Mary thought with a touch of regret, That’s the part of him I will never understand—the warrior. He is so gracious, so warm and kind, so gentle. I suppose no person, man or woman, who is not born a soldier can understand that stern joy.
All at once, Rob, Agnes, and Annie all started talking loudly. “Papa, don’t stop! More story about Ellen and Roderick and Malcolm! Please, Papa!”
With mock gravity he said, “Rob has been lax in his duties. He stopped tickling my feet. No tickling, no story.”
Mary laughed with the children, marveling at the difference in Robert E. Lee’s public persona and his playful demeanor with his family. No matter what problems arose, no matter what the circumstances, he was unfailingly jovial with them, teasing her as much as he ever did when they were young, playing even infantile games with the youngest children, laughing with delight at their antics.
Rob resumed his duties, and Agnes pitched in by taking one foot while Rob took the other. Lee started his spellbinding story again.
Mary returned to her journal:
Robert is telling the children the story of “The Lady of the Lake,” and my thoughts went back to the nightmares
I’ve had for the last twenty months since Robert went to fight the Mexican War. I always knew that being a soldier’s wife would mean moving often, postings to strange and lonely places, being away from home. But what I didn’t understand until 1846 was what it was like to be a soldier’s wife when he was in war. It was agonizing, struggling daily—sometimes hourly—to stop thinking of Robert getting wounded or even killed. I pray, dearest Father God, that my husband will never have to fight a war again. Thank You, my Lord, for this homecoming was of all most blessed.
Even as she wrote the words, she thought that this time may actually have been the most difficult for Robert himself. Mary, who had never been completely healthy in the years since Mary Custis had been born, had grown steadily weaker in body in the last two years. Though she had downplayed her decline in her letters to Robert—as she always did—by the time he returned, rheumatism had so drastically invaded her right side that she was barely able to walk, and often she couldn’t write or paint.
She knew it had been a shock to him when he had first seen her. But the only way she knew it was because she was his wife, and in the seventeen years they had been married they had in many ways become two halves of a whole, and she knew him as well as she knew her own soul. His face showed nothing but joy and love when he greeted her, but deep in her spirit Mary knew he was grieved. As she was, for she knew that Robert had spent most of his young life caring for his invalid mother. And now his wife was an invalid. But Mary was determined that she would do all that she could, for as long as she could.
Though the servants and the older children had begged her to get a wheeled chair, she flatly refused. She knew that day was coming, but until it did, she courageously either walked with help or even with crutches on the days she was strong enough to manage them. She was even beginning to teach herself to write with her left hand, though on this night she wrote in a strong script with her right. In fact, she had felt very well the last couple of days—probably because Robert was home.
Idly she leafed back through the previous pages of her journal. Mary didn’t write in it every day. By nature she was a gregarious person, taking after her father, who loved having a busy social life. Mary took great interest in all her friends and extended family, and she loved receiving visits from them and visting them. She concerned herself with all parts of their lives, not in a busybody way but because she truly cared for their well-being and wished happiness for all of them. She also loved nature, taking long walks, studying the flora and fauna of the Park, and tending all the gardens, even the kitchen vegetable patch.
Her painting was probably her favorite pastime, and she was extremely talented in landscapes and still life, both in oils and watercolors. It irritated her that she had no aptitude at all for portraiture, but then she thought wryly that perhaps that was a good thing, for if she were good at it, she would probably never do anything but portraits of her handsome husband.
Mary was an active, busy woman, and oftentimes her journal was the last thing she thought of, especially since Robert had left for Mexico. During that dark time the only private thoughts she had were of fear, and she had no desire to journalize such things.
She turned back to 1847, where she had written a short entry:
This was reported in the Richmond Times.
A newspaper clipping was pressed between the pages:
General Winfield Scott, commander of the Army in Mexico, is quoted here in an excerpt of his battle reports to the War Department in Washington. Colonel Robert E. Lee, married to Mary Randolph Custis Lee of Arlington House, was particularly singled out by his commanding officer:
I am impelled to make special mention of the services of Captain R. E. Lee….This officer, greatly distinguished at the siege of Vera Cruz, was again indefatigable during these operations, in reconnaissance as daring as laborious, and of the utmost in value. Nor was he less conspicuous implanting batteries and in conducting columns to their stations under the heavy fire of the enemy.
The only other entries Mary had made during the Mexican War were:
Commissioned August 1846, Major, for gallant and meritorious conduct in the battle of Cerro Gordo.
Commissioned August 1847, Lieutenant Colonel, for gallant and meritorious conduct in the battle of Churubusco.
Commissioned September 1847, Colonel, for gallant and meritorious conduct in the battle of Chapultepec.
And now, she thought with satisfaction, he was showing his gallant and meritorious conduct to his family, at his own home.
In a couple of months, Mary took her journal and sketchbook and paints and crutches to Baltimore, where Robert was stationed for construction of a new fort on Soller’s Flats, which would become Fort Carrol. He was pleased Mary enjoyed their time there—which turned out to be four years—for they were close enough that they could visit Arlington often, and they had many friends and the ever-present Fitzhugh, Carter, Hill, and Lee cousins in Baltimore.
