Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  Owens, Stevens, and Satterfield all looked at Yancy. He seemed to have been elected the speaker for them, since he was in some ways closer to Colonel Jackson because he had worked for the Jacksons. “Sir, if I may ask, what will be the 1st Brigade’s responsibility there? What is our mission?”

  Jackson didn’t grin, but his habitually stern expression lightened to one of amusement. “We’re going to kidnap a railroad.”

  Colonel Thomas Jackson, commanding officer of the Confederate troops stationed at Harpers Ferry, Virginia, lodged a formal complaint with the president of the B & O Railroad, John W. Garrett of Baltimore. The trains disturbed his men at night, and Colonel Jackson demanded that they come through Harpers Ferry at about noon. Mr. John W. Garrett was hardly in a position to to argue with the Confederate officer who held the major railroad bridge over the Potomac. The loaded trains began running west-east from 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.

  But then there were the empties returning east-west at night, and again Colonel Jackson complained and demanded that the dual tracks be scheduled so that the trains ran only around the noon hour. Again he was accommodated, and for two hours a day Harpers Ferry was the busiest railroad hub in America.

  At noon on May 23, less than a month after he and his brigade had arrived in Harpers Ferry, Jackson ordered his troops to seal off each end of the thirty-two-mile-long sector that he held. The trains were trapped. By the time the final tally was done, Colonel Jackson had kidnapped fifty-six locomotives and more than three hundred cars.

  Another hostage was kidnapped during this raid—a nondescript, rather small reddish mare with soft brown eyes and a coltish gait. Colonel Jackson determined to give her as a gift to Anna, but he grew so fond of her that he kept her for his own mount, conscientously paying the quartermaster for her value. Little Sorrel she was called, and somehow Colonel Jackson sensed she would be with him to the very end of the road.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Colonel Thomas Jackson’s “kidnapping” of a railroad resounded throughout the South, and he enjoyed some good publicity. However, a few days after this famous exploit was completed, Jackson was abruptly replaced. Brigadier General Joseph E. Johnston arrived at Harpers Ferry to take command. Jackson quietly stepped aside. General Johnston did give him command over the 1st Virginia Brigade that he had formed and had so carefully and ceaselessly trained.

  In the middle of June, Federal troops began amassing on the Maryland side of the river, a force of about eighteen thousand under United States General Robert Patterson, a rather elderly and slow-moving, cautious officer. Still, General Johnston felt threatened that the superior force might outflank his 6,500 troops, so he withdrew to Winchester, about thirty miles southwest of Harpers Ferry. Jackson and his 1st Brigade were dispatched to Martinsburg, about twenty miles north. Colonel Jeb Stuart and his cavalry were ordered to observe the Federals and immediately give word if they showed any signs of crossing the Potomac.

  In his position, Jackson saw nothing of the enemy and no activity was reported to him. But one thing did happen that reduced the difficulty of being relieved of his command…and of his boredom in Martinsburg. On June 17, he received his commission as brigadier general in the army of the Confederate States of America.

  As it happened, Chuckins Satterfield was in Jackson’s camp tent transcribing some of Jackson’s dictation when the courier from Richmond arrived with the orders for Jackson’s promotion. He witnessed the courier deliver the papers and swear Jackson in. After the courier left, Chuckins jumped to attention and said, “Sir! May I be the first to congratulate you, sir, on your commission, General Jackson, sir!”

  “You may. Thank you,” he answered succinctly. “Sit down, Sergeant Satterfield, and continue your work.”

  “Yes, sir!” Chuckins sat back down to his dreary paperwork.

  Surreptitiously he watched the brand-new general, but Jackson showed no outward signs of excitement or elation at his promotion. He sat calmly at his desk, his pen endlessly scratching across paper.

  Finally Chuckins could stand it no longer. “Sir? General Jackson? Would it be all right if I took a short break to have a cup of coffee, sir?”

  Jackson didn’t look up; his pen scratched and scritched. “Dismissed.”

  Chuckins ran out, grabbed the first soldier he saw, and told the news.

