Blood Moon (8 page)

Chapter Ten

For over a month, the Ninth Virginia Volunteer Cavalry Regiment had vigorously trained in Portsmouth, under the command of Colonel Godwin. Its members came from the counties of Roanoke, Chesterfield, Isle of White, Nansemond, Lunenburg, Dinwiddie, and Norfolk. They were an enthusiastic bunch of men, but many had turned up bedraggled in well-worn farm clothing, with unsuitable guns and without the cavalry’s most important requirement, a horse.

Jacob and a few other large plantation owners had discussed finances during the first week of training, and all had agreed that it was their duty to purchase horses for the poorer farmers in the regiment, for most of them owned no more than a couple of old beaten mules. The men also had to be outfitted with uniforms, it was declared, as there was a prideful reluctance by the officers to face the Union Army looking like a bunch of badly dressed country boys.

The bulk of the Ninth had no orders to deploy; however, on this June morning, Jacob, along with fifty other cavalrymen, was preparing to leave Portsmouth for Yorktown, which sat on the northern side of the James River. Colonel Godwin, who would accompany them, gave no solid reasons as to why this particular advance party was going, except to say that their comrades up the bay were on the march and that some of the Ninth had been asked to join them.

Mercy patted Jacob’s black horse, Thor, on the nose whilst whispering softly in its ear. She had been dreading this moment. She had seen it in her mind’s eye many times, but now, with her heart filled with poignant farewells, she realised that reality was much more painful than her imaginings could ever be.

She looked at the other horses, well groomed and destined for battle, and wondered how many would fall or be crushed, shot, or stabbed with sabres. Her eyes searched out Jacob in a moment of panic, and they found him some distance away in a light-hearted conversation with a fellow officer. She watched his animated face break into a smile, and her heart filled with love. God was cruel, she thought, for although he had given her and Jacob these past months together, he was once again tearing them apart this morning.

Mercy stood alone and was well aware that the other women present were deliberately shunning her. Mercy had grown accustomed to the Portsmouth ladies and their determination to make her an outcast, yet their cruel jibes about Jacob Stone and his whore never failed to hurt her feelings.

She looked across the street and saw Elizabeth’s mother standing with her husband and a group of matronly women who were in different stages of weeping, hugging, and kissing their sons goodbye. Two of Mrs Coulter’s sons were also leaving, yet their mother seemed more intent on making Mercy feel uncomfortable with blatant hateful stares than in receiving comfort from her sons’ farewell embraces. Mercy lifted her chin in defiance and turned away from the Coulter family. She could put up with Mrs Coulter’s spitefulness, but what Mercy could not abide was having a bad reputation borne out of an old woman’s personal and biased hatred.

As far as Mrs Coulter was concerned, Mercy was the woman who had disappeared for months, only to appear again in the arms of her daughter’s husband. It was rumoured that Mercy was an infamous prostitute who had fled from England under suspicious circumstances. There were also women, starved for excitement, claiming that she was a witch involved in the cults. She had heard all about the utterances and gossip, yet she could not blame the Portsmouth ladies or Mrs Coulter, for they were ignorant of the truth. The fault for all the dreadful words spoken lay at Madam du Pont’s feet, Jacob had insisted, and Mercy had agreed with him.

Upon her arrival in Norfolk, she had learned that she would not remain there but would instead be joining Jacob in Portsmouth until his departure for the front. Madam du Pont, Jacob told her, had spirited Elizabeth away to Richmond and had left even the Coulter’s in the dark concerning their daughter’s exact whereabouts. Mercy had mixed emotions regarding this shocking news. Lately she had been happier than at any other time in her life, lying in Jacob’s arms every night in Belle and Hendry’s Portsmouth home and grateful that this arrangement had been made possible by Hendry and Belle, who had offered to chaperone them for as long as necessary. But at the back of her mind were nagging worries about Jacob’s wife. Mercy had no love for Elizabeth, but she well knew Madam du Pont’s cruelty and could only imagine that Jacob’s wife was being manipulated and cheated out of her newfound wealth.

Jacob had requested leave in order to bring Elizabeth back, such was his sense of duty towards his soon-to-be ex-wife; however, the country was at war, so the task of bringing Elizabeth home had fallen to Elizabeth’s father. Mr Coulter had returned a week later lamenting that his daughter had been found but was extremely happy living in a rented house in central Richmond. According to him, Elizabeth had absolutely no intention of leaving Richmond in the near future. In fact, she was thinking of purchasing a house there.

Mercy waved to Jacob, striding towards her in shiny new boots to match his fresh grey uniform and hat with gold tassels. He wore a gold sash today. She had made it for him after purchasing material in the haberdashery store, which had profited greatly in sales of military attire, from gloves to coats. She had never seen him look so handsome. “Is it time? Have you said your farewells?” she asked.

“It is time, my darling. So where is my brother?” Jacob asked worriedly. “He promised to be here by noon.”

“Are you sure he’s not at sea already? You know how sudden things can change.”

