Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  “The dirty Rebs shot me in the rump!” Manny Zale called out. “I better get to the hospital!”

  Monroe walked over, said, “Pull them pants down, Zale,” and discovered a slight scratch on the soldier’s hip. “I’ve had worse than that pickin’ blackberries,” he snapped, dismissing the complaint with an angry gesture.

  He went back to stand by Sergeant Gordon, who said, “Think they’ll be back, Lieutenant?”

  “You kin bet on it!”

  Noel walked over to where Bing was standing. “You all right, Bing?” he asked.

  Bing gave him a tight look, his mouth drawn up into a pucker. He cursed, saying, “Be better off in jail than here!” Bing Kojak did not lack physical courage—he had plenty of that—but he was a man of totally selfish impulses, and the thought of having his life cut short for nothing angered him. He had made up his mind while enduring the enemy charge that somehow he was not going to risk getting killed, but he was too crafty to say so to Noel. “You all right?” he asked finally.

  “Yes. They’ll be back, though.” Noel hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re all right, Bing.” He got only a nod in response, then moved away. Sergeant Gordon called out, “Kojak, you and Steele take the canteens back to that creek and fill ‘em up.”

  “Sure, Sergeant.” The two men made their way to the sluggish stream, and as they were filling the canteens, Pat said, “It wasn’t like I thought it would be, Noel.” Holding the canteen under the surface, he thought about the action, then shook his head. “Maybe I heard too many speeches, all about how glorious the war was. But it’s not, is it? It’s filthy and mean.”

  “Always has been, Pat,” Noel agreed. “Guess I’m like you. Read too many novels where the heroes went in with flags flying. But when I saw poor Emmett’s eyes when he took that bullet in the stomach, I saw what it’s going to be like. And it’s going to get worse, Pat! I—”

  He broke off, for the sound of musket fire crackled sharply. “That’s our bunch, Pat!” he said, and the two scrambled back in time to join the platoon, which was under another heavy attack from the Confederates.

  “Gordon’s down,” Corporal Buck Riley growled as the two men fell into line beside him. “And our lines are breaking. The Rebs have broke through to our left. They can come in behind us, so keep an eye out to the rear.” A shell exploded down the line, scattering bodies, which flew like tattered dolls through the air. The men close to the explosion began to run for the rear but found Lieutenant Ben Finch there ready to beat them back into line.

  “Can’t stand too much of this, Noel!” Riley said, a bitter light in his eyes. “You two keep an eye on the boys. We gotta hold this ridge.”

  And hold it they did, though the battle raged on for hours. Noel lost track of the charges made by the enemy and knew that the Rebels were taking terrible losses, but so was A Company. All down the line bodies were slumped, and the survivors robbed their cartridge cases for ammunition.

  Once Major Rocklin came by to encourage them. He spoke with Captain Frost, saying, “Your company has done fine work, Captain.”

  “What’s happening, Major?”

  Gideon pulled off his cap and looked around at the thin lines. “It’s not good, Hiram. We waited too long, and now the enemy’s got plenty of firepower.” The two men spoke quietly, and finally Gideon said, “If we get hit hard one more time, I don’t think the men will be able to stand it. If we have to retreat, we have to do it in an orderly fashion.”

  “Hate to think of retreat!” Frost snapped, shaking his head angrily. His blood was up, and he asked, “Can we charge ‘em? What about the colonel?”

  Gideon gave him an oblique stare, then shook his head and said bitterly, “He’s at the rear. And McDowell won’t give the order for a general attack. It’s all that’ll save us, I think.” He turned and walked down the line, speaking with the men. When he got to Pat, he grinned, saying, “Well, Private Steele, you’re a soldier now.”

  “Yes, sir, I guess so.” Pat nodded, then looked at Noel. “We did the best we could. Noel here, he’s the steadiest one in the platoon.”

  Gideon said, “I remember the day you enlisted, Kojak.

  Guess you’ve been giving that some second thoughts? Like to be back in the factory?”

  Noel flushed but said at once, “No, Major.”

  His brief answer pleased Gideon. “Good man! We’ll come out of this. Keep your heads down.” He smiled and said, “If I see Deborah, I’ll tell her her recruit is doing a fine job—and her brother, as well.”

