They would cross almost fifty yards in the open before they reached the house. Wolf would have to hobble. His men would beat him there, but he would be with them when they charged inside. With a short nod, Wilhelm’s men ran through the cool early summer dew.
Staying low, his men followed across the open ground. The man in the field kept his head down, digging away, oblivious to the raiders racing for the home of his masters. Wolf fell behind his men, but he stayed with them as best he could.
When he reached the side of the home, Nelson and Adams lined along the side of the door while Roberts and Shugart assembled on the left. Each man held a pistol in his gloved hands. Their chests heaved despite the short run.
Wolf joined them along the wall. Nelson peered through the window. The stone-faced man gave him a curt shake of his head. No one awake. Very good. Nothing fancy. Bust the door. Charge inside. Round them up. Take the woman. Be on their way.
Wolf counted down on his fingers for the giant trooper. Best to use a man who likes the destruction to do his part. Three, two, one… He clenched his hand into a fist.
With a snarl, Nelson spun on the mansion door and laid a heavy boot into the doorjamb. The frame crumbled beneath his weight, and he took a step back as the other men raced inside.
Roberts ducked through the door followed by Adams then Wolf. Each man went a different direction, pointing his pistol. A few seconds later they could hear the back door cracking under Dan’s shoulder.
The heavy footsteps of Wilhelm’s men pounded out as they rushed inside. Shouts of alarm came from the upstairs. Wolf hooked into the kitchen with his pistol aimed in front of him. A slave emerged from her quarters attached to the kitchen.
Her head was wrapped in a turban-style cloth and her dress, made of a rough-spun cotton blend, was a checkered orangish brown. Her eyes lit up when she saw Wolf’s with his pistol pointed at her.
“Shhhh!” he held a finger to his mouth. She sucked in short breaths but was too terrified to take in enough air. “We aren’t going to hurt ya.” His men quickly covered all parts of the lower level. He grabbed the woman by her arm, forcing her into the parlor.
“Wait here,” Wolf hissed.
An older gentleman’s voice echoed down the stairwell. “Who goes there?”
Wolf’s men hid behind corners, waiting to ambush him. The voice turned into a man, and he ambled down the stairs from the second floor, holding a shotgun in his hands. He squinted around the room for an intruder.
“Freida? What’s going on?” the older man called out.
Wolf eyed the slave girl. She trembled behind Nelson, too scared to cry out. Wolf held a hand to his lips. His eyes leapt back to Nelson. The big trooper gave him a cutthroat signal running a hand across his neck. Wolf shook his head no and holstered his pistol. Nelson’s eyes flashed otherwise.
“Colonel, sir?” Wolf said, stepping out. His boots echoed off the polished wood floor. Go too fast he might shoot you. He tried to put on a calm friendly demeanor, masking his anxiety over potentially taking buck and ball to the chest.
The elder white-haired Colonel Fontaine narrowed his eyes, traversing the last few steps with his shotgun held loosely to his shoulder. “Do I know you, boy? Why are you in my home?” He looked past Wolf and into the kitchen, his words taking on a more authoritative voice. “Frieda? Did you let this man in?”
With a loud thump, Nelson pistol-whipped him from behind. The colonel gasped and collapsed on the wood floors; his body rolled still. Roberts snatched his shotgun. Wolf motioned to his men, and four of them hustled up the stairs.
Women’s screams echoed through the hallways and down the stairwell. Wolf grabbed the colonel by the collar and dragged him into the parlor.
“Set a fire,” he ordered the slave girl. He propped the old man in a chair and searched a nearby desk. He found a decanter of whiskey and poured himself some while he waited. The women’s screams pierced his ears, and he cocked his head, letting the alcohol scream down his throat. “Fine whiskey, Colonel,” Wolf said in tribute to the passed-out man slumped in his own chair.
Four women and two children were manhandled into the parlor from the upstairs. Three of them ran to the unconscious colonel, tending him, waving their hands to cool him, and tapping his cheeks trying to resurrect him. “What have you done?” cried his wife.
