Jeff quickly discovered that this departure of reservists to replenish the brigade was little like the scenes he remembered from when he and his father had pulled out with the main brigade the previous year. As he joined the men gathered to form this replacement unit at dawn, he saw no bands and no crowds.
He thought back to when the Stonewall Brigade had marched out before the Battle of Bull Run. The air then had been filled with the sound of gunfire, bugles, and stirring songs. The streets were lined with cheering throngs, relatives and friends of the brave soldiers who looked so sharp in their soft gray uniforms and shining black leather boots. The excitement had stirred his own blood as he marched with his brigade.
By contrast, today’s makeshift company looked more like a ragtag collection of ruffians bent on mischief. There were hardly any hardy young men in the group. Instead, most were either older, gray-haired patriots or boys scarcely older than Jeff. No one had a complete uniform, and fewer than half were armed. Old muzzle-loading muskets were standard; no one had a sleek breech loading rifle.
The sergeant in charge was distinguished by voice rather than uniform. His bellows bullied and pushed the raw recruits into line. “Fall in! Line up! How do you pansies think you can fight the Yankees if you can’t even line up to march?”
As far as Jeff could see, his bullying didn’t help a great deal. Smiling at the sergeant’s growing frustration, Jeff took his place in line and wished he had his drum so that he could add a little order to the sorry-looking group. But, he reflected, they wouldn’t know how to respond to the drum signals anyway.
The men grew restless at the continuing delay as the sergeant rushed around making sure all their supplies were loaded and all the wagon drivers took their proper order. Jeff shifted from one foot to the other, wishing they were already finished with the long march.
Daydreaming about settling back into the routine of brigade life, he didn’t hear at first as his name was shouted. Finally he realized the angry sergeant was yelling his name, and he turned quickly to respond.
To his surprise, he saw the Driscoll carriage pull up twenty yards short of the troop. Lucy disembarked like a princess, leaning on Old Sam’s arm as she carefully stepped to the dusty ground and lifted her skirts just high enough to keep them clean but not high enough to provoke catcalls from the assembled men. The brilliant blue of her day dress was in stark contrast to the drab surroundings.
Lucy’s gaze almost instantly rested on Jeff, and as it did she raised a dainty gloved hand to wave, and a clear, broad smile broke across her face.
She called, “Jeff! Jeff!” and he ducked his head in embarrassment.
The grizzled sergeant threw up his hands in mock disgust, grinning at this new, but not unwelcome, interruption to his attempts to call his men to order.
His wide grin revealed the dark gaps of missing teeth, and his shout carried across the assembly area. “Which one of you fellers is Jeff?” he demanded.
Seeing no hope of escaping the ridicule of his jealous companions, Jeff promptly stepped out and lifted his arm in a half salute. “That’s me, Sergeant.”
The sergeant grinned more broadly. “Looks like you got somebody wants to see you off real proper, soldier. Go get your kiss and fall back in, quick like.”
Jeff moved briskly toward Lucy and away from the hoots and hollers of the troop, whose comments followed him the whole way. “Give ’er a kiss for me, Jeff boy … If’n you don’t want ’er, I’ll take ’er…. Whoo! Whoo! Ain’t she a purty one!”
Jeff’s face was flaming by the time he reached Lucy’s side. He grabbed her arm and muttered, “Let’s get out of sight, Lucy. You shouldn’t be hearing such things!”
Lucy giggled and clasped her hand over his as it still gripped her other arm. “I brought you some food for your long march, Jeff. You said how much you liked our Rosalee’s fried chicken, and I couldn’t stand to think of you on the road with nothing but hardtack. I’ve got a bundle all made up special for you in the carriage.”
Jeff pulled her quickly around to the other side of the carriage, away from the eyes of the troops, and turned to her, his expression betraying his confused feelings of embarrassment, irritation, and pleasure. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You should know, Jeff. I had to come and say good-bye to you!” She smiled shyly.
“Do your folks know you’re here?”
Lucy shook her head. The golden curls swung around her shoulders, and she said lightly, “Oh, I’ll tell them when I get back.”
Jeff stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and grinned. “You sure lead your folks a merry chase. Don’t you ever ask them for permission?”
“Only if I have to.” She winked and laughed. Then she explained that she had risen early that morning and cajoled Sam into bringing her to the camp. She had hinted to Sam that her father had agreed to the trip, but she carefully explained to Jeff that she never actually said she had talked to him. Sam finally gave in, as he always did eventually.
“And so here I am, and here you are, and Daddy will just have to understand later!”
Jeff squeezed her arm. “Just so you don’t go doing something really dangerous. I guess your father knows Sam’ll take care of you.”
