Encounter at Cold Harbor

by Gilbert L. Morris

  ENCOUNTER

  AT COLD

  HARBOR

  GILBERT MORRIS

  MOODY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  © 1997 by

  GILBERT L. MORRIS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Interior and Front Cover Design: Ragont Design Back Cover Design: Brady Davidson Cover Illustration: Brian Jekel

  ISBN: 978-0-8024-0918-8

  We hope you enjoy this book from Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

  Moody Publishers

  820 N. LaSalle Boulevard

  Chicago, IL 60610

  5 7 9 10 8 6 4

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Troy and Jason Freemon

  Hang in there, you guys!

  You’re the kind of young fellows

  I am proud to see growing up in this country!

  Contents

  1. Jeff Makes a Decision

  2. Tom Makes a Decision

  3. Back in Richmond

  4. Lady with a Temper

  5. Wanted: One Mother

  6. Boys Are Pretty Silly

  7. Jeff Is Displeased

  8. At the Ball

  9. Smoke in the Wilderness

  10. A Casualty

  11. “Go Get Eileen”

  12. The Battle of the Crater

  13. Jeff Changes His Mind

  14. A Woman of Strength

  15. Birthday Party

  1

  Jeff Makes a Decision

  A pale yellow sun looked down on the streets of Richmond as Jeff Majors made his way along the line of shops. From time to time he saw his reflection in a plate glass window. What he saw was a tall young man wearing an ash-gray uniform with a shock of black hair coming out from beneath his cap. At seventeen he looked older. He already had shoulders broader than most of the men in his company, and there was a sureness about his movements.

  After passing several shops, he turned into one and greeted the short, fat storekeeper with a quick nod.

  “Howdy, Mr. Bennett!”

  “Why, hello, Jeff!” Mr. Bennett was quick to wait on him, for there was only one other customer in the store, a man with one arm missing, who stood looking sadly at the empty shelves that composed most of the store. “What can I do for you today?”

  Casting his eyes around the depleted shop, Jeff said, “Not much, it looks like, Mr. Bennett. You’re about out of stock.”

  “Well, in that you’re right.” The storekeeper nodded glumly. He dropped his head, stared at the floor, then shrugged his bulky shoulders. “If some of them blockade runners don’t make it through pretty soon, I’m gonna have to close up.”

  Jeff was well aware of the shortage of goods in wartime Richmond. Ever since the War Between the States had started, the Federals had thrown a blockade of naval vessels around the coast of the South. It had grown steadily stronger until now only the boldest captains would risk their vessels, for if they were captured they would lose everything they had.

  “I guess it’s pretty tough, but we’ll make it!” Jeff’s eyes continued to run around the shelves as he said, “I need some butter. Looks like you got some of that.”

  “Sure have.” Bennett picked up a yellow mound of butter that had been carefully molded. “Woman that keeps cows on the outside of town, she brought this in just this morning. Real fresh.”

  “How much?” Jeff asked.

  “Well, I’ll have to get fifteen dollars for it.”

  Jeff stared at the man. “Fifteen dollars for a pound of butter? Why, that’s outlandish!”

  Bennett licked his lips, then shrugged. “I know it is, and if Confederate money keeps on losing its value, by this time next week it’ll be thirty dollars. Better stock up while you can, Jeff!”

  Taking the shopkeeper at his word, he collected a few supplies. As Mr. Bennett put them in a box, Jeff pulled a thick fold of bank notes from his pocket. Peeling off several, he said, “Used to be you had to bring your money in your pocket and take your groceries off in a box. If things don’t get better, it looks like I’ll have to bring the money in a box and take the groceries home in my pocket.”

  Mr. Bennett took the cash and managed a smile. “Won’t be long before we’ll whip the Yankees. Then things will get back to normal again.” He stared at the money dolefully, then put it into a cigar box beneath the counter. “Tell your pa I said hello!”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. Bennett!”

  Jeff left the store and continued down the street. There was a mournful air about the streets of Richmond that had not been apparent when he and his family had first arrived here from Kentucky. Then, war fever had been at its height. Bands had been playing, and pretty girls had been handing out cookies and glasses of lemonade to farm boys as they flooded into Richmond to fight the Yankees.

  As Jeff crossed the dusty street, his mind went back to his old home in Kentucky. Wish I was back there! he thought, then shook his shoulders and pushed the thought away. “Can’t be thinking about things like that,” he murmured aloud. Still, thoughts kept coming to him, mostly thoughts about his boyhood when he and Leah Carter had roamed the hills, fishing, hunting, and looking for birds’ eggs. “Sure do miss Leah,” Jeff muttered. Then, when he saw a man looking at him strangely, he grinned and said, “Just talkin’ to myself!” and laughed as the man smiled.

  Many of the men on the street hobbled along on crutches, missing a leg. Many had only one arm. Some had patches over one eye, and their faces were scarred. It was a depressing sight, and Jeff had never gotten used to it.

  A large black-and-tan hound thumped his tail against the floor of the post office as Jeff stepped toward the door. Leaning over, he patted its head. “Wish me and you could go out and hunt coon, boy.”

