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Inside the stablemaster’s office, a portly gentleman of about fifty sat behind a badly scarred desk, smoking a rather obnoxious pipe. Although he wore gray trousers and a gray vest over his white shirt, I doubted that it was any type of uniform. My suspicions were confirmed when he introduced himself. “Come in, gentlemen, come in. Please excuse me, damn rheumatism’s acting up again, hard to get up out of this chair. Let me introduce myself, G.L. Wentworth. Colonel G.L. Wentworth, acting stablemaster for the Confederate States Army.” Acting stablemaster? Was that even a position? Apparently it was, one meriting a colonel’s rank at least. “What can I do for you fine young men today? A couple of mounts to carry you into battle? Cavalry chargers? Or perhaps you need a good, steady mount to keep the line straight as you advance!”
Gordon answered him flatly. “An officer riding a horse during an infantry advance is a huge target. No sane man would do so.”
Colonel Wentworth blinked a couple of times. “Quite right, quite right. Well then, what shall it be?”
“Perhaps we can look for our own mounts,” I suggested helpfully. “We wouldn’t want to trouble you with your rheumatism.” I smiled sympathetically.
Wentworth took the hint graciously. “A splendid idea! You find what you like, bring ‘em back here, and we’ll do up all the paperwork, nice and military. Just out and to the right, you’ll see them all right. Can’t miss. I’ll wait for you here.” With that he went back to his pipe, and we went to look for horses.
There can be no more tedious experience than looking for a horse with a cavalryman. This is what I was thinking to myself an hour later, as Gordon had rejected a dozen or more horses after thorough inspections. He had some sixth sense about horses, and could tell with a glance whether a mount had the stamina he needed, if it was going to pull up lame, if it had been ill-used by its previous owner, and so on. He finally selected two horses, a sorrel for me and a bay for himself. The bay was a magnificent animal, with long legs and a very rugged constitution. The sorrel was a more delicate looking animal, but he assured me that the horse would be ideal. “Look, for the sort of sneaking around you’re liable to do, she’s a perfect creature.”
“Perhaps, but what about your beast then? He’s obviously not going to blend into the surroundings. You’ll hear him coming a mile away, and see him two!”
“Ah,” he replied, “but I’m not going to be doing any sneaking. I’ll wait off at some distance in case you need a diversion. He’ll be able to draw anyone away, and escape them to boot! Besides, you can’t ride a horse as well as I can,” I wasn’t certain how he figured that, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, “so you wouldn’t be able to handle a horse as willful as this one. He needs a firm hand in the rein to get as much out of him as he is capable of giving. Mark my words- when we need to go fast and hard, this horse will be the animal to do it.”
I demurred to his judgment, still not convinced we’d need anything so bold. Still, I reasoned, he may have been thinking of his future assignment in the cavalry, where such a mount would be appropriate.
We returned to the stablemaster’s office. Wentworth was out, ‘gone home for the day’ was his assistant’s opinion, so we opted to pay for the horses by military voucher- which meant I wrote out a receipt for the horses and charged it to myself, care of General Lee’s headquarters. I figured they’d be able to find me through that office, and get paid, so it wasn’t actually stealing the horses. Technically not even misappropriation, since I had signed a receipt. The clerk didn’t see it that way however, and threatened to summon the militia company outside. Gordon invited him to do so, going so far as to opening the door and looking around to call someone. At that point, figuring we had our own reasons to invite them along, the clerk decided to accept our receipt. We thanked him courteously and he responded with an unpardonable slight upon our parentage, so we left.
After a brief stop in the stable itself, where we obtained saddles and riding tack, we mounted up and headed back to the hotel. It was a much quicker trip with the horses, and being in the street we were able to converse more freely. As we drew near the site of our earlier lunch, I announced I needed to satisfy my curiosity. Dismounting, I went into a haberdashery across the street from the inn. Minutes later, I had my answer and returned to Gordon and the horses.
“Well?” he asked, as I swung into the saddle.
“The man’s an abolitionist. He supported John Brown, or at least sympathized with him. The owner says supported, but I doubt that the innkeeper would still be here if he had actually been sympathetic. Anyway, business fell off to nothing, and he’s only been surviving by letting rooms to immigrants and free blacks. Even then, he’s been hard pressed to keep the place open.”
Gordon swore softly. “John Brown, I hope he’s burning in Hell.”
I looked at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. You don’t agree?”
“That he should be burning in Hell? I can’t wish that on him. He was obviously disturbed. If he’s not right in the head, why should we wish him ill? No sane person would’ve acted as he did. What he did was wrong, but he paid for his crimes on Earth. What happens in the hereafter is God’s will.”