  Major Rocklin moved on, and Noel said, “He’s a real fine man, Pat.” He thought of Deborah, and as the firing began to pick up, he wondered when he’d see her again. But that seemed far off and remote, and the men rushing toward him through the smoke of battle were terribly real.

  It was an hour after Rocklin left that the Confederates received fresh reinforcements. Another train had arrived at Manassas Junction, and Brigadier General E. Kirby Smith and Colonel Arnold Elzey arrived at Bull Run, throwing their forces into the battle. The turning point was a head-on cavalry charge led by Colonel Jeb Stuart. As the horses crashed into the infantry, the men in blue could not stand it. Throwing their guns down, they ran blindly, and their panic became epidemic. All up and down the line, the Federals, seeing the fleeing hordes, collapsed.

  Beauregard, seeing the sudden shift, ordered a general charge of the whole line, and the gray-clad Confederates swarmed toward the thin blue line.

  Captain Frost had seen other companies break and run, but he held A Company fast. “Stand still, men. We can hold ‘em! Don’t run!”

  Noel saw the waves of Confederates sweeping across the terrain, yelling like fiends. He was aware that some of the platoon had thrown their muskets down and joined the rout—Bing among them—but he loaded his rifle, took aim, fired, then loaded again. He had no hope of survival but continued to fire until the wave broke and a lean Confederate lieutenant appeared right in front of him. His musket was not loaded, so he raised it like a club. He heard Pat yell wildly, “Noel—!” and he saw the flash of light on the revolver the Confederate officer lifted.

  Then the explosion came, sending a long, cold sliver of pain through Noel’s side. He tasted the dirt as his face hit the ground, and the earth seemed to swallow him as the din of battle faded into a mute silence.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE RESCUE

  Waco’s squad had fought their way halfway up the ridge, but a Federal cannon found its range, and Waco shouted, “Take cover!” He led them to a waist-deep ravine, and the men fell panting on the ground, trembling with shock. The struggle continued, making an angry clamor that drowned out everything else.

  Waco’s men were in the wake now, in one of those abrupt interstices of battle, and a fresh rank of butternut troops surged past them, then another, then another.

  “Them’s General Smith’s boys,” Waco said with a nod to Clay, who had plumped down near him. “Looks like we got the Yankees on the run!”

  “We’d better pick up all the ammunition we can,” Clay said. “And canteens, too.” Waco called out an order, and soon the squad had scoured the field, bringing back all the water and cartridges they could find.

  “Gives me the creeps, taking stuff from dead men,” Lowell said with a shiver as he returned.

  As he took a drink from a canteen, Clay looked at him quickly but said only, “They won’t be needing it, Lowell, and we will.”

  “Think they’ll come again, Clay?” Jock Longley asked, looking over the hill. “I’ve had plenty of what they offered us. Let them fresh boys handle it.”

  Waco, sitting with his head down, noticed how the men seemed to look up to Clay Rocklin. It was a thing that was in some men, he knew. If a man had it, it was there, but if he didn’t, nothing could put it in him.

  Clay looked at the sergeant. “I’d guess we’ll do the charging from now on, don’t you reckon, Waco?”

  “I hope we chase the Bluebellies all the way back to Was
hington,” Waco said. He tilted a canteen; then the sound of a beating drum rattled over the air. “Signal to form up,” he said. “Let’s go.” He led the squad to where the regiment was being put in formation by Colonel Benton, and soon they caught up with some of the men who’d relieved them.

  “What’s going on, Lieutenant?” Benton demanded of one of the officers from Smith’s division.

  “Got a tough spot in the line up there, Colonel.” The speaker was a short, red-haired lieutenant with a bristly beard. “We’ve hit that hill three times but can’t make a dent in it. They got the whole division pinned down here.”

  James Benton had visions of a political future when the war was over, and he knew that a good war record would be necessary. Looking up the hill, he saw the flicker of small-arms fire, but there was no artillery. At once he said, “We’ll take that piece of ground!” He wheeled his horse around and rode to where Major Brad Franklin stood waiting. “Brad, we’ve got to take that hill.”