“He’ll be fine, just a headache.”
The last woman stood defiantly, eyeing Wolf and all his men. Her dark brown hair hung around her shoulders. Her mouth held average lips, and her nose was more round than sharp. Her eyes contained honest anger. A light green wrapper was draped around her, hanging down to her bare feet. Her form was slender, bordering on shapelessness.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” she demanded, rocking an infant in her arms.
Wolf met her eyes. “We’re here to take you into our custody.”
“Your custody?”
Adams and Nelson laughed. Her eyes speared them, but the troopers couldn’t care less.
Wolf handed the decanter to Roberts, who grinned from ear to ear and took a swig. He raised his eyebrows and nodded in satisfaction. “The good stuff.” Appreciating the fine alcohol, he emptied the bottle into his canteen.
Wolf’s bad leg thumped the floor as he got closer to her. “Yes, ma’am, that is one way to put it.”
Her hands gripped her babe tighter with every step he took. “Do you know who I am?”
Thump. Thump. “I do. You’re the wife of Jeb Stuart. Flora, I believe, if my man Hogan is correct.”
“I am correct,” Hogan said with a smile.
Flora snorted and shook her head. “So you’re a Union dog. The North’s depravity goes even further than I could imagine. Do you know who my father is? I assure you, you wouldn’t be here if you did.”
Wolf cocked his head. “Can’t say I do.”
“General Philip St. George Cooke.”
“Sounds familiar, but I don’t know him.”
Hogan leaned in, whispering. “He be the one in the cavalry manuals. Union general.”
“Her father is a goddamn Union general?” Wolf asked with an angry glare for the agent.
“That he is. Out of the field now.” Hogan chuckled a bit, inspecting his nails. “I believe he sits on a board for court-martials among other administrative functions.”
“He sits on a board for court-martials? Dear God.” He had no doubt who would be sitting on the board if he failed or if something ill befell his daughter while in his custody. Any way it played out, he expected to hang.
“Nothing like a bit of incentive to succeed.”
“Aren’t we up a spout.” Those generals had tricked him into doing their dirty work, hadn’t they? It hadn’t seemed he had much of a choice in the matter. Now he was up a creek in a leaky overburdened canoe with a dozen men caught in a crossfire between Confederate and Union sharpshooters. Hell, throw in a few Parrott guns to use them for target practice.
“I believe Sheridan has the paperwork already signed to release you of any incrimination if you succeed.”
“But if we fail, I’ll surely hang.” He got closer to Hogan, pointing at Flora. “If something happens to her, we hang. There are no orders. It will look as if we’re rogue bandits.”
“For you, yes. The rules are slightly more relaxed for someone in my position.”
“So we’re just a bunch of Jonah’s getting damned to hell.”
“Desperate men, desperate times.”
“Excuse me,” Flora interrupted. “What do you intend to do with us?”
Hogan leaned back in near Wolf. “You really have no choice but to succeed. Perhaps more caution was due with the prisoners now that this has all been brought to light.”
Wolf shook his head in anger. “I suppose not, huh, but I’d rather hang than see those men imprisoned.”
Hogan grinned. “A brave raid indeed.”
Wolf thought about punching the Irishman straight in his lying mouth. The man hadn’t lied but deceived h
im of all-important information that may as well have been spitting in his face. What else might the man know that he held in reserve?
“Gentleman,” Flora said louder.
They both turned. “What?”
“What are you going to do with us?”
Wolf sighed, his angry eyes leaving Hogan and focusing on her. His words boomed into the silence. “We’re going to kidnap you, ma’am.”
Her jaw dropped as if he’d smacked her across the face. She was too shocked to say anything before she uttered, “You are wretched men not even worthy of my scorn.”
Wolf ignored her biting words. He’d expected anger, but hardly such a viper’s tongue. “Roberts let her change into something a bit more suitable for riding.”
