Soldier Boy's Discovery (8 page)

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.

“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.

D
an Carter endured the hardship of travel better than Leah and Ezra expected. The first week of September had brought cooling breezes, and though the sun was bright overhead during the day, the nights were pleasant enough. The three of them followed the track of the Army of the Potomac, which was moving to intercept the Army of Northern Virginia, headed by General Robert E. Lee.

One night Leah insisted that a party be held for all of the young men who had enlisted out of Pineville, Kentucky, the Carters' hometown. There was little argument about this, and, after darkness fell, Leah and Ezra welcomed the young men to a fine supper.

Jay Walters arrived first, with Leah's brother, Royal, both of them from Company A. Jay was nineteen, his straw-colored hair, brown eyes, and long, thin arms and legs earning him his nickname, Scarecrow.

Royal was only a year older. He was not tall but was thick and strong, with blond hair and blue eyes. He was called “the Professor” by the rest of the company because he had completed one year of college and was considered a budding scholar.

The two were soon joined by Dave Mellon, a red-haired, freckle-faced young man, son of the Pineville banker; and Walter Beddows, his close
companion. Beddows was short, well-built, and had a shock of brown hair that continually fell into his eyes.