Down the Sky: Volume Three of the “Strike The Tent” Trilogy

by W. Patrick Lang

  “Who knows,” she responded. “Perhaps he will live. He has much to live for… He is a major, now?”

  This cryptic remark hung in the air.

  “Yes, as am I.”

  She smiled at some secret thought.

  Balthazar’s battalion protected the withdrawal of Early’s force across the Potomac at White’s Ford. There were several cavalry attacks on the bridgehead. These were easily repulsed, and when the time came he and his men slipped across and followed the Army of the Valley to their camps near Berryville, Virginia. There they waited for the enemy to cross and follow them.

  Smoot slipped into a coma the day after his arrival at the Devereux house on Duke Street. His condition was so bad that Doctor Harrington thought that he would be gone soon. Harrington brought several colleagues to look at his patient. They were men who could be relied on. None thought Smoot’s chances were better than even for survival. The trip had ruined what was left of his resistance to the accumulated surgical shock, loss of blood and general fatigue that had been his portion.

  In the first weeks of Smoot’s stay in the attic room, the Devereux ladies shared the nursing more or less equally, but inevitably family and household duties made this more difficult. This was especially true for Victoria. Hope “stepped’ smoothly into the hours made available by absences. This became a habit and eventually she had Smoot to herself most of the day. He began to emerge from his deep sleep after a month. At first he could only lie in bed and stare at her unsure that she was real.

  She habitually sat in a Windsor chair by the window. The sun shone through her golden hair. She seemed an angel. She and the other women cared for him in all his needs. The mess and stench of caring for an occasionally unconscious man confined to bed seemed not to bother any of them.

  Devereux came to see him from time to time. The visits were awkward. Claude saw that Smoot’s presence could mean but one thing, proof of a lack of certainty in Richmond concerning his loyalty and evolving identity.

  Bill White’s return was reassuring, but he was uncommunicative on the subject of Richmond’s intentions. He said that he and Jake were transferred from the 17th Virginia Regiment on short notice because John Balthazar wanted them for his battalion. They had been with the battalion for only a month when James Fowle arrived in Lynchburg with an ambulance to take Smoot out of hospital there. There was something, opaque, in Bill’s answers.

  Devereux tried to talk to Fowle, hoping for some indication of his situation. Fowle asked for a job in the bank. “Have you taken the oath of allegiance?” was Claude’s instant response.

  “Oh, yes, of course, long ago.”

  “I see, you are Benjamin’s man…”

  “No, I am Sam Cooper’s man,” Fowle lied. Why should I tell him the truth? he thought. What would it gain me?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  — Kernstown —

  For two weeks, Early’s rear guards struggled with the Union Army’s pursuit across the Potomac and through the beautiful Loudoun Valley.

  Balthazar’s battalion was not heavily engaged In Maryland or at Washington. They were less exhausted, and were given a heavy burden as rear guard in this long retreat.

  The Union Army followed them over the Blue Ridge Mountains. The advance was resisted at every crossroads and village along the way.

  The weather was warm but comfortable. There had been enough rain to keep the long grass green and the white tailed Virginia deer looked out from the woods to watch the soldiers pass.

  The Union forces gave up the chase near Strasburg. They thought that Early was falling back to some place in the south where he would be no more trouble. Believing that, the War Department withdrew most of the troops from the Valley, marching them north on the Valley Pike to board trains at Winchester for the trip back to Grant at Richmond.

  When these soldiers arrived at Richmond Grant would outnumber Lee so badly that victory in the war must surely be his.

  Brigadier General George Crook, the federal commander left in charge in the Valley of Virginia was so sure that Early was fleeing south that he did not bother to send his cavalry forward to maintain contact with the supposedly retreating enemy. He was mistaken in believing that Early accepted defeat and he would pay for the error. By the third week in July, Early knew the details of this situation. Most importantly he knew the location and strength of all of Crook’s force.

  Local people from Kernstown just south of Winchester had come to his camps around Edinburg with the information. A few prisoners taken in cavalry skirmishes confirmed their stories.

  After brooding over the maps, Early believed that he must do something unexpected and severe to the Union forces left in the Valley. He assumed that by doing that he could force Grant to send back enough force to defeat him. In that way, Lee’s army might be saved.

  — 24 July —

  — Washington, at the War Department —

  President Lincoln, Secretary of War Stanton, Major General Henry Halleck and Brigadier General Claude Devereux met that day in Stanton’s 17th Street office. It was Lincoln’s habit to sit in meetings outside the White House.

  “What do you think of this business of withdrawing so many men from the Valley,” Halleck asked Claude Devereux. Halleck was the Chief of Staff of the US Army. He had been General in Chief earlier in the war, but he could not win in the field against the Confederates and now was relegated to the role of Grant’s administrator at Washington. He was good at this task. “Old brains” had been his nickname in the small pre-war army. A military intellectual, he was famous for his translation of Jomini’s treatise on Napoleon’s operations. Portly, with almost as much in the way of “sideburns” as Burnside he was slightly comic in appearance. Unlike most people, he liked Claude Devereux.