This brought on another round of sobs from the children and women, but they did not resist. She handed her babe to one of Fontaine’s daughters and kissed her boy atop his head. She forcibly removed his hands clutching her dress. “It’s okay, little Jeb,” she whispered. She brought herself in front of Wolf. “Take me if you must, but do not harm these people. I command it.”
Wolf raised a hand. “I don’t suppose you have much of a say in this.” He locked eyes with her. Her brown eyes held fire and brimstone. His blue eyes drowned out the flames like a tidal wave of water.
Flora’s voice came out with enough conviction Wolf almost believed her. “I will fight you every step of the way. I will call out every chance I get.”
“We’ll gag you.”
She sighed heavily. “Give me your word on as a man, however cheap that may be. You will spare these people. They’ve done nothing wrong.”
“They will not be harmed,” Wolf said. He turned to Adams. “When they return, we burn this house.”
Adams pursed his lips considering the orders. “With them inside?”
“No, get them outside,” Wolf said with a scowl.
Flora’s voice demanded to be heard. “Jeb will hunt you down like the dogs you are and have you killed.”
“He’s welcome to try ma’am, but we’re hard men to kill. Roberts,” Wolf said, ushering his friend toward the stairs.
She held her ground, and her chin shook in defiance. “Even better. He loves a challenge.”
“Get her out of here,” he growled.
Roberts and Flora disappeared out of the room to the second floor. Wolf stuck a hand in his black coat and removed a letter. He handed it to Fontaine, who was waking up with hazy eyes. “Colonel, when we leave here, you go on to the nearest telegraph office and send this message to Stuart? Do you understand?”
“Bah, you renegades. How dare you come into my home like this,” Fontaine said, his voice shaking. “You are no better than thieves and criminals.”
Wolf grabbed the elder colonel by his pristine uniform coat. “I said, do you understand? Do not push me. I hold your family.”
Fontaine’s mouth opened and closed, and his nostrils spurt hot air. “I understand.” He blinked and gained an ounce more of courage. “You’ll hang for this.”
“I assure you you’re not the only person who wants me in a noose.” Perhaps his men would be spared by the Union high command for only following their commander’s orders. Most likely they would hang alongside him on the gallows as war criminals. One thing was certain. If they failed, they would die by noose or bullet.
“Best get your family out of this house,” Wolf said. “You have only until my horse gets here.” More wailing came from the women and children, but Fontaine read the razor glint in his eyes and hurried them outside.
Wolf followed his men to the outdoors. He waved over his head at the distant trees and the two rookie troopers led their horses onto the lane leading to the mansion.
Steel scraped flint, emitting sparks on a rag-wrapped stick. The flicker grew into a flame and the torch glowed yellow in the dewy morning air. Adams awaited his command to burn the house.
Flora emerged from the front door Roberts in tow. Her riding dress was white, gray, and black checkered with flowery white lace around the collar. Her hair was split down the middle and arranged into a bun on the rear of her head as was the style for the time. She sported white gloves and black knee-high riding boots.
“I trust you are ready to ride,” Wolf said.
“I am what I must be,” she retorted.
“Torch the place.” Adams gave a wide smile, marching forward. He broke windows and stuck the torch inside. Fire scrambled up the curtains. Flames quickly engulfed the house.
“You’d think he’d done that before,” Roberts said.
“Pretty sure he has.”
The blaze roared around the house. The family wailed as their lives disappeared into a thick black smoke. The plantations slaves had all emerged from their shanty homes. They too watched the structure burn. It was hard to read them as they showed neither joy nor despair, just a regular indifference to it all.
His sharpshooters rounded the house with a horse for Flora. In the distance, the rest of the plantation’s horses galloped down the road.
Wolf hobbled over to Flora and offered her his hand. “My lady.”
Her face twisted in disgust, but she took his hand. He seized it in an iron grip.
“Hey!” she shouted.
He quickly wrapped a rope around her wrists.
“How dare you touch me like that!”
“For your own good.”
“I cannot mount like this,” she said.
