing to advance from Fortress Monroe and Newport News; troops would be posted to check them.
“That’s why Tony and Julian didn’t come with me today,” he said. “They were busy getting ready for tomorrow.”
But Enid wished to hear what was happening in Richmond. Why, the ladies were sewing all day long, Brett said. Even the churches were turned into sewing circles. Everyone seemed to be sewing except Dolly. She was too busy with her beaux, counted them now not by individuals but by companies and regiments and battalions. All the Richmond belles were warlike, but Dolly was more bloodthirsty than any of them. When the Yankees occupied Alexandria and Colonel Ellsworth pulled down the Confederate flag on Mr. Jackson’s hotel and Mr. Jackson shot him, Dolly said that would be a lesson to those old Yankees.
“I reminded her that it was a lesson to Mr. Jackson too,” Brett told them, “since he was killed on the spot; but she said that just showed the Yankees were a lot of murderers.”
/> Enid cried: “Of course they are!”
Brett and Trav smiled together; and Brett said Enid was as warlike as the Richmond belles who were declaring that they would not become engaged to any man until after he had fought the Yankees. But Brett was sure that Vesta would say yes to a certain young fellow, the moment he asked her.
“Tommy Cloyd?” Enid asked. “The one who was here at Christmas?”
“Yes. He was in Richmond for a while—he’s in Colonel Gregg’s regiment—but they’re in Northern Virginia now waiting to meet the Yankees.” Enid declared she couldn’t imagine what Vesta saw in him, but Brett said: “Oh, I can. Tommy’s a mighty fine boy.”
Enid was hungry for everything he could tell her of these days in Richmond. He said that since the Confederate Government moved there from Montgomery the city grew more crowded every day. To rent a room anywhere already cost an outlandish sum, and prices rose by the hour. President Davis was living at the Spottswood. He was reported to expect a long war and a bloody one. General Beauregard, on his arrival in Richmond a few days before, had a reception equal to that of President Davis and took it modestly. There was a carriage and four waiting to carry him to the Spottswood, but he declined to ride in it, chose a simpler vehicle, refused even to make a speech to the cheering crowd. It was said that President Davis would himself assume command of the army, with Beauregard at his right hand. Meanwhile Beauregard had gone to Manassas to command the troops in Northern Virginia.
Brett had planned to return to Yorktown that night, but they persuaded him to stay till morning, and then Trav rode back with him to Yorktown. Before the march to Bethel got under way he had time to see Tony and Julian and Ed Blandy and Tom Shadd and Judge Meynell and Chelmsford Lowman and a dozen others, old loved friends. In all of them there was a change; and in all except Judge Meynell the change was a pleasing one. They stood more erectly; there was a quickness in their tones, and Trav felt in them a high anticipation.
But Judge Meynell seemed to have aged and to have saddened. Trav asked for Mrs. Meynell, for Miss Mary. They were well, the Judge said; and he put a question in his turn, a surprising question. Where was Darrell?
“Darrell?” Trav echoed. “Why, I believe he’s in Richmond. You know him?”
“He was at Chimneys for some months.”
“So he was. I’d forgotten.”
“We had the frequent—pleasure of seeing him at our home.”
“To be sure,” Trav agreed. “Yes, I’m sure he is in Richmond.” And he said courteously: “When you write, please give your ladies my kind remembrances. I don’t think I’ve seen Miss Mary since one day when you and she were taking the stage. You were going to court. She was a mighty excited little Miss Somebody that day!”
The Judge made no comment. He turned back to his men, and Trav had an uneasy feeling that something was amiss; but he forgot this in watching the troops begin their march. It seemed to him they were cruelly burdened, and that their garments were ill chosen. The majority wore tremendous boots reaching to their knees or above, their heavy trousers stuffed into the boot tops. Their double-breasted coats, wadded for greater warmth, had skirts that hung around their knees. Each man shouldered a musket, and from his belt dangled a canteen, and sometimes a pistol; and most of them had at least one long-bladed knife thrust through their belts. Their knapsacks were sufficiently capacious to contain tobacco, pipes, linen and lint for bandages, soap, towels, underwear, socks, ammunition; but in addition many of them lugged a haversack or a carpet bag or a valise in their hands; and all of them had strapped to their knapsacks blankets rolled in oil cloth. A fair proportion carried kettles and frying pans. Loaded down like pack mules, they trudged away along the muddy roads through spatters of rain.
He wondered whether the men need to carry so much, and looking for a possible informant he saw Colonel Hill, mounted, sitting with another officer who was resplendent in blue pantaloons with a red cord down the seam, blue roundabout lined with crimson velvet, black cocked hat with a long drooping feather, long scabbard hanging low. Trav watched till this dazzling figure moved away, then joined Colonel Hill and asked who the other man was.
“That was Colonel Magruder, commanding here at Yorktown.” Colonel Hill smiled. “A fine officer, but something of a dandy. The men are already calling him the Duke of York.”
