House Divided (162 page)

“She's highly respected,” Nell assured him. “She knows how to plan things, how to tell other ladies what to do. And she'd like to see you, Faunt.”

His eyes hardened. “I'm afraid not,” he said. “Tilda and I were never close.”

“Then Mrs. Dewain?” she urged. “Burr lost some fingers in the fight at Yellow Tavern, the day General Stuart was killed; but he's returned to duty. Oh, and Miss Vesta is married again.” He did not know this, and looked at her in quick gladness. “To a boy named Lyle,” she said. “He's a Lieutenant in the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry.”

“I remember him.”

She nodded. “And Julian married Anne Tudor, and they have a fine baby. Go see them, Faunt. They'd be so happy!” And she said gently: “I sometimes think you'd be happier yourself if you went to your own people instead of coming here to me.”

He asked, deliberately cruel: “Are you giving me my
congé?”

If his word left a wound she did not betray her hurt. “I think you might be happier if we had never met.” She added honestly: “You must always feel a secret shame in loving me.”

He hesitated, then answered her without evasion. “That is true, Nell. I can't help it. I suppose it comes from—what my life used to be.” And he explained: “The night I met you, there were reasons outside myself to make me feel shamed and debased. I turned to you as a man in disgrace turns to the bottle, defiantly, flouting the world. But that was only at first. Very quickly—I—loved you. Yes and held you high. If you yourself would consent, I would marry you.”

“Yet always, in your heart, you'd be ashamed of me.” There was nothing but affectionate understanding in her tone or in her eyes.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, that is true.”

“Then I've done you great harm, my dear.”

“You've done me great good, in a thousand ways.”

“Go back to your kinfolks, Faunt. Forget me.”

He came near her, standing in front of her, taking her hands. “No,” he said. “No, I'll never leave you.” He kissed her gravely. “We will keep what we have, Nell. I'll not risk losing it by reaching out for more.”

 

He went next day to deliver Colonel Mosby's dispatch. Nell was able to direct him to General Lee's headquarters, at Violet Bank, the Shippen home, just east of the Petersburg pike and a little north of the town. “He's been there since the middle of July,” she said. The commanding general wished to communicate with Richmond before drafting his reply, so Faunt had days to wait. He took the opportunity to see the miles of breastworks and entrenchments where Lee's army stubbornly fought off Grant's wary thrusts. He saw men living like rats in ditches and caves and tunnels, starving on rations so short that they were always hungry, yet ready at a moment's warning to spring to battle; and he met men he knew and talked with them.

“A week of this would drive me mad,” he said, and the men to whom he spoke agreed that the combination of monotony and physical discomfort was hard. Soldiers grew careless, indifferent even to death itself, exposing themselves to the fire of enemy sharpshooters simply because they would not trouble to stoop in passing a spot where the parapet was low. So losses were steady, and even minor wounds sometimes meant death; for men were so badly nourished that their resistance was low.

And the men made friends with the enemy, crawling out at night to trade tobacco for sugar or coffee. Some of the Petersburg hospitals sent secretly through the lines to exchange tobacco and cotton for needed drugs. This was still war, and many were killed; but there were intervals when the soldiers arranged an informal suspension of firing. After a few days of rain you might see men on both sides taking advantage of the first sun to spread blankets and clothes to dry in full sight of the enemy. Sometimes ladies came sight-seeing from Richmond and climbed on the parapets and strolled to and fro in perfect security.

When Lee's dispatch was ready, Faunt was glad to turn his back on this war that was not war, upon this rabbit warren where men lived in a fashion that animals could not have endured. He had another Sunday with Nell in Richmond, but when he took his careful way northward, an encounter with a Yankee patrol cost him his horse and set him afoot, till he found loyal men who even in that stricken land were able to provide him with a new mount. At Centerville he heard that Colonel Mosby had been gravely wounded the day before and was lying helpless at the home of Major Foster; but he found Mosby cheerfully amused at his own mishap.

“Tom Love and Guy Broadwaters and I were too ambitious,” he confessed. “We met a regiment of bluebellies with an advance guard of seven men; and since the seven had a regiment to back them, we thought it not unfair for three of us to charge them. But one of them could shoot. He got a bullet into me and I won't be able to ride again for a week.”

