The Titans (28 page)

underdrawers. Willa Perkins watched her primping in a speckled mirror. She giggled again. Margaret said, "Jealous!" in a teasing way, and left the shop. Our Rome, Eliza Marble had called Richmond in those first, dimly remembered weeks after she and her father had arrived from Kentucky. Gradually, Margaret began to appreciate the term. She came to love the genteel, slow-paced city of the lulls-Chimborazo, Shockoe, Gamble's and the rest Aunt Eliza had shown her all the sights. Walked her past the splendid Georgian homes of mellow brick in Church Hill. Strolled with her to the leafy quiet of Hollywood Cemetery; only three years ago, Margaret and her aunt nad watched President Monroe's remains reburied there, returned at last to his native Virginia. An elegant New York militia regiment had accompanied the coffin from the North. The soldiers had been entertained in some of the best homes. Today that sort of hospitality was unthinkable. Certain things hadn't changed, of course. There were still familiar sounds and smells in the May air as she hurried up the brick walk toward the Spotswood. Fine carriages traveled Main Street along with huge tobacco wagons" drawn by lathered mules hitched four The Titans381 abreast. The famous illuminated clock in front of the Meyers and Janke jewelry emporium resonantly struck the hour of five. Windlass-driven, its powerful chime could be heard for a mile. The five strokes were counterpointed by the wail of a train coming in across the sbrty-foot-high Richmond and Petersburg trestle spanning the James. And, as always, she could hear the soothing murmur of the falls. Despite the influx of soldiers, certain sections of the city retained a peaceful air. Capitol Square at the crest of Shockoe's, for instance. There stood the elegant capitol building President Jefferson had designed. Its rotunda housed Houdon's full-length statue of Washington, as well as a Houdon bust of the Marquis de Lafayette. Gideon claimed the founder of his family, a Bostonian named Phillip Kent, had known Lafayette personally. With delight, Margaret recalled the public holiday celebrating completion of a second monument to Washington. Crawford's equestrian statue had been unveiled in the square in '58. Wags noted the rear of the great leader's horse pointed North. The statue's pedestal featured figures of three other great Virginians. Jefferson. Mason, who had hammered out the Bill of Rights. And Patrick Henry, who had stood up in old St. John's on Church Hill and thundered that he preferred death if he were deprived of liberty. Capitol Square was a proud reminder that the state was- one of the true wellsprings of American freedom. Because so much that was good and meaningful had come from Virginia-and Richmond itself-Margaret was saddened to see the city transformed. The evidence of transformation was nowhere more evident than on Main Street True, the lawyers and the businessmen, the fashionable ladies and the easy-going free blacks still crowded 382Cy at the Edge of War the walks. But so did the newer arrivals-young men in military costumes of every description. She recognized members of local units. The Blues. The Howitzers. The Henrico Light Dragoons. Mingled among them, in costumes that were homely or operatic or somewhere between, were men belonging to regiments from other parts of the South. Just in the short distance to the Spotswood, she saw a group of Georgians in full-skirted butternut coats with green trim. She saw half a dozen from Alabama wearing smart blue. She saw towering, long-haired men with out-sized silver spurs and fringed buckskin jackets. They had revolvers and Bowie knives in their wide leather belts and lumps of tobacco bulging in their cheeks. Texans. She passed two men in shabby Zouave uniforms who were lounging in front of a haberdasher's. One, a wart- faced fellow, whispered something to his companion. She only caught the words, "coml to give that a tumble." Staring straight ahead, she rushed on, passing two more Texans. She turned at the sound of a commotion. One of the Texans had hauled the wart-faced man off his feet. Holding the offender by the jacket, the Texan bounced him against the store front: "You Tigers are gonna have to learn how to speak decent when they's ladies on the street-was "Put me down, you son-of-a-bitch!" the Zouave howled. The other Zouave pulled out a set of knuckledusters. People crowded around Margaret to watch. The Zouave with the knuckle-dusters crept up behind the first Texan. His companion shoved the point of his Bowie into the Zouave's back. "No, sir," he said quietly, confiscating the knuckles. The first Texan continued his lecture: "comelse the