The Sword

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Well, if any of them become troublesome, you come to me, and I will see that they are taught better manners,” he said, and there was no doubt that this intense man meant exactly what he said. “I’m glad that you will be here for my men, Mr. Steiner, Miss Fortier. Men always need God, but in war, they need Him more than ever, for His strength, His courage, and His comfort.”

  “So true, General,” Jacob said, folding the paper up and sticking it in his inner pocket. “And the Lord has shown me that that is exactly why Chantel and I have been called to serve Him in this way. To minister to your men.”

  “Good. If I may be of any help to you, let me know.”

  Jacob bowed slightly and said, “Thank you, sir,”

  As they left and walked back toward their wagon, Chantel said, “He is a stern man, him. But not so much when he talks about the good God.”

  “I had heard that Thomas Jackson was a Christian man,” Jacob said. “And he will need God for the heavy burdens he must bear.”

  The morning air was clear, and the men were fresh, as were their mounts as they galloped along the road. Jeb led them, and Clay rode alongside him. He saw that Jeb’s face was aglow, and he called out, “Sir, you don’t expect we’re going to have any action, do you?” It was just a routine patrol, three days north of Richmond. They had heard that the Yankees sometimes sent small troops, just probing really, to test the lines on the south side of the Potomac.

  “You never can tell, Lieutenant,” Jeb said airily. “We might get lucky.”

  No sooner had Jeb spoken than he stood up in his stirrups and said, “Speak of the devil; there’s some bluebellies.”

  Clay looked down the road and saw a troop of Union soldiers. They had come to a halt, having spotted the cavalry.

  “Let’s get ’em, boys!” Jeb yelled. “Draw sabers! Charge!”

  Following orders, Clay drew his saber and spurred Lightning.

  The entire troop rode their horses at full speed in a charge, yelling like wild men.

  Clay saw at once that the Federals had no hope. They were unseasoned troops, and the sight of the cavalry rushing with sabers flashing was too much for them. Most of them threw their weapons down and ran. Clay thought that they would pursue them and take prisoners, but Stuart ordered, “Don’t let them escape! Cut them down!”

  They rode, hard and fast, catching up quickly with the fleeing soldiers, and Clay saw the men in blue cut down easily, too easily. He took no pleasure in the action, for it was a slaughter.

  The entire action took less than five minutes. The bodies were scattered about half a mile along the small back road, mostly men in Union blue. But Clay saw also that three of their own troops were lying on the ground.

  He quickly guided Lightning to them and saw that two of them were obviously dead, but one man was alive. He stepped out of the saddle quickly and knelt beside the soldier who was on his face. When he rolled him over, he saw that it was Sam Benton, a young man in his company who always had a ready smile, an expert fisherman who often caught fish for his company when they were out in the deep woods. He could coax fish out of the smallest and most unlikely stream, and he always shared with as many men as his catch allowed. Now Clay saw that there was a terrible wound in Sam’s chest, and there was no hope for him.

  As he knelt over the dying soldier, Clay remembered how Sam had told them a couple of nights ago that he was engaged to marry a girl named Johanna Redmond. The young man had been very excited and was hoping that he could persuade her to marry him soon, before the army had to move out, as they surely would. Now the blood bubbled up from his lips, and he whispered something. Clay put his ear down close to his face.

  “Guess … they got me good, Lieutenant Tremayne.” He shuddered for breath and said, “Sir, when you get back to Richmond, would you … go to Johanna?”

  “I remember Miss Johanna Redmond,” Clay said, picking up his hand and squeezing it. It was already dead-cold. “I’ll find her.”

  “Tell … Johanna not to grieve long. Tell her I want her to find a good man, have his children—be—be—happy. You tell her that, sir, and that I loved … her … dearly.”

  Those were his last words. A compassion that he had not known he was capable of suddenly welled up inside Clay, and he felt as if his heart was bruised. In Sam Benton’s death something precious was lost, and he knew that this was a symbol of the thousands of young men who would redden the soil with their blood before the war was over.