  The tail thumped again, and Jeff pulled the dog’s long ears.

  Inside the post office, he waited his turn, studying the notices posted on the walls. The mail did not get priority in the Confederacy, and sometimes it took weeks for a letter to get to its destination. However, when Jeff got to the window and said, “Any mail for Nelson Majors or his family?” he was pleased to see the postmaster nod.

  “Yep, got one right here! Just come in!” He handed Jeff a letter and twisted his head to one side and winked. “From your sweetheart, I’ll bet!”

  Jeff looked at the envelope and saw that it was Leah’s handwriting. “That’s right!” he said. “Prettiest sweetheart in the whole Confederacy!”

  As he turned away, the thought came to him that actually Leah was not in the Confederacy. Kentucky had not come out to fight for the South. It was for that reason the Majors family had left there to come to Richmond, where Jeff’s mother died shortly after their arrival.

  He moved to one side of the walk and leaned against a hardware shop. Across the street, a blacksmith was making a rhythmic clanging as he hammered out a white-hot piece of steel. He heard the hum of voices as people passed and the sound of horses’ hooves as men rode by or drove past in wagons and buggies of every sort.

  Jeff opened the letter and eagerly read it:

  Dear Jeff and all,

  I trust that this finds you well. It seems so far away from the war here in Kentucky. The woods are quiet, and there are no sounds of guns, and even
Pineville doesn’t seem touched by the terrible struggles going on where you are. However, I must be more cheerful. Esther is fine. She is the prettiest, happiest little girl in the whole world! She would love you, and you would love her! She babbles like a magpie. She is so pretty. She has the same blonde hair and blue eyes your mother had. I think she’s going to look just like her when she grows up.

  I’m worried about your brother. Tom’s discouraged again. For a while he was doing better, but he’s much quieter than he used to be. He was always so happy and laughed all the time, but now he hardly says anything. He helps Ezra and my father with the work around the farm, but he goes off by himself for long times.

  Ezra made him a fine, wooden leg, as I told you the last time. We finally got him to put it on, and though he limps some, it works fine …

  Jeff looked up as a drover passed with a wagon full of goods. The man yelled and cracked his whip over the heads of the oxen, which were straining to pull the heavy load. Jeff watched for a moment.

  Tom and Sarah, Leah’s sister, had planned to get married, but the war had driven them apart. Leah’s brother, Royal, was in the Union Army. Tom had served with his father and Jeff in the Army of Northern Virginia until he lost a leg at Gettysburg.

  Jeff looked down and read the rest of the letter, devouring the news of the farm and all the things that were going on back home. Finally he sighed, folded the letter, and stuck it into his inside pocket.

  He walked on through town and out to the camp just south of Richmond. The sound of bugles, and men drilling, and the many other noises that go with an army camp came to him, but he was so accustomed to them he hardly noticed.

  When he got to where his company was stationed, he glanced up at the flag that indicated the officers’ headquarters.

  The corporal on guard outside the tent winked at him. “Hello, Private Majors! You want to see your pa—I mean Colonel Majors?”

  “If he’s not busy.”

  “Just go right on in! He said he’s been looking for you.”

  Jeff found his father, Col. Nelson Majors, sitting at a portable desk and staring at a map that was laid out before him. Jeff thought again how fine his father looked. He was a dark-skinned man with hazel eyes and a black mustache. At the age of forty-one, he had hair that was still totally black. Looking up, he grinned. “Hello, Jeff. Did you get something to eat?”

  “Yes, I did, Pa—I mean Colonel. It cost the world, though!” He put down the box and exhibited his purchases. Then he handed over the remains of the cash and said, “It was the best I could do. The store’s about out of everything.”

  Colonel Majors leaned back and took a deep breath. Balancing himself on the back two legs of his camp chair, he put his hands behind his head and stared up at the tent roof. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s not good—but it’s better than what we’ll get when we take to the field.”

  At that moment, a tall, rangy captain walked through the door and saluted.

  The colonel returned the salute and said, “Well, Captain Dawes, how do the new recruits look?”

  Dawes lounged at ease in front of the desk and shrugged his shoulders. “Not like much, Colonel. I guess all the good ones have already been scooped up. Some of them we got in this bunch are either too old to do much good or so young I hate to see them coming on.”

  Jeff said instantly, “I’m as old as some of them, Pa—Colonel.”

  “Now don’t you start on me, Jeff! You’re not joining the Regulars! You’re going to be a drummer boy at least a few more months. Let’s hear no more of it!” Colonel Majors looked down at his map. “Not much question about what’s going to happen next, is there, Captain?”

  Dawes bit his lower lip. “Reckon not, sir. I hear Grant’s got an army of a hundred thousand men ready to feed into this here war. I wish we had half that many!”

  “Then we’ll just have to do better. Every man will have to cover a little more ground and fight a little harder. We knew all this would happen when the war started.”

  Then the two men talked about the battle that was to come.