“It’s dangerous for you going off to war, Jeff,” Lucy replied, tears welling up in her eyes. “I wish you weren’t going. How long do you think it will take the army to whip the Yankees this time?” Despite her tearful entreaty, she also seemed a little bit excited to think about the Confederates routing the Union army.
Jeff stared at her. “I don’t know. There’s a big bunch of them, from what I hear, and we have a long way to go. It won’t be a simple trouncing like you think. It might take a long time, and a lot of grief.”
Lucy watched his face carefully. She frowned then and bit her lower lip. It made a rather fetching sight—and she was certainly aware of that fact. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Be careful. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
“Oh, shucks, Lucy.” Jeff shrugged. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do worry about you,” she said. “I want you to promise me that you won’t take any chances.”
At that Jeff smiled broadly. “Can’t promise that—” he chuckled “—without promising to stay in bed the rest of my life. If a man’s going to live, he’s going to take chances. He just needs to pick the situations where it’s worth taking a chance.” Jeff paused, and his face turned serious. “When the minié balls start flying, they don’t have any sense. Anybody could get shot.”
Lucy looked troubled at Jeff’s last remark. She had no relatives in the war—no brothers or sisters at all—and her uncles were working like her father to be sure the troops were supplied, so they weren’t active soldiers either. Perhaps, for the first time, Lucy was beginning to feel some of the anxiety others had felt since the beginning. Her life had been caught up in parties and clothes, but now the reality of war was changing her.
“All right, get ready. Line up …” the sergeant began to call.
“I-I’ll write you all the time, Jeff,” she whispered.
Jeff felt embarrassed. “That’ll be good. But I don’t think the mail will keep up with us.”
“Then I’ll give you all the letters when you get back!”
“It’s pretty hard to write on a march, Lucy … no paper or ink … and mostly we’re too tired. Don’t count on hearing much from me.”
“Do you write to Leah, Jeff?”
Awkwardly Jeff shrugged. “I did, Lucy, but now—well, to tell the truth, we had a fight.”
Lucy seemed surprised. “Do you two fight often?”
“Hardly ever, and I wish we hadn’t this time.”
“Well, people get into arguments. It happens to the best of us, but we don’t have to like it!”
Lucy’s words reminded Jeff of their own disagreement, recently mended. “You’re right, Lucy. I made up with you, and I guess I need to with Leah too.” He sighed. “I guess I will write—to both you and Leah. At least when I can.” He laughed. “Seems like all I do these days is tell girls I’m sorry for acting like a fool!”
Lucy touched his arm lightly. “I’ll look forward to your letters, Jeff. I’ll be praying for you. Take care!”
“You too, Lucy,” Jeff responded. “Well, I’d better get back to my company.”
They walked together around the carriage, and Lucy beckoned to Sam, who quickly swung down a large bundle wrapped in brown paper.
Jeff took it gratefully, saying, “Thanks a lot, Lucy.”
There were almost back to the waiting soldiers when Lucy suddenly reached up, turned him toward her, and—before Jeff knew what was happening—stood on tiptoe and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “There!” she exclaimed. “You come back safe, you hear?” She turned and ran back to the carriage.
Jeff endured the stares and teasing of his comrades as he took his place in the ranks. The sergeant, moving along the line, said with a grin, “Reckon that kiss’ll have to do you until we get those blue-bellies whupped!” Then he hollered, “All right, forward, march!”
As Jeff moved out with his company, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the Driscolls’ carriage disappearing in the opposite direction. He couldn’t help feeling a little proud that Lucy had thought enough of him to rise early and come bid him goodbye.
In the small town of Chantilly, Virginia, the Army of Northern Virginia waited. The Southerners had fought hard against Pope at Second Manassas and now were resting, recouping the strength, arms, ammunition, and soldiers they had lost in battle.
When Jeff and his makeshift company arrived at the camp, Jeff questioned his sergeant. “Reckon I can find the Stonewall Brigade around here, Sarge?”
The sergeant grinned, his gapped-tooth smile mocking. “Seems to me if’n I was you, I’d be lookin’ for that purty gal, ‘stead of a pack of ugly Stonewall soldiers, boy.” He laughed and then directed Jeff toward the Stonewall encampment. His voice followed him: “Guess some other fellers’ll be romancing your woman while you’re helping Stonewall. Get on with you, now!”
Jeff managed to grin, waved at his fellow soldiers, and made his way through the camp. A few questions led him to a spot on the outside of the main army camp where he began to see his old companions.
Soon he spotted Sergeant Henry Mapes.
“Sergeant! Sergeant Mapes!”
Mapes, a tall, rangy man of thirty-five with black hair and eyes, turned and waited until Jeff came running up to him. He stuck out his hand and grasped Jeff’s. “Well, Private Majors, you finally decided to join the army?”