“He might be. He did say he might not get back today. If he doesn’t get here before I leave, I want you to tell him that I’ll miss him – and tell him not to break the damn ship.”

Jacob grinned and kissed Mercy’s hand. He was terrified of leaving her alone, yet he was determined to say goodbye to her with a smile and a kiss. He could ill afford to display the anxiety that was cramping his stomach and making him feel as sick as a dog, for that would only cause her more worry. Even so, he did feel sick and painfully aware that he was scared of what was to come in the days, weeks, and months ahead. 

He looked at Mercy’s sweet face searching for Hendry. He could happily gaze at her forever. He loved the way her eyes shone with youthful passion, her soft playful smile, and her unending desire to learn about his country. He not only loved her, he thought, watching her; he also admired her. She had been treated abominably since her arrival in Portsmouth, yet she had faced the hatred and spiteful comments thrown at her with stoic patience and dignity. She had put the ladies of Portsmouth to shame as far as he was concerned.

Madame du Pont came to Jacob’s mind, and as always, anger joined the thought. Her lies had been the catalyst for Mercy’s latest troubles. Du Pont had spread falsehood after falsehood until a ripple of rumours had become a tidal wave of attacks on Mercy’s character.

Du Pont’s death would alleviate Mercy’s suffering, Jacob thought, but it would not dismiss the damage the old whore had already caused – that was now irreparable. The world and everyone in it would be better off without the vile creature, yet for some reason, the Lord often chose to protect evil. The good often died at an early age while monsters roamed for decades upon decades, until their outer shells were as black and crippled as the soul itself. Maybe God put evil on Earth to challenge humanity’s resolve. Whatever his reason, Madame du Pont had outstayed her welcome in this world!

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Stone Plantation?” he asked Mercy, who was now looking decidedly uncomfortable in the crowd.

“No, as much as I would love to be with Belle and Grace, I’m unwilling to drag Belle into this quagmire of filthy lies. Belle pleaded with me. She assured me that no amount of malicious gossip would affect her, but I can’t do it – I won’t. Anyway, I’m looking forward to getting to know Norfolk. Dolly will be good company, and Jack and Hendry might be home from time to time to give us news. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Jacob took her in his arms and felt the lump in his throat. He could barely swallow. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and he looked down at her face, partially hidden, as it pressed against his chest. He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. Her lips trembled with sadness. He brushed them lightly with his mouth half open and then kissed her greedily. If only this moment did not have to end, he thought. If he could take her with him, hold her every night, and wake up with her lying beside him, he would. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t spend a day without her, for in that idyllic life, he would never have to worry about losing her again. He kissed her deeper, knowing that they would be ripped apart at any moment. He had cried for Mercy many times, but he had never felt the gut wrenching agony of separation until now.

“Mount up, men!” the colonel barked loudly. “Those Yankees are not going to wait for us. We ride!”

Mercy tore herself from Jacob’s arms and gazed up at his eyes, bright with unshed tears. She kissed him again and then reluctantly stepped back to watch him mount Thor. “I love you, and I will see you soon. If you don’t come back in quick measure, I will come find you. You know I will.” She sobbed.

“Stay out of trouble, my love. I suspect that if it doesn’t find you, you’ll want to go looking for it. Stay safe, darling. I love you too, so very much.”

“Move out! Move out!” the sergeant roared this time.

The bugles played a gay tune. They were accompanied by side drums and a base drum which sounded like a giant’s heartbeat. Mercy stood amongst the waving, cheering crowd and watched the Portsmouth men ride off to war. She walked towards Jacob’s carriage, blinded by tears and uncaring of sly and hateful glances.

Chapter Eleven

Jacob sat underneath a tall Virginia oak just a few feet from the river. It would be sundown soon, but the sun’s blazing heat and blinding rays were still oppressive. The ground was hot and hard caked dirt. A light breeze kicked up dust, stinging his tired eyes. The tree afforded him some shade. It also made the task of cleaning his weapons that much more bearable. His handgun, a five-shot back-action revolver, had been issued to as many cavalry officers as possible, with the hope of making it the standard weapon of choice for all cavalrymen at some point in the future. Most of the men still handled old smooth-bores muskets and rifled muskets, which were chiefly percussion weapons. The past couple of months had been dedicated to improving speed and precision with these rifles, which were heavy and time consuming to load and reload.

Jacob put his rifle aside and once again wondered how the hell the Confederacy were going to come up with all these promised weapons before lives were put in danger because of damaged and inadequate guns. He cast his eyes around the once-peaceful landscape, marred now by the sight of soldiers, tents, trenches, and cannons. He shut out the noise of men arguing good-naturedly over a game of dice and others talking about family and home. He listened to the soothing sound of river water running over pebbles and stones. The water had been warm enough to give him the bath he’d craved, his first in over three days. It had left him feeling refreshed and slightly more at ease in his surroundings. There was nothing worse than smelling your own stink, he thought.