  Throughout the early years of the war, the South had won battle after battle, but the superior weight and the manufacturing power of the North were now ready to roll. Every time a Southern soldier fell, he left a gap in the ranks. When a Northern boy was taken, all General Grant had to do was reach into the city and pick up a recruit. Many in the North were tired of the war, but President Lincoln was now sure he had found a fighting general.

  “I’ve heard about Grant,” Colonel Majors said. “They say he’s merciless!”

  “Yes, sir, and now that we’ve lost Stonewall Jackson, it’s going to be harder. After Gettysburg, we’re down mighty thin! Where do you think they’ll hit?”

  “Right up in this area, and we’ll be moving out soon, Captain Dawes, so get these men trained as quick as you can! That’s all!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Colonel Majors waited until the captain had left the tent, then said, “It’s going to be mighty tough, Jeff.”

  “We can whip ’em, sir!”

  A smile flashed across Colonel Majors’s lips, then he said slowly, “You know what I’ve been thinking about? Kentucky.”

  “Oh, and I just got a letter from Leah. Wait’ll you hear what she says about Esther!” Jeff handed the letter to his father and waited until he had finished reading. “She sounds like a beauty, doesn’t she? Says she looks just like Ma!”

  A frown creased the colonel’s brow, and his lips drew down tightly. He moved uneasily in his chair, then finally got up and walked to the tent flap. He stared out for such a long time that Jeff wondered what he could be thinking.

  Finally his father turned back and said, “Jeff, I think so much about Esther—and about your mother.”

  “Well, I do too, and I know Tom does.”

  “I don’t feel right about letting the Carters do all the raising of my daughter. It just seems like I’ve let your mother down somehow.”

  “But you couldn’t help it, Pa!”

  After Mrs. Majors’s death, it had been the Carters back in Kentucky who volunteered to raise baby Esther until such time as the Majors men could get settled. That meant, of course, when the war was over, but being separated from the child had been hard on all of them.

  “Maybe after this next battle the Yankees’ll quit and go home. Then the war will be over, and we can get her back again.”

  Jeff’s words did not seem to reach Colonel Majors. He returned to his chair and said thoughtfully, “It’s hard not being able to have your child. I think about it all the time. I wish there was some way that we could take her, but I guess there’s not.”

  Uncomfortable, Jeff moved toward the tent door. He did not like to see his father so downcast.

  After bidding the colonel good-bye, he went to his own unit, where he was surrounded by his squad and took part in the activities that went on, including cooking supper. But after eating, he sat by himself for a long time in the tent that he shared with the other young men. Finally he clamped his jaw and said, “There’s got to be a way! Lord, please show me what to do!”

  He waited for a moment as if he expected the Lord to speak out of heaven. Then he laughed aloud at himself. “Well, I know what I’m going to do! I’m going to write Leah!”

  He found a scrap of paper that had already been used for a letter, crossed out the used side, and then with a stub of pencil began to write:

  Dear Leah,

  There’s something I want you to think about. You see, my pa and I miss Esther an awful lot …

  2

  Tom Makes a Decision

  The lanky, blue-nosed mule that stopped in front of the Dan Carter home was straddled by an equally lanky rider. Pete Mangus pulled back on the leather reins, saying, “Whoa, Clementine, hang on there just a minute, will ya!”

  Leah Carter emerged from the white frame house to see Pete peer past the picket fence and touch his hat with his left hand. “Well, howdy t
here, Miss Leah!”

  “Hello, Pete!” At sixteen Leah had grown out of the gawky stage. She still saw herself, however, as a tall, awkward girl, though her mother had told her many times, “You’re going to be a beautiful woman. Don’t mind it—just think about how awkward the colts look until they get their full growth.” Leah’s eyes were sea green, and she allowed her long blonde hair to fall down the back of the simple blue-and-white dress that reached almost to her ankles.

  Pete Mangus kept his eyes fixed on her with evident pleasure. “Wal,” he said casually, shifting his weight on Clementine’s back, “don’t you look pretty now!” At that moment he spotted a huge grasshopper crawling along the ground and expertly loosed an amber stream of tobacco juice that drowned the insect. Pete nodded, satisfied with his aim, and then turned back to Leah. “You expectin’ a letter, are ya, Leah?”

  Leah knew that he loved to tease her about her letters from Jeff. She was accustomed to this and said eagerly, “Yes, and I bet you got one from Jeff, haven’t you?”

  “Well, that might be.” Pete fumbled through the letter sack that hung beside his leg, finally coming up with an envelope. He peered at it as if he had never seen it before. “Well, dog my cats, sure enough!” He held the letter close to his eyes, and his lips moved as he read the words. “‘Miss Leah Carter, Pineville, Kentucky.’ Yep, I reckon it’s for you, all right!” He looked down and saw Leah reach for it but did not hand it to her at once. “I expect you and that young man are gettin’ mighty serious, Leah.”

  “Oh, Pete, give me the letter! Please!”

  Pete, however, held onto it. “That sister of yours and that young Rebel, they ain’t aimin’ to marry up, are they?”

  This was a question that came up often. Tom Majors had been brought back to Pineville to recuperate after losing his leg. He and Sarah Carter had been practically engaged when the war broke out, and many were speculating on whether or not Sarah would have him now.