Rulon — July 21, 1861
Orders had come down from General Johnston’s headquarters to keep eyes on the enemy army led by General Patterson that had invaded the Valley. For the last few days, Rulon’s company had been engaged in riding in countermoves against the Federal troops.
Near Winchester, a patrol became a skirmish when four members of Company “I” encountered enemy soldiers willing to fight. After dashing at each other a few times with no significant injury on either side, the Federal patrol withdrew and must have come across an artillery battery as they retreated. Soon after, the foursome from the Harrisonburg Cavalry found themselves targets of a Yankee bombardment.
Rulon hunkered down in a ditch alongside Owen Leoyd while artillery shells explored the air above them.
Leoyd said, “Them shells always whistle that-a-way when they miss you. If you don’t hear ‘em, they’re gonna get you, so bless the noise of ‘em.”
“Obliged for the advice,” Rulon replied, covering his head at the sound of a particularly close whistle.
“We’d best leave here,” Leoyd commented. “That was a mite too near for my taste. Can’t you get rid of that feather?”
Rulon grunted. He’d grown fond of the embellishment on his hat, especially since their colonel sported one so like Rulon’s on his own headgear. How long was his plume going to be a source of merriment and ridicule for the fellows in the company?
He didn’t have time to dwell for long on the good-natured abuse he’d received. During a brief lull in the fire, he and Leoyd beat a retreat to their horses, and found the rest of their comrades to continue the patrol.
When they returned to their bivouac, Ren Lovell announced that the company was to make all haste to Manassas Gap to cross the Blue Ridge. “General Beauregard is in a bad way. McDowell is on the move, and he’s got a right smart lot of soldiers with him. We’re ordered to battle, boys.”
After that, the company rode toward the fray through fields alongside the infantry-clogged road.
“Pull down that fence, Owen,” Ren called out. Both Rulon and Owen Leoyd dismounted, cast a wry glance at one another, and took the rails down so the company could advance. Dodging sleeping infantrymen in the way, crossing ditches, and riding over uneven ground ate up the miles, but sapped their strength, as well. Rulon tried to keep behind Von, as the man’s ugly temper had simmered over into vile curses at nightfall when he realized that the baggage train with rations had not kept pace with the cavalry.
Finally, after thirty-six brutal hours in the saddle, the men of the regiment dismounted alongside the Bull Run.
“Line up for rations,” a fellow called out, and Rulon stumbled over to do so. Head pounding from the dust and confusion, he procured the raw makings of his meal and found a fire on which he hoped to make it palatable. After he ate, he found a spot of grass, lay upon it, touched the handkerchief Mary had given him to his lips, and fell immediately into stupor.
About daylight, he awoke to the sound of musketry and bugles, and rushed to follow the order to saddle his horse. Then he washed the sleep out of his eyes, watered and fed the horse, and ate a hasty breakfast.
Captain Yancey ordered the company into line alongside the others, and Rulon sat his horse as Col. Stuart and a small detachment crossed the Run on a scout. After a while, they returned, and Rulon watched a trooper ride toward General Johnston’s headquarters. He figured the man would report the findings of the scouting party.
The day grew hot as the din of battle increased on their left. They had received no orders, so they sat on the earth in the sun beside their horses, listening to the wood-shrouded struggles around them, and dodging wayward artillery shells.
“Ah!” cried a man from the Howard County company, as a shell burst in their column. The horses scattered, riders futilely pulling on their reins and swearing profusely.
“Anyone hurt?” called their captain. By some lucky happenstance, neither men nor horses were injured.
One time, they were allowed to seek water for their horses. Soon, however, they formed back into company lines, but waited in vain for any action. He could see the restlessness of their colonel. After the noon, he began to send messengers off, and Rulon turned to Ren.
“Where are they goin’?”
“Humph. If it was me, I’d be sending word to the generals that we’re a-sitting over here with our thumbs up our butts and nothing to do.”
Rulon hadn’t heard such coarse talk from Ren before, and figured he had as bad a case of nerves as any other man around.
“We have to wait, then?”
“I reckon so. We’re the pawns in this chess game, Owen. We do what we’re told.”
Rulon eyed the man. “We’re not the knights?”
“Mayhap we are. We still have to await the hand of the general to move.”
Garth Von growled an excited curse, then added as he pointed a finger, “He’s staff, ain’t he?”
Rulon turned to see a mounted officer coming from the woods at the gallop. At the sight, he got to his feet and looked to his horse, hoping the officer brought orders.