  Soon everyone in the 1st Brigade had heard that they were now commanded by a brigadier general. And they were proud. Though Jackson had none of the glad-handing, backslapping ways of many powerful men, he carried with him an unmistakable air of authority, of sure and certain knowledge and understanding, and of honor and integrity. To a man and to the utmost they respected him and trusted him. It may even be said that they loved him.

  When Jackson heard Colonel Jeb Stuart was riding into the camp, just outside of Martinsburg, with the usual drama, he came hurrying out of his tent to greet his friend.

  Stuart galloped full speed through the camp, coming to a stop by abruptly reining in his magnificent mount, who skidded to a stop, threw his head up, reared and pawed the air, and came to a furious stamping halt. Jeb Stuart jumped off, throwing the reins to one of his escorts. As usual, he was greeted by the soldier’s whoops and calls.

  Stuart stopped before Jackson, came to a parade attention, and then saluted beautifully. “May I congratulate you, General Jackson, on your well-deserved promotion. It is an honor to serve under you, sir.”

  Jackson returned his salute and said quietly, “You serve with me, Colonel Stuart. We serve God and the Confederacy.”

  They went into Jackson’s tent where they stayed for about an hour. Then Colonel Stuart and his escorts left, as dashing and daring as they had arrived.

  Jackson then called in Yancy and Peyton. “You two men go to all the commanders of the regiments and tell them we’ll be marching within the hour. Light field packs. Sergeant Stevens, tell General Pendleton to get the guns ready to move into Martinsburg.”

  They saluted and ran off to alert the command that they were moving to battle, the first fighting that they had seen.

  Tethered by his tent was Midnight, and when Yancy ran to saddle him up, he saw that a private from Lexington named Henry Birdwell was visiting Midnight, stroking his nose and feeding him some dried corn.

  When he saw Yancy, he snapped to attention and saluted.

  “At ease, Birdie,” Yancy said, returning a careless salute.

  Henry Birdwell had joined Captain Reese Gilmer’s Raphine Company, of the 33rd Virginia Regiment, the unit that Yancy had trained in Richmond. Now they were part of the 1st Brigade.

  Captain Reese Gilmer was the ultimate Southern gentleman. He owned a cotton plantation, about thirty slaves, and his family could be traced back to the Mayflower. He was a good soldier and a good leader, and he had managed to recruit about one hundred men from his small central village of Raphine and the farms and plantations beyond. Henry Birdwell had been employed as a stable boy at Raphine Plantation, and he had immediately signed up for Reese Gilmer’s company.

  Henry Birdwell was one year older than Yancy, but he seemed much younger, with his open face, mild brown eyes, and short brown hair with a pronounced cowlick. He loved horses, though his family had always been too poor to buy saddle horses. He especially loved Midnight, for the high-bred stallion responded to him with a friendliness and glad whinny that was rare, except for Yancy and his family.

  “Go get ready, Birdie,” Yancy told him. “We’re going to march out soon.”

  Birdwell blinked in the bright morning sunlight. “Are we going to fight, Sergeant Tremayne?”

  “General Jackson doesn’t confide in the likes of me,” Yancy replied lightly. “All I know is that we’re marching out. Here, you want to help me saddle him up?”

  “Yes, sir.” Quickly the private gave Midnight’s back a brush-down then laid one of Yancy’s fine soft Indian blankets on his back.

  As they were saddling Midnight, Yancy asked, “Why are you here, Birdie? Why are you fighting?”<
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  “They called us. And I wanted to fight for Captain Reese and General Jackson,” he answered simply. “We all knew General Jackson in Lexington. We all wanted to fight with him.”

  Yancy nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  Birdie continued, “I still want to fight, but…I sure hope the war’s over soon, like the newspapers say. I’ve got a girlfriend, Ellen Mae Simpkins. She’s a maid at Raphine Plantation. When I get home we’re going to get married.”

  “That’s good, Birdie,” Yancy said quietly. “I know you’ll be happy. Now, go on. Go get ready to march.”

  He saluted. “Yes, sir!” he said snappily and turned and ran off like a boy on his way to his favorite fishing hole.