“I just got back, Sergeant,” Jeff replied. He looked around and asked, “Where’s the rest of the company?”
“This way, son,” Mapes motioned with a long arm. “I’ll take you right to them. Your pa will be right glad to see you, and Tom too.”
As they walked along, Jeff asked, “Was it bad — that last fight at Manassas?”
Mapes shook his head. “We whupped them, but we got shot up pretty good. We lost Lieutenant Mayfer. He got shot right off—right in the heart.”
“Oh, no! Not Lieutenant Mayfer! I hate it! He was a good officer.”
“Sure was,” Sergeant Mapes agreed. “Besides that, we lost Haynes, Tolliver, Coleman, and that young one that just joined, Henry Simms.”
As they approached the Stonewall encampment, Jeff was silent, his sense of loss weighing his shoulders down, causing his face to reflect the sorrow he felt. He had known these men well, all of them. Young Simms had been a particularly close friend. He finally asked, “It was bad, wasn’t it, Sergeant?”
“It wasn’t good,” Mapes agreed. He was usually a cheerful man, but the grief on his face told Jeff more about the true nature of the battle than his brief comment. “We miss them—every one of them. And not just because we need the manpower. We’ll likely get replacements soon, but you can’t replace a friend that easy.”
“I came with the replacement troops,” Jeff offered. Then he saw his father walking up ahead with another officer. He wanted to run to him and be grabbed in his big bear hug, but that wouldn’t have been military. He walked slowly beside Sergeant Mapes until his father turned and saw him.
Jeff had his father’s dark hair and tan skin. Captain Nelson Majors’s hazel eyes fell on Jeff, and at once he broke out, “Jeff!” and came running, his arms outstretched. When he had almost reached Jeff, he seemed to realize that the other men were watching him with amusement. He abruptly stopped, nodded toward his son, and called out, “Private Majors. You’re back, I see.” Then he couldn’t contain himself but reached out and gave Jeff his bear hug anyway, squashing Jeff’s arm between them and catching him in the midst of a proper military salute in respect of his father’s rank. “It’s good to see you, son. I’ve been worried about you.”
Jeff had the breath almost squeezed out of him by his father’s powerful arms. He stammered, embarrassed, “I’m the one that’s been worried, Pa—Captain. Sergeant Mapes been telling me what a hard fight it was.”
Captain Majors regained his composure and stepped back, adjusting his uniform jacket. “Yes, it was, and a harder one’s coming up, I’m afraid. Son, how’s my baby Esther?”
Jeff could see his father’s eyes glisten as he asked about the baby daughter he hardly knew. “She’s growing just great! The Carters love her like their own, and she’s got Ma’s sunny disposition!” Jeff looked at his father, hoping to ease some of his sadness.
His father merely nodded, then said, “Go find Tom. He’s worried about you too. We’ll have time later for you to tell what happened in Kentucky.”
“Yes, sir!”
Jeff greeted other friends as he moved through the camp, and he quickly found his brother. Tom was now a sergeant, and the two had a glad moment of reunion.
It had been a long, hard march for Jeff, and as the air grew cooler and the sun began to set, he realized how ravenously hungry he was and how exhausted he felt.
“Come on, let’s see if we can find some grub,” Tom said as he grabbed his hat and mess kit. He led Jeff to the company cook tent, where Jeff was welcomed by more friends.
He was shocked, however, at the appearance of the men. They were gaunt and unshaven; their shaggy hair poked through the holes in their shapeless hats. The uniforms on many of them hung in tatters, some of them held their pants up with lengths of rope. Their bodies were as grimy and mud caked as their uniforms. Many didn’t wear shoes or boots. Only their guns were clean and shining.
Later Jeff whispered to Tom, “I had no idea everything and everybody was so run down and run out. Why, I feel terrible with my fine new clothes and boots while some of our friends don’t even have anything on their feet!”
Tom looked around sadly and then put a comforting hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “The supplies you all brought will at least get everyone into shoes of one kind or another, and the soap’ll help us clean up some—but it’s the truth, we’re pretty worn down. We’re not fit to go into battle, but I reckon we’re gonna do what we gotta do.”
They were sitting in front of a campfire, eating cornbread, some salt pork (carefully divided out among the troops), and the last of Lucy’s food packet. There wasn’t much left after Jeff had shared it on the road with the replacement troops and then handed out most of the rest to his friends who seemed the hungriest.
Sitting with them around the fire were the men of his father’s squad, the men he knew best. Charlie Bowers, at fourteen, was the youngest of the troop, small, and, as Jeff’s father liked to say, “not yet growed into his feet.” His tow head and bright blue eyes made him stand out in any company.