Evidently he did, as he saluted Col. Stuart smartly and gave him a message.
“Boots and saddles,” Ren said as the bugle sounded. “We’re in action at last.”
Rulon had never seen such chaos, nor before felt such a rush of energy as he experienced several times over the remainder of that day. Although worn out from the long ride out of the Valley through the pass, the cavalry companies nevertheless feinted and parried with Federal forces the rest of the day, capturing some here, some there, breaking away when necessary, but mostly pressing forward, as was Colonel Stuart’s wont.
General Early’s brigade came up and Stuart sent the general a message. Early’s soldiers waded into the battle with courage and speed. Then Rulon’s company dashed into another skirmish. Upon returning with prisoners, he noticed that a sixteen-gun artillery battery commanded by Lieutenant Beckham had become attached to their flank. After each cannonade from the guns he worried for his hearing, but the fire was most welcome, as the shelling drove the Federal troops into cover and prevented them turning the left flank.
They were on the move again once the company had secured the prisoners. As they rode around a house, Col. Stuart sent another messenger. Beckham’s guns then opened fire upon a Federal regiment drawn up in front of a wood, and the enemy began to retreat. Troops from Early’s brigade took over the chase while Beckham’s guns continued the cannon fire, but when the enemy moved out of range, the battery fell silent. Rulon only had time to attempt to shake the ringing sound from his ears when his company moved on the chase once more, with Beckham’s battery following.
Rulon and two others soon dropped out from following the Federal flight when they were detailed to the rear accompanying a squad of captives. He learned over the campfire that night that the very last of Stuart’s chasers followed McDowell’s army a full twelve miles.
He said to Ren Lovell, “The Colonel surely does cotton to the chase,” to which Lovell replied with hoots of laughter.
“They name Jeb Stuart ‘the dashing cavalier’ in some parts,” he said when he could talk. “He does love the chase, and all that it brings.”
“Glory?”
“Yes.”
“Honor?”
“Of course.”
“The attention of the fairer sex?”
“Not as much as you’d think. To some degree, though.”
“Is he a married man?”
“Yes, and reputed to be happy in his union.”
“Good for him.” Rulon thought of his little wife, of the privations of the day’s campaign, and of the relief he now felt at being safely delivered from any harm he could have met on the field of battle. He needed to write to Mary again soon to let her know he was hale and hearty.
~~~
Rulon — July 22, 1861
Rulon’s first opportunity to write home after the battle came the next day in camp, when he snatched a moment to pen a letter.
22 Jul 1861
Fairfax C-H, Va.
Dear Wife,
I rite in haste to inform you of my good health following the rout of the Federals at Manassas junction. We are all well in the Company except for one poor fellow who met His Maker upon the field of honor, and another who suffer’d two wounds. Now we have moved forward to picket posts at Fairfax court-house Upon our journey here we come upon much salvagable goods that will stand us in Good sted. We feast’d upon Yankee provisions, and I tell you, wife, it is good to have a full belly again.
I picked up a picnick-basket droped by some fair Yankee ladie come to watch us Confederates get our come-uppance. Instead, we sent the Federal boys flying back to Washington City, making as quick a retreat over the same ground as it took them two or three days to advance. Mr. Lovell and I enjoied the ham sandwiches therein, after which I gave the basket to a farmwife. She was happy to receive the striped tablecloth and napkins, along with silver tableware. We don’t have a use for those fancies in the cavalry.
Our Colonel Sturt covered himself with glory in the late campaign. The men of a few companies feel he works them too hard, but I’m glad of his spirit and daring. I have lerned a good deal from his example.
Mr. Earl, the old tracker, tells me I have sum talent in the skill. I continu to lern what he teaches me. He says I may soon track for a patrol on my own. I reckon his prais gives me prideful feelins but I trust not to exces. I want yor pa’s hat to fit my head when this war is won.
Mary, I look forward to coming home to you soon, sinse the Federal Yankees know we are fighting men and will keep our country.
Until that happy Day,
Yor husband, who holds you most dear,
Rulon S. Owen
When he had given in the envelope to be dispatched at the next opportunity, Rulon wondered when mail from home would catch up with them. Surely by this time, Mary had discovered if she was with child or not. He yearned to know if it were true. He hoped she was carrying his babe. If he should be taken by a shell or a musket ball, a child would be a comfort to Mary, and to Ma and Pa, as well. He whispered a silent prayer that he would not be taken from her, and went to curry his horse.
