Yancy kept the promise he made to himself on that dreary January day. He didn’t quit, no matter how hard it got and how many long hours he had to work. For the next year he was the model cadet. He never missed a class. His rifle skills could hardly be improved, but he still practiced every chance he got. Since his artillery skills needed to be honed, he worked with the cannons every spare minute he had. Of course the only time he had live fire was during artillery class, so he practiced all by himself in dumb show, mouthing the commands, from worming, to sponging, to loading, to priming, to the complicated geometry in aiming, to inserting the fuse, then to firing.
Night had almost taken over the artillery field, but Yancy told himself he had one, maybe two more drills he could do before full dark. Muttering to himself, he went through the repetitive motions as fast and as thoroughly as he could manage. Finally he ordered himself to fire and pulled on an invisible lanyard.
Behind him he heard single, slow applause and a low chuckle. He turned to see Major Jackson smiling and clapping.
It was such an unusual sight that Yancy was speechless for a moment, but then he dropped his head and blushed. “Guess I look pretty silly, huh, Major?”
“Not at all, not at all, Cadet,” he said. He came forward and held out his hand for Yancy to shake. “I’m very proud of you, Cadet Tremayne. I might wish all the cadets have the dedication that you show.”
“Not all the cadets have to make up for the mistakes I’ve made, sir.”
“One mistake is all that I know of, Yancy,” he said gruffly. “And you’ve more than made up for it. Look, here it is Saturday night and I think you’re the only cadet here at the institute. And working at artillery skills at that.”
“Yes, sir. Believe me, I’ve stayed out of saloons and away from—from—ladies—er—”
“I’m not that old, Cadet. I think I know what you mean. Sometimes some ladies can get us gentlemen into trouble. We must always mind the ladies.”
Yancy grinned. “You know, that’s exactly what my father always says—to mind the ladies.”
“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Jackson said. “So it’s almost too dark to see the targets. Are you going in now?”
“Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go through just one more drill. Just one more,” he answered anxiously.
Jackson asked curiously, “Why? Why is one more so important?”
“Well, sir, it’s like this. Today is September 1, 1860.”
“Yes,” Jackson agreed, puzzled.
“And so tomorrow is my birthday. I’m going to be seventeen.”
Jackson nodded. “You seem older. I forget you’re so young.”
“Most people do, I think. Maybe it’s because I’m so tall. Anyway, last January, when I got myself into so much trouble, one of the things I decided was that I was going to get in one hundred artillery drills, all by myself, before my birthday.”
“Yes?”
“And sir, that last one was ninety-nine.”
“I see,” Jackson said gravely. “Well, Cadet Tremayne, it’s so dark now I’m not sure I could sight a target with eagle eyes. But why don’t we do just one more drill. You’re the gun captain. I’ll worm, sponge, and prime.”
“Sir? You—you want me to be your gun captain?”
“Said so, didn’t I? Let’s go!” They went through a perfect drill, with Major Jackson worming, sponging, and priming.
Yancy aimed, set the fuse, and instead of mouthing the words, stood tall and shouted, “Fire!” then pulled his invisible lanyard.
“One hundred,” Jackson said with satisfaction.
“Yes, one hundred, sir. And thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure. And by the way, Cadet Tremayne…”
“Yes, sir?”
“On Monday I’ll make you a gun captain. Think about the crew you want.”
“Sir! Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”
“Good, good. You’ve earned it, Cadet.”
Yancy picked up the “worm” and the sponge and started toward the storage shed. To his surprise Major Jackson walked with him. “You know, Cadet, I’ve been watching you carefully this year. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t make a mistake in recommending you for your charity scholarship.”
“You didn’t, sir,” Yancy said firmly.
“I’m sure of that now. It takes time to earn trust once it’s been broken. You have done that. Not only with rifles and artillery but with your studies. You’re nineteenth in a class of one hundred and forty-two. That’s quite an accomplishment, Cadet Tremayne, because I know you had no formal education before you came here.”
“No, sir,” Yancy said. “But my barracks mates have helped me a lot. Especially Cadet Stevens.”
Jackson said, “He’s a good man, a good soldier. He looks like the worst kind of fop but he’s solid. He kind of reminds me of…” His voice faded out.
“Lieutenant Jeb Stuart,” Yancy supplied. “In fact, Peyton met Lieutenant Stuart in Charles Town before John Brown’s execution. He’s sort of Peyton’s hero.”