  Within an hour, the brigade was ready to march. General Jackson rode forward and, without a word, led the way out of camp. They pushed hard all morning long. It was late in the afternoon before Jackson ordered the brigade to halt. He called all his aides and commanding officers together.

  “You see that church over there?” he asked, pointing. “That is the church in Falling Waters. The Federals are just on the other side of it. They are advancing. Now, we are going to move just past the treeline of that glade over there and we’re going to wait for them to advance into this open field. And then we’ll take them. Position your men in three stances: first volley, from a prone position; second volley, kneeling position; and third volley, standing. Then, gentlemen, we will charge and give them the bayonet. Ride out.”

  Yancy caught up to him and said, “General, sir? Permission to join Raphine Company?”

  Jackson frowned. “Is that the company you’ve been training and drilling, Sergeant Tremayne?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d very much like to be with them in their first battle, sir.”

  “Permission granted.”

  Yancy saluted and turned to ride away.

  Jackson called after him, “Sergeant Tremayne?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Fight hard, Sergeant Tremayne. This is for Virginia, for our homes, for our families. No matter what they think about this war, this is for them.”

  “Yes, sir!” Yancy said, wheeling Midnight and hurrying to the front.

  As Jackson planned, the enemy came marching across open fields, and they met deadly musket fire. Jackson and his three regiments charged them.

  Captain Reese Gilmer drew his sword, thrust it forward, and yelled, “Charge!”

  Yancy, on Midnight, charged right behind him, sword drawn.

  From then on, all was a confusion of harsh glaring light—for it was a blistering July afternoon—hot gulping breaths, the smell of blood and gunpowder, and the echoing screams of men fighting and firing and dying. Yancy saw, as if in magnification, a man fall just beside him. The soldier was on his back and the lower part of his jaw had been shot away and he clutched at the wound, his heels kicking into the ground.

  A tall soldier named Ed Tompkins was beside Yancy, and he yelled and drove his bayonet into the chest of the wounded soldier. “Here’s one Yankee who won’t give us no trouble, Lieutenant!” he screamed. He then raced forward, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  Yancy carried his rifle. Midnight carried him, directed by the pressure of his knees, and he never wavered. Yancy shot three men that he saw aiming a rifle at him, but he didn’t stop to see the results. He kept riding, reloading, and shooting at the Federals in blue.

  “We’ve got them!” Jackson shouted. “Drive them with the bayonet!”

  The battle turned into a foot race. The Union soldiers turned and fled away from the advancing Confederates, but before they had gone very far, a Union artillery of hidden guns fired and shells began exploding around the Confederates. One of them hit so close it rocked Yancy and he almost lost his balance. His eyes were full of dirt, so he pulled Midnight to a halt so he could clean out his eyes.

  When he finally could see, Yancy started to signal Midnight forward, but he looked up and saw a single blue-clad soldier that had a rifle aimed right at him. Yancy threw up his pistol and fired. The shot struck the Federal soldier and drove him backward. His finger was still on the trigger and he shot at the blue sky above. Yancy slowly eased Midnight forward then stopped to peer down at the soldier.

  Around them was still the chaos and thunder and maddening yells of a battlefield, but for a moment Yancy was encased in quiet as he saw the first man he had ever killed. He was an older man with a russet beard, and his eyes were open. His uniform was dyed scarlet with his blood. His final expression was one of surprise as if to say, What? This can’t be happening to me!

  Yancy stared at him for a moment, but the blood of battle was still thrumming in his veins, and Midnight was spoiling to run. He reloaded his rifle, took it in his right hand and his pistol in his left, and spurred Midnight forward, yelling like fury.

  But Jackson called them back.

  The Reverend Colonel Pendleton then activated his big guns across the road, decimating the column moving along it. He raised his head and cried, “Lord, have mercy on their souls.”

  The Battle of Fallen Waters was over. As Yancy withdrew with Captain Gilmer’s company, he saw a Confederate body lying in a crumpled way as if it had fallen from a great height. He dismounted and turned the body over and saw it was Private Birdwell. “Birdie,” he whispered, “you’ll never get back to marry Ellen Mae now.” Yancy thought of how she would cry when she learned of her lover’s death. And his mother and father will weep, and his friends—all will suffer an awful loss.