He and the other regiment members with him had arrived in Yorktown to the news that advances were already under way due to the growing threat from Federals at Fort Monroe. Thus they had been ordered to join the force already in place at the newly fortified areas on and around Warwick Road. The strong advanced positions sat mostly on the north side of a branch of the Back River at Big Bethel Church, about thirteen miles south of Yorktown and eight miles from Hampton. A smaller outpost had also been established at Little Bethel Church, which was about the same eight miles distance from both Federal camps.

It was imperative that the entire peninsula be taken and held by the Confederacy; this had been drummed into them, for should they fail here, a massive force of men from the North would come, open the gates to the rest of the southern states, and lay waste upon them.

George Coulter rested his head against the same tree trunk. His legs were stretched out, arms folded across his chest and shoulders relaxed. Jacob stood for a moment and stretched his body. Cleaning and priming weapons was a tiresome task and not one he enjoyed. He looked at George out of half-closed eyelids. He liked George. He was the best of the Coulters and the only one of them not to stab him in the back. His divorce proceedings were going better than he’d hoped. Elizabeth had signed all the papers bar the final one, which would set him free. She had received the settlement money and was almost out of the picture, yet the Coulters had demanded even more money from him, insisting that he pay compensation for the shame they had suffered at his hands. George had spoken up against his much older siblings and parents, who were almost bankrupt. “You cannot steal from a successful man to cover your own inadequacies in business,” he’d told his father.

Jacob had refused to pay the Coulters a dime. He would be regarded now as a rogue, a hard-hearted son of a bitch who had dumped his wife for a prostitute. But somehow the only part of that analysis that bothered him was the word
prostitute
. If he got out of this fight alive and made it back to Portsmouth in one piece, the Coulters would find out just how much of a son of a bitch he really was.

“Jacob, when do you think it will happen?” George said.

Jacob sighed. He was growing impatient with men asking that damn question. He thought about how to answer George. The Yankees would be on the move any time now; he was sure of it. They knew where the Confederate lines were, and they would not want to miss an opportunity to push them back. They probably had eyes on them already and were getting ready to march from Fort Monroe. Everyone knew as much as he did, yet the same question arose every five minutes, and every five minutes he tried to answer it in a different way. He felt drained of energy, waiting and wondering, not to mention feeling exhausted by his men’s incessant ponderings on battle.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve told every other man here in our brigade: Don’t ask so many damn questions that I can’t answer. Just be ready with rifles that fire and sabres that are sharp enough to split a man’s head from his body. Asking about when we’re going to be attacked is not the question, young George. The questions should be: Do I have enough rounds in my belt pouch? Is my canteen full of water? And here’s another important one: Are my damn boots comfortable enough should I have to make a run for it?”

“Gosh dang, Jacob, should you be talking about running?” George exclaimed. “What’s Colonel Godwin going to think if he hears talk like that?”

Jacob laughed. “I reckon he’s going to be thinking the same thing, George. There ain’t no shame in retreating if it’s called for. I’d rather live to fight another day than get my ass shot off first day out. Wouldn’t you?”

“You scared? I’m scared. I got moths flying around in my gut just thinkin’ about them Yankee, sons of bitches.”

“We’re all scared. Any man here who says he’s not is a liar. But we’re on home ground. We have good cover. Anything that comes near us will be cut down in that clearing there. I reckon that before long we might even march on Fort Monroe and kick those Yankees back to the North to lick their wounds.”

“I sure hope so, Jacob. I hope you’re right. We’ve got the good Lord on our side, I reckon. We didn’t ask for this fight. We only asked to keep what is rightfully ours. I figure when those Yankees see what we’re made of, they’ll hightail it out of Virginia ’cause there ain’t nothin’ meaner than a Virginian who’s all riled up.”

Jacob looked towards the sparse treeline sitting directly in front of him. Trenches were well dug in. Men were already manning them. Heavy artillery, a couple of cannons, and rifles were dotted around the lines and standing erect against the trench’s dirt walls like sculptures on display. Men from North Carolina and Georgia, already hardened by the march to this position, were laughing, talking, and writing letters home on scraps of paper. Wagons with canvas covers sat idle in rows, with ammunition and supplies under the hoods. A few tents were set up for officers and command posts. A medical unit prepared surgical instruments, intent on making them as clean as possible. Niggers, being used as aides to some of the higher-ranking officers from other states, walked around with sullen expressions of barely veiled resentment. Horses were tethered to long roped lines, his own horse, Thor, among them. They would do battle within hours, Jacob secretly thought – he’d never felt so scared in his entire life.

“George, go find something to do. I’m going to get some shut-eye,” Jacob said. He twisted his head. The tree trunk obscured George’s face, but he could see his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. They were trembling. “Tell Sergeant Tybrook to come to my tent – and, George, remember, there ain’t nothing worse than waiting for battle. I reckon our first fight will calm us all down. We’ll be wondering what all the fuss was about after it’s over, believe me. Just remember what I told you in Portsmouth. You stick to me like a fly round shit. You do what I do at all times. You got it?”

“I got it, Jacob.”

“All right, I’m turning in. It’ll be dark soon, and after I talk to Tybrook, I aim to have at least one good night’s sleep before we’re thrown into hell. I suggest you do the same.”