“The prosecution has nothing more,” Abraham added.
Colonel Andrews looked around at the other officers and said slowly, “It’s very late. I propose that we adjourn until tomorrow. Would that be acceptable to you gentlemen?” Taking their nods he rose, saying, “This court will reconvene at eight tomorrow morning.”
They’ll talk it over tonight—bring the verdict first thing in the morning, Duke thought; but as the guard came to escort Thad to his cell, he only voiced, “I’ll stop by for a while tonight. You play chess?”
“No.”
“Good—I hate to lose!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A MINOR MIRACLE
Harrison Duke’s guess that the verdict would come early the next morning was off by four hours. Two of the officers, Major McClain and Major Jason Stillwell, asked for several witnesses to be recalled, and as they repeated their testimonies, Duke thought he understood the reason for the recall. “Those two are trying to find some way to make your case look better,” he whispered to Thad.
But by eleven-thirty, however, the two fell silent, and Colonel Andrews said, “I believe we have no more witnesses. The courtroom will be cleared. You will all be recalled when the decision is reached.”
The next two hours were the longest of Thad’s life as he sat alone in his cell—waiting. He paced the floor the entire time, unable to sit or lie down on his bunk. Finally the guards returned, saying, “It’s time, Thad. Court is ready.”
When he entered the courtroom, everyone else was already in place. Harrison Duke touched Thad’s arm as he came to stand at the table. Colonel Andrews nodded, “You may be seated.” His face was void of all expression as he spoke. “This court has heard a great deal of testimony concerning the actions of the defendant, Private Thaddeus Novak. We hope that we have given every opportunity for a proper defense. . . .”
As he droned on Duke could not look at Thad. Duke knew the signs. A verdict of “not guilty” would not have called for a long preamble such as the colonel was giving.
And he was correct. Colonel Andrews paused, cleared his throat, and said, “It is the unanimous decision of every man at this table that the defendant, Thaddeus Novak, is—guilty as charged.”
A silence fell on the room, and Captain Aaron Abraham stared at the youthful face of the defendant—and felt a shock of admiration. By the Lord, the boy didn’t bat an eye! It was Abraham’s job to prosecute to the best of his ability, but as he had felt on several other occasions, he now experienced a sudden poignant sadness. He discovered, to his surprise, that he had wanted to lose this one—a rare thing indeed for Aaron Abraham!
“The prisoner will rise,” Andrews said quietly. And when Thad rose, with Duke at his side, the colonel declared: “It is the sentence of this court that you will be taken from this place tomorrow morning at ten o’clock and be shot to death.”
The words hung in the air, a palpable presence, and every man felt the chill of them. Every member of the court had seen men die in action. Most of them had ordered troops to their death. But it was one thing to fight in the heat of battle, another thing altogether to take a man out to a wall and shoot him to death as he stood there helplessly.
Andrews announced abruptly, “This court is adjourned!” He rose and left the room quickly without a look at Thad. The others followed, with one exception. Major Jason Stillwell came directly to where Thad stood, and tried to speak. There were tears rising in his eyes, Thad and Duke saw, and he said huskily, “I’m sorry!” Then he wheeled and left the room.
Thad stared straight ahead. He had expected the verdict, but when it came, it was as if everything in the world had jerked to a halt. He had been conscious of the activities in the room, of the officers leaving, and of Stillwell coming to speak to him—but it was as if he were in a huge bottle of some sort, a silent place, and everything else was far off.
Duke stood beside him, feeling worse than he had ever felt in his entire life. Putting his hand on Thad’s arm, he choked, swallowed. “I’m sorry, boy. I—I should have done better!”
Thad turned and said evenly, “No, Captain. You did better than anyone else could have done. Don’t you ever have any regrets about this.”
Then the guard came up quietly and said apologetically, “Time to go, Thad.”
“I’ll be by later, Thad,” Duke promised, and watched while they filed out. Thad had his head high, and his back was straight. “By the good Lord!” Duke groaned, “I hate to lose!”