First Texas win see to it that you're sent back to where you come from. The New Orleans jails." He set the gulping Tiger on his feet with a jolt Then The Titans383 he turned and sought Margaret. He swept off his broad- brimmed, cream-colored hat: "My apologies for the vulgarity he directed against you, ma'am." "Thank you," she said with an embarrassed smile. There was brief applause. The small crowd dispersed, the two members of the Tigers departing faster than the rest. The wart-faced one glanced back at Margaret, fury in his eyes. The Texan marred his gallant behavior by spitting a long stream of tobacco juice toward the curb. As he and his friend sauntered off, he didn't notice that a few drops struck the hem of Margaret's dress, leaving stains. "Scum-outright scum," she heard a Virginia Military Institute cadet exclaim to another as they passed her going the other way. "Those Louisiana ruffians shouldn't be allowed to fight under the same flag as-was The voices faded, overlapped by the noise of some citizens gathered outside the Spotswood. They were shouting questions at a handsome officer Margaret recognized instantly. The officer wore a cocked hat with a black plume, a huge saber and a close-fitting roundabout that showed off his well-proportioned figure. John Bankhead Magruder had commanded the First U.s. Artillery until he'd resigned to serve his native state- where the people pridefully referred to him as Prince John. The crowd was asking about the progress of the artillerymen he was training out on the campus of Richmond College. Magruder smiled: "Why, my boys are developing into first-class cannoneers. Any Yank who sets foot on Virginia soil will soon find out-and go back to the North multiplied into four or five parts." Laughter. Whistles. Magruder climbed into a waiting carriage. Several V.m.i, cadets began to lead the others in a chorus of "The Bonnie Blue Flag." The cadets 384Cy at the Edge of War came from Gideon's home town. Because of their experience, they'd been rushed to Richmond to supervise the instruction of the newest recruits. One of their professors was Colonel T. J. Jackson, whom Johnston would soon relieve at Harper's Ferry. "Hurrah! Hurrah! For Southern rights, hurrah! Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, That bears a single star!" There was more applause as the discordant version of the popular new song came to an end. Margaret pushed through the crowd, ignoring an inebriated gentleman who tipped his hat and three soldiers who tried to attract her attention. Her encounter with the crude Louisiana soldiers lingered in her mind as she hurried down the slope of Main Street. Richmond was the same and not the same. Smoke still plumed from the stacks of the Tredegar she glimpsed far down on her left as she crossed Eighth. Gamble's Hill still afforded one of the loveliest and most panoramic views of the city. But the best times were gone- The times when great men-the novelist Thackeray, for instance-had come to lecture and savor the beauty of old residential streets lined with lindens and maples and tulip trees. Only last October, Lord Renfrew, the nineteen-year-old Prince of Wales, had been received with full civic pomp. In Richmond Margaret had found a rich intellectual heritage. The Southern Literary Messenger, for a time under the assistant editorship of the curious and tormented Mr. Poe, had turned the city into one of the literary centers of the western world. Much of her own self-education had been made possible because the people of Richmond owned and loved books. Customers of her aunt gladly loaned them to her. She'd even read Uncle The Titans385 Tom's Cabin, though it was disguised with a false cover declaring the contents to be Gibbon. Here, too, she'd sampled culture from beyond the state's borders. Touring troupes played the Marshall Theater regularly. By hoarding spare coins, she'd been able to spend a few wondrous evenings in the Marshall's cheapest gallery seats. In the winter of '59 she'd sighed for weeks over a young, flamboyant supporting player in a melodrama; a Mr. John W. Booth of the famous acting family. The pleasant decade in which she'd come to young womanhood seemed almost an illusion now. The Trede- gar smoke still bannered the sky at evening. The flour drays still rumbled to the port from the impressive nine- story Gailego Mill-the largest in the world, people boasted. Occasionally you could still hear lovely, tilting Latin speech when the South American coffee ships came up the James to unload fragrant sacks of beans. You could hear the work chanties of the blacks in the tobacco factories. The cadence of a gallop bursting from a fine house during the height