Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  Jeb pulled a straight chair close beside her. A thoughtful expression replaced his wide smile. “I’ve been giving a lot of thinking of what I am to the Lord.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ve never been a very deep thinker. I’m a lot better at action,” Jeb said, stroking his beard. “But a man has to think about his spiritual life, too, and I’ve been doing a lot of that.”

  Flora felt thrilled, for she had often wondered about the depth of Jeb’s spiritual life. He had an experience with the Lord years ago, but Flora wasn’t certain it was a conversion as she thought of it. She thought of being “converted” as she was. This included repenting of her sins at the preaching of a traveling Methodist evangelist, confessing Jesus and following Him in baptism, and taking the Lord’s Supper. Her life had been tied up with church and such devotions, but Jeb had never seemed pressed to do such service to the Lord.

  Jeb leaned back, teetering on the back legs of his chair, as he often did. He kept his hands on his heavy thighs. He was wearing only trousers and an undershirt, for May had come, bringing hot weather with it. He teetered back and forth. “I’ve been a believer in Jesus for a long time, Flora. You know that. There’s never been a doubt in my mind that He is who He says He is and He came to do what He said He did. But since we’ve been married, I’ve been watching you, and I can’t help but think that I’ve let the Lord down.”

  “And what is it you want to do, Jeb?”

  Stuart spread his arms out in gesture and his eyes opened wide. He had piercing eyes that could see farther than any man in the company, and when he turned them on people, they were riveted, as they were on Flora now. “Why, Flora, I need to do what you’ve done. I need to join a church and start living as a Christian.”

  “I think that would be wonderful, Jeb. You’ve always been a good man, I know.”

  “I try to be, but from what I read in the scripture, that’s not enough. I wrote this letter to my mother. Let me read you just a bit of it.” He pulled a paper from his pocket and began to read in a low, serious tone:

  “I wish to devote one hundred dollars to the purchase of a comfortable log church near your place, because in all my observation I believe one is more needed in that neighborhood than any other I know of; and besides, ‘charity begins at home.’ Seventy-five of this one hundred dollars I have in trust for that purpose, and the remainder is my own contribution.”

  Flora exclaimed, “Why, Jeb, I know your mother will be so pleased. The church is so far she can’t go very often.”

  “She mentioned that a few times to me.”

  Flora stroked Little Flora’s silky hair. “And what church were you thinking about joining?”

  Surprise washed across Jeb’s face. “Why, Flora, I want to belong to the same church as you and my mother. The Episcopal church.”

  Joy flooded through Flora, for she’d spoken to Jeb’s mother, and they had written each other, both praying that Jeb would make a step just as this. “I have to write your mother and tell her.” Then she shook her head. “No, you put it in that letter that you’re going to join the Episcopal church. I know she will be so glad.”

  “It wasn’t a hard decision. You know, I promised my mother when I was very young that I’d never touch a drop of liquor, and I never have and I never will. But I think there’s more to being a Christian than just not doing things that are evil. When I ride into battle, I’d like to know that if I get put down I’d be in the presence of the Lord.”

  Flora held out her hand, and Jeb took it. “What a wonderful surprise you’ve given me, Jeb.” She hesitated then added, “And I have a surprise for you, too.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  “It’s about your son.” Flora laughed when she saw Jeb’s expression. This sentence seemed to amaze him completely.

  Then he cried with delight, “You mean we’re going to have another child?”

  “Yes we are, and I’m praying that God gives us a little Jeb to go along with Little Flora.”

  Jeb came off of his chair and began pacing the floor. “Well, thank God above! Nothing could’ve pleased me better.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re a perfect mother, and I’m working hard to be a good father.”

  Flora reached up and put her arm around his neck to pull him closer to her. His beard was scratchy, but she didn’t care. “I’m so happy, Jeb. You’re the best husband any woman could ever have. And you already are better than a good father. You’re a wonderful father.”

  Jeb straightened up and said, “You know, it’s even more important now that I try to make some extra money. I think I’m going to go to the War Department.”

  Jeb had been working on a simple mechanism that would allow a soldier to remove his saber from his belt instantly and replace it exactly the same way. At the present time, the removal of the saber was awkward and unwieldy.

  He went on, “If I can get them to adopt this, we’ll make some money off of it. It’ll be good for the army, too.”

  “Jeb, I think that’s wonderful. When will you take it to them?”

  “I’m going to write up the proposal and draw diagrams. Then I’ll be ready to present it to them.”

  “I bet they’ll buy it, too. You’re a resourceful man, Jeb Stuart.”

  Summer had passed, but in October it seemed that it was almost as sweltering in Washington as it had been in August.

  Jeb sat waiting in a large anteroom at the War Department. It had been with some trepidation that he’d asked the sergeant at the desk to deliver his message to General Stratton. That had been over an hour ago.

  As Jeb waited, he noticed an odd escalation of activity in the War Department offices. Men hurried up and down the corridors, clutching papers, doors opened and slammed, and soldiers went into General Stratton’s office and then came back out, barely glancing at the bearded young officer from the 1st U.S. Cavalry waiting in his outer room.