****
Duke did not come by. Instead, he got drunk. For several hours he tried to screw up his courage so that he could make the visit, but he drank so much in the process that he passed out in a chair in his room.
Sky and Rebekah came at dusk, and they sat beside him silently for several hours. At midnight, Thad broke the silence. “I want you to go now.”
They looked at him, both startled, and Rebekah asked, “Why, Thad?”
“I . . . guess I just want to be alone for a while. And . . . I don’t like to see you tearing yourself apart.”
“Thad!” she cried out, but he shook his head.
“I want to say something, and as soon as I finish—please go. Will you do that?” He waited until they both nodded, then he said quietly, “I hate to die. I’d like to be around to learn more about farming at Belle Maison. But I can’t, so I want to tell you how much I—love you both.” He stumbled over the words, for he had never said them to anyone in his whole life. He had felt love, but things like that were not said in the world in which he grew up. Even as he spoke them out, it seemed to release something inside him, and he took a deep breath and smiled. “I never told anyone that before.”
“Oh, Thad, we love you too—as if you were our own!” Rebekah whispered. Sky found his lips were trembling, so he only nodded, unable to say anything.
“Anyway,” Thad went on, “I want you to know that being with you and the whole family has been—more wonderful than I could ever put into words. I felt like it was my family, in a way.” He stood up and said, “Tell them all how much I appreciate the way you all took me in—Mark and Tom and Dan. And Belle, too. And . . .” His voice suddenly grew husky, and he could not seem to say the name. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Tell Pet—tell her she’s been more than a best friend. Tell her—I love her!”
He got up and whispered, “Please go now!”
Rebekah threw her arms around him, and he held her as she wept deep sobs that racked her body. Finally he released her, and Sky Winslow, his face contorted, held out his arms and embraced the boy. He whispered, “My boy! My boy! My dear boy!”
Then Thad pulled back. “Goodbye—thank you for everything.”
He turned his back and went to stare out the window into the darkness. He heard the rap on the door, then the sound of it opening and the final slam, but did not move. The lock was thrown noisily into place, and he turned and fell on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, his shoulders heaving.
Much later a guard called out, “Chaplain to see you, Thad.”
“No! I don’t want to see him,” he answered.
“A real hard one, Chaplain,” the guard said. “Most men would be ready to listen to a preacher. Must be a real bad sinner.”
Chaplain Boone stared at the guard wordlessly, shook his head, and took a chair in the hall. He waited until the rosy traces of dawn began to show in the east through the window at the end of the hall—but there was not a single sound from the cell of Thad Novak.
****
The morning guard brought a big breakfast tray, and while the night man was opening the door, he said to the chaplain, “He ready to go, Brother Boone?”
Boone did not answer, and the guard walked in and set the tray down. He looked at Novak, who was standing quietly at the window. Thad was wearing his uniform and did not look around until the guard said, “Nice breakfast for you, Thad.”
Thad turned and gave a brief smile, saying, “I hear eggs are hard to get in Richmond thes
e days, Henry. Guess I better not waste these.”
Henry stood there and watched him sit down and begin to eat. “Let me know if you want more, Thad—and—good luck to you.”
“Thanks, Henry.” Thad looked up and put out his hand. “You’ve treated me real good. Thanks a lot.”
“Why—sure!” The guard swallowed as he took the hand, then turned hastily and left the room. He said to the night man and the chaplain, “He ain’t got no nerves! In there eatin’ like he was going on a vacation.” He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. “Look at that! I’m worse off than he is!”
“Henry, ask if he’ll see me,” the chaplain said urgently.
“Sure, Parson.” Henry threw the bolt, stuck his head in, and said, “Thad, Chaplain Boone—he’d like to see you.”
“Let him come in, Henry.” Thad stood up as Boone came in hurriedly, saying, “Thanks for coming by, Chaplain. Have a seat.”
“Thank you, my boy.” He sat down and found himself speechless. It was a little after eight, and he knew the execution was scheduled for ten. All night long he had prayed for a chance to see Thad, and for wisdom to use the right words to bring him to God. Now he sat there, helplessly unable to say a word.