Faunt helped move him by easy stages to his father's home near Lynchburg. There they had news that Chief Blackwell's farm had been raided by the Yankees, the house searched, hidden letters and papers found, the house burned. Colonel Mosby was disturbed by this mischance. “No great harm was done, of course; but how did they know our headquarters? Someone has talked when he should have been silent.” He stirred restlessly. “Treacherv makes me uneasy. I'll be glad to get into the saddle again!”

But he was still on crutches; and since he must be inactive he decided to go to Petersburg to confer with General Lee, and took Faunt with him. They travelled by the South Side Railroad, and at Petersburg Faunt found an ambulance to carry them to Violet Bank. When they turned off the pike, Faunt saw Trav; and beyond him in the shade of a great tree, General Longstreet was talking with General Lee. Faunt helped Colonel Mosby out of the ambulance, and as the Colonel adjusted his crutches General Lee came toward them.

“Ah, Colonel,” he said in smiling sympathy. “The only fault I ever find with you is that you are always getting wounded.”

“This is nothing,” Mosbv assured him. “I could ride even now if it were necessary.”

As they fell into talk, Faunt went to join Trav and General Longstreet.
He spoke first, in due respect, to Longstreet. “You may not remember me, sir. Major Currain's brother.”

Longstreet said cordially: “I remember you perfectly, Mr. Currain. You took my scout, Harrison, across the Potomac for me, June a year ago.”

“I'm glad to see you recovered.”

“Not completely,” the big man admitted. “I'm not yet able to ride comfortably, but a little more practice will remedy that.” His arm was carried in a sling, so no doubt it still troubled him.

Faunt turned to Trav, extending his hand. “You look well, Trav.”

“Why, I'm well,” Trav agreed. “How are you?”

“All right.” There was some restraint in Trav's tones; and Faunt felt a deep sadness in himself, and old memories. “I'm all right,” he repeated. “I'm very well.” He was not well, would never be, and he knew this; but question and answer were only words.

“We're just going to take the train back to Danville.” Trav spoke like an embarrassed hostess making conversation.

“Have you been to Richmond?” Faunt asked, for the sake of saying something.

“No, Enid's in Augusta. The General and I are on our way to Lynchburg with Mrs. Longstreet and her children.”

“Enid's well, I hope?” This empty talk hurt like an aching tooth. He wanted Trav's old affection, wanted some kindly word.

“Why, yes,” said Trav.

“We haven't seen each other for a long time, you and I.”

“No.” Trav hesitated. “I've missed you, Faunt,” he confessed, his tone softer. “I always—” He shook his head. “Everything's changed,” he said heavily. “All of us are changed.”

Men found it hard to put their hearts in words. Faunt thought if he and Trav were women they would be by this time weeping happily in each other's arms. “If I were Nell, now,” he told himself, “or if Trav were Nell, I could tell him I love him. Perhaps he knows about me and Nell. Enid's her daughter; perhaps she knew, has told him.” Defiant anger woke in him. “Colonel Mosby may want me,” he said stiffly. “And General Longstreet is waiting for you.”

Trav nodded. “Yes.” He extended his hand; and then suddenly his
arm was around Faunt's shoulders in an awkward embrace. “Take care of yourself,” he said huskily.

Faunt freed himself, smiling in a deep content at that caress. “Bad advice to give a soldier, Trav. Good-by.” He watched Trav join the General and they drove away.

The encounter left a lonely longing in him; Nell in Richmond was not far away. He sought Colonel Mosby's permission, borrowed a horse, took the Richmond pike and found her glad welcome waiting.

He told her what news there was; and he spoke of the burning of Chief Blackwell's little farm which had been their headquarters. Would that hinder them, she asked; but he said there were other places they could use. “Glen Welby, for instance; Major Carter's home near Rectortown. We'll still give them trouble enough.”

“Will you go back there soon?”

“Not for a week or two, certainly.”