  And then General Stratton opened his door himself. Stratton was a lean, hungry-looking individual with hawklike features. He had the red eyes of a drinker. He was known to be a good officer, however. He called to Jeb, “Lieutenant Stuart, please come in.”

  “Yes, General.” Springing to his feet, he went into the office. It wasn’t as ornate as he expected, although Jeb admitted to himself that he’d had little enough to do with generals.

  Before he could say a word about his invention, Stratton said, “I’ve got a duty for you, Lieutenant. I know you came here of your own doing, but there’s something you must do for me.”

  “Certainly, General, you just name it.”

  “I need for you to take a message personally to Robert E. Lee. You’re acquainted with Colonel Lee, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “Yes, sir, he was the commander at West Point when I was there.”

  “A very serious matter has occurred. There’s been a rebellion led by a man named John Brown. Have you heard of him, Stuart?”

  “Yes, sir. I even met him once. Old Osawatomie Brown. He was causing trouble in Kansas. He is always causing trouble.”

  “That’s the man, all right. I’ve written this letter to order Colonel Lee to take charge of a force. Brown and his men have taken the arsenal at Harpers Ferry. They are trapped in the engine house, and they have hostages. We have sent ninety U.S. Marines ahead, because we have no army units close, only local militia. You might as well know what the orders are. Colonel Lee is to take command of all forces in Harpers Ferry and arrest John Brown and the other mutineers. The War Department has authorized him to use any means necessary to do so. Please hurry, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, General, I’ll leave immediately.”

  Lieutenant Stuart arrived at Arlington, the Lees’ gracious white-columned mansion, just a few hours later. They visited only briefly, for Stuart’s message, and the orders he carried, were urgent. No train was available, but the War Department sent a locomotive to take Colonel Lee to Harpers Ferry. Jeb asked to go along as his aide, and Lee agre
ed. Just before they left, he telegraphed ahead for all action to stop until he was there.

  The two men talked of old times at West Point. Lee was interested in Jeb’s career, news about the Indians, the Stuart family, every detail of Stuart’s life. Stuart remembered that Commander Lee had always been this way with the cadets.

  The train arrived at Harpers Ferry, and they immediately left the car. Lee was in civilian dress, a black suit, well-tailored and neatly pressed. He looked like a prosperous merchant on holiday. But he was a soldier and a leader, and he took charge immediately.

  “What is the situation, Lieutenant Green?” he asked as soon as they arrived.

  Lieutenant John Green, head of the militia, summed up the action briefly. He was a short young man, well built, with a thick, solid neck and a pair of steady gray eyes.

  “Brown has raised a rebellion, and there are at least a dozen men dead, including the mayor of Harpers Ferry. We are pretty sure he has about thirty hostages. And sir, one of them is Colonel Lewis Washington.” He was George Washington’s great-grandnephew.

  “Indeed?” Lee asked. “Do we know of the well-being of the hostages?”

  “Sir, we don’t know, but we think that none of them have been harmed. Old John Brown has been communicating, somewhat, with us. He doesn’t seem to intend to harm his hostages. Not now, anyway.”

  “Where are the mutineers now?”

  “They’re in the engine house, Colonel.”

  “Take us there, sir.”

  “Yes, Colonel, this way.” Green led them to a solid brick structure about thirty feet by thirty feet.

  The doors were stoutly battened. Lee considered it, then asked, “How many do you think are inside now?”

  “Not too many, Colonel. Half a dozen, maybe.”

  Lee nodded then turned away, his eyes sharp, his face intent. He looked up behind them, he looked around, and he studied the engine house itself for a long time. Then decisively he said, “Lieutenant Stuart, I want you to carry to the engine house a written demand for surrender. If the raiders refuse, a party of marines will rush the doors. We want to avoid killing them, so we’ll use bayonets only.”

  Lee found a place where he could write and took some time to compose the message to Brown. He handed it to Stuart and said, “Can you read this, Stuart?”

  The dawn was breaking, but the light was still weak. Jeb narrowed his eyes, scanned the paper, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. Lieutenant Stuart, you will go to the engine house and relay the terms to John Brown. If he refuses to surrender, wave your hat. That will be the signal for attack. Lieutenant Green, please pick twelve marines to make the attack and twelve marines to be held in reserve.”

  The marines ran to the engine house and lined the walls in the front.

  Jeb simply walked up to the door, banged on it, and called, “John Brown! Lieutenant Jeb Stuart here. Please come to the door.”

  It cracked slightly, and a carbine, cocked, was shoved through and pointed right at Jeb’s belly. Behind it in the half-light, Jeb saw Old Osawatomie Brown.

  Unconcernedly Jeb read:

  “Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the president of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the persons in the Armory buildings.

  If they will peaceably surrender themselves and restore the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the president. Colonel Lee represents to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape; that the armory is surrounded on all sides by troops; and that if he is compelled to take them by force, he cannot answer for their safety.”

  Brown was silent as Jeb read the note, but as soon as Stuart finished, he began to talk. He made demands, he argued, he wanted this, and he demanded that.

  From inside someone called, “Ask for Colonel Lee to amend his terms.”

  And another voice shouted, “Never mind us! Fire!”

