by Ward, Marsha
When he had a second to catch his breath, Rulon wondered how the brigades encamped around Stuart’s headquarters had been caught with their pants down. Then he had no more time for thought, as another foeman rode toward him.
Then the Yankees began to retreat, their bugles calling them back from the field. Rulon engaged one last holdout, then the man turned and galloped off.
Rulon pulled his horse around in response to his own regiment’s bugles, his heart still racing with the effects of the chaos and excitement, and saw Garth Von dismount and slit the throat of a downed Yankee officer. Von looked about, lifted the man’s head by his hair, and with his bloody blade, carved a circle around the top of the Yankee’s head, then sliced the scalp from the man’s cranium.
Rulon fought back the urge to vomit, but Von wasn’t finished.
He stuffed the ghastly prize into his saddlebag, then slit the officer’s trousers up the front. He let out a keening yell of triumph, then mutilated the man’s crotch. Lifting the remains, he ran to his horse and mounted.
Rulon lost his battle against nausea. Retching, he kicked his horse away from the scene, back toward the regiment, putting a fair amount of distance between himself and the man he had thought of as merely crazy. Ren’s assessment had been correct. Von was evil.
~~~
Rulon — late June through early July, 1863
After the sickening events at Brandy Station, Rulon kept as far as he could from Garth Von as the regiment rested in camp at Rixeyville. He invited Owen Leoyd to join him for an entertainment.
“Come on, Leoyd. Company ‘B’ is putting on a race.”
“They ought not to wear out the horses,” Leoyd said, his face set in solemn lines.
“Oh, these critters have plenty of go in them.”
“Critters? Where did they get racing hounds?”
“Not hounds. Come on. You’ll see.”
Rulon led the way to where the men of Company “B” had gathered in a flat area. A small patch of tent canvas lay on the ground, with the men shouting encouragement.
“What are they yelling about?” Leoyd asked.
Rulon dragged him into the circle. Several tiny dark objects scurried across the canvas, guided by splinters of wood held by the men closest to the fray.
“Fleas? They’re racing fleas?” Leoyd scoffed at the sight, and would have turned away but for Rulon’s hand on his sleeve.
“Don’t matter what they’re doin’. At least we’re away from Von.”
At that, Leoyd sat right down on the ground and observed.
Within days, the army was on the move, sending out pickets to warn of the approach of the enemy. They found them near Aldie, and the 1st held the road, fighting dismounted from behind stone walls.
After the skirmish, the 1st was on picket at Mountsville, but had to battle to keep the position. This continued until General Fitz Lee took command of his brigade again.
“We’re heading east,” Ren told the squadron. “General Bobbie Lee took the infantry boys over the river into Maryland. We’re to do damage behind the lines.”
The cavalry brigades destroyed canal boats, captured wagons and supplies, burned bridges and tore up railroad tracks as they advanced into Maryland and Pennsylvania. They skirmished in Westminster, and fought their way out of an encounter with overpowering numbers at Hanover.
“Stuart’s lost, ain’t he.” Rulon observed to Ren when they reached Dover, Pennsylvania at daylight after riding through the night. “I don’t see any sign of Early’s army.”
“Maybe so, but I see plentiful forage hereabouts.”
“I hope Stuart lets us find provisions,” Rulon said. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
“They don’t like us here.”
“We don’t like them in Virginia, either. It’s time the Yankees learned that turn-about is fair.”
After filling their bellies, they were on the march again by night.
“Jeb heard that Dick Ewell’s in Carlisle,” Ren said.
Rulon only groaned in reply. He’d managed to keep himself on his horse, but several men had gone to sleep and fallen from theirs.
Stuart sent Fitz Lee’s brigade to lead the advance on the town, but it was full of Pennsylvania militiamen who refused to surrender.
Garth Von muttered, “Burn the Yankees out,” and after a second attempt to convince the militia to surrender, Lee proceeded to bombard the town with his horse artillery.
A courier came with orders for the 1st to burn the Carlisle Barracks, then join the rest of the cavalry on the way to Gettysburg.