~~~
Ella Ruth — July 22, 1861
Ella Ruth regretted her sporadic fits of crying over the last two days. All the thinking and the tears had given her a tremendous headache. Even so, excitement bubbled in her stomach. In an effort to cheer her up, Poppa was taking her with him to Harrisonburg. She planned to shop to her heart’s content.
The day began too early for her taste, but Poppa insisted on an early start to avoid the likelihood of meeting with enemy troops on the move. The Yankees were said to be tucked in safely down the Valley in Martinsburg, unlikely to come up to battle against the steadfast Virginians holding the line, but Poppa seemed cautious lately.
She climbed into the buggy with his assistance. “It is mighty kind of you to include me in your trip, Poppa,” she said with a smile as she settled into the seat and adjusted her hat and veil. She turned to look at the servant getting on a horse behind the buggy. “Will Thomas be able to keep up with your prize team?”
“He rides well enough.” He lifted the lines and clicked his tongue at the horses. Once they were on their way, he said, “I will not be able to accompany you for shopping, but Thomas will be with you to carry all your baubles.”
“Poppa! I will be just fine alone. I do not plan to buy more than five or six ‘baubles,’ as you put it. I must have a new hat, however. This old veil is too thin for the sun.”
“You won’t go unaccompanied, daughter. I cannot allow you that liberty.”
“Pish and tush.” She looked again at the old black-skinned man following them. “He does seem to know how to ride. If you insist on him coming along, I suppose I shall endure it.”
“Thomas is reliable, Ella. You will treat him well.”
“Of course I will, Poppa! To hear you speak, one would think I was heartless.”
He glanced over at her, but said nothing.
“I’m not heartless. I treat everybody well.”
“Then what of your tears the past days?”
Ella Ruth sniffed. He knew she had been crying over her lost love affair. “You should have permitted me to marry Benjamin. If you had been agreeable, I would not have rejected him when he surprised me, when he told me out of the blue that we had to marry right away, without any friends around us. I was caught off guard, and yes, I did treat him badly. I’m sorry I did.”
“You’ve had the household in quite an uproar, daughter.”
“I miss Ben. I was wrong to turn him down so precipitously.” She turned away. “Don’t make me think about it now. I am on the point of crying again.”
After the day-long drive, Poppa got them situated at the finest hotel the city offered, although it seemed to be teeming with people. As a result, she was obliged to sleep on a cot in the same room with Poppa, and Thomas was sent off to take a spot in the stable. How scandalous to share quarters with her father at her age!
During the evening she kept to the room reading a lady’s fashion magazine while Poppa met with a business partner. Growing restless, she went to the window, lifted aside the drapes, and peered out. A group of men carrying torches had gathered opposite the hotel, and she shivered at the ominous looks on their faces. What had occurred to give them such long jaws?
After a while spent gazing at the men, she was no more enlightened on the matter, and let the drapery fall closed. She picked up her magazine once again and tried to find the most delightful items with which to make a shopping list.
However, she could not concentrate on that simple task. She had been so thrilled to accompany Poppa on this excursion to town, but now disturbing thoughts of Ben intruded. Where was he these days? Was he well? She supposed he was somewhere down the Valley, guarding the river against a Yankee invasion. She hoped he was getting enough to eat. How the man liked to eat!
She put down the magazine, unable to keep to her task. Poppa seemed to be worried these days. Did he entertain thoughts that Mr. Lincoln’s army would come up the Valley and wreak havoc upon his business? Everyone prattled on about how the Yankees would try to overrun Virginia, but with men the likes of Ben on duty, she was sure that could never happen.
He always talked about how much he loved his native land, Virginia. Surely no one would stand stronger against the enemy threat. Her stalwart Ben! How hard he had worked at the mill, throwing about those bags of grain like a common laborer. She adored how his muscled arms were built like iron. How could a girl have any fears when Ben guarded the border, protecting her?
A chill disturbed her reverie and she wrapped her arms around herself. She could not help remembering the look on his face before she had whirled in anger and left the yard behind the mill on that horrible day. She felt as though a leaden casing wrapped around her heart. Ben wasn’t standing guard for her. She had ruined their bond with her foolish pride and fancy dreams.
Perhaps it was just as well when Poppa came into the room, his face a thundercloud.
He said right away, “I’m sorry to spoil your outing. We leave before the crack of dawn to return home.”
“But Poppa—”
“Not a word, Ella Ruth. There’s been a battle. The war has come into Virginia.”
She inhaled sharply. Ben!