Jackson said drily, “I can see how he would be. Lieutenant Stuart is a very interesting man.”
“Interesting, yes,” Yancy agreed. “And by the way, sir, I already know three men I want on my gun crew. My barracks mates—Peyton Stevens, Charles Satterfield, and Sandy Owens.”
Jackson nodded. “Very good, Cadet Tremayne. You’ll need three more. Any ideas on that?”
“Not yet, sir, but I’ll know by Monday.” Yancy shut the door to the storage shed, and they walked up through the parade grounds to the stables.
Yancy looked up. The Milky Way was like a diamond shawl thrown across the sky. In this luminous starlight they could see their way. There was no moon. “Major Jackson?” Yancy murmured, staring overhead.
“Yes?”
“Do you know why, when there’s no moon, it’s called the new moon?”
Jackson looked up and studied the sky. “Cadet, you just happened to ask me something that I know. After the full, the moon gets positioned between the earth and the sun, and the dark side is toward the earth. So after the fullest moon, there’s a time when it’s born again that we can’t see. It’s brand-new, and we won’t see it until the earth has turned just right to catch the tiniest glimpse of it.”
“Born again, and then a glimpse,” Yancy repeated softly.
“That’s right. Just like life, and love, and learning to live in God’s will,” Jackson said. “It’s not something that just happens. It takes time and dedication.” He glanced at Yancy. “Just like you’ve shown this year, Cadet. Think about that.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” Yancy said soberly. “I will.”
Peyton Stevens lay on his bunk with his forage cap upside down between his booted feet. Negligently he held a deck of cards and with two fingers flipped one into the cap. “Fourteen,” he said.
“Shut up,” Sandy Owens said irritably. He was on the other lower bunk, frowning over a book.
Stevens flipped another card, perfectly sailing through the air and settling neatly into his cap. “Fifteen.”
“Stevens, we all know you’re so brilliant you don’t have to study, but not all of us are as smart as you are,” Yancy said from the bunk above him. He was diligently memorizing from his physics textbook. “Why don’t you go outside to the parade ground to show off your card skills? Or go to town and call on one of those girls who is always chasing you around?”
“Boring. And boring,” Stevens said lazily. He flipped another card. “Sixteen.”
“Shut up,” Charles Satterfield grumbled from above Sandy Owens’s bunk.
“Whoa, Chuckins, getting kind of bossy, aren’t you?” Stevens said, grinning. “What are you trying to study anyway?”
“History of the Founding Fathers,” he answered. “But all that’s going through my head is your dumb ‘fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.’ ”
“Take my word for it, Chuckins, what’s going on today is going to make more history than all the Founding Fathers put together,” Stevens said. It was November 6, 1860, and it was the day of the presidential election.
Abruptly Yancy shut his book and turned over on his back. Putting his hands behind his head, he stared at the blank ceiling. “So what do you think this election means, Peyton? What do you think will happen?”
Peyton flicked another card into his cap but didn’t count it. “I don’t know everything, you know. Just what my father says.” His father was a United States senator from Virginia.
“So? What does he say?” Sandy asked impatiently.
Apparently carelessly Peyton replied, “The Democrats have three weak candidates that will split the Southern vote. Abraham Lincoln will probably win. He is undoubtedly antislavery and altogether against secession. If he wins, there will most likely be a war.”
And so Abraham Lincoln did win, and the rumblings of war did sound in the air of the United States of America. Between his election in November and the first of February 1861, the cotton states held conventions and voted to secede—South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. That month delegates from those states met at Montgomery, Alabama, and voted to found a new nation. They called it the Confederate States of America. Its first president was Jefferson Davis.
Secession and war were the topics at VMI—except in Major Thomas Jackson’s classes. He flatly refused to allow any discussion other than the class texts. Even during artillery practice he sternly corrected any cadet that mentioned Virginia’s possible involvement in the growing hostilities.
But then April came, and it seemed to Yancy as if everyone, both North and South, had gone mad.
In the first week of April, Abraham Lincoln decided to send a naval relief expedition to Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, and, carefully avoiding dealing with the Confederacy, notified the state authorities. The fort was a federal naval base and always had been. The problem was that now the Confederacy regarded it as the property of the Confederate States of America, and that government gave the order for the North to immediately surrender the fort. If they did not surrender, Montgomery ordered the dashing Creole commander, General P. G. T. Beauregard, to reduce the fort by arms—to, in fact, start a war.
