The Sword Read online

  “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:

  “Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the president of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the persons in the Armory buildings.

  If they will peaceably surrender themselves and restore the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the president. Colonel Lee represents to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape; that the armory is surrounded on all sides by troops; and that if he is compelled to take them by force, he cannot answer for their safety.”

  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.

  Finally one reporter asked, “What brought you here, Brown?”

  “Duty, sir.”

  “Is it then your idea of duty to shoot down men upon their own hearthstones for defending their rights?”

  “I did my duty as I saw it.”

  Colonel Lee and Lieutenant Stuart, having accomplished their task, were obviously finished. They remained in the town for another day, mostly to rest from their sleepless night. The next day they took the train back to Washington as casually as if Harpers Ferry were just an interesting interlude, no more.

  But Old John Brown’s raid was big news, all over the North in particular. Good and responsible men cried for his release and defended his actions as that of a righteous, godly man. And when they executed John Brown, he was lionized as a saint.

  His death was possibly the first small tendril of the clouds of war that would soon gather over America.

  Revolution had for years merely been a political topic. But in November 1859, when Abraham Lincoln was elected president of the United States, the rhetoric was over, at last bursting into flames. The Southern states began to secede from the United States to form their own sovereign country, the Confederate States of America.

  The beginning of the war took place in a fort just off the coast of Charleston. The man who lit the first spark was white-haired Edmond Ruffin, an editor and ardent secessionist at sixty-seven years of age. At 4:30 a.m., on April 12, 1861, he pulled a lanyard, and the first shot of the Civil War drew a red parabola against the sky and burst with a glare, outlining the dark pentagon of Fort Sumter.

  Fort Sumter was a United States Army post, but it had no real military value. In April Major Robert Anderson, commander of the post, had few supplies, and the Confederates had turned away his supply boat. Fort Sumter was built to accommodate a garrison of 650 men, but for years it had only had a nominal military presence. On that day in April there were 125 men there. Forty of them were workmen.

  The fall of Sumter was simply a matter of time. The people of Charleston stood on the balconies and the roofs of houses to watch the blazing of the guns and the firing of the shells. Major Anders
on surrendered the fort the next day.

  Thus the war began. Five bloody, terrible years lay ahead for America.

  If ever men found themselves in a terrible position, the soldiers of the United States Army in the spring and summer of 1861 were well and truly caught in the worst. Many of the finest soldiers and officers were Southerners. Jeb Stuart knew each man would have to make the wrenching decision of whether to remain with the Union and fight against his home state or resign from the Federal Army and take up arms with the newly formed Confederate States of America.

  However, for Stuart, whose undying loyalty was to Virginia, the decision was easy. As soon as President Lincoln called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to fight the war against the South, with Virginia’s quota of eight thousand men, Stuart’s mind was settled. He began packing as soon as he received notice he’d been appointed a captain in the 1st United States Calvary. On May 3rd, he wrote the Adjutant General of the U.S. Army:

  Colonel: for a sense of duty to my native state (Va.), I hereby resign my position as an officer of the Army of the United States.

  That very same day, he sent a letter to General Samuel Cooper, Adjutant General of the Confederate Army:

  General: having resigned my position (Captain 1st Cavalry) in the U.S. Army, and being now on my way to unite my destinies to Virginia, my native state, I write to apprize you of the fact in order that you may assign me such a position in the Army of the South as will accord with that lately held by me in the Federal Army.

  My preference is Cavalry—light artillery—Light Infantry in the order named. My address will be: Care of Governor Letcher, Richmond.

  Jeb Stuart and his family reached Richmond on May 6th and found a commission waiting for him as Lieutenant Colonel of Virginia Infantry. The city was filled with men spoiling for a fight. The Army of the Confederate States of America was quickly coming to life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  To Flora, Richmond was dirty, noisy, and crowded. Men from all over Virginia were hurrying to the capital to enlist in the hundreds of companies that were putting out the call. The streets teemed with rough men, and the shops were always crowded and couldn’t keep stocked.

  Flora didn’t have any friends in the city. The Stuarts had been in Richmond for only three days when she fell ill.

  Their son, Philip St. George Cooke Stuart, had been born the previous June and was almost a year old. Little Flora was not quite four.

  Flora bent over Philip’s crib, and a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She felt her way to the sofa and fell on it. For a moment, she tried to properly sit up, but she felt so weak that she finally just lay down on it.

  Philip fussed for a few minutes, but then he grew silent again and Flora was glad he had gone back to sleep. Little Flora was on her bed in the single bedroom, napping. Wearily Flora closed her eyes to rest, though she could never fall asleep during the day when she was alone with both of the children.

  Ruby had refused to leave Fort Leavenworth, for she had a new man and she had sworn that they were to be married. Flora missed her terribly.

  She fought the feelings of bitterness that she felt because of the war that had brought her husband to this place. She was cooped up in a tiny house in a strange city with two small children, and she had barely seen Jeb since they had arrived. Drawing a deep shaking breath, Flora thought, And this is only the beginning. He’ll leave any day, and I won’t know when he’ll ever come back. I won’t know if he’s well or if he …

  She left the thought unfinished. But Flora was quite sure she would feel this same dread, for the war’s duration, as a burden on her heart. She knew this, but she fought hard not to dwell on it.