  Chantel stepped out of the wagon, blinking in the early morning sunlight. She and Jacob had been taking inventory, listing all of the supplies—and there were many—that they needed to restock. She was carrying a big box of buttons. The box was cleverly slotted for each type of button to be sorted—black, blue, and white bone, brass and copper—but somehow they had gotten all mixed up, and she was going to sit down, have a second cup of coffee, and sort them again.

  To her surprise, she saw Clay riding slowly across the fairgrounds toward the wagon. His uniform was soiled, and his back was bent wearily. He dismounted and said, “Hello, Chantel. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

  “Hello, Clay. Yes, I believe it’s been nine or ten days since we’ve seen you. You don’t look well, you.”

  He nodded grimly. “I’ve been better.” Rousing a little, he asked, “What’s that uniform? You look very pretty.”

  “We’re sutlers. We’re staying with the army,” she said proudly. “And this”—she held out her skirt—“is my uniform. I’m a vivandiere now, me.”

  Clay frowned darkly. “So Mr. Steiner has decided to stay? Here, with the South?”

  “Yes, the good God has told him this. What’s wrong, Clay?”

  He pulled off his hat, pulled two chairs off of the rack on the wagon, and courteously held one for Chantel before seating himself. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and stared off into the distance. “Don’t stay here, Chantel. You and Mr. Steiner should leave. You should go far away from here, someplace safe.”

  Chantel shook her head stubbornly. “The good God doesn’t talk to me like he does Grandpere. He doesn’t tell me this, to stay here with the army. But He told Grandpere, and so we will stay. I’m not afraid, me.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be, would you?” Clay said, turning back to her. “You have great courage, Chantel. I know you’re not afraid. It’s just that it’s war. It’s not just the danger. It’s the horrible things you see, the terrible things that men do to each other, the great sorrow of it.”

  “What’s happened?” Chantel asked softly.

  Clay sighed, a deep, grieved sound. “We’ve just had an action where some of our fellows didn’t make it. One of them has a sweetheart here. Her name is Johanna Redmond. He died with her name on his lips, and he asked me to go to her and tell her. The bad thing about it is I didn’t really know him that well. That’s what’s so bad about it, in a way. That he died with only me there to comfort him. But I promised, and I must find her and tell her.”

  “Yes, if you promised, then you must do it,” Chantel said. “But you see, Clay, that when the time comes for some of these soldiers, we will be there. Grandpere and I will be there, and Grandpere will tell them of the Lord Jesus, and He will comfort them.”

  “I wish you and Mr. Steiner had been there to be with Sam. I know he was a Christian, but I—I didn’t know what to say to him. And I don’t know how I’m going to comfort his sweetheart, either.”

  An impulse came to Chantel, and she said, “I will go with you, Clay. I will help you.”

  Clay said with surprise, “You will? You would do that for me?”

  “I will do it for the dead soldier and for his lady,” Chantel answered. Seeing Clay’s crestfallen look, she softly added, “And to help you, Clay. Wait just a moment; I will tell Grandpere.”

  She went to the wagon, where Jacob was still listing supplies, and spoke to him.

  She returned to Clay, who was tying Lightning to the wagon. “The Redmond hou
se is just off the town square. We can walk.”

  They began walking. She waited for him to tell about the action, but he said nothing. Finally she asked, “Were there many men killed?”

  “Only three of ours, but quite a few of theirs. I really don’t want to talk about it, if you’ll pardon me.” Bitterness tinged his tone, and his head was bowed as they walked along the street.

  One of the other young men in Clay’s company knew Sam Benton and the Redmond family, and he had told Clay where the Redmonds’ home was.

  The two of them mounted the steps and knocked on the door, and after a few moments a young woman timidly cracked the door.

  “Miss Johanna Redmond?” Clay asked, quickly removing his hat. “I’m Lieutenant Clay Tremayne, of the Richmond 2nd Horse. This is my good friend, Miss Chantel Fortier.”