Gordon shook his head. “No, I don’t think he was insane. I think he knew what he was doing all along. It wasn’t right, turning against his own like that. There’s a natural order of things, Brown tried to overturn that.”
“Brown tried to free slaves, not overturn the laws of nature,” I argued.
“What is your opinion of slavery?” Gordon asked.
I paused to think, unsure of the best way to proceed. Ultimately, I settled on honesty. “I don’t like it. It’s a curse for both races. But it’s legal, it’s Constitutional, and it’s been argued up to the Supreme Court and upheld. I don’t see much point in dwelling on it. It should be up to individual states to determine if they want to allow it or not. I don’t think the Federal government should be invested in the protection of individual property at the level it currently is.” There, it was out in the open- the next move was Gordon’s.
“A nice answer.” He was being sarcastic. “You sound like you’d be right at home with the innkeeper.”
“You asked, I answered.” I shot back. “I don’t like it. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Yes, I’d prefer we banish it from our shores, but that should be up to individuals to decide, not governments. If we let the government decide to take away one set of rights, what would stop them from stripping away any other set of rights? I don’t have to like slavery, I don’t have to defend slavery, and I won’t fight for slavery- but I will fight for your rights and my rights and the rights of every other person in Virginia and in the entire Confederacy, even the right to own slaves. I’m not an abolitionist or a black Republican like the Yankees. I believe if the Constitution provides for people to own slaves, then that’s the law of the land and can’t be changed unless the majority of the states choose to do so. From what I’ve seen, the abolitionists don’t constitute a majority, anywhere. So for now, it’s legal to own slaves and it’s legal to move them from one place to another, even to the territories, and if the Yankees want it otherwise, then they need to use Congress to pass legislation- which won’t pass, in any event, because the numbers just aren’t there for them.”
“If there’s no threat, then why secession?” he asked.
“There is a threat, just not a legislative threat. Right now, the number of free and slave states are equal. That will change as states are admitted from the territories. If the North can flood the territories with immigrants, they’ll carve out more free states and then the political situation will change. So either the South sits by quietly, anticipating gradual dilution of political power and a loss of the ability to block legislation harmful to her interests, or she secedes. If so, better now than later. Lincoln showed the nation after Sumter that he’s willing to crush South Carolina, and anyone allied with her, rather than negotiate a peaceful split. I can’t be a part of that. He also plans to use Virginia as either the base for an invasion of the South, or the start of one- and I won’t be a party to that. My duty was clear- despite my lack of interest in slavery and its continuation, I couldn’t sit by and let our rights be eroded and our land be attacked.”
We rode on in silence for a few minutes before Gordon spoke. “My family owns slaves,” he said simply.
“Oh?” I replied.
“We don’t own a large plantation, like in the Deep South, we’ve got a large estate to breed horses. I was born and raised with horses, practically had a saddle for a cradle. We’ve got pasture, grassland for hay, and then the stables. Our servants work right alongside the family- my brothers and I worked with the horses, grooming them, shoeing them, keeping their lines pure. The only thing we didn’t do on the farm was the cutting of the hay. But otherwise, the servants knew as much about horses as we did. My father was asked once to hire out one of our servants, who was gifted at caring for sick animals. My father agreed to do so, and so our servant rode out on a horse to visit the neighbor. He returned that evening with a large swelling on his eye, and a note from the neighbor. He claimed our servant had insulted him by ‘presuming to tell him how to care for his animals’, so he had struck our servant to teach him to mind himself. My father was furious, and next morning rode over to the neighbor’s house and demanded compensation. When the man refused, my father beat him with his cane. He never allowed one of the servants to work outside the estate after that.”
Gordon paused to see my reaction, then went on. “We didn’t treat them as animals, like some masters do. I don’t agree with that, just as I don’t agree with beating a horse. A good horseman can get the best performance out of his mount by handling it properly- it was the same with our servants. The thing a lot of people forget is that servants are very expensive, and you want to maximize your investment. For us, having a bunch of untrained field hands is of no value. Neither is having to hire a bunch of overseers, and slave catchers, and all of that. It’s better to invest in teaching them the skills we need, and giving them a good life, so that they work with us for a common goal. Compare that to the Yankees and their mills- they pay the poor immigrants a meager wage, from which the workers must buy food, and clothing, and pay rent, and if they get sick, a doctor- if they can afford one. And when they can no longer work, they’re cast off to die in the gutter. Our servants fare much better than so–called ‘free labor’ in the North.”