On April 12, 1861, Beauregard made his demand to Major Robert Anderson and his seventy-five men. He rejected the demand. The Confederate guns opened on the fort, firing all that day and into the night. The next day the garrison yielded.
Responding to the frenzy of outrage in the North, on the fifteenth, the president called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to subdue the rebellious South. This resulted in a fury of patriotism in the Confederate states.
On April 17, Virginia seceded from the Union. Within three weeks, three other states of the Upper South had seceded: Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina. The eleven states of the Confederate States of America was complete.
Major Thomas Jackson was in his element, for a Presbyterian synod was meeting in Lexington. It was Saturday, April 20, and the Jackson home was packed with ministers. The sound of their voices speaking and laughing was meat to Jackson.
Anna came to him once and whispered, “You’re in your element, Thomas. You love nothing more than to argue over the Bible with ministers.”
“We’re not arguing. We’re discussing. It is edifying. You know, esposita, at one point in my life I wished desperately that God would call me to be a minister, but the call never came. So here I am a poor soldier. I can at least give comfort and hospitality to those who are.”
Anna smiled. She put her hand on Thomas’s arm and said, “In your own way, my dear, you are a minister of the Word, too. Remember one of my favorite chapters in the scripture?”
“Second Corinthians, chapter five,” Jackson answered.
“Verse twenty: ‘Now then we are ambassadors for Christ….’ ” Anna said confidently. “You are not only an ambassador, you are a minister. Not only do you teach your cadets, you minister to them, too. Now, please excuse me and I’ll go to the kitchen to see about my ministry—providing enough coffee and tea to these gentlemen. It’s like trying to keep a battalion supplied,” she said with a smile.
In the hot kitchen, Hetty was boiling two big pots of water when Yancy came in the door with three pounds of coffee, a pound of Indian tea, and a pound of chamomile tea. “Hello, Mrs. Jackson. More coffee and tea for the gentlemen.” Sometimes on weekends he still helped Anna at the house with her garden and with repairs and with the horses.
“And just in time, too,” she sighed. “I think both the coffee samovar and the teapots are empty. Yancy, you look splendid in your uniform. And let me see…” She stepped up to him and looked up into his face. “You have, I think, grown another inch or two.”
“Guess so, ma’am,” he agreed. “I’m a couple of inches taller than my father now, and he’s right at six feet.”
“And is he as handsome as you are?” Anna asked innocently.
At the stove, Hetty’s broad face broke out in a smile.
Yancy replied, “Yes, ma’am—I mean, no, ma’am—wait, that’s not right—”
Anna took pity at the woeful confusion on Yancy’s face. “I’m sorry, Yancy, that was not a fair question, and I didn’t mean to trick you. Well, perhaps I did, but anyway, I was going to ask you to go into the parlor and bring in the samovar and the tea wagon. It’s too hot in this kitchen, and I don’t want you to wilt in your uniform. It looks so very crisp and clean and fresh.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you ma’am,” Yancy said, still with some confusion, and hurried out of the kitchen.
Indeed, the house was buzzing with activity. Ministers gathered in groups of two or three in spirited discussions; sometimes one man would hold forth to a large group of men in the parlor, sitting and standing—and all of them sipping coffee or tea. Yancy counted them; there were twenty-three men crowded into the Jacksons’ modest home. He was kept busy refreshing the coffee samovar and the teapots.
Once, on one of his countless trips from the kitchen to the parlor, he heard the knocker at the front door. He answered it to see a tall man, distinguished looking, wearing a somber black suit and a tall top hat. “Good afternooon, sir, may I help you?” Yancy asked, thinking that he was another minister.
The man looked him up and down in an assessing way.
Yancy was not in full uniform dress with his crossbelts and sword, but he was wearing his gray tunic, and his white trousers were—as Anna had noticed—spotless and flawlessly pressed with a knife-edge crease.
Yancy must have passed muster, because the man removed his hat and made a slight bow. “You are, I believe, one of our excellent cadets from Virginia Military Institute.”
Yancy, having learned much etiquette from Peyton Stevens, returned his own cool bow. “Yes, sir. I am Cadet Tremayne, sir.”
“My name is Evans, Henry Evans. I am from Governor Letcher’s office.” Solemnly they shook hands. “May I have an audience with Major Jackson, Cadet Tremayne? It is a matter of some importance and of a private nature.” His glance wandered toward the parlor, where the spirited discussions and some laughter sounded.