of the social season. You could hear it all, but less clearly. New sounds had intruded- On the night of the news of Sumter's fall, the Fayette Artillery had fired a hundred rounds in Capitol Square. Skyrockets had exploded in the heavens. Blazing barrels of tar sizzled on the corner of every major intersection. The church bells rang almost until morning. And she'd walked with Aunt Eliza in the midst of mobs waving the South Carolina palmetto, screaming oaths against Lincoln, cheering Beauregard's name and howling "Down with the old flagl" She'd watched, horrified, when people poured through Rockett's the Sunday night following the secession vote. Wild rumors were sweeping the city. The Yankee gunboat Pawnee was steaming up the river to menace the port! Mobs turned out with every sort of 386Cy at the Edge of War weapon, prepared to repel an attack that never materialized. On the once-drowsy streets, she'd seen other, equally savage mobs hang straw men from the stanchions of the gas lamps. The dummies bore crude placards: HIS MAJESTY THE ORANGOUTANG. HENRY WARD BEECHER, THE MAN WHO HAS DONE MOST TO CAUSE OUR PRESENT TROUBLE. Garrison, Douglass, other abolitionists-their effigies were hanged as well. The voices of hate were being heard in Richmond, along with the voices of false prophets. The South's cause was just! The North would be defeated in a swift, relatively bloodless war- Was she the only person in the city who saw the insanity of that? Who understood it took only one bullet to destroy a man forever? No matter. She was determined to prove her case to Gideon Kent I'll find some way, she thought as she rushed along Main, Pizzini's and the half-dollar note forgotten. I must. If he goes to war thinking it's a grand crusade-a lark-a holiday- I can't make him understand what comwar really means, I could lose him. I mustn't lose him. Because I- love him. CHAPTER The Amateur Cavalier THEY HAD A SPECIAL meeting place on the canal towpath, at the foot of Gamble's Hill. The spot was equi-distant from the Tredegar Works to the west and the sprawling, long-idle state armory on the east. Gideon was late. Margaret paced, stepping aside from time to time and smiling automatically as other couples passed, whispering, laughing, holding hands. Her eyes kept returning to the Tredegar across the canal. Even at this late hour of the day, workmen swarmed in the yard. They were transferring scrap iron from wagons to barrows and trundling it into the great, sooty buildings. To be melted down to make new iron. Iron for the instruments of war- Both the Tredegar and the armory stood on a narrow strip of land separating the river from the James River and Kanawha Canal. The river purled, glittering in the gold light of the sinking sun. Further along the path in the canal basin, one of the four-mile-an-hour packets from Lynchburg was tying up. Somewhere on the wooded slope behind her, she heard loud, lusty singing. "Lorena." One of his favorites. She spun around, her heartbeat faster. There he was! Running recklessly downhill among the trees. He waved, so vigorously the white plume bobbed on 387 388The Amateur Cavalier his visored leather shako. She waved in return, her emotions all jumbled together. There was excitement; apprehension; even a little amusement. Captain Lester Macomb had outfitted his Hussars in what he thought was the European mode. To a girl brought up around an apparel shop, the captain's taste was highly questionable. Margaret and her aunt knew the yard goods merchant, of course. Purchased bolts of cloth from him on occasion. La Mode Shoppe hadn't been hired to sew for Macomb's Hussars, however. Had the reverse been true, Gideon would have looked less garish-or Aunt Elzia would have been discharged from the job for her protests. Gideon's uniform consisted of new and beautifully polished high boots, tight-fitting sky-blue trousers and a matching coat The coat had a choker collar and an excess of gaudy braid across the front. At a distance, the outfit possessed a certain showy splendor. Up close, its shortcomings were more apparent. The leather cavalryman's belt and the sabretache attached to it by straps had been crudely cut and laced by someone with no respect for leather or workmanship. And Gideon lacked the final touch-the saber itself. All he'd brought from Lexington were four gifts from his mother's father: The new boots; a 30-gauge revolving-cylinder percussion shotgun from Colt's of Paterson; a round-tree English saddle; and the absolutely indispensible requirement comhis horse Dancer, a handsome and spirited gray stallion. Most of the seventy-eight men of Macomb's Hussars were no better equipped, save for Gideon's friend Rodney