  The spy was careful not to patronize Halleck. This and his easy banter in French flattered the man enormously. “Early is a tough, smart man,” Devereux answered. “He will read the situation closely and then strike us somewhere to bring the departed troops back to the Valley.” Devereux’s opinion would have an impact in this gathering. He and Halleck were the only military men in the room and none present would accept Halleck’s judgment on anything of importance.

  “What will he do?” the president asked.

  “I don’t see that he can do anything,” Stanton replied, ignoring the annoying fact that the president had not asked him. That damned Devereux, I have to get him out of this city. What is the matter with Baker that he cannot find something guilty about this man? It was Stanton’s deep seated hope that Colonel Lafayette Baker would find something grossly incriminating about Claude Devereux. If that blessed event materialized, he would try to persuade the president to send the man away or dismiss him. For Stanton, Brigadier General Devereux was a potential rival. The thought of trying to befriend Devereux never occurred to him.

  “He will find Crook’s main force and then hit him as hard as he can,” Devereux said. “Crook is around Winchester. That is where Early will go.”

  “You know the man,” the president remarked. It was not a question. Lincoln walked to the open window and stood looking out at the scene in the street. The White House was just across an expanse of green lawn. He thought of his unhappy wife. She was there in the beautiful building. I should go to Mary now, he thought. I never spend enough time with her. I never have… She has become so strange.

  “As everyone knows,” Claude replied. “He was a close friend of my father. He sent a letter of condolence across the lines… My mother was touched, very touched.” The face of the immaculately clad officer seemed to be made of stone. The mask was completely closed. Behind it, he could think of nothing but the weeping, still bleeding wound that was his miserable lifelong relationship with his dead father. Perhaps he would be proud of me now. Perhaps the star would be enough. Even as he thought that, he knew it was not true.

  Stanton saw a solution for his discomfort with Devereux. “Well, then, it is settled, you must go to advise Crook concerning
Early’s ‘peculiarities.’ No one else will do. After all, that is what we have you for…” Stanton was pleased with himself. The wretched Devereux would be gone from his sight. Perhaps some “misfortune” would befall him. One could hope.

  Halleck was about to object on the basis that he needed Devereux in Washington to deal with the foreign embassy “crowd,” but a distracted Lincoln merely nodded his head. He had not heard clearly what Stanton proposed to do. The president stood and crossed the room in long strides, headed for the White House and his wife’s company.

  “I’ll take Colonel Ford with me,” Devereux said, thinking instinctively to keep Wilson Ford from Amy Biddle’s company.

  “No, you leave him here. We will need his help with the British Embassy get-together next week,” Stanton answered. He was pleased to deny Claude something. He was not sure what it was that was denied, but knew it must be something valuable from the sudden impassivity of Devereux’s face. “Take Detective Topham with you and that sergeant that I see lurking in the hallways. Take them, both of them.”

  Behind his facial “mask,” Claude shrunk from Stanton’s hostility, but his malicious enmity was impossible to thwart without Lincoln’s protection. “We will leave as soon as we can, perhaps a train to Frederick, Maryland and then southwest by horse to find Crook,” he said.

  “As you wish, take your time and make sure the Rebels are no longer dangers to Washington before you return…” That should occupy you for quite a while… Stanton savored the thought.

  At dawn on the 24th, Early had his “army” in position astride the Valley Pike at Kernstown. Winchester was five miles away to the north.

  John Gordon’s little “division” was to the left of a crossroad where a farm track crossed the Pike.

  Gabriel Wharton’s men waited in reserve behind a little brick church at the crossroads. There were two thousand of them. Wharton had been a mining engineer in California before the war. He had known Lieutenant Wilson Ford in San Francisco. They met at the home of mutual friends in the long ago year of 1859.

  Stephen Ramseur held the left side of the line with cavalry out beyond him to keep the Union force from “sweeping” the left end of Early’s position.

  The Confederate artillery was sited among the infantry to add their fire to that of the riflemen.

  More cavalry covered the right flank.

  Early brought Balthazar’s battalion forward to wait with him just to the left of the church. The rumble of the iron tires of the battalion’s two guns made many rebel soldiers look over their shoulders and smile, re-assured by the presence of the Frenchman’s “ruffians” in their midst.

  With the Valley Army in place, Early waited to see what Crook would do.

  To the north, George Crook woke in the pre-dawn. A cavalry officer stood over him shaking his shoulder and insisting that rebel infantry were only a few miles away at Kernstown. Crook was not a man who easily assimilated information that did not conform to his view of the truth. Graduated at the bottom of his West Point class in 1852, he served in California before the war. On this occasion he ordered half his force to confront whoever was at Kernstown. He thought this a prudent thing to do although he still believed that Early was far away to the south. After giving the staff instructions and asking to be awakened in an hour, he rolled over and was quickly asleep. Because of the tone of Crook’s instructions, northern commanders approached Early’s line believing that they would quickly drive a motley collection of Home Guards and Militia before them. The war was developing into a crushing victory for the North, and they easily believed that since the war seemed won, the hard fighting must be behind them. Surely, the Confederates accepted the reality of their subjugation. Since Early’s retreat from Washington two weeks before they had driven him before them. Why should this be different? The July heat was oppressive, but this little action would soon end and the seemingly inevitable comforts of bivouac around the little Virginia village at the crossroad awaited them.