  Franklin stared up the hill, then shook his head doubtfully. “We better wait for some artillery, Colonel. That’s a long distance for the men to be under fire. They’re shooting right down on us, and there’s no place for a man to hide and reload.”

  “Have the men fix bayonets,” Benton commanded. “We’ve got good men, and the Feds’ ranks are pretty thin, I’d guess.”

  Franklin moved away and, passing down the line, gave the order. He stopped by C Company and spoke to Captain Taylor Dewitt and Lieutenant Dent Rocklin. “I’d just as soon wait for reinforcements, to tell the truth, but the colonel won’t hear of it. Taylor, send half of your company up the hill and keep the other half in reserve.”

  When Franklin moved along, Dent said, “Brad’s right about that hill. Why don’t we go around and flank them, Captain?”

  “Because that’s not as glamorous as a bayonet charge,” Taylor said bitterly. “Benton’s got to have a headline, and I’m thinking some of us are going to pay a pretty high price for it.”

  Dent said abruptly, “Let me take the men up, Captain. Bushrod can stay here with the reserves.”

  “All right, Dent.”

  Half of C Company was chosen, and when Waco saw that his platoon was not going, he cursed. “We all should go up that hill,” he said bitterly. But he was almost alone in his eagerness to make the charge.

  Clay stood beside his son and Bob Yancy, watching the men form up, and Lowell said, “I wish Dent wasn’t going up there.”

  “I’d guess he volunteered for it, Lowell,” Clay said slowly. He didn’t like the decision, believing that it was a useless charge. The Federal line was pulling back all along the stream, and the unit holding the hill would join them, given time. Benton was stubborn and proud—and he was going to put the lives of five hundred men on the line.

  Benton rode out on his horse, waved his saber, and cried out, “Come on, you Richmond Grays!” As he turned and his horse moved up the hill, the company began to run.

  “Benton’s a fool!” Waco said, biting his words off. “He’s the man on the horse. Every Yankee in that bunch will be trying to put him down!”

  And he was correct, for before the men had gone fifty yards, a bullet struck Colonel Benton’s horse. The animal went down, pinning Benton’s leg, but he cried out to Dent Rocklin, who came running to help, “Never mind me, Rocklin! Take the men up!”

  A fire was in Dent’s blood, and he yelled, “Come on!” He ran up the hill shouting and was aware that the fire from the Yankees had slackened. Perhaps there were fewer of them; perhaps they were low on ammunition—whatever the reason, the lull allowed Dent and his men to push forward. Now they were halfway, then close enough to see the faces of the enemy. There were not as many as Dent had feared, but looking around, he saw that not many of his men had made it. Some were down on the ground, lying still; others were running back down the hill. Only a few men were with him, but Dent saw that if they tried to run back, they’d be shot down.

  He leaped ahead, crying out, “Come on, Grays!”

  His breath was ragged, and his chest felt as though it were on fire. Then, suddenly, a young Union soldier was in front of him, swinging a rifle. Dent lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger. The slug struck the soldier in the body, and he grunted, then fell to the ground. At once another soldier came at him from the right, his bayonet aimed at Dent’s belly. Dent turned sideways, letting the blade go by, and shot the soldier in the chest. The man dropped his rifle, stared at Dent reproachfully as if he’d done something terribly wrong—then sat down, staring at the ground.

  “Come on, men!” Dent yelled. “We can hold this spot!” It was bad, he saw, but they had broken the line in the right place. The gray line of Confederates was convoluted, twisted and strung out to his right and to his left, but if he could get them together, they could make a stand. Men began crowding in, and he screamed, “Reload! Reload!”

  Back down the hill, Captain Dewitt saw what was happening. He had watched the charge fall to pieces and knew that there was nothing he could do. Colonel Benton had scurried back to safety and stood there now, shocked and horrified by the sight of his men being cut down as though by a giant scythe.

  “We’ve got to go help them,” Taylor said.

  “No!” Benton cried out. “It’ll be suicide! Look at how many men we’ve lost!”

  They were standing not ten feet away from where Clay and Waco were waiting. Clay was sickened over the slaughter. Then Lowell, who had the best eyes in the company, said, “Look! Dent’s making a stand!”

  “Can you see that far?” Waco demanded. “What’s happening?”