Arbuckle. Rodney hailed from a Peninsula tobacco estate on the Pamunkey River near White House. Rodney had money-though not nearly as much as the dandies in the celebrated Goochland Troop. Not only did The Titans389 the boys from Goochland "-y dress more splendidly, but the majority had two horses and a black body servant Still, Gideon Kent Was outrageously proud of his troop and his uniform-including an absolutely ghastly left-shoulder dolman. To spare his feelings, Margaret hadn't told him the dolman was poor-quality rabbit fur. But it was the man, not the costume, that started a pulse beat in her throat as he came scrambling through the shrubbery at the foot of the hill. His cheeks were flushed. His smile seemed to glow in the twilight He called her name as he ran the last hundred yards, waving again. Why was he so excited? He was always in good spirits when they met Tonight,
though, she sensed a special eagerness in him. His blue eyes shone as he jumped over a low fern and landed on the path with a crunch. He seized her shoulders; hugged her fiercely- "Margaret I've got the grandest news! A lot of it!" The feel of his cheek set off little warm bursts all through her body. Whenever he touched her, she ached in a distinctly unladylike way. "My Lord, Gideon-was Gasping and laughing, she pulled away and straightened her bonnet "Such a display in public!" "Why shouldn't I make a display with my girl?" He caught her hands in his. Despite their frequent meetings, their physical contact had been restrained. First handshakes. Then hand-holding. Next, pecks on the cheek. Finally, kisses on the mouth. They had advanced very properly and cautiously to intimacy of the kind they shared at this moment They stood close together while he gazed down at her, his shako slightly awry. The slanting sun fired the tawny hair around his ears. His smile faded to an earnest look. Softly, he said: "My very favorite," "Oh, do you have others now?" 390The Amateur Cavalier "Don't tease me. You've got to hear what we did this afternoon." A short distance behind them, another couple stopped. The boy, one of the Greys, was whispering in the girl's ear. She slapped his face lightly with her glove. He laughed. The girl joined in. It was clear what sort of suggestion he'd made. A little embarrassed, Margaret linked her arm with Gideon's and they walked the other way, toward the canal basin, where the packet-handlers were unloading cargo and swearing cheerfully. Shadows were lengthening on the hill above the towpath. "Exactly what did you do?" she asked. "We held elections! Of course Macomb kept his captaincy. He organized the troop, and he's still the most popular man." She knew his pause was deliberate. "Is that all?" "No, ma'am!" Bursting with pride, he turned and laid both hands on her shoulders. "Miss Marble, I have the honor to introduce the new second lieutenant of Macomb's Hussars." "Oh, Gideon-that's grand." His face grew a shade less happy. "You really don't sound enthusiastic." "I am!" She squeezed his arm. Ignored propriety and raised on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I'm very proud." It was an accomplishment Although many people said election of officers was a poor way to establish the command structure in a volunteer unit, it was the custom. Only officers above the rank of regimental commander were appointed by General Lee. They resumed walking arm in arm. Margaret's breast brushed his sleeve, a deliriously wicked sensation. "Actually," Gideon said, "I'd hoped for first lieutenant. But Jack Harris got that. He's always paying for rounds at the Spotswood Bar or Mrs. Muller's Lager Beer Saloon. I mink he starts his euchre games so he The Titans391 can lose on purpose. I can't afford to buy popularity." Margaret had met the lean, dark-visaged Harris at Camp Lee. She thought him coarse and shallow: "Do you think Jack Harris is fit to be first lieutenant?" "Hell--oh, I'm sorry-was "Stop. I'm used to your swearing by now." He chuckled. "Guess I've fallen into the camp habit. Anyway-the men like Jack. He's a fair rider. His papa raises horses on their place down near Petersburg. He's fond of rough language, though. I mean really rough. I don't know why. Maybe it makes him feel more of a man. Trouble is, I doubt cussing will help him when greater-than we see action. Men want to be led, not brow beaten." The last sentences spoiled the moment; reminded Margaret of her fears for this tall, big-shouldered young man from the Shenandoah who seemed so adult at times, so full of boyish bravado at others. When we see action. Somehow, somehow, she had to convince him he wasn't involved in a game or a pageant- She hesitated to raise the subject