He gripped her by the hips and lifted her atop her horse. “There.” Turning back to his men, he said. “Mount up!”
It was time to run.
Chapter Twenty
Mid-morning, May 9, 1864
East of Laurel Hill, Shady Grove Church, Virginia
J. E. B. Stuart’s general staff stood inside the tiny single room of Shady Grove Methodist Church near the town of Spotsylvania. It had been founded almost twenty years earlier and most likely had never seen so many men, never as many men in uniform, perhaps never a man as distraught as the one before them.
The man before Wade Hampton was in shambles. Stress surrounded his eyes and mouth like heavy bags of grain. His lips quivered beneath a bushy well-formed beard. His shirt was untucked underneath his dirty gray uniform, and his plumed hat lay tossed in a short-backed pew. He began to pace, his arms folded over his proud chest.
“Sir, I beg of you. The battle is here. We protect Lee’s flanks. We bleed Grant day after day here, but we must not let them flank us. Even now Hancock searches for a way around.”
A finger pointed at him, shaking fiercely. “Do you not understand what I told you? She’s gone.”
Hampton eyed the pulpit and the plain wooden cross behind it. The telegram had come from a reputable source, but its contents were no less disturbing than if it had been an evil jest. Stuart’s wife Flora had been taken by a band of renegades. His words came slow and assured. “I understand what you’ve told me. It is dire news.”
Stuart wiped his cheek, glaring. “Union cavalry is departing their lines en masse.” He shook his head. “This sequence of events is no coincidence. They smell rotten, my dear friend.” His lip quivered in anger.
“Marse Robert wants you to intercept Sheridan?”
“I want to kill Sheridan if he is behind such treachery!”
“What did he say?”
“I am to pursue as I see fit. Defend Richmond if need be. But how can he ask that when my wife, bless her fragile soul, is missing!”
“But the battle is here, sir. This is where we fight it. We bleed them enough through this wilderness, they will yield to our cause.”
Stuart shook his head, not listening to Hampton’s protest. “No, I must get her back. What kind of man am I if I cannot even protect my own family?” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “You have a family. Can you imagine? What if Mary were taken? Would you not make every effort to secure her?”
The man begged to be assured he was making the right move.
“I would on my honor.�
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“Then you understand my reputation is at stake here.”
Hampton pointed out a window that ran along most of the church wall. “But we are fighting for something larger than our personal honor.”
Stuart’s mouth stood agape. “There is nothing greater than a man’s personal honor. Without it, we are mere beasts, apes, soulless creatures.”
“And with that comes causes higher than oneself. Liberty. Justice. Freedom. Surely those things mean more than a single man’s honor?”
Stuart’s face twisted, his mouth forming a snarl. “How dare you? It is my wife for Christ’s sake.”
Hampton stood his ground, keeping his cool. “We bleed the Army of the Potomac and check Meade’s every move.”
“Grant.”
“Whoever leads that godforsaken inept horde. This war will end. The North doesn’t want or need this war. They are tired of this war. They want a way out. Lincoln knows it. Lee knows it. Grant knows it. Even that curmudgeon Meade knows it. If we deny him Richmond and make him pay for every inch of Southern soil, we will win the war.”
Stuart shook his head. “War is honor. I will not have mine befouled before my eyes. But I wouldn’t expect a businessman such as yourself to understand the marital ways.” His words stung his subordinate.
Generals Pierce and Fitz Lee regarded Hampton. They’d been quiet as the two juggernauts battled over strategy, and now the contest had grown even more personal.
Grinding his teeth, Hampton stood a bit taller. It was something he liked to do when a man threatened his honor. He was like a bear standing on his back legs and loomed over his opponents or friends.
He was more than capable, an outstanding commander in his own right having come into his own during the war. Stuart was right about one thing; Hampton was a businessman. But the warrior’s blood ran in his veins. He was the third of his name. The third to take up arms in the defense of his nation from overzealous and tyrannical governments both foreign and now domestic.
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