The Sword (34 page)

Senator Monroe Collins and his wife suddenly were surrounded by crowds of frightened men who had thrown their weapons down. “The Rebels are coming!” was the cry. “The Black Horse, they’ll run us over! Save yourselves!”

Collins managed to get his buggy turned around, but on the bridge across Bull Run, it suddenly broke down and blocked the fleeing pack of soldiers. Men splashed through the creek. Behind them Rebel officers shouted orders: “Chase ’em, boys! Run ’em down!”

Jefferson Davis came to the battlefield and met General Thomas Jackson, who after this day was called “Stonewall.” Jackson was covered with dust, but his blue eyes flashed like summer lightning. “Sir, give me ten thousand men, and I can be in Washington tomorrow.”

Davis was ready, but his commanding officers disagreed. One said, “Sir, our men are weary. The Yankees will have a guard around Washington. We can’t march that far and then fight our way through.”

And so the battle ended as Jefferson Davis said, “We’ve come as far as we can. We’ve won the battle. The Yankees are whipped.”

But even as he spoke, he doubted. And again he prayed.

W
inter had come, and the armies went into winter quarters. Both North and South planned campaigns for the spring, but during the bitter cold months, they mostly just brooded at each other across the Potomac River.

The 1st Virginia Cavalry was quartered just south of Manassas. Sitting at a desk inside the farmhouse that he had rented for himself and his family, Jeb Stuart looked out the window. The sun falling on the white blanket caused the snow to glitter like tiny diamonds, and for a while he sat, enjoying the sight, but then he sighed and turned back to the figures on a paper he had before him. He continually pestered the commissary in Richmond for more supplies and equipment for his men.

But the Confederacy was poor. Stuart also felt the pinch of inflation, for the Northern blockade of the Southern states in the East was working all too well. The salary of a brigadier was very modest, and Jeb worried, because even the necessaries of life—food, clothing, and medicine—were getting harder and harder to come by. He was pleased that his brother, William Alexander Stuart, owner of the White Sulphur and the Salt Works, among
other enterprises, had voluntarily ensured Stuart’s life, making Flora the beneficiary.

He heard Flora singing softly, and he left his office and went to the bedroom. He found Flora bending over Little Flora, who was lying in their bed, pale and thin. “Is she any better, my dearest?”

Flora turned to him, fear in her eyes. “No, she isn’t. As a matter of fact, Jeb, I think she may be worse.”

“I’ll have the doctor come by and look at her again.”

“I wish you would. Still, it seems that the doctors can’t help her.”

Moving over to Flora, Jeb put his arm around her then reached down with his free hand and touched the child’s brow. “She’s burning up with fever,” he murmured. Although Jeb Stuart feared nothing on the field of battle, this was a fear that gnawed at him constantly.

They stood together looking down at the child who meant so much to them, and then Flora said, “I hope Jimmy won’t catch anything like this.”

When their son had been born, Jeb and Flora had been glad to name him after her father, Phillip St. George Cooke Stuart. But after the Confederacy had formed and Colonel Cooke had stayed with the Union, Jeb had staunchly refused to have his son bear Cooke’s name. They had changed it to James Ewell Brown Stuart Jr., and they called him Jimmy.

“We’ll pray, Flora. God’s will be done,” Jeb said, but his usually booming, jovial voice was quiet and sad.

The entire South had been jubilant over the victory at Bull Run, and the people were still living on that excitement. They had won the battle, but the cost had been high. The hospitals in Richmond were filled, and many wounded soldiers had been taken into private homes.

Jacob told Chantel, “I’ve been thinking, daughter, that it’s time for us to do something for God.”

“What is that, Grandpere? I thought we were doing something for God,” Chantel replied.

“We are, and I’m very proud of you. But I think we should start making regular visits at the hospital. I can get together some things to give the poor wounded men, perhaps, and you could help me give them out and talk to them.”

“They love candy, they do,” Chantel said. Sweets were hard to come by these lean days.

“We’ll take all we have, and this afternoon you and I will make our visits. Perhaps we could lead one of the wounded men to the Lord. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Yes, it would, Grandpere.”