In September of 1852, Colonel Robert E. Lee was appointed as superintendent of the United States Military Academy at West Point. He was a superb administrator, but he was an even better leader of young men. The classes that were fortunate enough to attend the Academy during his tenure were better educated, better disciplined, and had a more deeply ingrained sense of honor and duty than ever before. Mary loved it, too, for she mothered all of the young cadets, while her husband was to them the best in a father, strict but always fair.
The only thing that marred their three years there was the death of Mary’s mother, Molly Custis. Since Robert had been young, she had loved him like a son, and now he mourned her almost as much as he had mourned the loss of his own mother twenty-four years earlier. The entire Lee family missed her terribly, and Mary and the older girls made several prolonged trips to Arlington to take care of her father, who was desolate.
But 1854 was a good year, for in June George Washington Custis Lee—Robert and Mary’s eldest son—graduated from West Point at the head of his class. Both of them were very proud of him, for he had become a brilliant scholar; a dedicated, well-disciplined cadet; and a strong and purposeful man. All these qualities made Robert E. Lee especially proud of his son. He never realized that all of Custis’s best qualities were mirror images of his own. Born to follow in his father’s footsteps, he immediately joined the Engineer Corps.
Though he thoroughly enjoyed his role as an educator and life-teacher of young men, Robert E. Lee’s second love, after his wife and family, was the army. In 1855, because of the increasing Indian uprisings in the West, Congress authorized the formation of two new regiments of infantry and two of cavalry. Colonel Robert E. Lee had high hopes, though he said nothing to his wife. On March 13, 1855, Albert Sidney Johnston was named colonel of the new 2nd Cavalry, and Robert E. Lee was named lieutenant colonel, as his comm
ission as a colonel was brevet only.
To Lee, service in the line meant a healthful, vigorous outdoor life, which he loved. The superintendency at West Point was a high honor, but it was mostly confining and dull office work.
In April, Mary and her younger children moved back to Arlington. Though he would miss his Mary, for the 2nd Cavalry was to be sent to Texas, he was glad his family would be back at Arlington House. Although Robert and Mary had made each little place they had lived into their own home, they both now regarded Arlington as their true home, the center of their family, regardless of where they lived or where Robert was assigned.
Since Molly’s death, George Custis had been terribly lonely, and he often complained that he didn’t feel well. He was in very good health, however, so Mary and Robert knew that his ailments were mostly from emotional upset. Robert did not, perhaps, love his father-in-law as deeply as he had loved Molly Custis. But he was very devoted to Mr. Custis and felt a son’s duty toward him. He, too, was glad that his wife and girls would be at Arlington House with his father-in-law. As a conscientious and caring son, he determined that George Washington Parke Custis should never again be left alone.
The Indians were courageous and daring fighters, but they were not stupid. They would attack small villages and single homesteads and a group of farmers that might be daring enough to hunt them. But they weren’t foolish enough to attack a numerous force of trained professional soldiers in the field. In April of 1856, when Colonel Robert E. Lee reached what he was to call his “Texas home”—desolate and crude Camp Cooper, more than 170 miles from the nearest fort—all the Comanches had disappeared, fleeing farther west to hide in the mountains.
At this time Lee was charged with the most unpleasant and troublesome task he ever knew in the army: court-martial duty. Dispensing justice, which must at all times be perfectly fair and impartial, was an onerous burden for a man like him.
Robert E. Lee was apparently born with true aristocratic sensibilities, without the usual accompanying qualities of superciliousness and vanity. He believed that all men were created equal before God, but he also knew that all men must be governed by rules.
Robert E. Lee’s rules were in truth a high and noble code of honor, which few men could ever attain, but because of his modesty he never realized that. In his mind men made choices, and often the choices they made were not the correct ones, and then they disobeyed the rules and must bear the consequences. But they, like he himself, were simply on a journey toward harmony with the Lord, and people were in different places along that long road. At heart he was a simple man.
“I believe that Texas dust is probably the best, most comprehensive and complete dust there is,” Major George H. Thomas announced grandly.
Colonel Lee chuckled. “Do you, now? I was unaware that it was of such exalted quality, although I’m sure I’ve dealt with a ton or so of it about my person and belongings in the last two and a half years.”
“Oh yes, it has to be the ultimate, as dust goes. It comes in all colors, from orange-red to dull gray; all textures, from gravelly grit to the finest sand. Regardless of its composition, it’s able to invade every single object that exists, from your mouth and eyes and ears to your books and clothes and coffeepot. And it never dies. It only disappears temporarily when you brush it away and then returns as soon as you put your brush away.”
“The same dust, you think?”
“And its cousins.”
They rode in silence for a time. Both men were saddle weary, for this was their third day of hard riding. George Thomas, at thirty, was a full twenty years younger than Robert E. Lee, but he slumped in the saddle, his shoulders rounded wearily, his hands limp on the slack reins. As always, Lee kept a beautiful, erect posture in the saddle, and his eyes and face were alert and watchful, continually scanning the empty desert landscape.