Thad said, “I know you want me to pray, Chaplain, but I can’t do it.”
“Why not, Thad?”
“I just can’t.” Thad’s dark eyes were large in the thin face, and there was fear in them—but he spoke firmly. “I can’t abide a man who’ll ignore God all his life; then when he’s about to die, he goes running to Him.”
Boone had thought this might be the problem, and he said, “My boy, you’ve not got this thing right. Let me help you.” He began reading scripture, trying to get the young man to see that God was anxious to show mercy. After about ten minutes, they were interrupted by a commotion. Thad rose up and went to stare out the window.
“What’s going on?” Boone asked.
“Don’t know. A crowd of people over at the courthouse. Must be news of the war. Maybe we’ve won at Manassas.” He watched for a time, and finally came and sat down. “Do you think the South will win this war?” he asked.
“In all honesty, Thad—I don’t.” He shook his head sadly. “We’ve lost the best of our young men. The bravest and the best. They all went at the first call, and many of them are in graves on the battlefields.” Then he said quietly, “Thad, it’s almost nine o’clock. Only an hour left. Please, my boy! Let me pray for you!”
But Thad shook his head, and Boone was reduced to desperation. He talked steadily for thirty minutes, and suddenly jumped as the door bar was opened with a loud bang. Henry came in, followed by the rest of the guards.
“Is it time?” Thad asked.
“No.” Henry replied. “The lieutenant here says you’ve got to go back to the courtroom.”
“Hurry up, Novak,” the officer snapped impatiently. “I don’t know what’s up, but my orders are to get you there quick.”
Thad rose instantly and followed the lieutenant out of the building and across the yard. A huge crowd was there and quite a few of them yelled, “There he is!”
A large man with a red face blocked the way of the lieutenant. He screamed, “I wish they could kill you twenty times, Yankee!”
The lieutenant shoved him out of the way, saying, “Form on the prisoner!” At the command the guards stepped up to march on each side of Thad and they proceeded to the steps, then went inside.
Thad saw nobody in the waiting room, but when he went inside the courtroom, he immediately noted that the entire court was assembled, including the prosecutor and Harry Duke. He was directed to Duke’s side, and stared at the face of the lawyer. The sleepy eyes were crackling with energy, and he said, “Hello, Thad. I—”
Then Colonel Andrews arose, irritation on his face. “We have been summoned to re-convene this court-martial by the order of the Vice President of the Confederate States.” He had been practically snatched out of his home an hour earlier by a pair of lieutenants with a note from Alex Stevens, ordering him to re-convene the court. The others, he had discovered, had been pulled in with no more ceremony. “I presume that you know something about this, Captain Duke?” Colonel Andrews remarked with heavy sarcasm.
“I am indeed guilty, sir,” Duke replied. “One more ‘antic’ for you to go through, I’m afraid.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I request that the court hear the testimony of one more witness.”
“Why was he not heard earlier?” Andrews demanded.
“He was on the field of battle, Colonel—at Manassas, to be more specific. It was no small accomplishment to get him here, I can assure you. At least two major generals had to sign his orders.”
“Well, bring him in,” Andrews growled.
“Call Captain Lowell Winslow,” Duke said, and stood there with a small smile on his face. He heard a gasp from Thad and whispered, “Here’s your miracle, Thad. A minor one, perhaps, in this large war—but it makes this sinner believe there’s a God looking out for you!”
The door opened, and as the guard came back, an audible gasp went up from several members of the court. For the witness wore the dress uniform of a captain in the Army of the United States.
“By heaven! A Yankee!” Major Jason Stillwell exclaimed in a loud whisper.
“Yes, sir, I am a Yankee,” the tall captain confirmed. “And proud of it!”
Colonel Andrews stared at him, then said abruptly, “Swear Captain Winslow in.” He carefully searched the face of the officer for a moment before saying, “Your witness, Captain Duke.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Never had Harry Duke enjoyed a moment in court more. I’ve got all the aces, he thought as he walked forward to stand before Winslow. Poor old Aaron—looks like he’s swallowed a dozen lemons!