Yancy stepped back and extended his white-gloved hand for Mr. Evans to come in. “Please wait here, Mr. Evans. I’ll tell Major Jackson that you’re here.”
Yancy found Jackson listening to a minister who was holding forth to a group of six men concerning dispensations. Discreetly he went up to Jackson and whispered, “Sir, there is a Mr. Henry Evans who would like a private word with you. He’s from Governor Letcher’s office.”
A shadow passed over Jackson’s face, and he nodded. He had told Yancy he had been expecting a summons of some kind ever since the seventeenth when Virginia had seceded. “Very well. Where is he?”
“In the foyer, sir.”
“Good, good,” Jackson said absently, and slipped out of the parlor.
Major Jackson and Evans made their introductions and niceties. Then Evans commented, “It sounds as if you’re having a party, Major.”
“No, it is a group of Presbyterian ministers.”
“A group of ministers? They sound like men at a prize fight.”
Jackson smiled briefly. “Perhaps so, but I can assure you we are much less inclined to hostility than just honest debate.”
Evans nodded. “There is a sad lack of honest debate these days, sir. Which brings me to the governor’s business with you.” Evans reached into his inner pocket and brought out an envelope. “Orders for you, Major.”
Jackson took the envelope and read it, then nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Evans. Am I to understand that these orders are effective immediately?”
“Yes, sir. You’ll go into active duty at once.”
“Sir, please tell Governor Letcher that his orders will be obeyed to the letter.”
“God bless you, sir.” After a few more polite words, Evans took his leave.
Jackson went back into the house. Anna wasn’t in the parlor or the dining room where the ministers were, so he went into the kitchen where he found her there with Hetty, still boiling water and making more coffee and tea. He went to her and said softly, “Let’s go out in the garden for a few minutes.”
She looked surprised. “With all our guests?”
“Yes, my dearest.”
Anna grew sober. She followed him out to a stone bench in her garden, and they sat down together.
He put his arm around her. “I just got my orders from Governor Letcher, esposa.”
She stiffened slightly, but her voice was calm and even. “And what are your orders, Thomas?”
“The best cadets from the institute are called to duty in Richmond. I am to command them.”
She nodded. “When are you to go?”
Somewhat sadly he replied, “Tomorrow, I’m afraid. I had hoped to have the Sabbath for church affairs and some rest, but Governor Letcher has ordered us to muster and go to Richmond immediately.”
She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.
He lightly kissed her cheek and whispered, “I hate to leave you! God knows I do!”
Anna couldn’t answer. His arms tightened on her and they rested together in silence for a few moments.
Finally he said, “I must go dismiss our guests. There is much to do. I’m going to send Yancy to the institute to alert the cadets, and then I’ll go talk to them.”
Yancy rode to the institute, and for an hour rousted everybody out. Most of them were wearing their uniforms, but the ones who weren’t started to change. “Don’t bother with uniforms right now. The major just wants to talk to you.”
Finally all the cadets were turned out on the parade ground, and Major Jackson walked up. He spoke loudly, “Attention!” and the line stiffened and fell silent.
Yancy kept his eyes on Jackson’s face, and he could see that there was some sort of a portent in the major’s expression. His features were usually mild and benign, but not now. There was something hard, almost harsh in it.
He stopped in front of the cadets and said, “I have received orders from Governor Letcher. All of the cadets seventeen and older will march to Richmond tomorrow to serve with the Army of Virginia. I’ll be your commanding officer. I want you to be ready to march at 1:00. You know what field packs are. Be sure and bring your rifles and plenty of ammunition. Write letters to your families tonight, and I’ll arrange a special mail pickup tomorrow. I’ll be back early in the morning to see how you’re proceeding, and all of our institute officers will be available to help you in any way we can. That’s all for now. Dismissed.”
Yancy went up to Jackson and said, “Sir, since my family is so close, may I go tonight and tell them good-bye? I’ll be back in plenty of time to make up my field pack and for muster tomorrow.”
“You may, Cadet Tremayne,” Jackson answered. “Give them my best wishes.”
