The Sword (10 page)

“I wish to devote one hundred dollars to the purchase of a comfortable log church near your place, because in all my observation I believe one is more needed in that neighborhood than any other I know of; and besides, ‘charity begins at home.’ Seventy-five of this one hundred dollars I have in trust for that purpose, and the remainder is my own contribution.”

Flora exclaimed, “Why, Jeb, I know your mother will be so
pleased. The church is so far she can’t go very often.”

“She mentioned that a few times to me.”

Flora stroked Little Flora’s silky hair. “And what church were you thinking about joining?”

Surprise washed across Jeb’s face. “Why, Flora, I want to belong to the same church as you and my mother. The Episcopal church.”

Joy flooded through Flora, for she’d spoken to Jeb’s mother, and they had written each other, both praying that Jeb would make a step just as this. “I have to write your mother and tell her.” Then she shook her head. “No, you put it in that letter that you’re going to join the Episcopal church. I know she will be so glad.”

“It wasn’t a hard decision. You know, I promised my mother when I was very young that I’d never touch a drop of liquor, and I never have and I never will. But I think there’s more to being a Christian than just not doing things that are evil. When I ride into battle, I’d like to know that if I get put down I’d be in the presence of the Lord.”

Flora held out her hand, and Jeb took it. “What a wonderful surprise you’ve given me, Jeb.” She hesitated then added, “And I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You do? What is it?”

“It’s about your son.” Flora laughed when she saw Jeb’s expression. This sentence seemed to amaze him completely.

Then he cried with delight, “You mean we’re going to have another child?”

“Yes we are, and I’m praying that God gives us a little Jeb to go along with Little Flora.”

Jeb came off of his chair and began pacing the floor. “Well, thank God above! Nothing could’ve pleased me better.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re a perfect mother, and I’m working hard to be a good father.”

Flora reached up and put her arm around his neck to pull him closer to her. His beard was scratchy, but she didn’t care. “I’m so happy, Jeb. You’re the best husband any woman could ever have. And you already are better than a good father. You’re a wonderful father.”

Jeb straightened up and said, “You know, it’s even more important now that I try to make some extra money. I think I’m going to go to the War Department.”

Jeb had been working on a simple mechanism that would allow a soldier to remove his saber from his belt instantly and replace it exactly the same way. At the present time, the removal of the saber was awkward and unwieldy.

He went on, “If I can get them to adopt this, we’ll make some money off of it. It’ll be good for the army, too.”

“Jeb, I think that’s wonderful. When will you take it to them?”

“I’m going to write up the proposal and draw diagrams. Then I’ll be ready to present it to them.”

“I bet they’ll buy it, too. You’re a resourceful man, Jeb Stuart.”

Summer had passed, but in October it seemed that it was almost as sweltering in Washington as it had been in August.

Jeb sat waiting in a large anteroom at the War Department. It had been with some trepidation that he’d asked the sergeant at the desk to deliver his message to General Stratton. That had been over an hour ago.

As Jeb waited, he noticed an odd escalation of activity in the War Department offices. Men hurried up and down the corridors, clutching papers, doors opened and slammed, and soldiers went into General Stratton’s office and then came back out, barely glancing at the bearded young officer from the 1st U.S. Cavalry waiting in his outer room.

And then General Stratton opened his door himself. Stratton was a lean, hungry-looking individual with hawklike features. He had the red eyes of a drinker. He was known to be a good officer, however. He called to Jeb, “Lieutenant Stuart, please come in.”

“Yes, General.” Springing to his feet, he went into the office. It wasn’t as ornate as he expected, although Jeb admitted to himself that he’d had little enough to do with generals.

Before he could say a word about his invention, Stratton said,
“I’ve got a duty for you, Lieutenant. I know you came here of your own doing, but there’s something you must do for me.”

“Certainly, General, you just name it.”

“I need for you to take a message personally to Robert E. Lee. You’re acquainted with Colonel Lee, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, sir, he was the commander at West Point when I was there.”

“A very serious matter has occurred. There’s been a rebellion led by a man named John Brown. Have you heard of him, Stuart?”

“Yes, sir. I even met him once. Old Osawatomie Brown. He was causing trouble in Kansas. He is always causing trouble.”

“That’s the man, all right. I’ve written this letter to order Colonel Lee to take charge of a force. Brown and his men have taken the arsenal at Harpers Ferry. They are trapped in the engine house, and they have hostages. We have sent ninety U.S. Marines ahead, because we have no army units close, only local militia. You might as well know what the orders are. Colonel Lee is to take command of all forces in Harpers Ferry and arrest John Brown and the other mutineers. The War Department has authorized him to use any means necessary to do so. Please hurry, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, General, I’ll leave immediately.”

