“It is so good, what you’re doing for the men. Those poor wounded boys in the hospital, they’re terribly lonesome.”
“Yes, and they’re afraid,” Chantel said a little sadly. “They don’t say so, but I can see it in their eyes. They want their mothers or their sisters.”
“Yes, but from what I hear, they’re always so glad to see their vivandiere. And what about that young captain who was courting you. Have you been able to see him much lately?”
“Captain Latane? Yes, he comes to visit sometimes. He’s a Cajun, like me, so we have fun together.”
Flora nodded. “Jeb told me about Lieutenant Tremayne, about how his arm was miraculously healed. You know, that happens sometimes. It’s always a mystery, but who can know the mind of God? But I know what good friends you are, and I know you’re so happy for him. Jeb was very glad to have him back.”
“Yes, it was a miracle, thank the good God. I—I see him, too, sometimes. But General Stuart has kept him busy, I think,” she said hesitantly.
Seeing her reluctance, Flora merely smiled and said, “Well, I think this is all we need for now, Chantel. Now, how much do we owe you?”
Chantel shook her head as they left the tent. “Grandpere, he decides about the money. You’ll have to ask him, Miss Flora.”
Jacob staunchly refused to let Jeb pay him. “It’s a gift, General Stuart, for your wife and your fine boy. All I ask is that you send me a piece of your chocolate cake, Miss Flora.”
They gathered up little Jimmy, who was sucking on a second piece of candy that Chantel had sneaked him. Jacob and Chantel watched them walk slowly away in the evening shadows, arm in arm.
“He’s a fine man, General Stuart,” Jacob said. “Rarely does one see such a warrior with such a heart for God.”
“She worries for him,” Chantel said in a low voice. “It must be hard for your man to be a soldier.”
Jacob glanced at her then patted her shoulder. “It’s always hard for the ones left behind, daughter. So we must pray that much more.”
Stepping out of the wagon the next morning, she found Armand waiting for her with a smile. “Good morning, cherie.”
“Hello, Armand. What are you doing this fine morning?”
“I came for some of that special tea you sold me last time.”
“You must have really liked it.”
“Well, I did. But it’s actually for my sergeant. He absolutely loved it and says he won’t fight a war without it, him.”
Chantel walked toward the tent, which was closed up. Jacob was still asleep in the wagon. Since they kept it cleared out now, he and Chantel had plenty of room to set up their cots. Armand helped her fold up the tent flaps. She asked, “So. You and your sergeant, are you moving out soon?”
Armand followed her closely as she moved down the tables looking for the tea. “You know, cherie, I think maybe you are a Yankee spy out to get military secrets from me. If you don’t let me have my way with you, I’ll turn you over to the guard.”
He had put his hand on her shoulder and tried to look fierce, but Chantel laughed and pushed him away. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a captain if I were a spy. I’d find me a general. You don’t know enough about what’s going on, you.”
“Oh, you hurt my heart,” he said, placing his hand on his chest theatrically. “And you’re wrong, my cruelest love. I know everything about what’s going on.”
“Then tell me,” Chantel demanded.
“Well, I may not know everything,” Armand said, putting two chairs out for them to sit down. “But everybody knows we’re going to invade the North. General Lee will hit them hard. We’re tired of them coming into our country. It’s time to go up there and put a stop to it.”
Chantel was concerned, for she really liked Armand. “You be careful, you. Don’t you get yourself hurt.”
“Would you miss me?”
“Oh yes, Captain. You’re the only Cajun I know in this place.”
He made a face and said, “I must settle for that, although—”
“I know. It hurts your heart,” Chantel finished for him.
On September 13, 1862, three soldiers were crossing an open field that had been a recent Confederate campsite. They stopped long enough to take a break, and one of them noticed a long, thick envelope lying on the ground. He picked it up and found three cigars inside wrapped in a sheet of official-looking paper. One of the soldiers, a man named Mitchell, examined the documents. “Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia, special orders 191.” The three men took it at once to the company commander, who took them to regimental headquarters. Eventually they were standing in front of the commanding general, General McClellan. He studied the paper and saw that this was Robert E. Lee’s complete battle plan for the invasion of Maryland. McClellan said with excitement, “Here is a paper with which if I cannot whip Bobby Lee, I will be willing to go home!”