“Gettysburg?” Owen Leoyd asked. “What’s going on there?”
“Jeb found Bobbie Lee,” Ren replied. “Bobbie Lee found Meade. I reckon it’s going to be a big fight.”
~~~
Rulon — July 3, 1863
Rulon crouched in a farmer’s field behind a fence, trying not to yawn. It was a good thing General Stuart had ordered the 1st Virginia to get into this fight dismounted. He didn’t think his horse could take another step, much less gallop into a fray. He squelched another yawn behind his hand. His brigade hadn’t arrived until the wee hours this morning after riding long miles from Carlisle, and here it was after noon. He’d not slept since arriving. Who could, with the Yankees flinging shell and shot at the Confederate cavalry for the last hour? They had stopped the ruckus only a few minutes ago. The air lay flat and calm around him, without a human sound to interrupt the flow of nature.
Ren coughed at his side. “Get ready,” he said.
“I am ready,” Rulon replied, a bit irritated by the wait. “Were those boys using Spencer rifles?”
“Yes, and the next brigade probably has them, too.” Ren dug in his cartridge box. “Damn Yankee repeaters.”
Then the bugle sounded, and Rulon was up and over the fence, yelling as he fired, reloading on the run, trying to beat back the Federal skirmishers in his path so the cavalry could take yonder intersection and sweep around the Yankee flank to their rear.
A barrage of cannon fire began and Rulon tripped and fell flat. The sound was wrong. It came from behind and to the left, and it was distant. It shook the earth beneath his belly, however, rolling thunder replacing the calm of moments before.
Rulon got to his feet and continued across the field, the 1st driving the Yankees down and across another fence line. But now, he heard screams of “Come on, you Wolverines!” The Yankees pushed back. Hampton’s brigade came up from behind on horseback, and the 1st was signaled to withdraw and let the mounted troops take over the fight.
What a furious affair! Men fought with carbines, pistols, sabres, all the while screaming invective at each other. As he backed out of the battle, Rulon saw horses collide along the fence with a crash so hurtful that he imagined bones snapped. One horse went end over end and the rider screamed in agony as he was pinned by half a ton of horseflesh.
Now the Yankees were on three sides of them, and Hampton bled from a sabre cut. Frantic bugle calls summoned the men to withdraw, and so they did. No one came after them. The Yankees must have had enough, too.
~~~
Ella Ruth — November 16, 1863
Christmas was coming in about a month, despite the war dragging on and on. Ella Ruth sat down after a long stint helping her Uncle Joseph with a wounded soldier, arching her aching back in an attempt to work the kinks out. If she was going to send a gift to Ben, it would have to be done soon or he would never receive it in time.
She knew he had survived that awful fight in Pennsylvania last summer. Thank the Good Lord he wasn’t in General Pickett’s division. Since July she had received a few letters from Ben, and the last note said he was somewhere in Orange County, below the Rapidan.
“Miss Allen,” Uncle Joseph called to her. “I need your assistance.”
With a sigh, Ella Ruth went back to work in the surgery room. What could she send to Ben?
Her answer came several days later as she read a letter to a young man whose ban
dages on a head wound made it impossible for him to see. His wife talked about a likeness she had sent to the soldier, and after she read that part, she glanced up to see him fumbling in his pocket to be sure he had the cherished item.
“Ain’t she the most comely woman you ever saw?” he asked, moving the likeness where Ella Ruth could view it. She hoped he could not see her widened eyes at the sight of a very homely creature, but she made polite sounds and went back to reading.
Something about the man’s devotion to his wife stirred Ella Ruth’s heart. No matter what the girl’s appearance, the remembrance she had sent was important to him.
Would Ben take such pride in my portrait? she wondered. A soft emotion swelling in her breast told her that he would. That was settled, then. She would take her pearl earrings to the photographer’s studio to barter for a likeness of herself for Ben’s Christmas gift.