“There, there,” he said, softening his countenance as he approached. “We’re not in immediate danger. We’ll arrive home in time if we leave early enough.”
“Poppa, I’m afraid.” She heard how thin her voice sounded, and it frightened her still more.
He put his arms around her and she nestled into them. Poppa wasn’t as strong as Ben, but he would do, for now.
~~~
Ella Ruth — July 23, 1861
The journey home began even earlier in the day than had the one to Harrisonburg. The buggy moved through a ghostly mist that swirled as high as the tops of the wheels and obscured Ella Ruth’s sight of the hills and gaps that she knew lay out there in the semi-darkness.
She sighed. Mist nearly always made her feel giddy, a bit excited, especially if she were on her way to meet Benjamin. But such was not the case today. Today, she thought, today is not the same. Today the mist caused her an unfamiliar sense of unease, a chilling sensation that all was not well, that the mist was not friendly, would not hide her escape from the house to meet Ben.
Ben. Perhaps she would never, ever see him again. That was entirely her own fault. She might never see Ben because— She drew a quick breath.
Please don’t let Poppa hear me if I cry, she thought, struggling against the emotion sweeping through her body. Grief, hard as granite and bitter as quinine, ripped at her insides, tearing open a hole in her heart that only Ben could fill. She had nothing upon which to lay the blame but her own stiff pride.
Only that stubborn pride would get her through this moment, mask the trouble in her soul from Poppa, keep her alive in the unfulfilling future she saw stretching before her, endless and sterile. A future without Ben.
“You’re quiet this morning.” Poppa’s voice broke into her solitary thoughts. “Disappointed not to spend my money on a new bonnet?”
She shook her head. “I suppose I’m tired,” she answered, knowing it to be partly true. Her brain and bones and sinews reeked of tiredness. Was she disappointed that her shopping party had been terminated so abruptly? No. Not really. Her overwhelming pain stemmed from the grief, and yes, anxiety, on top of it all.
Poppa had mentioned a battle. Ben had gone for a soldier. Had he been involved? Was he wounded? Had he been... She couldn’t even bear to think of the word. Ben, so alive, so vital.
She shifted on the seat cushion. He would not be dead. She would not entertain the notion. She glanced sideways at her father. Perhaps engaging in conversation would rid her of this pall.
“You’re a mite quiet yourself,” she said, struggling to put a tease into the words.
Poppa looked over at her. “I have a few things on my mind,” he said. “I don’t fancy ruination, daughter.”
Ella Ruth did not answer. Poppa seemed too preoccupied to pay mind to her. So be it. She would be silent and endure the ride home as best she could.
When the sun finally lifted above Massanutten Mountain, the mist began to burn away, revealing first the treetops, then more foliage, then entire trees, glistening with dew, green and tall and comforting, and at last, the pike.
They were alone on the Valley Pike, she and Poppa. The wheels chattered slightly on the rock surface. The clip-clop of hooves behind them reminded her that one other person accompanied them. Thomas. She wondered if he was annoyed at Poppa’s early start for a second day in a row. He was growing older, with grizzled white patches on his head where there had always been black kinks before. Older folks sometimes complained of rheumatism and such. No matter. It was his duty to obey Poppa’s directions, even if they were tiresome at times. Like this morning.
Presently, another vehicle approached, coming toward them in some haste. Poppa moved the horse from the center of the road to allow the wagon van to pass their buggy. The wagon had canvas sides, rolled down and tied, and several dark, blotchy stains on the material caught her eyes, but not before the appalling sounds of moans came to her ears. Hideous, terrible moans.
“Poppa, what is th—”
“Cover your ears!”
Her hands flew up to do so. What was causing that noise?
“Ambulance wagon,” he muttered as the din faded in the distance. “Do not look next time,” he added.
Those blotches on the sidewalls. Her heart shrank. Blood. Of course they were blood. An ambulance carried wounded men to the hospital. Were they going all the way to Staunton? She looked back, unable to restrain herself. How many of the wounded would be alive when they arrived?
Was Ben among those poor boys in the wagon?
She asked herself the same question each time they passed another ambulance, until the flood of them moving south up the pike had her sobbing, biting her veil to bits with the anxiety of not knowing the answer.
Rod — July 31, 1861
Captain Roderick Owen of the Owen Dragoons mounted his mare, spur jingling as he swung his leg over and found the stirrup, feeling slightly chagrined that he was getting into the action so late. He figured all that was left was a clean-up, or some kind of defensive movement to enforce upon the Yankees the notion that everything was over but the shouting.