Now Lee stood up in the stirrups, shielding his eyes from the blazing setting sun on his right. “I think I see the willow bank ahead. It should be Comfort Creek.”
“Thank heavens!” Thomas exclaimed. “The little pool there is the only place within five hundred miles of here to get a good bath.” Sitting up straighter, he said, “What do you say, Colonel? I think the horses may not mind a little gallop for a long cool drink of water.”
The two broke into a canter that brought them to the creek, a welcome oasis on the hard-bitten plains of south Texas. Willows lined the banks of Comfort Creek, providing a cool, freshly scented shade beside the bubbling cheerful stream. An old tributary splashed over a six-foot-high ridge to form a pool that through the ages had gotten to be several feet deep. It was indeed the most welcoming stop for weary travelers between Fort Mason and San Antonio.
When they reached the banks, both of them dismounted and let the horses wade out into the cool water. They knelt, splashing their faces and drinking deeply.
Through Lee’s silver beard, droplets of water trickled, turned crimson by the glare of the dying sun. He stood and faced due west, narrowing his eyes. “The dust is cruel, Major Thomas, but I think that it is the reason for these spectacular sunsets. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Neither have I,” Thomas agreed, wetting his gold neckerchief and scrubbing his face with it. “And I’ll treasure the day I see the last one of them in this country.”
Lee waded over to his horse, the solid, hardworking mare named Grace Darling, led her to the bank, and began unsaddling her.
Thomas joined him. “Don’t you agree, Colonel Lee? Surely of all of us you have the most reason to despise this place.”
“I? The most reason? Why should that be?” Lee asked, puzzled.
Thomas grimaced. “Because of this court-martial duty. I know it must be most distasteful to a man of your sensibilities.”
Lee shook his head, easily lifting the heavy saddle from the mare’s back and placing it up against a deadwood log on the bank. It would be his pillow for the night. “Somehow you’ve got the wrong idea, Major Thomas. The only sensibilities I have about being a tribune are the responsibility I feel for the men being tried, and that their rights are fully respected, and that justice, fair and impartial, is done them. This is my duty as I see it, and there is no question of finding an honorable duty distasteful.”
Thomas put his saddle next to Robert’s, and they began currying the horses. Both the mare and Thomas’s gelding were covered with foam and grit. Thomas said, “But wait, Colonel. You said your responsibility to the men being tried? What does that mean? Surely you feel no responsibility to those men? You don’t even know them!”
“That makes no difference,” Lee said. “God has placed me in a position of authority over them. Having authority over another person makes you responsible for them. Certainly there are degrees of responsibility, according to the situation, but one must always be mindful that with any power comes grave responsibility.”
“But what can you do?” Thomas demanded. “You can’t possibly influence these men in any way or even help them.”
Lee said quietly, “I can pray for them.”
After a short silence, Thomas rasped, “Oh. Shot me right between the eyes, Robert. Again.”
Lee grinned. “You’re just a bumptious youth, and you need advice from your elders.”
“Hmph!” Thomas grunted. “You never gave anyone advice in your life, and now I guess I can see why. The responsibility, eh? Aw, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. The trouble with you, Colonel Lee, is that you refuse to complain. It’s just like with the dust. I spend half my time here grumbling about it, and all you have to say is that it makes for beautiful sunsets. But you can’t possibly like it here. Can you?”
“I don’t like anywhere that’s away from my wife and family,” Lee said quietly. “And I like anywhere I am with them. If they were here, I would be perfectly content.”
They finished brushing out the horses and let them graze on the raggedy prairie grass growing underneath the willows. Both men bathed in the pool, spluttering
and shivering a little.
It was the first week in October, and although the days were still burning hot, the nights were cool. They made a campfire, and Major Thomas fixed them some gravy in a small frying pan he carried. One of the ladies of Fort Mason had given them a dozen biscuits for the five-day ride to San Antonio, and in this arid country they kept well.
After eating and doing the little bit of washing up, they spread out their bedrolls, leaned up against the saddles, and gazed up at the millions and millions of stars in a perfect moonless night.
“This is another thing I like about Texas,” Lee murmured. “This land, it’s so flat that the sky seems to go on for eternity. Very little of earth, much of the heavens.”
“Despite all that nonsense about you being my elder, I have learned a lot from you, Colonel,” Thomas admitted. “There is a certain stark beauty here, if you look. I guess I haven’t bothered. But I will.”
Lee nodded. “Then you’ll see it. And it helps a man to know there’s beauty around him, especially when he’s lonely.”
“So you are lonely?”
“Oh yes, there’s no shame in that. A man’s not complete without his wife and children with him. Anyway, by the time we get back, I should have several letters waiting for me,” he finished, smiling. “The next best thing.”
Two days later, on October 21, Robert reached headquarters in San Antonio, and the first thing he did was check his mail. He only had one letter waiting for him, and it was not the next best thing. His father-in-law, George Custis, had died suddenly on the tenth of October after a short severe illness. Colonel Robert E. Lee asked for leave and started the long journey back to Arlington.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was the saddest homecoming of all.
Last Cavaliers Trilogy Page 72
