On to Richmond (59 page)

             
Not all of Jackson’s troops had the luxury of resting for six days.  After a few days, Jackson had ordered troops back to Bath to keep the Union forces there distracted.  He directed more of his troops south of Romney and sent cavalry units almost to the gates of the city.  He had been slowed, but he refused to be paralyzed. 

             
The weather held a few hours.  Then another winter storm, as ferocious as the earlier ones, moved in over the mountains.  Once again the men battled bitter cold, sleet, and snow.  Before the end of the day, precious regained energy was completely spent.  Sickness once more held many of the men in its grip.  More than one man lay where they fell, unable to move any further. 

             
Robert had his head bent against the storm when he heard a gunshot directly to his left.  Startled, but not surprised, he looked up.  It had become almost a common occurrence.  Men, scrambling for footing on the slick surface would fall, discharging their guns as they went down. 

             
Hobbs suddenly appeared through the blanket of snow.  “It’s Clark, sir.  He’s been shot.”

             
Robert groaned and followed Hobbs’ shadowy form as he darted back to the left.  Moments later, he came upon Clark’s huddled form.   The gunshot had not been deadly, but the blood spreading on the ground from his leg wound made it obvious Clark would not continue in this march.  Robert almost envied him until he saw the stark pain on the man’s face. 

             
“Stop the next ambulance wagon,” Robert ordered Hobbs.  Then he motioned to two of the men watching.  Carefully they picked Clark up and carried him to the side of the road.  Just a few minutes later a wagon came lumbering up.  Robert waved for it to stop and then placed Clark inside, covering him as well as he could with a mound of blankets.  He smiled down at the suffering man and tried to sound encouraging.  “We’ll get you into camp as soon as we can,” he promised.

             
Clark nodded bravely, his eyes searching Robert’s face for strength.  Robert took his hand and pressed it.  “You’ll make it, Clark.  God be with you.”  Then he remounted and continued on. 

             
Once again the day felt as if it would never end as the men struggled to maneuver horses and wagons over hills and across icy streams.  The days of rest vanished from their mind as once more the grip of winter tried to rip life from their grasp. 

             
The first good news came when they were huddled around the campfire that night.  Union forces had pulled out of Romney three days earlier.  The very idea of the Confederate troops marching toward them had caused them to lose heart and withdraw.  Jackson, who had taken some cavalry troops and gone on ahead, had found a vacated city.  Now he was waiting for his troops, his messenger said.  The time was ripe to press on and destroy railroad bridges. 
Send the men on.

             
The next day was no better than the first.   Men weakened by the conditions could make no headway against the storm.  Robert urged his men on, gratified to see their valiant effort, even in the face of almost insurmountable obstacles.  He realized they were passing other units.  Soon, he knew, Jackson’s troops would be spread out for miles.   Any offensive against them would be disastrous, but the men were giving all they had to give.  One of the leading brigades that day made only four miles.  Another managed to cover only five hundred yards.  The torture seemed interminable.

             
They were only a few miles from Romney when Robert called his troops to a halt several nights later.  They would enter the town the next day.  For now they would get some much needed rest in a sheltered grove of trees he had found. They would need all their energy to push the last few uphill miles.  The men gathered wood for fire, and soon roaring flames sent sparks flying toward the sky.  Robert watched his men get settled and then retreated to the edge of the grove to stare out over the pasture. 

             
In spite of his hatred for the suffering he and his soldiers were enduring, Robert could see beauty in the landscape.  The snow-covered ground glowing a soft gray under the moonless sky offered a sharp contrast to the mountains around them.  A glimmering ribbon of ice cut through the field, promising moisture when spring reclaimed the land.  A sudden gust of wind caused a brief break in the clouds.  For just a moment, the moon shone down.  Robert drew his breath in with appreciation as the moon threw sparkling diamonds onto the snow and caused the frozen stream to ripple gently.  Then just as quickly, it was gone.  A few minutes later the wind picked up, and snow once more began to fall. 

             
Robert stayed where he was.  Being responsible for so many men... having almost lost his life... experiencing a loneliness he had never known existed... having been witness to so much suffering.  All of it was transforming him.  He could feel the changes, but he couldn’t really describe them.  He just knew he was different.  He knew God was somehow responsible.  He didn’t understand it all yet.  He just knew it.  Maybe when all this was over, he could make sense of it. 

