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“It’ll never work,” my father said over his morning papers.
I sighed. Ever since Virginia had seceded, and I had resigned, we had been having some variation of this discussion. I had hoped for a peaceful breakfast, but my father had other plans, continuing his harangue. “The whole exercise is doomed to failure. What do you hope to accomplish? Independence? Meaning what? What freedom do you currently lack which a confederacy of states will provide?”
My mother tried to head him off. “Do we need to discuss this now? Perhaps it could wait until after breakfast...”
He dismissed her request angrily. “This won’t wait. Even now, regiments are being raised, regiments composed of our friends, our neighbors, our, our,” he waved his hand toward me dismissively, “our family, and I’m not going to sit idly by and watch all I’ve worked for, all I’ve built, be turned to ashes without having my say.” Turning to face me once more, he thundered, “Tell me now, what rights you lack? What has this country deprived you of, such that you feel justified in turning your back to it? How do you break the oath you swore to this Nation?”
I pushed my chair back from the table slightly. I didn’t want to get into this with him again, certainly not at breakfast and not with my mother present. She had always raised us that the table was for family unity, not for bickering; bad enough to argue with my father at the table, worse with her sitting there. But my father expected an answer, and I was tired of having the conversation. Maybe this time I would finally get through to him, although I doubted that; in any event, I expected to be leaving home very shortly, so this would be the last opportunity to make the attempt. He was my father, I owed him that much at least.
“The rights we lack are to have the fruits of our labor used to make our own lives better, not to enrich the pockets of Northern merchants, not to build railroads and canals to facilitate Northern manufacturers, and not to protect Northern industries. What we produce should be sold to whoever will pay the highest prices, and what we buy should be purchased as low as we can get it. Protective tariffs and internal improvements don’t benefit us in the South, quite the opposite. Our goods are more expensive than they need to be because we have to keep Yankee merchants from being undercut in prices. We have to pay for railroads to ship Northern goods to Northern factories- yet none of that money is spent down here. Why? Because we don’t have an ‘industrial base’. So we pay to make their businesses more profitable, and receive nothing in exchange. The North has organized against our interests and is turning the government to further their own ends. We stated in the Constitution that the government was supposed to ‘support the general welfare’ and to ‘secure the blessings of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’ for the people. But the people who seem to be receiving the most support are in the North. The people who are given the means of securing these blessings are in the North. The South pays into this community treasury, yet receives little of the bounty. An independent South will further its own economic interests without tariffs to protect Yankee industries, without funding Yankee business ventures which further Yankee industries, and will pass laws to protect the rights of individuals over the interests of money-grubbing bankers and merchants.” Pushing my chair the rest of the way back, I stood and looked him in the eye. “As for my oath, I feel my first duty is to my home. My family is here, my friends are here- everything I’ve ever known is here. If the Yankees intend to invade my home, I cannot and will not be a party to it- that alone is cause for me to resign. Beyond that, however, I will take up arms to protect my home against any aggressor- and that, Sir, is part of my oath. If my country turns against me and my home state and all we’ve ever built, then it is my duty and the duty of every man of conscience to take up arms in its defense.” Turning to my mother, I bowed slightly. “I apologize for breaking your rule about bickering at the table, and I thank you for the hospitality you have offered me since my return. I feel that the time has come for me to be on my way.” I took one last glance at them, my mother struggling to hold back tears, my father red-faced with anger, and then turned and walked away.
I quickly packed my meager possessions into a traveling bag- a formal suit, two sets of working outfits, and my blue uniform. I ran my fingers over the fine cloth, pausing at the shoulder strap with the two bars on a light-blue background which identified me as a captain of infantry. I smiled at the thought- just five years of service, none of it in the infantry, and I was now eligible to lead a company of soldiers into combat. At full strength, this would mean 100 men following my orders in the heat of battle. One hundred men who would live or die by my decisions. It was a grave responsibility, and the realization of it wiped the smile from my face. I had been promoted to captain in the old army due to a need for men with experience- any experience. Who knows what I would be expected to do in the forces defending Virginia, or the newly-forming Confederate Army?
Leaving the house, I encountered a messenger coming up the private lane; to my surprise, he had a letter for me from the newly-formed War Department, which he informed me had been ordered to deliver 'with all due haste.' Tearing open the envelope, I read that I was being invited to a meeting with the head of the Virginia defenses in Richmond at my earliest convenience; although the phrase implied leisurely compliance, I knew enough about military courtesies to understand its meaning: report immediately. With that in mind, I hastened to the train station.
I was fortunate in my timing, for a train was due to depart within a half hour of my arrival. The trip to Richmond should take a few hours, which meant that with any luck I should be in the city by late afternoon- plenty of time to check into a hotel, have my uniform prepared, and turn in- I wanted to be refreshed when I reported to the War Department.