  For the first time Yancy realized just what a sacrifice war was—not just for the men fighting, but for their families, their loved ones, their friends, their countrymen. General Jackson said it, he thought sadly: “War is the sum of all evil.”

  He hurried to report back to Jackson’s headquarters, and General Jackson greeted him immediately. “Sergeant Tremayne, are you and your horse fresh or are you battle weary, sir?” he asked sternly.

  “We are ready and waiting for our duty, sir,” Yancy answered.

  “Good, good. I have dispatches for Richmond, so you can ride?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Sergeant Tremayne—”

  “Sir?”

  “The sooner Richmond knows of all of our movements, the better they can direct this war and give us timely orders. Your horse is fastest in the Confederate Army, I imagine, except for maybe Colonel Stuart’s. Ride hard. Don’t stop.”

  Yancy and Midnight headed for Richmond.

  Abraham Lincoln stared at the men of his cabinet gathered in the room with him. He had listened to their arguments, but basically what was being said was summed up by the blunt secretary of war, Edwin Stanton. “Mr. President, we must give the people something to see. We need a military victory.”

  Lincoln had been opposed to bringing on action, but finally he was convinced. “Very well, then, we shall have it.”

  The commander chosen to lead the army in this first campaign was General Irvin McDowell, a well-regarded graduate and instructor at West Point. Until the war, he had served in the adjutant general’s office in Washington.

  As the days of preparation took place, there was no secret about what was going to happen. It seemed that every man on the street knew the army was preparing to do battle, and most of them knew where the first field of battle was to be. It was near a creek called Bull Run, which was adjacent to a small town called Manassas.

  There was almost a holiday air as the army was sent to war with marshal music, stirring tunes by marching bands, cakes and doughnuts by the thousands baked by the ladies of the land. In fact, the North was so certain of an easy victory that many families in their carriages went to the site of the impending battle and had picnics and visited with each other on a hillside overlooking the picturesque creek of Bull Run and the Manassas Crossroads.

  As the Army of the Potomac marched out of Washington headed southwest, Lincoln’s face grew sad, and he whispered, “Some of those young men will die. How can I bear it?”


  General McDowell listened to the cries of “Forward to Richmond!” fill the air, but he moved his army slowly. He was an experienced soldier but not a brilliant strategist; nor was he the man to inspire troops.

  The Confederates were well aware of both the strategic and tactical moves of the Federals, because there were spies in Washington that kept close tabs on the movement of the Union army. Commanding generals Joe Johnston and P. G. T. Beauregard knew the movements of the Federals almost as well as they themselves did.

  On Friday, July 19, the 1st Brigade, led by General Jackson, arrived at Manassas Junction. He had given few orders, and Yancy had stuck close to his side acting as a courier. Now the men were placed in a line along Bull Run Creek and were ordered to stay in reserve. At this time there were arguments among the top-ranking Confederate generals of where the Union charge would be made.

  On a blistering Sunday, July 21, it was obvious that the Federals were advancing. Yancy was by his commander’s side during the whole time, except when he was assigned to dispatch messages. Midnight was the fastest horse on the Confederate side, and he never seemed to tire.

  Finally, the attack came, as McDowell threw his army forward. The Confederates stiffened and General Jackson took his stand on a small rise. Still ordered to hold in reserve, he watched calmly as the battle raged on back and forth. Jackson was clearly outlined against the sky on the knoll; though, of course, it was doubtful that anyone would take him for a general from his nondescript uniform and awkward, small Little Sorrel. Still, he carried a certain authority as he watched, occasionally through his field glasses, the battle raging just below. Shrapnel from Union shells sometimes showered about him. He never even flinched. At one point it seemed a sharpshooter targeted him. A bullet came so close between him and Yancy that Yancy could feel the hot air as it whined by. Then another, so close to Yancy’s hair that it stirred it a bit, and convulsively Yancy ducked. Jackson didn’t blink.