Here he stopped for a minute, so I considered his comments. Yes, his servants- I noted he never called them slaves- probably did have it better than the working poor in some New England slum. But that was hardly the rule, and he admitted that they were the exception in their treatment of slaves. Was there really a point to this, though? Right or wrong, good or evil, it was the law of the land and wasn’t going to change any time soon. For all their abolitionist rhetoric, the Yankees weren’t great fans of slaves- or free blacks, either. Lincoln’s own home state of Illinois had severely restrictive laws for free blacks, that were tantamount to slavery. The Democratic party had run particularly brutal campaigns against Lincoln, preying on the fears of black equality in the North should Lincoln win. I often found their attitudes hypocritical, their loathing of slavery which was almost as equal to their loathing of freed blacks living among them. At times, I wondered if the anti-slavery hype was just a ruse to prevent the South from overtaking the North as an economic powerhouse. Mechanization and industrialization had allowed the North to catch up to the South in terms of capital, but with cotton prices as high as they were and the Southern near-monopoly, the North would be hard pressed to keep up.
So what was it all about then, really? The fire-eaters with their calls for secession, the race to form a new nation, create an army- the attack on Ft. Sumter? I had told Gordon that one needed to look beyond the narrative and examine the motive of the storyteller. Were our motives pure, here in the South? The Cotton States were up front with their declarations of secession- they were removing themselves from the Union to preserve their rights to own slaves. The events in Kansas and Missouri, the elusive hunts for compromise on the territories, all revolved around a Northern faction attempting to deny Southerners their rights under the Constitution. The immorality of the ‘peculiar institution’ wasn’t the issue- it was whether or not one state, or a bloc of them, had the right to deny another state its rights without due process. The territories were lands held in common for the nation- all people, including the slaveowners. To deny them the right to bring their property into territories they helped acquire, they helped garrison, and they helped administer through their taxes was to deny them equality under the law. Furthermore, taxing Southern states to support territories in which they were forbidden from bringing their property was tantamount to taxation without representation- a little matter which had caused our war for independence from England.
I believed that slavery was eventually destined to die out, that the inefficiency of the system would catch up with it, and as industrialization rendered large numbers of workers unnecessary, the slaves would gradually be emancipated. But that decision should be up to the states, and the individuals living there- not to a bunch of Yankees in New England. That was as unacceptable as the tariffs they imposed to protect Yankee factories and industry, for which we now paid a premium for finished goods. We were unable to import cheaper goods from abroad, all so New York and Boston merchants could grow rich. This, to me, seemed to be the real agenda- elevation of the Northern economy at the expense of the Southern. The great rail projects, the large factories, all of this was of benefit to the resource-poor North. Meanwhile, the Southern economy was the fastest-growing in the world, and was only being constrained by artificial controls. Once free of Yankee mercantile domination, we could unleash our true potential and create a rich new nation, equal to the mightiest of Europe.
But slavery was still hanging over everything. The great powers of Europe had done away with it, and yet the South showed no signs of following suit; in fact, it was actually growing, and there was talk by extremists of expanding it to the rest of the hemisphere, a vast slave-powered empire. The prospect was troubling, but I held out hope that it was just a lot of talk- after all, there had been attempts throughout the 1850s to establish slave republics in the Americas, and they had all failed miserably.
What did all of that say about my decision, then? I had resigned my commission in the United States Army, and was now returning to spy on that same army, on behalf of a state which had joined a Confederacy of slave powers, who explicitly claimed a right to own slaves among their enumerated reasons for secession. Wasn’t I, in fact, defending slavery by my actions? If I found slavery immoral, despite its legality, what did that say about me?
The issue wasn’t that clear, unfortunately. It wasn’t a question of slavery vs. abolition, it was a question of Union. Did the states have the right to secede, regardless of the reason, from a Union they had created voluntarily? We had declared independence when Parliament no longer represented our interests, so why shouldn’t we declare independence when Congress followed the same path? Even Lincoln had spoken of a ‘natural right of rebellion’ in his speeches; the contest was one of dominance- could the states exert control over each other without consent? This was a fundamental truth in our Declaration of Independence, that government derives its power and legitimacy from the consent of the governed- and in this case, we did not consent. Our representation in Congress was being whittled away to a permanent minority status through the admission of free states and the refusal to allow slavery in the territories. Soon we would lack enough representation to block legislation which infringed upon our rights- not just in slavery, but in questions of taxes, and apportionments, and in national policy, and improvements to our infrastructure. We would be left at the mercy of a coalition of northern and western states who would support each faction’s projects at the expense of the South. It was this future which we were rebelling against, and while slavery may have been the catalyst, it was simply the latest in a string of hostile policies enacted by the free states. Going back a decade or more, one could see a pattern of laws and policies aimed squarely against the South, and the pattern showed no signs of abating.
