On to Richmond (53 page)

             
Robert grimaced as he walked over and gazed down into the murky liquid.  He knew the men had competitions each morning to see who came up with the most weevil larvae from the hardtack.  Hobbs had three floating at the top of his coffee. 

             
“This hardtack really been around since the Mexican-American War?” one of his other men asked.  “We’re eating grub that was made in 1846?”

             
“Geesh!” Hobbs exclaimed.  “That’s sixteen years.”  He held up his hardtack and looked at it with astonishment.  “Somebody made this stuff the year I was born!”  He reached down with his knife and skimmed the larvae off the top of his steaming liquid.  “I reckon it’s all right now,” he said cheerfully. 

             
Robert smiled as most of the soldiers followed suit.  They were good men, doing their best to find humor in their hardships. He knew they dipped the rock-hard biscuits into their coffee to soften them but also to dislodge any insect infestation caused by improper storage. The army was making the most of every provision they had – including hardtack baked for earlier military use. 

             
“This campaign should be a cinch after the first one we fought together,” Hobbs remarked. 

             
“I certainly hope so,” Robert replied.  “A lot hinges on this.”

             
Hobbs nodded and took a sip of his coffee.  “I reckon it won’t be too hard to regain control of western Virginia.  I hear tell the Yankees are going to be powerfully outnumbered by us.  They’ll probably run when they see us coming.”

             
“If they know what’s good for them, they will,” Robert agreed.   Then his face hardened.  He knew more hinged on this than his men were aware.  President Davis had told him Jackson’s full intent during a strategy session. 

             
Jackson’s plan was to concentrate his entire force on Romney in order to drive the enemy - about six thousand strong - from the South Branch Valley.  He hoped his thrust would lure the North’s General McClellan out of his fortifications around Alexandria where he was opposed by General Johnston.   Then Jackson would move with his troops to reinforce Johnston and secure a victory.  Jackson deemed it of great importance that northwestern Virginia be occupied and controlled by Confederate troops this winter.  President Davis had rejected a proposal by General Beauregard to invade Maryland.  Jackson’s plan he approved. 

             
The day for action had arrived.  Fortune appeared to be on their side as the warm weather lifted everyone’s spirits and made the idea of a mere forty mile march to Romney seem like a picnic. 

             
Robert was ready with his men when the call came to move out.  “Let’s go get them, men!” he called loudly.  He urged his horse forward as his men stepped out behind him.

             
Excited talk and laughter filled the air for the first part of the march.  But then the wind shifted and began to blow from the north.  The week of mild weather ended abruptly as a strong front blasted its way toward them.  Robert looked up at the sky in concern.  He had been aware of the dangers inherent in a winter campaign, but he had hoped somehow they would not have to deal with them.  He had also received information earlier that concerned him greatly.  Even though Romney was Jackson’s ultimate goal, the general had decided on a circuitous route that would more than triple their distance to Romney.  Robert was afraid the men would not be able to hold out that long on foot in bad weather.  But it was not his decision.  All he could do was follow orders.

             
He had grave misgivings about the men’s capability to do what they were being asked to do, but he understood why they were being asked.  Had General Jackson gone straight toward Romney, he would have left a larger force hanging on his right flank than he cared to worry about.  At the same time, he would have left Union forces free to communicate on their Romney relief efforts.  Instead, he had decided to march straight for Bath, scattering the force on his right before striking west toward his real goal.  He would cut telegraph lines and burn bridges along the way.  It would at least delay the organization of any new force to harass him.

             
By nightfall, the threatening sky had erupted into snow and ice storm. Jackson’s troops were in an uncomfortable bivouac, attempting to stay warm. 

             
Hobbs smiled up at Robert when he walked over to check on his men.  “Fine night isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

             
“I suppose it is if you’re a bear, Hobbs.  How are you?” 

             
Hobbs shrugged.  “I could be a little warmer, but I reckon I’ll make it.  I used to go on hunting trips in the winter in these mountains.  They can be pretty brutal.”  His face said much more than his words did.

             
Robert nodded in agreement as he gazed around at the hundreds of campfires battling the cold sweeping down on them.   Men surrounded each fire, their faces pinched with cold as they wrapped themselves in thin, inadequate blankets. Supply wagons had not been able to keep up with the troops.  The men were without food or shelter.   Wind raced over the hills, whistled through the trees, and whirled sparks and smoke into their eyes.

             
One young soldier caught his attention with his hacking cough.  Robert frowned and walked over to where he was curled up on the ground with his back to the fire.  “That cough doesn’t sound so good, Clark.”   The slightly built North Carolinian gazed up at him, but when he opened his mouth to speak, another spasm of coughing erupted.  “Get this man something hot to drink,” Robert snapped.  If anyone heard him above the increased whistling of the wind, no one acknowledged it.  Their faces seemed frozen as they stared into the fire.