  Her eyes searched his face and saw the sorrow there. With some sort of a plea, she looked at Chantel and saw the compassion there, on the face of a stranger. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened the door wider.

  “Please, come in.” She led them into a small parlor and sat down on the sofa. “It’s Sam, isn’t it?” she said, the fear making her voice hoarse.

  “I’m afraid so, Miss Redmond,” Clay said with difficulty. “There was an action, two days ago, and—and—”

  “Is he going to be all right?” The tone was hopeful, but the look on Johanna Redmond’s face was already knowing and agonized. “He’s all right, isn’t he? He’s in the hospital?”

  Clay tried to speak, but he simply could not find the words. He looked down and fiddled with his hat.

  Chantel sat down by the woman and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Miss Redmond. Your fiancé was shot, and he died. Lieutenant Tremayne was with him.”

  Johanna Redmond stood for a moment, and her face slowly dissolved into a rictus of grief. She turned away from them, went to a wall, and leaned against it, racked with great sobs. “Oh, Sam! My Sam!” she cried out.

  Clay stood helplessly, his head down.

  Chantel went over and put an arm around the woman and comforted her in a low voice. Finally Johanna allowed Chantel to lead her back to the sofa, and she sat down, her head buried in her hands.

  Clay swallowed hard and said, “Miss Redmond? I was there, with Sam, when he— I was there, and he asked me to give you a message. I think I know it word for word. He said, ‘Tell Johanna not to grieve long. Tell her I want her to find a good man, have his children, and be happy. Tell her that I loved her dearly.’ He died with your name on his lips, and he was a good man. A fine soldier.” Clay could not think of another word to say.

  Chantel asked, “Do you have anyone here with you, Miss Redmond?”

  “My mother—she is upstairs napping. I’ll go up to her. …”

  Chantel looked at Clay, and he nodded. “May the good God be with you, Miss Redmond,” she said, rising.

  Clay said, “General Stuart sends his regrets and asked me to tell you that you have his prayers.”

  When they got outside in the clear sunlight, Clay murmured sadly, “He was a good man, Chantel. He had a whole wonderful life ahead of him, with her. And now he’s dead.”

  Chantel had had trouble forgetting her resentment toward Clay ever since he had attempted to kiss her back in those first days, but now she saw something else in him. He had a bad reputation and he had done evil things, but she saw now that he was a man of great compassion, and this counted for much.

  She entwined her arm with his, the first time she had touched him with any familiar gesture since that night. “Come with me, Clay. We will go talk to Grandpere. He will comfort us. He and the good God will comfort us.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Abraham Lincoln sat in his office in Washington, and Jefferson Davis, one hundred miles away, occupied the office of the presidency of the Confederate States of America. The two men were in precarious positions politically, for both the South and the North were clamoring for battle to settle the question of slavery. Both the North and the South had visions that the war would be short. The South expected that the North would be beaten decisively and would allow them to go their own way, with the Confederacy a permanent political entity. The North, on the other hand, was equally convinced that they must crush the Confederacy and maintain the Union.

  Abraham Lincoln had been chosen to lead the people of the North, but he was by no means a unanimous choice. Now as he sat in his office and looked around his cabinet, he saw doubt and even disdain on the faces of some of the men he had chosen to help him lead the Union in the battle that was to come. His face was drawn, already lined, even though his presidency was in its infancy. He listened quietly to these men who were entrusted with the union of the United States of America.

  Lincoln kept his eye on the ranking general of the North, the hero of the Mexican War, General Winfield Scott. Scott was old and overweight and exhausted from a lifetime of serving his country, but Lincoln could see that he was stirred and determined. Scott had already proposed his plan of crushing the Southern forces. It was called the Anaconda Plan, and it was simple. Winfield said it would be necessary to throw a ring around the Confederacy and crush it slowly, as a boa constrictor crushes its prey.

  Lincoln’s glance went around the room, and he listened as man after man insisted that Scott’s plan was too slow. Most of them saw Scott as being outdated and not a fit man to lead the nation in this tremendous endeavor. They were all in favor of immediate action and continued arguing with the old general.