It seemed strange that I should be concerned about my old uniform when meeting with representatives from what was, after all, a new nation. But I was being asked to report by a military organization, not a civilian one, which implied that the purpose of the visit was military in nature. Although I was technically a civilian, having tendered my resignation in the United States Army, it still seemed appropriate to appear in military attire; if nothing else, it would certainly distinguish me from the civilians who were flocking to join up.
As I waited on the platform for the train to arrive, a familiar face appeared amongst the other passengers. A tall, balding man with bushy eyebrows which gave his face a perpetually surprised look, deeply tanned from years of farming, and a wiry frame from a life of hard work; this was Samuel Tilden, a lifelong acquaintance of my father’s- they had settled this end of the Shenandoah valley together, decades earlier, and had both vied for my mother’s hand. Although my father won, they remained good friends, and he had always been close. It was he who had arranged my appointment to West Point through his connections, and it was he who had penned a letter of recommendation for my early admission at the age of just 17. Well, I was 17 when the term started, which was close enough. He had commanded a company in Mexico and been awarded a presentation sword from the state for his service. It was Tilden who had tutored me in mathematics at a young age, and taught me how to make detailed measurements, and evaluate results. In many ways, he was more of a father than my own, and I owed much of my current successes to his tutelage.
Tilden taught me to look at the world around me and to understand it. Not just see things, but observe them- and to draw the correct conclusions about my observations. To see the bigger picture and to understand how things in complex systems fit together, and how to identify the anomaly- and to understand what that meant. Sometimes, it seemed that all we did was ask questions, as each answer brought forth new questions. But over time, I honed my ability to provide details and to anticipate the questions, providing answers before being asked. He took great delight in my development, and I honestly couldn’t say who was more proud when I was accepted to the Point.
After graduation, and reporting to my first posting, I quickly learned the value of his teachings as I was assigned various tasks which required detailed observations of people, places, and objects. My reports, full of technical specifications and precise measurements, were accompanied by analysis of the data and conclusions; these were highly prized by my superiors, both for their accuracy and for their value in assisting with decision-making. It became a matter of routine for me to be asked to provide an opinion or a recommendation on a plan, or course of action, based on my assessments. As a result, I found my career taking a different path than that of my fellow officers, with different challenges and different rewards. It was hard to say, now, if it had been worthwhile, but the experiences had nevertheless shaped who I was and would ultimately define where I was going.
Tilden made his way past a group of ladies, pausing to exchange pleasantries as he did so, and over to me, grasping my hand firmly and shaking vigorously, as a dog would with a bone. “Matthew! Delighted to see you, my boy! What brings you here so early? And with baggage- where are you off to, then?”
I smiled heartily, he hadn’t changed a bit. Still as cheerful and easygoing as ever, though it had been almost ten years since last I’d seen him. “Good morning, Sam! Glad to see you as well. I had planned to come visit, but I was called away from home abruptly- I’m headed off to Richmond now.”
“Richmond, eh?” He looked down the tracks as if hoping to see the city from here. “Now, what do they want with you, I wonder?” He looked at me with an air of...I wasn’t sure what. I didn’t know enough of his politics to gauge his reaction to my summons to the War Department, and I didn’t want to get into that here, on the platform. He looked thoughtfully at me and down at my bags. “You say you’re being summoned to Richmond, and you’ve got all your things with you, from the look of your bags. That tells me you’re not planning on returning anytime soon- which means you’re either leaving home or joining up. I know your father is anti-secession,” he paused. I could see him weighing the different options, evaluating each outcome to determine its probability of being correct. “If they wanted to know your mind on secession, they could’ve come to your house- they either knew or guessed you were staying at your father’s, so they could have come by for a chat. So they knew you were here...why would they be interested? Unless you’ve resigned and come home to join Virginia.” He paused to see my reaction, then went on. “Either you notified the Virginia authorities of your availability, or they knew of your resignation- either way, they knew you would be eligible for service and called on you. So why would they call you to Richmond, when there are any number of local regiments in need of good officers?”
I had wondered that myself, to be honest, but couldn’t supply a reason. I presumed they wanted to make sure I was detailed appropriately, but it seemed surprising that the assignment of one junior officer would merit such high-level attention. “Meanwhile,” Samuel continued, “you’ve packed your bags and are taking them with you- I’m guessing you had already done so in order to make it here for this train, so you must’ve been planning to leave home. The old man giving you trouble about resigning?”