Indeed it seemed that McClellan had the men, the ordnance, and now the secret plans that should have enabled him to destroy the Confederates. But when the two armies lined up facing each other across Antietam Creek, a fast-running small river that ran close to the town of Sharpsburg, it seemed that none of these great advantages did him any good.
In essence, the Union general began sending his men across the bridges that spanned Antietam Creek. From the very first, his method was wrong. Again, instead of sending a huge overwhelming force, he sent his men in piecemeal. They fought bravely, but there were not enough of them in any one charge, and the Confederates entrenched across the creek shot them down by the hundreds with musket fire and artillery.
Three times McClellan renewed the strategy, and each time he again failed to send the complete force he had. If in any of these three attempts he had sent his entire command across, the Army of Northern Virginia would indeed have been destroyed. Lee and Jackson were engaged in shifting the few men they had from one spot to the next location that was attacked. In each of the three charges, the Confederates barely survived. But they did, and three times they beat the Union forces back. It was a case of nerves, and McClellan had no taste nor stomach for this kind of fighting.
It was the bloodiest day in American history; more men were killed on that day than any single day. Lee waited for McClellan to come across the creek in force, certain that he would. He knew that he had far too few men left to defend another attack. But to his amazement, the attack did not come.
Lee gathered his wounded, bloodied army and made his way back toward Richmond. Once again he had survived along with the army, as tattered and beaten as it was. Thousands were dead, and more thousands were wounded.
Abraham Lincoln was exceedingly angry when he heard how McClellan had, once again, let the Confederate Army slip out of his grasp. He did not say so then, but he had, no doubt, made the resolution McClellan would never command the army again.
When discussing the fighting later, Jeb Stuart said sadly to Clay, “The troops we lost today were the best that General Lee had, the best that he could ever hope to have.”
“What does it mean, General?”
Stuart had lost many of his own men and could barely speak, for he loved his soldiers. Finally he answered, “We will keep on fighting. God in His mercy will help us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
Chantel noticed as she moved among the throngs on the Richmond streets how threadbare and worn some of the clothing of the citizens was. In truth, the blockade had been more successful than the North had even expected. Occasionally a ship would slip through and disembark its cargo, and in every case hundreds of people would be standing there waiting to pay almost any price to get precious goods that were unobtainable anywhere in the Confederacy.
Chantel, on her way to the Stuarts’, smiled to herself, for she was carrying a quarter of fresh beef. She thought that some of these genteel ladies coming empty-handed out of the shops, had they known it, might have knocked her down and stolen it.
Jacob had finally told Chantel the mystery of how h
e obtained his continual store of supplies. “Gold,” he had said the night before as they sat by their campfire. “Pure gold. These poor people with their Confederate money, pah! A pile of it won’t buy a loaf of bread. But the love of money—real money—runs strong in a man.” He told her how he went to the storehouses that still received supplies and they would always sell any goods to him first because he paid them in gold. “I have a big pile of it, hidden in the floor of the wagon. I will show you where it is, Chantel, should the Lord call me home.”
“But, Grandpere,” she said, shocked, “you take Confederate money for the goods when you sell them at all. How can you be making any money doing that?”
“I have lots of gold, and more where that came from,” he said gleefully. “God has shown me what to do with it, and God is not interested in making money. He’s only interested in us being obedient to Him when we have it.”
Arriving at the house the Stuarts rented, Chantel knocked on the door.
Almost at once it was opened, and Flora stood there holding little Jimmy.
“Hello, Miss Flora,” Chantel said. “Ma grandpere, he sends you some beef.”