Julia came over and leaned against Rod’s leg. “You come back safe, husband,” she murmured in a voice stripped of emotion, as though she had spent it all. “We have that grandchild a-comin’.”
“That will be a joyous day.” He rubbed the thigh of his other leg.
“Peter?”
He barely heard her thin voice above the pounding in his chest.
“I’ll see about finding the boy after I join the regiment,” he said, putting his hand on the side of her head, lightly, briefly. “If I can locate him, I’ll send him home.”
“They won’t shoot him for desertion?”
“Nah, not that. I’ll do it proper, get him discharged for being underage.”
“Will they do that? Send him home?”
“I reckon. The government didn’t make a call for young’uns.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t see this to-do extendin’ for much longer, but he may yet have a chance to join in.”
“No.” Julia’s voice found an emotion at last as she wailed the word. “Rulon and Ben are enough to send,” she finished, head down, pressed tight against Rod’s trouser leg. “And now, you.”
“Julie,” he began, but couldn’t find any words to comfort her. Finally, he drew on the ancient faith. “Put the future in the Good Lord’s hands, woman. He will see us through.”
She let him loose and backed up, firming her shoulders. “Indeed,” she said, with one last sniff, and made a “get along with you” gesture.
Rod rode down the lane without looking back, knowing if he did, he likely wouldn’t leave his wife and home. But the pull of war was strong, and he gave in to it, even knowing what he knew of conflict, and blood, and the rancid taste of conquest.
~~~
Rulon — July 31, 1861
Rulon sat his horse in a driving rainstorm, grateful for the Federal overcoat he had acquired after the late battle. A biting wind added misery to the wet weather. Staring across the Potomac River, he could see the fortifications of the enemy capital. Soldiers drilled in the rain on a parade ground off to the left. Around the city, flag snapped so smartly on their poles he imagined he could hear them. Vidette duty often sent him within close proximity to the Yankees. In fair weather, he enjoyed acting as a sentinel for his country. This foul weather made the long hours of observation more challenging.
The wind shifted, and he adjusted his hat and collar to deflect the water attacking from a different angle. The skin of his neck seemed warm to the touch, even with the rain cooling the air. He shrugged off the notion that he might be taking sick. He didn’t have time for that nonsense.
“Owen, we’re moving back,” said Owen Leoyd.
Rulon reined the horse around to follow the other man, and experienced a momentary dizziness. It wasn’t enough to unseat him, but did give him another fleeting thought about taking ill. He shook it off as before. Too many of his comrades were sick. He couldn’t let down the company and the regiment by joining them.
Leoyd led the way to a thicket about a mile away. There the two men dismounted and sheltered as best they could as the storm beat its fury upon them.
After a while, Rulon noticed himself shaking. He hunched into the greatcoat, putting his hands up the opposing sleeves so he could rub his arms inside the wool, and then chafed his hands together. When his teeth began to chatter, he began to feel concern.
“You ailin’, Owen? Don’t you make me sick or nothin’,” Leoyd said. He had mentioned repeatedly how much he enjoyed using Rulon’s last name as much as possible as sort of a joke, seeing as how it was his own first name. He didn’t seem like he was joking now, though, as he added, “I don’t cotton to taking a fever from you.”
“It’s the cold wind,” Rulon replied. Several of the men in the regiment had been so sick they’d been discharged and sent home, and a few had even died. Rulon did not intend to be among either group.
At last the wind died down.
“We should keep our eyes peeled for the relief vidette,” Leoyd said. He squinted into the rain. “They should be along before sundown.” He chuckled wryly. “It’s not dark yet, is it? Hard to tell with all this bad weather.”
Rulon shook his head. “I reckon it’s early yet. Shouldn’t we take another look across the river?” He could barely get the words out for the tremor in his jaw that made his teeth click together.
“Nope. The Yankees are still over there, all right. I don’t figure they’re going to be doin’ any marchin’ in this rain.”
“I s-suppose you’re r-r-r-right,” Rulon stammered.
Leoyd squinted in his direction. “You better git seen by the doc when we git to camp. I don’t like the look of you.”
“You n-n-never did.”
“Well, yeah, but you look kinda mealy-mouth an’ green just now.”
“I’m fine. N-n-never b-b-better.”
“Don’t lie to me, Owen.”
“Leoyd?” A low voice called from behind them.
“Over here,” he answered. “‘Bout time you boys showed up.”