She told him what was happening in Richmond. He had heard of General Morgan's death, and when she spoke of it he commented: “They say he was betrayed by a woman.” He had a momentary feeling that the word startled her, but she smiled, said teasingly:

“You poor men! Adam, and Samson, and now General Morgan. What treacherous creatures we are.” And she said: “But perhaps he deserved it. Even his own officers accused him of robbing the bank at Mount Sterling. Of course he's a hero, now he's dead, so the charges against him will be dropped.” His elaborate funeral here in Richmond was spoiled, she said, because the military escort had to hurry away to help repulse a Yankee attack at Chaffin's Farm. She went on to other gossip. The Secretary of War was the latest target for abuse, because he had allowed some of his friends to use the burdened railroads to bring flour from the Valley for their own use while the army was on short rations. Mr. Northrop had ordered the impressment of all wheat and meat in Virginia, and when someone protested that civilians would starve, he said, “Let them.” Sheridan had beaten Early in the Valley and captured Winchester.

Everything she told him was so dreary that Faunt at last protested, half-smiling. “I declare, Nell, isn't there any sunshine anywhere?”

“I don't know where, Faunt,” she declared. “Grant has two men to
Lee's one; Sherman has two men to Hood's one; Sheridan has two men to Early's one. Oh, I wish you were out of it! I worry so for you. Suppose you'd been there when Mr. Blackwell's house was burned. You'd have been taken.”

He said mildly: “I think not. I don't expect to be captured, Nell.” Then, seeing her lips whiten with pain at his words he rose and went to touch her bent head. “Let's be a little more cheerful, shall we?” She looked up at him and smiled; and he said in tender chiding: “You know I came here for happiness, my dear.”

 

He had Sunday with her, and on Monday he and Colonel Mosby began their return journey. Mosby since his wound had not shaved, and Faunt spoke of this. “I'm not sure your new beard doesn't become you, Colonel.”

“I think I shall keep it,” Mosby confessed with a chuckle. “Close-shaven, I am too easily mistaken for a boy; but the Yankees will not take liberties with a bearded man.”

“The liberties taken have been the other way around,” Faunt suggested.

Mosby nodded thoughtfully. “But we've busy days ahead,” he remarked. “The Federals are trying to rebuild the Manassas Gap Railroad. General Lee wants us to discourage them.”

“What does General Lee think about Hangman Grant?”

Mosby said quietly: “So far, no one has carried out the orders to hang us whenever we are caught. We have always operated within the rules and customs of war. I hope we won't be driven into a contest of assassination.”

But when they came to Gordonsville they heard that at least one of Grant's subordinate commanders had taken him at his word. A force of Rangers under Captain Chapman had attacked, a week before, an ambulance train near Front Royal, and found themselves trapped between two regiments of Custer's cavalry. They shot their way clear; but they left six prisoners behind. General Custer ordered the prisoners executed. He paraded a band through Front Royal playing the Dead March; but except for this, there was no ceremony. A disorganized crowd of soldiers shot David Jones and Lucien Love in
front of the church. Some others thrust Tom Anderson against an elm tree south of town and riddled him with bullets. A Front Royal boy named Henry Rhodes, who that day served for the first time with Mosby's men, was hustled to an open field at the other end of town and there, although his mother clung to him till he was dragged away, one of Custer's men emptied his pistol into the boy's body. Tom Overby and young Carter were hanged.

Frank Angela met them in Gordonsville with the news. “I rode into Front Royal that night,” he said. “The folks there say General Custer rode by, about the time they was hung, all dressed up in a velvet uniform with his yellow hair a-shining down his shoulders, eating plums off a branch he'd broke off someone's tree.”

Faunt turned without a word toward the door, but Mosby called him back. “Wait a moment, Mr. Currain.”

Faunt said tightly: “I'm riding toward Front Royal, Colonel.”

Mosby shook his head. “Wait a little, if you please,” he said sternly. “What we do must be done with a decent deliberation.” Faunt hesitated, and Mosby insisted: “Be easy, Mr. Currain. My men are dead. I won't forget, but haste will not help them.”

Faunt's first rage cooled to a still ferocity. Mosby next day, though he still used crutches to walk, was able to sit his horse; and he sent men ahead to watch the workmen busy on the Manassas Gap Railroad, while he and Faunt and a troop of Rangers followed more slowly. Within a fortnight, harassing the construction crews by day and by night, he put an end to that enterprise. The task was ridiculously easy, since an army would have been needed to guard the sixty miles of track against surprise that might strike anywhere. This done, Mosby led a force into the Valley and wrecked a train and found a Federal paymaster among the passengers with a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in good Yankee currency in his strongbox; and every raider had better than two thousand dollars as his share.