Jeff handed Charlie the last of Lucy’s cake, and he gobbled it down as fast as he could. His eyes were on the piece Jeff had given to Curly Henson, who laughed his thanks, saying, “You’re welcome back, Jeff, but not so much as this cake!”
Curly Henson was a huge man with flaming red hair. He’d saved Jeff’s life at Bull Run, and Jeff never really thought he would, since Curly had made life miserable for him. Since his rescue, Jeff and Curly had become fast friends.
Jed Hawkins, sitting just outside the main campfire light, began to strum on his guitar. He was a small, lean man with dark hair and black eyes that would glow as he sang one of the hundreds of songs he knew. He began to pluck out a tune, and Jeff smiled as he heard the words. Several of the men around began to sing along; others simply hummed or leaned back and listened.
“Let us close our game of poker,
Take our tin cups in hand
While we gather round the cook’s tent door
Where dry mummies of hard crackers
Are given to each man;
Oh, hard crackers, come again no more!
“There’s a hungry, thirsty soldier,
Who wears his life away,
With torn clothes, whose better days are o’er;
He is sighing now for lemonade,
And with throat as dry as hay,
Sings, ‘Hard crackers, come again no more.’
“‘Tis the song that is uttered
In camp by night and day,
‘Tis the wail that is mingled with each snore;
‘Tis the sighing of the soul
For spring chickens far away,
Oh, hard crackers, come again no more!”
“You can’t sing any better than when I left,” Jeff teased Jed. “And when are you going to learn how to play that thing?”
Hawkins picked up a stick and threw it at Jeff, who easily dodged. “I’ll sing for them Yankees when we meet up with them. They’re going to appreciate it. And if I’m as bad as you say, Jeff, maybe they’ll surrender just to get me to stop!”
The talk wandered around the campfire, most of it concerning home, girls left behind, and the prospects for the coming battle. Jeff finally asked, “Where and when are we going? Does anybody know?”
Curly Henson grinned at him. “Well, I was talking to Stonewall today. Me and him get together to plan these battles, don’t you see? What we agreed on, with Marse Robert’s permission, was to head on up into Maryland and whup the Yankees up there.”
Laughter ran around the campfire.
Tom picked up a stick and began poking the fire, throwing sparks high into the air. “Well,” he began, “I don’t know as Curly arranged it or not, but the word I hear is that we’re headed North.”
The men had always respected what they heard from Tom. They knew he spent time in conversation with his father, who was one of Stonewall’s planners.
Tom continued, “General Lee thinks he’s got to attack. Got to take the war to the Yankees.” He looked around at the others, noting, “In the first place, we’ve run out of just about everything. Get us up into Maryland, and we can get in on some of their August harvest while we leave our folks down here to get in our own harvest without us eating them out of everything. Besides that,” he added, “if we can hit them hard enough, the English might come in on our side.”
The talk continued sporadically, and then finally Tom ordered, “You fellers get on to bed. I got a feeling Stonewall’s going to march our legs off, and it could be tomorrow.”
After the others had crawled into their blankets, Jeff reached into his pocket. “Got a letter for you, Tom. It’s from Sarah.”
Tom took the letter and simply held it for a moment. He looked over at Jeff, his dark eyes reflecting the light of the fire. “She talk about me, Jeff?”
“She sure did. She misses you real bad, Tom.” Jeff then told him about how Sarah had unceremoniously dumped young Matthew Henderson. “She sure put the skids on him, Tom. You just read that letter and see if she don’t tell you all about it.”
Tom opened the letter and moved closer to the dying fire. He read it slowly, then read it again.
Jeff turned his gaze away and sat staring into the fire. The air was filled with the sounds of a military camp: horses shifted and snorted on the lines, soldiers coughed and sometimes moaned in their sleep, the cooks banged the cooking pots as they finished late night cleanup and prepared the cold rations that had to be ready before dawn if the troops were to leave in the early morning. Somebody sang a sad song about how he was going to be killed in tomorrow’s battle.
Finally, Tom folded Sarah’s letter and put it in his inside pocket, close to his heart, saying to Jeff, “Well, I guess I won’t get to see Sarah any time soon.”
“Maybe sooner than you think,” Jeff said quickly. “Maybe they’ll send the army into Kentucky, and then we can stop by for a visit.”
Tom laughed. “That’d be something. To bring the Army of Northern Virginia along when I go courting!” He slapped Jeff on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back, brother,” he said warmly. “I’ve missed you. Us Majorses got to stick together.”
Jeff grinned. “It’ll all be all right, you just wait and see.”
The two of them rolled into their blankets.
Jeff knew there were only a few hours before reveille would waken them while it was still dark. He lay awake for a long time, however. He thought of Leah, of Lucy, of Esther, and of what it would be like in a world without war.
And then he thought about tomorrow.