The field hospitals, during the summer, had been mostly a series of large tents pitched just outside of Richmond. But when the winter had come, and the hospitals were full, one of the large warehouses had been taken and converted into a field hospital. Cots were lined against the walls, and every bed was filled. A large woodstove was burning, throwing off a great heat, but it reached only within a few feet of the great barn-like structure with the soaring roof. It was not enough to heat the whole building, and most of the wounded were under all the blankets that could be found for them.

“Why don’t you start over there with that row of men. I’ll take this one,” Jacob said. He smiled. “I know they’d rather see a pretty young woman than me, but tomorrow I will see them, and you can take this side. Try to encourage them all you can, child.”

Chantel, wearing her vivandiere uniform, was a little apprehensive, but her heart went out to the lines of men, many of them terribly wounded. She stopped at the first bed.

A young man looked up and asked, “Are you a soldier, miss?”

“Oh no, I’m a female sutler, a vivandiere. This is my uniform, though, for ma grandpere and I serve the army. Do you like candy?”

“Yes ma’am, I purely do.”

“Good. I like candy, too, me.” She reached into the paper sack, brought out a peppermint candy, and handed it to him.

Hungrily he popped it into his mouth. He was pale and
obviously had taken a severe wound in the shoulder. He sucked on the sweet and said, “I always loved sweets. Reminds me of home. My mama used to make taffy for me. Sure wish I had some taffy,” he said wistfully.

“Where is your home, soldier?”

“I come from Bald Knob, Arkansas.”

“That’s a funny name.”

“Yes. Everybody laughs at that, but that’s where I’m from.” He sucked on the candy thoughtfully. “Don’t guess I’ll ever see it again.”

“Perhaps you will,” Chantel said. “The good God may bless you and heal you.”

“Are you a Christian, ma’am?”

At that instant Chantel fervently wished she was a believer, but she knew she had to be honest. “No—no. I don’t understand this, me. I’m not like Grandpere and other people who know the Lord, so well, so easy.”

“Oh,” the young man murmured, obviously disheartened. “I don’t understand it too good, either.”

“Ma grandpere is a Christian, and I know he would like to talk to you. Would you let me get him?”

His white face and dull eyes brightened a little. “That would be good, miss. I’d like to talk to him.”

Chantel turned and walked across the aisle between the two rows of beds. “Grandpere,” she said, “the young man over there wants to know about the Lord. Will you come and talk to him?”

“Why, certainly I will. That’s why I’m here.” Jacob turned, and Chantel walked with him. “What’s your name, young man?” he asked.

“Clyde Simmons, sir. I come from Arkansas. Caught this”—he grimaced and motioned to the stained bandage across his abdomen—“in a skirmish just off the river last week. It’s not getting any better, and the doctors don’t say much. Kinda makes me think I may not make it.”

“None of us knows about that. I may go before you,” Jacob said
gently. “But the important thing is to be ready to go.”

“I know, sir. I’ve heard preachers, but it never took, it seemed like. Somehow just never seemed like the time.” He sighed deeply. “Seemed like I always thought there’d be more time.”

“One thing about God, though, son,” Jacob said firmly, “is that He always has time. It’s never too late to come to Him.”

Chantel brought a straight chair. “Sit down beside him, Grandpere. You’ll get tired. I’ll go visit some others, me, while you talk.”

She continued her progress, stopping at each bedside and handing out sweets, but she kept looking back, and once she saw that her grandfather’s face was lit up as he talked, he was so happy.

She turned another time and saw that her grandfather was motioning for her. She went to him, and he said, “Good news, daughter! Clyde here has confessed his sins, and he has asked Jesus to come into his heart. He’s a saved man now. I’m going to give him one of the gospels of John that we brought.” He took the small booklet out and handed it to Clyde Simmons, who took it and then said sadly, “I can’t read, sir.”

“Well, my granddaughter here will read to you, won’t you, Chantel?”

“Yes. I’d be glad to, Grandpere.”

“Good,” Jacob said with satisfaction. “I’ll go visit a few of the other men before we go.”

Chantel sat down and opened the Gospel of John. She began to read. “ ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. …’ ”