  “Dent’s got a few men together, but they’re going to get swallowed! We’ve got to help!”

  Clay looked around and saw that some of the officers’ horses had been brought up from the rear. He whirled and ran for them. When he reached them, he discovered that Waco, Lowell, and Bob Yancy had followed. Bob grinned at him, his greenish eyes alive with excitement. “I do believe we’re about to join the cavalry, Clay!” he yelped. He reached out for the reins of one of the mounts, and the horse-holder, a skinny young man with a sunburned face, cried out, “Hey! You can’t take these horses!”

  Clay brushed him aside and swung into the saddle. Lowell and Waco had each grabbed a horse and were waiting for him.

  “I’m going to get those boys!” Clay said, then drove his heels into the sides of the horse. The animal shot off like a rocket. The four of them hit the open, and Taylor Dewitt and Colonel Benton stared at them. Taylor said, “Colonel, if we don’t support them, you’ll never get a vote from me or my folks.”

  Benton glared at him, then shouted, “The devil with your votes, Taylor! Let’s go, men!”

  Dewitt’s stubbornness and Benton’s decision probably saved Clay and the others, for the brigade moved up the hill, firing as they ran, and the volley shook the defenders so badly that they dodged and were unable to hit the four horsemen.

  Dent heard one of the Union soldiers scream, “Look out, you fellers! Them Rebels is coming! It’s a cavalry charge!” Looking over his shoulder, Dent saw the movement of the gray line that had left the trees and was sweeping up the slope. He saw the horsemen, too, and could not understand who it could be. “Keep at ‘em, boys!” he yelled and stopped to reload his revolver.

  But even as he looked down, he heard one of his men scream, “Look out, Lieutenant!” A shadow fell over him, and he saw the bulk of a horse that was headed for him. He saw the uplifted saber, too, and the grim face of the Yankee captain who held it. Frantically he threw himself to one side, throwing up his pistol to fire, but he was too late. The falling saber struck his forearm, slicing into the flesh, and the gun fell from his nerveless fingers. There was no pain, just a numbness, and he stepped back, but the sun blinded his eyes. He saw the flash of the sun on the saber and tried to duck, but the blade fell inexorably, catching him on the left side of his face. He felt the blade grate against bone, and the blood spurted into his eyes, blinding him. He fell to h
is knees, waiting for the next blow—the one that would kill him—and was filled with a great regret.

  He felt no fear—rather, he thought of all he would lose. In that one moment he thought of Gracefield, of Deborah Steele, and most clearly of all, he saw the still features of Raimey Reed. By the Lord! he thought in anguish. I hate to lose it all!

  But the blow never came. Instead there was a commotion over him, and he heard a voice cry out. Then hands were on him, holding him up, and a voice was crying out, “Dent! My boy! My boy!”

  Clay had driven the horse at top speed, and when he crashed into the midst of the Yankee line, he instantly saw the Yankee captain charging down on Dent. Clay’s musket was empty, but the bayonet was in place, and he drove the horse forward, thrusting the bayonet into the officer’s side. The man cried out and fell to the ground, and Clay, heedless of the fierce fight going on all around him, fell to his knees beside his son, lifting his head. He was weeping, thinking he was holding a dead son—then Waco’s voice broke through. “Clay, we got to get that arm tied up ‘fore he bleeds to death!”

  The Texan shouldered Clay to one side and in a moment had taken off his neckerchief and whipped it around Dent’s arm. “That’s a bad cut,” Waco said, “but the face looks worse! Here, let’s get some of this blood away so we can see what it looks like—”

  The firing had died down, and Lowell came to stand over the wounded man. As Waco wiped the blood away, Lowell grew sick, for the saber had left an awful wound. It started at the skull over Dent’s left temple, and Lowell could see the whiteness of bone in the gaping crevice of flesh.

  “May have got his eye,” Waco said doubtfully. “Let’s put a bandage on this and get him to the surgeons. That’s got to be sewed up fast!”

  The four men improvised a stretcher out of saplings, used the coats from dead soldiers to form a base, then made their way back to the field hospital. It was over a mile, and they were all gasping when they got there. The ground was covered with wounded men, but Dr. Carter came to them. “What is it? Put him down over here.”