I couldn’t help myself- he had an uncanny ability to unravel the tightest knot by pulling at the tiniest threads. I laughed out loud, causing several of the other passengers to turn and look at me, dismayed by my outburst. “Sam, you haven’t lost your touch. Yes, you’re absolutely right. Father and I had words this morning- well, we’ve had words every morning since I came home, but this was the last straw. I packed up and left, and intercepted a messenger with a letter for me. So, I hurried straight here and bought a ticket and waited for the train and met you,” I paused for air, “and now here we are and you know as much about it as I do.”
Sam laughed as well, and clapped me on the back. It was great seeing him again, I had to admit. After the disappointment of my homecoming, a friendly face was welcome indeed. My mother had been happy to see me, of course, and fussed over me- how thin and tired I looked, and why wasn’t I married, and who was looking after me, the usual concerns of a mother. My father, however, had been displeased, and made it known. He had proceeded to lecture me- at length- about my failings as an officer, my duty to my country, how I had thrown away all of his sacrifices, and so forth. Coming from a man who had scorned military service, I took his comments about my military performance poorly. He had always viewed the Army- the regular Army- as a place for men with no other potential. “Men of real talent,” he had intoned, “went into business for themselves. Or they farm, enriching themselves by their labor.” He would shake his head in disgust, “Soldiers are good for one thing- following orders. A man should think for himself, be the master of his own destiny, make his own way in the world. We have no need for a standing army, not anymore.” Any attempt to change his opinion, make him understand the need to be prepared, the size of European armies in comparison to ours- the amount of border and unorganized territory populated by hostile Indians and bandits we had to patrol- was met with a disdainful sneer and a condescending “Well, I’m sure that’s how it looks to you.”
My father had inherited a decent sum of money from his father and an uncle who died without marrying. As a result, he was able to enter into banking, eventually settling in the Shenandoah and opening his own bank. During a population boom, he was able to expand his estate by lending to farmers and merchants, and grew fairly well-off financially. We had a nice plot of land and he hired people to work it, which enabled him to invest his time in local businesses; his financial ability led him to several profitable partnerships with local merchants, securing his footing in the community.
To be fair, he was a decent man- generous with his lending, paying hefty wages to the tenant farmers who worked our land, and keeping several local merchants afloat out of his own pocket during lean times. Many of the tenant farmers were able to purchase their own lands thanks to my father, and he was respected. But he was parsimonious with his own family, insisting that only hard work and ‘honest labor’ built the character necessary to replicate his success; considering he had never had to labor as hard as he deemed so important for character, I found his opinions contradictory at best.
My older brother had tried to live up to our father’s ideals, but unfortunately was killed in an accident just shy of his 16th birthday. I was twelve, and the memory of the day seared itself into my brain. My mother, weeping inconsolably at the loss of her son, and my father looking grim and refusing to grieve, even for a moment, only commenting that his first-born son had “set his hand to honest labor, for good or ill.” Small comfort, and for once my mother put her foot down. I was not going to follow my brother into the fields, but would receive a quality education. My father agreed, but never celebrated any of my accomplishments- to his mind, anything not achieved through backbreaking labor was a hollow diversion at best, and a sign of laziness. My academic achievements were many, and numerous scholars suggested I would be suited for a career at a university- we had offers from several schools as I grew older, but my father turned them all down. I was younger than my peers in school, due to my natural gifts and the tutoring from Sam, and it was he who suggested to my father that an education at West Point would provide the rigor my father sought for me, while still developing my intellect. Sam pointed out that many men had used a degree from West Point as a stepping stone to commercial success, and my father was sold on the idea. It was Sam, again, who suggested it to me- and I eagerly accepted. Anything to get away from my father and his skewed sense of priorities.
I ceased my reminiscing and turned back to Sam’s question. “The old man giving me trouble about resigning? When hasn’t he given me trouble about a decision I’ve made?”
Sam put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Don’t know what he expected you to do. You wouldn’t have been able to come home if you’d stayed North, that’s for sure. Your father’s a good man, but he’s stubborn, especially in matters where he needs to be flexible. He expects people to do what he wants, and gets mad when they don’t listen. He made a lot of folks angry when talk came about secession- called them all fools and knaves, language like that. Riled folks up. Even had to get the sheriff out here at one point to calm things down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what your father plans to do, but he hasn’t done himself any favors. At least you being here showed folks that you’re loyal to your kin and your neighbors, that’ll count in his favor.”
I had a sudden chill as I considered his words. “Sam, do me a favor- keep an eye on my folks, especially Mother, and try to keep them safe for me? I’ll get word to you as soon as I can, letting you know where to reach me- I don’t know that I’ll be able to get home to do anything, but let me know if there’s trouble.”
Sam looked me in the eye and took my hand. With a firm shake and an abrupt nod, he let me know it would be done.