“Oh, that is so wonderful! It’s been so long since we had anything but dried jerky. Oh, please come in, Chantel.” Flora’s eyes lit up, and as she turned, little Jimmy made a grab at Chantel’s sleeve and caught it. “He likes you, Chantel,” Flora said as she led her to the kitchen.
“Well, I like him, too. Let me hold him.” Flora put him down, and Chantel held out her arms.
The child came to her at once. He was learning to talk now and called her, “Cante,” which was as close as he could come to her real name. “Cante! Cante!” he yelled.
Chantel reached into her bag, which was slung across her chest. “Here. You can have one piece. I don’t want to spoil your supper.” She laughed as Jimmy grabbed the morsel of candy and popped it into his mouth then looked up at her with a satisfied expression. “You’re much easier to please than most men.”
Flora laughed. “Yes, he is. Here, let me put that meat up.”
After putting the meat under a cloth to keep the flies away, she and Chantel sat down at the sturdy oak worktable. Chantel sat with Jimmy on her lap. To amuse him, she pulled off her bag and set it on the table, and he immediately began to reach into it and pull out the contents. Chantel kept all kinds of things in her bag: paper, pencil, buttons, candy, a spoon, a small New Testament, headache powders. With delight Jimmy pulled out a sheaf of paper and a pencil and started drawing.
“I’ve got enough for one cup of coffee apiece,” Flora said. “After that’s gone, we’ll be drinking acorn water.”
“Acorn water? What’s that?”
“Oh, people take acorns and bake them and crush them up.”
“It sounds awful. What does it taste like?”
“Like burned acorns.” Flora shrugged.
Chantel made a face. “I’ll bring you some real coffee, me. Grandpere wouldn’t like it if he knew General Stuart was drinking from acorns.”
“I wasn’t trying to hint, Chantel,” Flora said, but she was smiling. “But I should have known. If your grandfather has it, he will share. He’s worth his weight in gold.”
“More than you know, Miss Flora,” Chantel said, amused. “Now, tell me all about Jimmy and about General Stuart. Soldiers talk, they do, but they never know anything.”
“Jeb doesn’t tell me much,” Flora said quietly. “I worry about him, you know. I try not to let him know it, but of course he does. I pray, all the time, that I’ll just enjoy the time we have with him and not fear the future.”
“Sometimes that’s hard, not to be afraid, when men go to war,” Chantel said, her eyes gazing into the distance. “Even for Christians, I know now, me.”
Flora eyed her knowingly. “And who do you fear for, Chantel?” she asked gently.
Chantel dropped her eyes and ran her hand over Jimmy’s hair. It was thick and looked wiry, but actually it was very soft. “He—he’s just a friend,” she said rather lamely. “But I’ve known him for three years now, me. So I worry about him, Lieutenant Tremayne.”
“I see,” Flora said. “Jeb says he is a fine man and one of his best soldiers. He’s told me that even when he sets the formations for the column, he looks up and Lieutenant Tremayne is there, always close to him.”
Chantel nodded. “He’s loyal to General Stuart, he is. He said he wouldn’t want to serve anywhere else, with any other man.”
“He’s not a Christian, is he?” Flora wisely guessed.
“No ma’am, he isn’t. He just can’t seem to find his way to the good God,” Chantel answered. “And so, we both know…Anyway, I don’t see him much, since he got out of the hospital.”
Flora reached over and patted her hand. “One thing I know about being a Christian,” she said, “it means that God has a wonderful plan for our lives if we’ll just let Him lead us. He is faithful and true, and He will give us joy, always, no matter what happens.”
Chantel said unhappily, “Grandpere has told me this. But it’s hard sometimes. Especially when we want things the Lord doesn’t want us to have.”
“He will give you the desires of your heart,” Flora said simply. “Trust Him.”
In the three years Abraham Lincoln had held the office of the president, he looked as if he had aged thirty years. The war had worn him down, and now once again, he had to choose a commander for the Army of the Potomac.