  After a while, the dizziness subsided and Flora got up and went to Philip’s crib. He was still asleep, and no sound came from Little Flora in the bedroom. She thought of Jeb, of how God had been so good to her in her marriage. She was to this day still desperately in love with Jeb Stuart. She knew every angle and bone of his body. She knew every inflection of his voice. Her eyes knew in detail every inch of that cherished face. With the single-mindedness only found in women so desperately in love did she think of him.

  As she made her slow way into the kitchen, she prayed. Lord Jesus, I need Your strength, and I need Your help. Please send someone to help me, Lord, someone who can help me with the children … someone who can be my friend.

  And Lord, watch over Jeb, always.

  Jeb dismounted and went into the house. He called out, “Flora!” and heard her answer faintly from the bedroom.

  He found her lying on the bed, covered with two thick quilts in spite of the heat. She was pale and had purple shadows under her eyes.

  “Flora, my darling, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m—I guess I’m just tired,” she replied weakly.

  He laid his big hand on her forehead, his touch as delicate as a woman’s. “No, you’re ill. You’re feverish. How long have you been sick?” Jeb had been gone for a day and a night, working with his new recruits, doing the mounds of paperwork required for a unit commander, meeting with his new officers.

  Flora relented and said, “I started feeling a little unwell yesterday. I got up early and took care of the children, but I thought that I would just lie down and rest for a little while.”

  Jeb said grimly, “This won’t do, Flora. I’m going to find someone to stay with you.”

  “Who?” Flora asked. “And however can you find a woman, just like that? You’re so busy you don’t have time for such things.”

  Jeb was stricken. The melancholy in his wife’s voice and her words wounded him as surely as if he had been stabbed. He had a tender heart as far as his wife and children were concerned. He stroked her hair and said quietly, “I’m going to leave you just for a little while. I promise you that the Lord will help me find someone to help you and take care of you.”

  Flora managed to smile.

  Jeb leaned over and kissed her and looked over at Little Flora, who lay beside her. She was asleep sucking her thumb. “There’s my princess,” he whispered and touched her silky hair. He straightened up and said, “I won’t be long, my dearest.”

  “All right, Jeb. You’re right. I know that the Lord will help us.”

  Stuart left the house, his mind racing and sorting through ideas. The problem was even more severe and immediate than he had let on to Flora. He had just received word that it was time for his regiment to report to Harpers Ferry, where he would be second-in-command to Colonel Thomas J. Jackson, and he couldn’t think of a single person who could help him. He had to leave at dawn.

  Finally he headed toward the fairgrounds. Many men from Richmond had enlisted in his command, and perhaps one of them would know of a suitable woman whom Jeb could hire as a maid and companion. Riding onto the fairgrounds, crowded with tents, he went straight to his headquarters.

  One of his newest officers, Lieutenant Clay Tremayne, was on his magnificent black stallion, drilling six mounted men on maneuvering commands. Jeb watched them for a while with satisfaction. Though his command was infantry, many of the men had fine horses, and it was perfectly acceptable to their commander. He would have mounted all of them if he could, for he had wanted a cavalry command above all things.

  When they finished, Jeb called Tremayne to him and said, “You cut a fine figure on a horse, Lieutenant. And you’ve learned the orders very well. You drill them like an old hand.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he said with pleasure. He was a fine-looking man, six feet tall with broad shoulders. His face was strong with a hard jaw and dark, intense eyes.

  Jeb frowned and shifted on his feet. “By any chance, Lieutenant, do you recall that man who was talking about having such a large family? He’s from here, and his family has been here for a long time.”

  Clay thought and finally answered, “I’m sorry, sir. I know many of the men are from Richmond, but I can’t recall exactly the one you’re speaking of. Colonel Stuart
, is something wrong? Do you need me to find this man?”

  “No, it’s a personal matter, nothing to do in particular with the man I’m thinking of,” he replied, worried. “It’s just that my wife is ill, and we have two small children. I really need to find a woman to come in and help her. It’s very important that I find one quickly, since we have to move out in the morning.”

  Clay gave him a crooked smile. “Sir, I just happen to know of a woman—or a girl—who is an excellent nurse. I can personally assure you of that. And she is here.”

  “Here?” Jeb repeated. “What do you mean? Here, at the fairgrounds?”

  “Well, yes sir, she is. She’s … rather unorthodox. But as I said, I can personally vouch for her character. I’m sure she would be happy to help you and your wife.”

  “Tell me more about her,” Jeb said, his eyes piercing as they drilled into Clay.

  “She is with her grandfather, and they are peddlers. Their wagon is here, and they’ve been selling goods to the men. She’s young, only seventeen. And she wears, uh, breeches.”

  “Breeches?” Jeb repeated blankly. “You mean men’s trousers?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s from Louisiana, and—oh, I think you’ll understand better if you meet her, sir.”

  “Take me to her,” Jeb ordered.

  Clay led him to the north side of the crowded field, where a big wagon stood. Outside it a small man sat on a camp stool by a small campfire. The figure that knelt close to him, feeding small logs onto the fire, looked like a young boy. As Clay and Stuart drew near, she looked up, and then Jeb could clearly see the delicate features of a girl.