Lieutenant Stuart arrived at Arlington, the Lees’ gracious white-columned mansion, just a few hours later. They visited only briefly, for Stuart’s message, and the orders he carried, were urgent. No train was available, but the War Department sent a locomotive to take Colonel Lee to Harpers Ferry. Jeb asked to go along as his aide, and Lee agreed. Just before they left, he telegraphed ahead for all action to stop until he was there.

The two men talked of old times at West Point. Lee was interested in Jeb’s career, news about the Indians, the Stuart family, every detail of Stuart’s life. Stuart remembered that Commander Lee had always been this way with the cadets.

The train arrived at Harpers Ferry, and they immediately left
the car. Lee was in civilian dress, a black suit, well-tailored and neatly pressed. He looked like a prosperous merchant on holiday. But he was a soldier and a leader, and he took charge immediately.

“What is the situation, Lieutenant Green?” he asked as soon as they arrived.

Lieutenant John Green, head of the militia, summed up the action briefly. He was a short young man, well built, with a thick, solid neck and a pair of steady gray eyes.

“Brown has raised a rebellion, and there are at least a dozen men dead, including the mayor of Harpers Ferry. We are pretty sure he has about thirty hostages. And sir, one of them is Colonel Lewis Washington.” He was George Washington’s great-grandnephew.

“Indeed?” Lee asked. “Do we know of the well-being of the hostages?”

“Sir, we don’t know, but we think that none of them have been harmed. Old John Brown has been communicating, somewhat, with us. He doesn’t seem to intend to harm his hostages. Not now, anyway.”

“Where are the mutineers now?”

“They’re in the engine house, Colonel.”

“Take us there, sir.”

“Yes, Colonel, this way.” Green led them to a solid brick structure about thirty feet by thirty feet.

The doors were stoutly battened. Lee considered it, then asked, “How many do you think are inside now?”

“Not too many, Colonel. Half a dozen, maybe.”

Lee nodded then turned away, his eyes sharp, his face intent. He looked up behind them, he looked around, and he studied the engine house itself for a long time. Then decisively he said, “Lieutenant Stuart, I want you to carry to the engine house a written demand for surrender. If the raiders refuse, a party of marines will rush the doors. We want to avoid killing them, so we’ll use bayonets only.”

Lee found a place where he could write and took some time to compose the message to Brown. He handed it to Stuart and said,
“Can you read this, Stuart?”

The dawn was breaking, but the light was still weak. Jeb narrowed his eyes, scanned the paper, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Stuart, you will go to the engine house and relay the terms to John Brown. If he refuses to surrender, wave your hat. That will be the signal for attack. Lieutenant Green, please pick twelve marines to make the attack and twelve marines to be held in reserve.”

The marines ran to the engine house and lined the walls in the front.

Jeb simply walked up to the door, banged on it, and called, “John Brown! Lieutenant Jeb Stuart here. Please come to the door.”

It cracked slightly, and a carbine, cocked, was shoved through and pointed right at Jeb’s belly. Behind it in the half-light, Jeb saw Old Osawatomie Brown.

Unconcernedly Jeb read:

Brown was silent as Jeb read the note, but as soon as Stuart finished, he began to talk. He made demands, he argued, he wanted this, and he demanded that.

From inside someone called, “Ask for Colonel Lee to amend his terms.”

And another voice shouted, “Never mind us! Fire!”

Robert E. Lee was standing at least forty feet away, by a masonry
pillar, but even at that distance he recognized the voice of Colonel Lewis Washington. “The old revolutionary blood does tell,” he said.

Finally Brown shouted, “Well, Lieutenant, I see we can’t agree. You have the numbers on me, but you know that we soldiers aren’t afraid of death. I would as leave die by bullet than on the gallows.”

“Is this your final answer, Mr. Brown?”

“Yes.”

Stuart stepped back and waved his hat.

The marines looked up at Colonel Lee, who raised his hand. The marines battered in the door and rushed in with Lieutenant Green.

Colonel Washington stepped up and said coolly, “Hello, Green.” The two men shook hands, and Washington pulled on a pair of green gloves. The sight of such finery was in odd contrast to his disheveled appearance.

Firing began, lasting for no more than three minutes. When it ended, a marine lay at the entrance of the engine house, clutching his abdomen. Old John Brown lay on the floor, unconscious from blows from the broad side of a marine’s sword.

Lieutenant Stuart went in just as the firing stopped and the raiders were captured. He reached down and snatched Old Brown’s bowie knife to keep as a souvenir.

During the night, some congressmen and several reporters had come to Harpers Ferry. The leading men of Virginia quizzed Brown, who refused to incriminate others. He was perfectly calm and made no attempt to try to defend himself.