He had chosen wrongly several times. McClellan was the wrong choice. He simply did not have the nerve of a fighter. Pope had been another failure, and Burnside a complete disaster when he was commanding at Fredericksburg. Finally, in desperation, Lincoln decided, “It will have to be Joe Hooker. They say he can fight. I hope he’s able to get an army ready.”
Indeed, General Joseph Hooker was probably the best Union general in seeing that his men were well cared for. He was able to wrangle new uniforms and new equipment for them in record time.
Hooker himself was a handsome man. He had a complexion as delicate as a woman’s, fine blond hair, and the erect bearing and demeanor of a soldier. But he was a drinking man, and a womanizer as well, so naturally he did not have the mentality about his soldier’s morals as much as others did.
He was called Fighting Joe Hooker, but no one knew exactly why, for he had not been the brightest star in the army, although he had won several minor engagements. He had more confidence than was merited, and the phrases, “When I get to Richmond,” or, “After we have taken Richmond,” cropped up frequently in his talk. And now he had his chance to take Richmond and stop the Confederacy, for Fighting Joe Hooker was appointed as commander-in-chief of the Army of the Potomac.
CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO
I want you to bring the children and come out to the camp, Flora.”
Flora looked up from Jimmy, who was sitting in a dishpan enjoying his bath as usual. He was splashing and chortling, and his eyes gleamed. “What for, dear?”
“Oh, several things. First of all, there’s going to be a good meal. And there’s going to be good music and good preaching. You know our chaplain?”
“You mean Major Ball?”
“Yes, Major Ball, our champion scrounger.”
“What’s he done now, Jeb?”
“He’s gone out and liberated the awfulest bunch of food you ever saw. I don’t know where he gets it. People here in Richmond are going hungry, almost, and he comes into camp with the carcasses of four of the fattest pigs you ever saw and two young steers. The men have made a big barbecue pit, and he’s barbecuing them.”
“But where does he get these things? Does he buy them?”
Jeb’s eyes sparkled. “Buy them? Not the foraging parson! He goes out and takes them from the Yankees, somehow or other. We just hear rumors of him suddenly appearing on one of the Yankees’ outlying pickets and holding ’em at gunpoint and liberating their supplies. He says the Lord provides and blames all the stuff he brings in on the Lord’s doing. Maybe h
e’s right. In any case, it’s going to be a great meal.”
“Why yes. Of course Jimmy and I would love to be there.”
“While we’re eating, I’ll have all my minstrel men do some singing and dancing. We might do a little dancing ourselves.” Jeb came over, put his arm around Flora, hugged her and kissed her soundly, then reached over and poked little Jimmy’s fat stomach with his finger. “You want something to eat, Jimmy?”
“Eat!” he cried. “Eat, Papa!”
“You’re my son, all right,” Jeb said.
“He looks just like you, Jeb. Or just like I think you must have looked when you were his age.”
“Not likely.” Jeb grinned. “Remember, they didn’t call me Beauty at the Point because I was so pretty. It was because I was so homely.”
“You’re not homely, as I’ve said a thousand times. And every woman in the South, it seems to me, thinks you’re just as handsome as I do. It’s a good thing I trust you, Jeb. Because I would be one miserable wife if I didn’t, the way women chase after you.”
“I think it’s my hat,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. “That fancy plume gets ’em every time.”
Flora laughed. “Silly old bear.”
“Anyway, after the feast, Stonewall Jackson has organized a religious service. He’s the finest Christian man I ever knew and the best soldier. I’ve never known any man like him. Guess there aren’t any men like him.”
“We’re all very proud of the general,” Flora said. “Not just for his military successes, but for being the kind of man he is.”
“Did I tell you, Flora? The other day he asked for a glass of water, and someone gave it to him. I noticed he didn’t drink it right off. He just sat there, holding it for a minute. I asked him, ‘General, are you going to drink that water?’ He looked at me with those eyes of his that look right through a man. Then he said, ‘Yes, General Stuart, I am, but I always give thanks for everything. Even a glass of water. I made it a habit to give thanks for the little things as well as the big things.’ ”
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