  As the lines closed, both sides’ artillery engaged with its usual infantry killing effect.

  When the Union troops came close enough, Early sprang his trap.

  Wharton’s men waited in a deep ravine that extended at a right angle from the spot where the Union left would end. Satisfied that their enemies were in a helpless position, this Rebel column raced up from the end of the ravine to form ranks and fire into the open flank.

  Rutherford Hayes commanded on that flank. Seeing Wharton’s men appear to pour from the ground, itself, he began to pull his soldiers back and swing the line back to meet them head on.

  Balthazar watched from 200 yards away. His battalion was perfectly placed to interrupt Hayes’ attempted move.

  Early was a few feet distant, sitting in his buggy, nursing a cigar while taking in the situation. Smoke surrounded the general and his driver. He turned to Balthazar and pointed at the “joint” in Hayes’ bending line.

  The Frenchman’s silver “dog whistle” called.

  His officers and their men looked at him.

  Across the line, the Yankees heard and wondered what this unusual sound might mean. They listened with interest.

  On the road behind Balthazar, the battalion waited in a column of rifle companies eight men wide.

  “Fix! Bayonets!” the command rang out.

  With the smoothness that was the product of long practice under their “master”, the hands rose and fell. At the end of the process, the two foot knives were attached to every rifle muzzle.

  The two Napoleons swung wide to the left and went from “march column” to “battery” with their muzzles pointed at the bend in Hayes’ swinging line. Gunners squinted down the barrels over bronze sights. Crewmen rammed charges, and set fuses.

  Balthazar blew his whistle again in a different song.

  Captain Raphael Harris raised his arm and then dropped it. The two guns fired into the “hinge.” The solid shot in “number 1 gun” drove through the unfortunate regiment standing in its path. The iron ball cut through the ranks like a scythe. The “timed charge” in the second shot, exploded over the line, tearing a hole twenty feet wide.

  Balthazar’s whistle called again and his infantry charged in column into that “wound,” tearing the corner to shreds. They screamed the “Rebel Yell” as loud as they could. They knew that the sound would unsettle the already disoriented Union men. They charged without firing a shot as they had been taught. The column struck the bending line in a moving forest of bayonets eight men wide and fifty deep. Harris’ two guns shifted the target of their fire to Union infantry to the left of Balthazar’s point of attack.

  At that moment all the remaining Confederate infantry rushed forward.

  Suddenly the fight was over. Union resistance collapsed. Some soldiers threw down their weapons. Others ran for the rear, trying to outrun McCausland’s horsemen. They were victims of the panic that sweeps from man to man when suddenly a situation is reversed. Making the situation yet worse was the undeniable truth that these Union soldiers and units were not of the best. They had been defeated again and again by many of these same Rebel troops. Those not surrendering, ran north on the Valley Pike.

  General Crook, who was coming to the battle on that same road found himself surrounded by uniformed refugees. He tried to keep moving south on the Pike until he realized that the defeated had disappeared behind him in their flight. He knew that meant that he had suddenly become the rear guard in a general retreat towards Winchester. Being a sensible man, he turned back with his little party and followed his fleeing soldiers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  — Chambersburg —

  The pursuit lasted a day and a half. Early halted his infantry and artillery just south of the Potomac River. The Virginia people along the route of his advance lined the road to greet the return of their army.

  Early’s cavalry crossed to the northern side of the river. They wanted to stay close enough to be able to observe the enemy so that they might learn what they w
ould do next.

  That night, Brigadier General McCausland arrived at Early’s roadside camp to confer.

  Balthazar stood beside Jubal in the tent that served as headquarters. The older man increasingly depended on Balthazar for advice in situations that demanded maturity of judgment and experience.

  “How goes it?” Early asked the twenty-nine year old brigadier general. This tall young man rarely said much at meetings. He usually preferred to wait in silence to hear what would be said. “They are still running, a satisfying sight,” he finally said.

  It was hot in the tent for men who lived in the field. The “hooting” of owls was loud in the dark world outside.

  “Is there any reason that you cannot cross the river, and go into their deep hinterland?” Early asked.

  McCausland looked at Balthazar for a hint of what was to come. John Balthazar respected Early as a commander. He said nothing.

  McCausland did not really trust Early. He thought Early was a good soldier but he never forgot that Early was a graduate of West Point. His “gut feelings” about this essentially Northern institution made him look for disloyalty where there often was none. He also knew that his commander had voted against secession in 1861. “No, right now we can wander around Pennsylvania to our hearts content,” he said.

  Jubal Early accepted that McCausland doubted him. There was no way to repair that prejudice except to lead the Army of the Valley to victory. “I want you to go to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania with your brigade,” he said. “I want you to ‘collect’ VMI’s debt from the citizens and businesses.”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred thousand US or a hundred thousand in gold…”

  “Or?”

  “Burn the town.”

  “I will want that in writing…”

  Balthazar nodded slightly.

  “Yes, and if they do not pay,” Early said, “Find another town. Understand?”