Chapter 23
Rulon — May 13, 1864
Dear Wife of my very soul
We had a skirmish two days ago that causes my heart to quail within me as I think on it. Our Cause has lost its noble Cavalier to mortal wounds. Oh my love, JEB Stuart is gone. I am as desolate as tho another of my brothers has died. We all feel as low as can be. There is no one to take his Place. The spirit of every man in the Cavalry is broken to peaces.
My heart hangs heavy in my bosom today. We are in camp. It has been silent as a toomb. A short while ago, I listened as a comrade began playin’ the tune “Lorena” on his banjo, and another fellow started in singin’ the words. My dear Mary, I about fell to weepin’ for the melancholy of the sound.
My sweet Sugar, I am so lonely for you and the brillunce of yor smile. I yearn to feel yor dear love encircling me to comfort my body and soul.
These days have been long and burdensome. Besides our Great Cavalier, many of our comrades have fallen. Mary, my love, I long for the day when this war will end and I can return to yor sweet embrace.
Rulon
~~~
Julia — May 16, 1864
Julia heard an insistent thumping on the front door, and ran to answer it, her heart in her throat. Are the Yankees back? To her immense relief, a Confederate officer and several infantrymen stood outside.
“Yes?” She looked at the man’s uniform. He appeared to be a lieutenant.
“Am I addressing Mrs. Owen?” he asked.
Julia raised her chin a fraction. His manner was too brusque for her taste. “You are. What is wanted?”
The lieutenant consulted a paper in his hand, then looked up. “Do you have a son, James Owen, living here?”
Julia nodded, very slowly, her throat so constricted that she had no voice.
“I have papers for his conscription.”
She cleared her throat and inhaled. “He’s the man of the house now.”
He glanced at the paper, then back at her. “That may be, ma’am, but his country needs him in the army.”
“I’ve sent four sons and a husband, and one gave his life defending his country. Isn’t that enough?”
The man’s eyes softened, but he straightened his shoulders. “No, ma’am. The Yankees are in the Valley again. We need your son.”
A chill swept through her. “How long does he have before you collect him?”
“No time, ma’am. I’m to bring him with me.”
She sucked in her breath. “Y’all can wait here. I’ll gather his necessaries.” She half turned away, then stopped. “You won’t be needing my twelve-year-old, will you?” She turned back to hear the man’s answer.
“No ma’am. Not today.” His gaze fixed on hers, and a bit of dizziness swept through her.
How long will this warring last? Will it come down to sending Clay and Albert to the front?
She closed the door, ran through the parlor into the kitchen and opened the back door. She saw Albert hoeing weeds in the kitchen garden.
“Albert!” she called, her voice sounding as rough as though she gargled vinegar.
The boy paused at his work and looked up.
“Go fetch James. Give him a tight hug, while you’re at it.”
“Ma?”
“He’s been drafted.” Her voice broke.
Albert gave her a horrified look, dropped his hoe, and sprinted off into the fields.
Julia held back her tears and went up the stairs to put together a bundle for James.
~~~
Ben — May 19, 1864
May 19 or 20 1864
My beautiful Friend,
I know not what the day is. We have come through such a terrible fight. If you have heard reports of “The Bloody Angle” in the newspaper, I was there. I saw many of my comrades reduced to lifeless corpses by forces that overcame our best made brestwerks. I must tell the truth that I was scared more than at any other time of my life. In the rain our weapons would not fire. Only by the grace of the Great God am I alive to rite to you. The fact is, the Stonewall Brigade is no more. we are so reduced in numbers that a small Brigade has been patched together from the leavings of the 33d and two or three others, Colonel Terry of the 4th Va, commanding.
My sweet heart, we are somewhere near what I think is the North Anna river. Mercifully, Grant’s forces withdrew so that we could quit the vicinity of Spottsylvania, and before that, the wilderness.
I suffered a wound of no consicuence, which I will beg of you to kiss into wholeness when I return to the Valley. Before that may occur, you must agree to marry me. I beg this boon of you, sweet Ella Ruth. I can no longer go without a promise from you that you will be my own bride. I look at yor likeness ten times a day unless we are marching or fighting. It has a place of honor in my pock’t over my heart. Each night I kiss the representation of yor lips in hopes that you will feel a ghost of mine upon yors. I beg again that you will give me yor heart and hand.