             
“Lieutenant.” 

             
Robert sighed and turned back toward the camp.  He had a job to do.

Robert’s men were among the first to arrive in Romney.  All were disappointed in the bleak winter conditions of the little town that had passed back and forth between the military power of the North and South.

              Hobbs spoke all their hearts as they stood on the outskirts of the town.  “I don’t reckon we’ll find much comfort around this place.” 

             
Robert frowned.  He knew Hobbs was right.  Romney might be a city deemed to be of strategic importance, but it possessed nothing else to make it desirable.  He had envisioned indoor comfort for his men.  Reality dictated setting up camp outdoors once again.  He searched for a place that would offer them the most protection.  There was not much to be found. 

             
Hobbs appeared beside him.  Robert smiled.  His affection for the youth had grown stronger by the day.  He found himself depending on his unfailing good cheer.  To be sure, it had been stretched to the limits over the course of the campaign, but he always managed to find an encouraging word for his lieutenant.  “Hello, Hobbs.”

             
“Howdy, Lieutenant.”

             
They stood side by side, staring silently at the scene before them.

             
Then Hobbs spoke.  “Kinda hard to figure why we fought so hard to get to this God-forsaken looking place.”

             
Robert merely nodded.  He couldn’t think of anything to say.

             
“Mind if I go into town, sir?”

             
“Why?”

             
Hobbs shrugged.  “I figure the Yankees might have left behind something that will cheer the men up.  Since we’re one of the first here, I thought maybe we could take a look.”

             
Robert grinned.  “Let’s go see what we can find.”

             
When they returned an hour later, they were bent double under the sacks over their backs.  The men had already set up their tents; fires were blazing, and tough pieces of meat were being cooked.

             
“What you got there, Lieutenant?” one of the men called out. 

             
In just moments, all the men crowded around.  Robert nodded to Hobbs.  It had been his idea.  Let him make the announcement.

             
Hobbs smiled broadly when he yelled out, “How about some dessert, men?”  Blank stares met his announcement.  Grinning, he added, “Those bags are full of cans of peaches and cream.  And they’re all ours!”

             
The men whooped and hollered as if they had been offered dessert at the finest Richmond restaurant.  Robert heard laughter for the first time in a week as the men inhaled the treat. 

             
“Looks like they’re having a good time.”               

             
Robert looked up.  He had not heard the horse approaching.  “They are, Colonel.”

             
“They deserve it,” he said.  Then he grew serious.  “General Jackson wants to destroy bridges tomorrow.  He will need three brigades to accomplish his plan.  How many can you contribute?”

             
“All but three of my men can take part,” Robert assured him.  “There are some that are sick, but they seem to be getting stronger.  Now that they’ve come this far, I know they won’t want to miss out on the final blow.”  Then he frowned.

             
“What’s the frown for?” the colonel asked sharply.

             
“I don’t think Jackson is going to get what he wants.  The rest of the troops are in sad shape.  This campaign has sickened and demoralized them.  They may get here in time to take part, but I doubt they have anything left to give.”  He shook his head.  “You should see them, Colonel.  Many of the men are frozen so badly I doubt they will ever recover.  I think many of them have gotten rheumatism they will never get rid of.  Fevers have turned men into skeletons.  I’m afraid Jackson doesn’t have much of an army left.” 

             
The colonel listened, frowned deeply, then saluted, and rode away.  Robert watched him go and then turned back to his men. 

Robert’s prediction turned out to be true.  General Jackson, by the time his troops had reached Romney, simply didn’t have enough men capable of launching the offensive he had envisioned.  The men had been too incapacitated by the brutal campaign. 

              But General Jackson had accomplished his original goal.  In ten days he had maneuvered the Federals out of Morgan County.  He had broken railroad connections with the West and recovered all that portion of the country east of the Big Cacapon Bridge his men had destroyed.  He had forced the enemy out of Romney and frightened Federal troops farther west.  He had destroyed supplies.  Most importantly, he had driven out all thought of an offensive among Federal troops, who had definitely been put on the defensive.

Ike Adams, with longing in his heart, looked
south toward Richmond.  As each day passed, his desire to find Thomas Cromwell and start his plan of vengeance against the man’s lovely daughter had grown in his mind until it almost consumed him.  He would love to see the high and mighty Miss Cromwell brought down.