  Finally, Secretary of State William Seward, who felt himself more able to govern than Lincoln, said, “Mr. President, we must take the quick road. We have a fine army, and we must use it at once. Our armies are more numerous, our equipment is better, and they have nothing but a group of individuals.”

  “They have Robert E. Lee,” General Scott said loudly. “He is the South’s greatest military asset, and he can out-general any man we put against him.”

  Immediately the rest of the cabinet took exception to Scott’s statement, and finally Lincoln, sensing which way the wind was blowing, broke in saying, “Gentlemen, I see great value in General Scott’s plan, and I feel we must pursue it … in the long run. In the meanwhile, the people are protesting that we are doing nothing. They forget that our army is composed mostly of volunteers for the term of three months. That is not time to train an army, as we all well know.”

  “The very reason why we shouldn’t fight right now,” Scott spoke up.

  “I wish that it were possible to wait, General. I know you are right and our men are green, but the men of the South are fighting forces that are green, also. I’ve made the decision that we will throw the Army of the Potomac into action against the South.”

  “Who will be the commander?” Seward demanded at once.

  Lincoln knew that everyone in the room expected him to name George McClellan, who had experienced some success in minor actions. Lincoln, however, felt differently. He said plainly, “I am appointing Irvin McDowell as the commander of the Union armies.” He saw the arguments rising and cut them off short. “General McDowell will be the commanding officer. My mind is made up. I will instruct him to attack the Southern forces at once.”

  Doubt was as thick as a night fog in the room, but there was no arguing with Abraham Lincoln when he spoke this firmly. So the cabinet began to make plans for an immediate attack on the South.

  General Irvin McDowell was a large man, six feet tall and heavyset, with dark brown hair and a grizzled beard. His manner was modest, and only from time to time was he dogmatic in his conversations. He had a strong will along certain lines, for instance, in his belief that alcohol was an evil. Once he had suffered an accident in a fall from a horse that had rendered him unconscious. The surgeon who tried to administer some brandy found General McDowell’s teeth so tightly clenched together that he could not administer it. McDowell was determined—apparently even when unconscious—not to take liquor.

  Now he was prodded into mot
ion by a civilian president who could only identify the seriousness of the battle to come by saying that both armies were equally green and untrained. McDowell saw clearly that Lincoln did not take into consideration that the Northern army would be on the attack while the Southerners would defend. McDowell was not a military genius, but he knew that defense was simpler than attack.

  But orders were orders, and he set out at once to put the army into motion. He reissued ammunition and saw to it that food for the entire campaign was ordered and would be in place when the men needed it and made certain that his supply line was well established. Then he gave orders for the army to move toward Virginia. He knew that the South was already thrown into a battle line around a small town called Manassas. A creek called Bull Run flowed by that town, and it was there McDowell knew that the action would take place.

  Lincoln’s counterpart, Jefferson Davis, had been chosen over fire-eaters in the South with the hope that he might be able to obtain a peaceful solution. Davis had been a military hero during the Mexican War and a powerful member of Congress for years. The Southern people were charmed by the music of his oratory, the handsomeness of his clear-cut features, and the dignity of his manner.

  As he sat in his office preparing for the battle that he was being forced to order, Davis was troubled by the superior forces that the North would assuredly throw against the Confederacy. Davis had taken what steps he could to provide for defense.

  The main line of advance from Washington was blocked at Manassas Junction, and Davis had chosen General P. G. T. Beauregard, the hero of Fort Sumter, with twenty-two thousand men and a smaller army of twelve thousand men under General Joe Johnston, to meet McDowell. Davis was well aware of the greenness of the Confederate troops, and he was also aware that the men of the South would be outnumbered by the Northern troops. He had done all he humanly could, and then he prayed.

  This was the setting for the first battle of the war, called Bull Run by the South and Manassas by the North. It was fought on Sunday, July 21, 1861. As that day approached, the two armies left their homes and prepared for the largest battle thus far in the Civil War.