Trav remarked on the heavy loads the soldiers carried. “Some of them will be tired before night,” he suggested.
The other nodded. “But they’ll learn,” he predicted. “A year from now they’ll know that a blanket and a tin cup and a gun are all they need.” He waved a careless hand. “Every man there is toting enough victuals to keep him stuffed for a week; but by tomorrow night they’ll have eaten it or wasted it or lost it. If we stay a week at Bethel Church they’ll be starving.”
“No need of that,” Trav assured him. “There’s plenty to eat all around here.”
“It has to be brought to them, passed out to them.”
Trav cut a bit of tobacco, put it in his mouth, watched the men trudge by. “Would it help if I fetched you some supplies?”
The other man grunted. “Help? It might win a battle for us!”
Trav, riding homeward, turning this project in his mind, let his horse take its own pace; so he was late for supper and had to meet Enid’s reproaches, hushed as soon as they joined Mrs. Currain. He had come to count on such relief from Enid’s chidings, for in Mrs. Currain’s presence she was always outwardly smiling and prettily affectionate. But only his mother could thus protect him. Even when Lucy and Peter were in the room, Enid’s tongue forever flicked at Trav, so that he sometimes saw Lucy—she was twelve now, a grave, thoughtful child and his heart’s delight—watching her mother with expressionless eyes. Trav had once urged Enid not to harangue him when Lucy could hear; but she retorted:
“I wouldn’t, if you didn’t always provoke me so.”
After supper, he lost himself in plans to take supplies to the force at Bethel. The simple mathematics involved: how much corn, how much pork, how many wagons, how many mules, how many miles to travel, how long to cover the distance—these absorbed him. He listed the plantations along the way which would contribute wagons loaded with provender, prepared quotas for each to meet; and next day he wrote notes which he sent off by hand to the neighbors upon whom he meant to levy. When they answered, he tallied their replies and was sure there would be enough and to spare.
From the stores at Great Oak, he loaded two huge wagons. They were high, long-bodied vehicles with canvas covers stretched on arching bows, made years ago by Mr. Wells of Halifax Street in Petersburg and designed to carry three hogsheads of tobacco or an equivalent load. Six mules were required to draw each one. Before nightfall, the wagons were filled. He set trusted Negroes to stand guard on them through the night, and early next morning they took the road.
They picked up others on the way, and the caravan grew. The black drivers were in picnic humor, singing, laughing, calling to and fro; but each pause meant delay, and they covered only some twenty miles that day, and stopped the night at Lebanon Church. Trav heard at the tavern that there had already been some skirmishing, and that already the soldiers were short of provisions, so next day he would have preferred to push on; but the Sunday peace was not to be disturbed and he surrendered to firm custom. Monday morning, before full day, he set the wagon train in motion.
Not since his boyhood had Trav seen the lower Peninsula. The roads were strange to him; he had more than once to inquire the way, and regretted he had not asked Colonel Hill to furnish him a guide. The low rolling hills which gave variety to the turnpike from Richmond to Williamsburg here flattened out into a plain with no landmarks by which to set a course, level and without character. He led his train of wagons through Cockletown and on to Halfway House and found there some men of the Howitzers, their gun mounted on a farm wagon drawn by two horses. Go straight ahead, they told him, pointing down the road; and they bade him hurry lest he miss the fun! So he told the
drivers to press forward without another halt, and he rode on at a trot. He met men on foot, white men, small farmers, hurrying northward away from the approaching fight; he met an old Negro on a laden cart, sweating with haste and with his own exertions as he belabored his philosophical mule. Fear emanated from them all alike. When Trav tried to question them they answered shortly and without pausing in their flight.
The sandy road, following the border of a wood with tilled land on his left, brought him suddenly in sight of a wall of fresh-dug earth squarely across the road, and he saw men moving to and fro beyond it. He rode on at a foot pace toward where a church stood by the road, and saw many men in uniform, and a few cannon, and then someone hailed him and Brett came vaulting over the low bank of dirt to meet him and to shake his hand.
“Trav! Where did you come from?”
Trav looked back over his shoulder along the road by which he had ridden. “Why, we’ve got together some supplies, corn and pork and coffee. The wagons aren’t far behind me, a mile or two.”
“Good man! We’ll be hungry presently!” Trav felt the high excitement in the other. “We’ve been at it already, Trav!” Brett said. “The officers routed us out in the middle of the night, marched us off down the New Market road till a woman—Mrs. Tunnell, her name was—met us and said the Yankees were out in force and had come to her house and captured her husband; so we fell back here to our works to wait for them.”
“Where’s Tony?”
“His company’s posted ahead, beyond the creek.” Trav’s eyes looked where Brett pointed. “Julian’s with the cadets down in the angle opposite the church. Leave your horse here. I’ll put you where you can see the whole thing!”
House Divided Page 32