  Robert E. Lee was standing at least forty feet away, by a masonry pillar, but even at that distance he recognized the voice of Colonel Lewis Washington. “The old revolutionary blood does tell,” he said.

  Finally Brown shouted, “Well, Lieutenant, I see we can’t agree. You have the numbers on me, but you know that we soldiers aren’t afraid of death. I would as leave die by bullet than on the gallows.”

  “Is this your final answer, Mr. Brown?”

  “Yes.”

  Stuart stepped back and waved his hat.

  The marines looked up at Colonel Lee, who raised his hand. The marines battered in the door and rushed in with Lieutenant Green.

  Colonel Washington stepped up and said coolly, “Hello, Green.” The two men shook hands, and Washington pulled on a pair of green gloves. The sight of such finery was in odd contrast to his disheveled appearance.

  Firing began, lasting for no more than three minutes. When it ended, a marine lay at the entrance of the engine house, clutching his abdomen. Old John Brown lay on the floor, unconscious from blows from the broad side of a marine’s sword.

  Lieutenant Stuart went in just as the firing stopped and the raiders were captured. He reached down and snatched Old Brown’s bowie knife to keep as a souvenir.

  During the night, some congressmen and several reporters had come to Harpers Ferry. The leading men of Virginia quizzed Brown, who refused to incriminate others. He was perfectly calm and made no attempt to try to defend himself.

  Finally one reporter asked, “What brought you here, Brown?”

  “Duty, sir.”

  “Is it then your idea of duty to shoot down men upon their own hearthstones for defending their rights?”

  “I did my duty as I saw it.”

  Colonel Lee and Lieutenant Stuart, having accomplished their task, were obviously finished. They remained in the town for another day, mostly to rest from their sleepless night. The next day they took the train back to Washington as casually as if Harpers Ferry were just an interesting interlude, no more.

  But Old John Brown’s raid was big news, all over the North in particular. Good and responsible men cried for his release and defended his actions as that of a righteous, godly man. And when they executed John Brown, he was lionized as a saint.

  His death was possibly the first small tendril of the clouds of war that would soon gather over America.

  Revolution had for years merely been a political topic. But in November 1859, when Abraham Lincoln was elected president of the United States, the rhetoric was over, at last bursting into flames. The Southern states began to secede from the United States to form their own sovereign country, the Confederate States of America.

  The beginning of the war took place in a fort just off the coast of Charleston. The man who lit the first spark was white-haired Edmond Ruffin, an editor and ardent secessionist at sixty-seven years of age. At 4:30 a.m., on April 12, 1861, he pulled a lanyard, and the first shot of the Civil War drew a red parabola against the sky and burst with a glare, outlining the dark pentagon of Fort Sumter.

  Fort Sumter was a United States Army post, but it had no real military value. In April Major Robert Anderson, commander of the post, had few supplies, and the Confederates had turned away his supply boat. Fort Sumter was built to accommodate a garrison of 650 men, but for years it had only had a nominal military presence. On that day in April there were 125 men there. Forty of them were workmen.

  The fall of Sumter was simply a matter of time. The people of Charleston stood on the balconies and the roofs of houses to watch the blazing of the guns and the firing of the shells. Major Anderson surrendered the fort the next day.

  Thus the war began. Five bloody, terrible years lay ahead for America.

  If ever men found themselves in a terrible position, the soldiers of the United States Army in the spring and summer of 1861 were well and truly caught in the worst. Many of the finest soldiers and officers were Southerners. Jeb Stuart knew each man would have to make the wrenching decis
ion of whether to remain with the Union and fight against his home state or resign from the Federal Army and take up arms with the newly formed Confederate States of America.

  However, for Stuart, whose undying loyalty was to Virginia, the decision was easy. As soon as President Lincoln called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to fight the war against the South, with Virginia’s quota of eight thousand men, Stuart’s mind was settled. He began packing as soon as he received notice he’d been appointed a captain in the 1st United States Calvary. On May 3rd, he wrote the Adjutant General of the U.S. Army:

  Colonel: for a sense of duty to my native state (Va.), I hereby resign my position as an officer of the Army of the United States.

  That very same day, he sent a letter to General Samuel Cooper, Adjutant General of the Confederate Army:

  General: having resigned my position (Captain 1st Cavalry) in the U.S. Army, and being now on my way to unite my destinies to Virginia, my native state, I write to apprize you of the fact in order that you may assign me such a position in the Army of the South as will accord with that lately held by me in the Federal Army.

  My preference is Cavalry—light artillery—Light Infantry in the order named. My address will be: Care of Governor Letcher, Richmond.

  Jeb Stuart and his family reached Richmond on May 6th and found a commission waiting for him as Lieutenant Colonel of Virginia Infantry. The city was filled with men spoiling for a fight. The Army of the Confederate States of America was quickly coming to life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  To Flora, Richmond was dirty, noisy, and crowded. Men from all over Virginia were hurrying to the capital to enlist in the hundreds of companies that were putting out the call. The streets teemed with rough men, and the shops were always crowded and couldn’t keep stocked.

  Flora didn’t have any friends in the city. The Stuarts had been in Richmond for only three days when she fell ill.