I close with a prayr that you are well and have enouf to eat and cloths to warm you. I kno what privation is. My heart fails me to think you may as well.
Accept a kiss and my everlasting love.
Yor Benj’n
~~~
Mary — May 30, 1864
Mary read Rulon’s brief letter again. I wish I could be there to comfort him, she thought. He does sound very low. What can I do to brighten his spirits?
A customer came into the store, sniffed at the scarcity of goods on the shelves, asked for eggs—of which Mary had none at that moment—and settled upon purchasing a jar of pickles that Mrs. Moore, the minister’s wife, had exchanged for goods the previous week.
Mrs. Bingham and her three daughters brought in several loaves of fresh bread. The baker’s wife traded for groceries, such as there were, and left with two of her daughters in tow, each carrying parcels. The youngest, Jessie, lingered behind, cradling her two parcels in one arm.
Mary smiled at her, and spoke. “Did you forget something, Miss Jessie?”
The girl ran the fingers of her free hand along the edge of the counter. “I wondered... I was wondering if y’all had heard anything of James.”
“James Owen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mary almost giggled at being called ma’am. Most of the older matrons of Mount Jackson still called her Miss Mary, even after she’d been wed for three years with a little boy hugging her skirts. Instead, she put on a sober—but she hoped comforting—face and said, “We haven’t yet. He’s not been gone so long. I’m sure Mother Owen will bring word as soon as she receives a letter.” Mary now smiled at the girl, recognizing the faraway look in her eyes. I didn’t know she was interested in young James.
Jessie bent her head as though she made a curtsy, said, “Thank you, ma’am. You’re most kind,” and hurried out of the store.
Well, well. I hope the lad comes back, for Jessie’s sake.
Mary arranged the vegetable display so that it seemed to hold more items, then cleaned a dusting of flour from the counter. Foodstuffs were so dear nowadays. She couldn’t believe the cost of the peck of flour she had sold today. Of c
ourse the value of Confederate bills was inflated, but the war’s cost wasn’t only in lives lost.
As she sorted potatoes, she wondered how the Owen brothers were faring. She could only judge Ben’s welfare from the aspect of Miss Allen’s face whenever she dropped by the store, which wasn’t often. He never had cause to write to Mary, and Mother Owen didn’t impart news about him. She felt a twinge of sadness when she ran Peter’s name through her mental countdown. His loss was still sorely felt on the farm. Carl? Carl was with Mosby, whose men seemed to lead a charmed existence. She actually had no idea where James had gone. She supposed he was with the infantry somewhere in eastern Virginia.
Father Owen had come into the store once when his company moved down the valley. He’d latched onto Roddy right away, and left with great reluctance, she’d judged.
She knew about Rulon’s movements from his letters, and from the last one, he was well in body, but not doing well in his soul. She couldn’t help sighing. I must write something that will give him cheer, she thought. Perhaps it was time to quit being a shy sister and let him know exactly what she planned for their reunion—behind closed doors—when this war had been won. An unfamiliar yearning filled her, a stirring that had long been dormant.
Mary closed her eyes. Yes. The time had come. She breathed deeply. Then she opened her eyes, went into the back room, and sat at the table. Writing paper was precious, but she determined to use as much as the task required to take Rulon’s mind off his present sorrows.
~~~
Ella Ruth — June 17, 1864
Ella Ruth stood on the edge of the road and eagerly attacked the letter she had only just picked up from the Hilbrands’ store. Ben had written at last.
It began “My beautiful Friend.” She smiled. Ben had so many ways of telling her how closely connected he felt to her. Her skin tingled to know that he counted her as his friend.
From there on to the end of the paragraph, his tone became so somber she wanted to weep. She had devoured news from the battle front, and had indeed heard of the Bloody Angle, where so many valiant Southern men had lost their lives. She had not found his name on the casualty lists, thank the good God, but from his words, he suffered nevertheless from the indignities and slaughter the Yankees had heaped upon the men of Virginia on home soil.