It was almost nine o’clock at night before Yancy got to the farm. He was afraid that everyone might be asleep, and waking them up to tell them his news would make it seem so much more melodramatic than it really was. After all, it wasn’t as if Richmond was a battle zone. The capital of the Confederate States of America had been moved from Montgomery to Richmond, and so it was the center of the government. Yancy was a little unclear as to what exactly the cadets would be doing, but it seemed unlikely that they would be marching to war.
For now, at least.
As he rode up he was relieved to see the lamps lit in the parlor. Someone was up, at least. He dismounted and tied Midnight to the hitching post. “I’m not going to unsaddle you, boy,” he said, rubbing his nose. “We can’t stay long.”
He went up on the veranda and knocked lightly on the door then stuck his head in. Hank gave one long bay then came galloping out to meet him. “It’s just me,” he called. “Yancy.” He gave Hank a friendly ear rub then went into the parlor.
His father had risen, but Becky and Zemira were still sitting on the settees by a small friendly fire.
“Of course we knew it was you,” Zemira said drily. “Who else would it be gallivanting around in the middle of a Saturday night?”
“Not me…not for a long time anyway,” Yancy replied, kissing her on one smooth cheek. “And I’m not gallivanting. I came out because I have some news.”
Slowly Daniel sat back down. All three of them suddenly looked grave.
Yancy sat down by Zemira. He knew there was no way to soften it or sugarcoat it, so he just said it. “The top cadets at VMI have been detached to Richmond to serve with the Army of Northern Virginia. Major Jackson is our commander.”
There was a long heavy silence, finally broken by Becky. “I suppose we all knew something like this would happen, considering what’s been going on in the last few months. I just suppose we didn’t expect it quite so soon. And somehow I thought that maybe the cadets at the institute might be spared unless it was some kind of last resort.”
Yancy merely looked at her, a tinge of regret shadowing his feelings.
Daniel said in a low voice, “You would volunteer, wouldn’t you? If you hadn’t been called up?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered without hesitation. “And depending on the nature of our duty in Richmond—and what Major Jackson does—I still may.”
Zemira sighed heavily, almost a moan. “I could see it in you, Yancy. I knew. I saw that you’d decided to be a soldier. And we always told you that we would respect your decisions, and we do. But I have to tell you that it grieves me, it truly does.”
“I’m sorry,” Yancy said lamely.
“Don’t be sorry,” Becky said, though she sounded sad. “Of course no one wants loved ones in a war. But as your grandmother said, Yancy, we respect your decisions. And I for one am very proud of you. You’ve grown to be a strong man this last year. You made a promise to us and yourself and you’ve kept it. The Lord honors those who keep their word and turn from their mistakes. I’ll pray that He will bless you, watch over you, protect you, and bring you back to us safe and sound.”
“Please, all of you pray for me, every day,” Yancy said slowly. “I know I’m going to need it.”
“We will, son,” Daniel said. “Always.”
Yancy nodded and rose. “I can’t stay. We all have a lot to do. We’re moving out tomorrow afternoon. Can I go say good night to Callie Jo and David? I won’t wake them.”
“Of course, you must,” Becky said. “Go on up.”
Quietly Yancy went up to the nursery. Callie Jo looked like a little doll as she slept with her thumb stuck in her mouth. He bent over and kissed her forehead. She stirred just a little but didn’t wake up.
David had turned one last Christmas Eve. Yancy took one of his tiny fists, and in his sleep David wrapped his hand around one finger. “Be good, brother,” Yancy whispered.
Then he hesitated, because he realized that what he had really been doing was telling his brother and sister good-bye. It hit him then that he may not see them again, and he drew in a sharp breath. For a moment he felt a deep searing fear. But then he bowed his head and prayed silently. Lord, help me overcome this fear. Please help me to know the right thing to do. Help me find courage. And help me find You.
Major Jackson went to the institute before dawn to help with the preparations, to prepare his cadets for their first march. It was still early morning when he rode back home, but he stopped at First Presbyterian Church and sent his pastor, Dr. White, to the barracks to pray for his young soldiers. Then he went home and had a late breakfast with Anna.
After breakfast he and Anna went into the parlor and sat close together on the settee. “Let’s read the fifth chapter of Second Corinthians,” he said.
It was one of Anna’s favorite passages. Together, from memory, they said in unison, “ ‘For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’ ”
Thomas read the entire chapter aloud, and then he prayed. Humbly he entreated God for peace, for his country and countrymen and cadets, for Anna and their home and the servants.
And then, as soldiers must do, he left to go to war.