“Captain Winslow, will you relate to the court the incident that took place on Malvern Hill in which you took a Confederate soldier prisoner?”
Lowell Winslow was enjoying himself immensely. He looked across the courtroom at Novak, taking in the raven-black hair, the strong face, tapering from a broad forehead to a firm jaw. The steady black eyes, deep and wide set.
The events of the past few days flashed through his mind. He had relished his ride with Patience and Dooley. They had been stopped by Union soldiers at the sight of Dooley’s rebel garb, but had been speechless when presented a paper signed by two major generals—Sheridan and Kearny. But that had been nothing compared with the events that occurred when they crossed the line into Confederate territory. Winslow’s blue uniform had drawn almost half the patrols in the country. It had been almost comic to see their tough faces and harsh manner dissolve when they read the pass—and saw the name of Jefferson Davis at the bottom!
And he had been intrigued by the pair of rebels. He had never spoken to a Confederate before, except a few sullen prisoners, and Dooley Young had been a source of endless fascination to him. The little rider was tough as a boot, could ride like a centaur, and shoot like Daniel Boone! He could live on a cup of boiled grits for a day, and if there was any fear in the man, it never showed itself. Winslow had wondered how the Union troops could be beaten again and again by beggars with poor arms; well, now he knew!
And the girl was a wonder! She was more girl than woman, perhaps; but the entire journey, which was hard and demanding—and the second half for her!—never seemed to bother her. At nights she would sit around the fire talking with the two men. He would never forget her—he was sure of that! The sight of her large eyes regarding him across the campfire as she told him of her family and her life left a strong mark on him. He had never thought much of the citizens of the South as individuals. His vague notion of them was formed by lurid novels such as Uncle Tom’s Cabin and scurrilous articles in the eastern newspapers. By the time they made their last camp, he had heard of Belle and her two suitors; Mark, a lieutenant; Tom, a corporal in the infantry; and Dan, who was dying to get into it. Most of all, he thought he knew something ab
out Thad Novak—for the girl was obviously in love with him.
Yes, he thought as he looked at Thad, he looks as if he might be worth her trouble!
Then Winslow began his story, and as he related the events, he saw that every officer at the table seemed relieved. Two of them were smiling broadly, and the others looked highly satisfied.
Winslow concluded by saying, “And when we got back from the patrol, I turned the prisoner over to the officer in charge of all our prisoners. Because of his connection with Sky Winslow, I intended to see him after the battle—but I was slightly wounded in the battle, and he was gone before I had the opportunity. I did write to my father and ask him to visit Novak, but he, too, was ill at that time and unable to do so.”
He stopped and looked at the court with a smile. “I hope my testimony has been of some use.”
“I think you may be assured it has,” Colonel Andrews responded instantly. Then he gave a hard look at Abraham, asking in a challenging tone, “Do you wish to question this witness, sir?”
Aaron Abraham smiled easily and replied, “I have no questions.”
Colonel Andrews said, “I will ask the members of this court to step outside.” They filed out, and Thad watched Harry Duke draw small animals on a sheet of paper for five minutes. Then the door opened, and the officers took their places. “We have reached a unanimous decision,” Andrews announced. “We have—”
“Colonel,” Lowell Winslow interrupted. “May I make one request?”
“Why, I suppose so,” Colonel Andrews replied. Then he smiled broadly, adding, “Any man that will wear that uniform on the streets of Richmond deserves some consideration.”
“Thank you, sir.” Winslow smiled. “I look forward to the day when it will be a common sight—but as to my request, there is one person who deserves to be in this courtroom to hear your decision.”
“And that is?”
“The most dedicated rebel I’ve met in this whole war, Colonel—Miss Patience Winslow.” He saw the eyes of Novak lift, and he told them how he had been practically kidnapped from the army of General Sheridan. “Anyone who can do that has my total admiration. I know she’s outside—and it would mean a great deal to her if she could hear your verdict.”
The Last Confederate Page 28