My choice, then, was to either stay in an army which was poised to invade my home, to crush it in a display of dominance aimed at enforcing loyalty to the Union at bayonet point, or to join the forces arrayed in defense, however much I disagreed with their causes. A Union which was willing to destroy, burn, kill in order to preserve its cohesion, or a Confederacy which upheld the rights of citizens- even if some of those rights were morally dubious. As much as I lamented Virginia’s decision to secede, I understood her reasoning. As much as I wished she had stayed in the Union, I wished Lincoln hadn’t called for troops to invade the South in response. If only he had stayed his hand long enough for cooler heads to prevail! But now it was too late- Virginia was gone and I was forced to choose where to make my stand.
Gordon interrupted my reflection. “I take it you don’t agree?”
Startled, I jerked in the saddle. The horse felt the movement and sidled in response, forcing me to gain control of her, and giving me a second or two to organize my thoughts before answering. “It’s not that, I was just thinking about the larger picture here.”
He was confused. “In what way?”
“The relationship between North and South, how it has come to be defined by slavery when the reality is much more complex than that. The North claims to oppose slavery, but is in many ways less acceptable of blacks than the South. They claim it’s better to die free than live as a slave, and proceed to demonstrate that on their own poor. But they’re also justified in many ways in their criticisms of our system- but is such criticism a legitimate commentary on the moral aspect of human bondage, or a form of economic competition disguised as moralizing? Enslaving fellow human beings, and I discount those who preach that blacks do not qualify as such, is a sin. Yet if we are sinners for maintaining slavery on Southern soil, what do we make of the Northerners who approved its inclusion in the Constitution, reaffirmed it with the Missouri Compromise and other legislation, who practice hate against those blacks, freeborn and freed, who live among them? What of their culpability? What of their accommodation and acceptance? And what solutions do they offer? Were we, tomorrow, to free all of our slaves, where would they go? Certainly not to the North, for they would not be welcomed in most places. They would stay in the South, but as paid workers- which would cause our economy to suffer. Instead of large plantations producing exportable goods, we’d have many hundreds of small-hold subsistence farmers. Who benefits most from emancipation? The Northern merchants who would grow rich at our expense.” I paused for a minute, then continued. “But none of that excuses our institution, or erases the stain of slavery upon our hands. There are some who claim it is God’s will that the African is enslaved, or that this is a necessary condition for civilization- but when I see slavery in full retreat across the entire Christian world, only maintained in heathen lands, I have to wonder if we’re truly doing God’s will. I’m sorry if I offend you, but you must know my mind on this.” I looked at Gordon to see the effect my words had on him. His jaw was set and his brow creased with a frown, and I thought for a moment he would burst out in anger. But as time drew on, his features softened and he let out a barely perceptible sigh.
“Well, I thank you for your honesty. I can’t say I agree with all you say, but I understand why you see things that way. For my part, I can’t say what the future may hold- but I agree that the results of a sudden emancipation and subsequent conversion to wage-based service would be catastrophic for both races. But that decision should be left solely to the individual states to work out.”
“On that, we both agree,” I added.
He nodded. “And on the necessity of defending our own, regardless of the righteousness of their cause.”
“On that as well.” It was a small step, but we had sounded out each other’s position and decided we could work together. I gathered from what he said, and more from what he didn’t say, that Gordon probably did see Divine Will in the ‘peculiar institution’. Fair enough, so long as his views didn’t impact the mission. For my own conscience, I still wrestled with the notion. I didn’t like being forced into things, and the simple truth of the matter was that’s exactly how I felt. From the moment Virginia seceded, I felt as though events were sweeping me along without any control. Things were happening too fast, and decisions were being required before I had time to consider all the aspects. No sooner had my home opted to depart the Union than I was being offered a promotion in the forces which would destroy her. Any delay on my part would have been seen as, at best, a sign of wavering loyalty. Which, I suppose, it was. In the event, however, I would no doubt have been put into a very uncomfortable situation- many men were calling for known (and rumored) secessionists to be locked up as enemy aliens, or spies. My options were being limited without my consent, and so I took the promotion- and planned my escape.
The decision had been a painful one, and still continued to fester. I had abandoned my fellows, my superiors, and my country- in order to defend my home. Why should I have to choose between the two? If Virginia had only stayed in the Union! I wouldn’t want to attack the South- any state for that matter- but it wouldn’t have meant this gut-wrenching separation between the two worlds I knew and loved. I know my father disapproved of my decision, but I also knew that his land would be vulnerable, and that someone would have to defend him and my mother. How could I expect someone else to risk their life for my family, if I wasn’t willing to do it? How could I ask someone else’s son to die protecting my father from an army led by...me? Dear God, what are You thinking? Please let wisdom come to those in power soon, before the madness begins...
But now, I had a job to do. As I had many times before, I prepared to journey into the enemy’s land, into his defenses, to learn his secrets. Except this time, the enemy was my countrymen.