             
Robert growled, cursing under his breath the necessity of bringing these men out into weather like this.  He stalked over to one of the cook fires and poured water into a pot to boil.  It was twenty minutes before the water was hot enough to make coffee – just long enough to numb his hands and feet.  Robert rubbed his hands together furiously, then made a large cup of coffee, and carried it over to Clark.  The man was still coughing violently, his body shaking with the cold.  “Drink this,” he commanded.  He knelt down and put his arm behind Clark’s shoulders to support him while he drank the hot brew.

             
Clark sipped at the drink slowly in between coughs.  The shaking and coughing subsided somewhat, and he smiled up in gratitude.  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

             
Robert nodded and stood up, clapping his hands sharply to get the attention of his men.  “We’re in this together.  All of us.  Nothing we do is going to change this night.  So that means we have to make the best of it.  And we have to help each other.”

             
His men looked at him dully.  Robert turned, strode back to his tent, and grabbed up his blankets.  When he returned, he put one around Clark, wrapped the other one around himself, and then sat down next to the fire.

             
Hobbs stared at him in astonishment.  “You staying out here with us tonight, Lieutenant?”

             
“I said we were in this together, didn’t I?”  Surprised faces took on new life.  “We’ve got to fight this cold,” Robert continued.  “That means we have to take turns keeping the fires burning hot.”

             
“I’ll stand the first watch,” one man volunteered.

             
“I’ll watch next,” another spoke up.

             
“It also means we have to keep hot liquids in us,” Robert snapped.

             
Without speaking, two men stood and headed toward the cook fire.  One piled on more wood while the other filled pots with water.

             
“And we have to share our body warmth,” Robert finished.  Soon there were groups of four or five soldiers huddled together, offering each other protection from the wind, sleet, and cold.

             
Robert looked longingly at the tent that would offer him at least some protection against the storm and then turned away.  He would stay with his men.  If he expected them to stand together, he had to stand with them.  He lay down as close to the fire as possible, pulled his blanket tightly to him, and tried to think of other things.  Immediately Carrie appeared full-blown in his mind.  He felt as if he could reach out and touch her glowing skin and sparkling eyes.  Suddenly the laughter in her eyes faded and was replaced by something else.  Robert craned forward in his mind to determine what it was.  Suddenly he knew.  There was a look of warm approval - even pride on her face.  Strangely encouraged, Robert slept. 

Five days later, Robert found himself wondering if he would ever be warm again.

              So far the campaign had been successful.  The town of Bath had been easily occupied after a brief skirmish in which no one was injured.  When Jackson followed the retreating troops to the town of Hancock, the Yankees had returned their fire with heavy fire of their own and refused to surrender.  General Jackson had considered using his superior force to overwhelm the city and then decided he would wait for his widely scattered troops to come back together.   He had contented himself by ordering several shells lobbed into the town after giving Hancock time to remove their women and children. 

             
“Lieutenant Borden.”

             
Robert spun around at the sound of the voice behind him.  “Yes, sir, General Jackson!” he returned smartly.  

             
“Take a unit of your men to guard against any curiosity the Yankee cavalry might have to investigate us tonight.”  The general issued the orders in his usual quiet voice, then turned his mare, Little Sorrel, and rode back toward his tent.

             
Robert watched him go, amazed once again at how unlike a general he appeared.  His other Confederate counterparts were all pomp and circumstance.  From the beginning, Jackson and his cadet aides were content to go about their duties clad in the plain blue uniforms of the Military Institute.  Jackson’s seat in the saddle was rather ungraceful.  His well-worn cadet hat, even in this cold, was always tilted over his eyes.  He spoke only when necessary, and he seldom smiled. 

             
Yet the loyalty of his troops was whole-hearted.  To a man, they would stand with him.  Robert had watched as the misery of the troops intensified.  Today was the first day of a break in the weather.  There was plenty of grumbling and complaining, but he had heard no one suggest they turn back.  The men would continue to press forward to Romney.   That is, if any were healthy enough to still stand.  Robert frowned at the wave of hacking coughs that rolled toward him.  Many of his men were sick, wracked with fevers and coughing.  Once again Carrie’s face rose to his mind.  What he would give to have her here to care for his men. Then he shook his head; he could not imagine Carrie at a place like this.

             
“Hobbs!” he called as he turned toward his men.  Immediately the freckled-face mountain boy was at his side. 

             
“Yes, Lieutenant?”

             
Robert smiled briefly at the lad.  Hobbs and his constant good cheer had become indispensable to him.  “Select fifty of our men and tell them to prepare for a little scouting trip.”  He paused.  “I want fifty healthy men,” he said firmly.

             
Hobbs hesitated for a moment and then said, “I will do my best, sir.” 

             
“It’s that bad?” Robert asked with a scowl.

             
Hobbs shrugged.  “It’s not just our men, sir.  The troops are sick everywhere.  I’ll find the fifty healthiest men I can.”

             
Robert nodded and turned away to gather his own gear.  This blamed winter would have to end sometime.  The thought of the long weeks stretched out before them were daunting, but there was nothing to do but endure them. 

             
Robert talked briefly with the cavalry detachment that rode out to meet him.  “I have orders to stand watch against the Yankee cavalry,” he said to the captain who rode up to confer with him.