After a few verbal jabs back and forth, the new vidette took over the watch, and Rulon and Owen Leoyd made their way to their mounts and started back to camp.
“Doctor,” Leoyd muttered after a few miles.
“If I don’t f-feel better t-t-tomorrow, I’ll c-c-consider your adv-v-vice.”
~~~
Rulon — August 1, 1861
Even with his heavy wool coat pulled up over his blanket, Rulon shivered all night and awoke feeling like he’d been stomped underneath a herd of stampeding mules. His face ached, his shoulders ached, and he knew the signs of a galloping fever when he felt them.
Someone in the tent was tending the stove, from the sounds of a chunk of wood settling into the ashes, but the heat might as well be going up the chimney, for all he felt of it.
“You’ve had a chill all night,” Ren said quietly. “I recommend you get over to the hospital. I’ll cover for you at roll call.”
“I’m f-f-fine,” Rulon protested, opening his eyes to find Ren staring down at him.
“I can’t make you go,” Ren replied, “but we’re better off if you go be sick with the other fellows instead of staying here with us.” He rubbed lather onto his face. “No offense meant.”
“None t-t-taken. Do I appear to be sick?”
Ren quirked an eyebrow. “I’d say yes. No spots on you, but I’m not a medical man. Let the doc look at you.”
Rulon got up and dressed as quickly as he could. “Still rainin’?” he asked, looking at his still-soggy hat.
“Not so much as yesterday. If you need help, I’m almost finished shavin’.”
“I’ll make it, thank you kindly.”
When he arrived at the hospital tent, an orderly had him wait for almost an hour before the doctor appeared to ask, “Symptoms?”
“Ch-ch-chills, f-fever, aches. P-pain in my j-jaw now.”
“You had that stammer all your life?”
“Sh-showed up yesterday with the ch-chills.”
“Hmm. Any spots?”
“Haven’t looked.”
“You a drinking man?”
“On s-special occasions, yes.”
The doctor got a bottle and tumbler, filled the glass half full of amber liquid, and thrust it into Rulon’s hand. “This is a special occasion. Drink it down. If it doesn’t help or you get further symptoms, come back tomorrow or the next day.”
Rulon looked at the doctor, then at the tumbler, then did as directed, got up, and went back toward his tent, his gullet burning, but his body warmer.
~~~
Ben — August 2, 1861
When Ben’s company had gone into camp following the battle of Manassas, he was persuaded that he ought to write home, and hunted up a pencil and paper to accomplish the task.
Dear Ma,
I reckon you will be pleased to heer that Me and the other fellows in the Company hav been fending off the foe as admirably as we can. Our Company is called “G” in the 33rd Regiment of Virginia Volunteers of Infantry. We are, as I had supposed, fightin in the Brigade of “Old Jack”. We Took part in the big Battle at Manassas junction after we rode the rail cars over hill and thru vale. I tell you, it was mighty fierce sittin atop them cars and feelin the wind pushin aganst us so hard it like to blow us away before we got to the station at M. We lost a few boys in the fight. I will mention, not to worry you, but to inform, as there is naught to worry you in the tale, that I receev’d a slight injury to my limb from a ball hitting upon a drummer boy and coming through him to smite me. I’m O.K. The Surgeon took out the ball and gave me a piece of cotton Lint to press on the scrape, and I’m right as rain now. I can’t say the same for the unfortunate drummer boy.
The sting of the gunpowder smoke gettin in our eyes and up into our noses and choking our breth was the worst part of the battle. That, and the bellowing of the Yankees long guns as they spoke out real sharp and threw their shells acrost the fields and into our lines. When we could no longer bear to receev the shells in our ranks, we broke over the crest of the rise called the Henry House Hill and battled our weigh to the long guns to silents them. When the task was done and the shelling ceased, I wondered woud I ever hear right again.
“Old Jack” has a new name, giv’n him by a General what was shot dead soon after he spoke it out. The story goes this general Bee saw our troops drawn up Firm upon the ridgeline and said somethin like “There stands Jackson like A stone Wall,” and he’s been called Stone Wall Jackson ever since. He don’t much like it, as I hear.
Give my affection to Pa and the young’uns, and accept my kiss upon your brow in grateful thanks for all you done for me thruout my years. I hope you have good news from Rulon and that he is well. Tell the rascal Peter to stop hounding you to go to war. There’s plenty of fightin to go around, but I hope his time don’t come soon to protect his native country. We bigger boys are risin to the task.
Your faithful son Benj’n