when he was so happy. She'd tried to discuss her viewpoint several times before. He always acted bewildered as well as vaguely annoyed that she'd question his desire to fight for the South. She kept to a safe subject: "In my opinion your friend Rodney might have made a better first lieutenant." "Of course. But you know the situation with the boys whose folks have any kind of money. They've got this damned notion it's undemocratic and undignified to be an officer. They'd rather serve in the line than give orders to another gentleman. The boys from the Valley sure don't think that way. But you still haven't heard all the news." "Tell me." He grinned. "There's no drill tonight" 392The Amateur Cavalier "Not at all?" "No. Captain Macomb's mare took a fall this afternoon. Broke both her forelegs. You should have heard old Lester swear!" "I should imagine. She was a lovely animal." "What upset him most is having to rush around town and find another. You know, I sometimes get worried about the cavalry. How can we fight if every man has to provide his own horse? What if we lose half our horses in battle? We'd be at half strength for days. Maybe weeks." Battle. She tried to keep it from her mind. "I thought the government owned the horses." "Technically, they do. They take 'em over. They provide forage, shoes, a smithy-and compensation at forty cents a day per horse-was He was talking rapidly, his arm across her shoulder and his eyes focused somewhere in the delicate blue shadow along the towpath. So intense, she thought. The cavalier who has yet to learn what battle really means- "comand if a horse is lost in combat, the government's supposed to reimburse the rider for the animal's assessed value. But the man has to go on furlough right away to locate a new one. It's not so much the cost, it's the headache of searching. I expect Macomb will be up all night visiting stables. He'll be lucky if he finds a mount as good as the mare at any price. The government's gobbling the ones around here for artillery caissons, ambulances-was Though the May breeze was warm against her cheeks, she shuddered. Gideon halted abruptly: "What's wrong?" "Nothing." "Yes, there is." He turned to her again, half his face in sunlight, the other half dark. He touched her chin. "I want to know." "Well, I can't help shivering when you talk so The Titans393 blithely about ambulances and-and combat. You sound as if it's nothing but a grand game!" Puzzled, he answered, "I've never been so happy in my life. Finally, we're going to show the Yanks they've pushed us too hard-for too long." "You want to fight!" she exclaimed, more harshly man she intended. A sudden frown. "Yes, I do. So does every fellow in the troop. You should have heard the cheering yesterday when Wise came out to look us over." "Wise? Oh-the former governor-was Gideon nodded. "He's supposed to be a brigadier before long. He gave a little speech-was "Don't you mean sermon?" Gideon's brows quirked up. "Why would you call it that?" "Well, I assume it's the same pseudo-religious twaddle he's been spouting all over town." Her mouth soured. was 'The fiery baptism-?"' his His zeal was as strong as her contempt: "He did use those words. My God, I've never heard anything so stirring. I can remember almost every sentence. "You want war, fire, blood to purify you, and the Lord of Hosts has demanded that you should walk through fire and blood. You are called to the fiery baptism, and I call upon you to come up to the altar." his Unsmiling, he added, "Wise is right I have a duty. All of us d-now what's me trouble?" "Your attitude! Are you going to let yourself be influenced by senile old fools? If you're injured, you won't remember a thing about duty-or how glorious it is to go through the fiery baptisml" "Now wait-was "No! Is there one boy in your troop who's done anything but fist-fight behind a barn?" "No one except Macomb, probably. What difference does it make?" 394The Amateur Cavalier "All the difference. War's a horrible business. You don't know how horrible!" She spun away, rubbing her upper arms and starine at the smoke streaming from the Tredegar stacks. The smoke was black; forbidding in the pale, sweet light of the fading afternoon. "Why do you keep bringing that up?" Gideon snapped at her. "Joining the troop was my choice." "A foolish choice!" "Hell backslash was He kicked stones on the path. "Here I thought we'd have a grand evening together. Go to supper comb you want to argue! That's a fine how-do-you- do when time's so short!" The rustle of the trees on Gamble's Hill drifted to her in the silence. The falls murmured. Cold clear through, she turned back to him. She found she could barely speak: "What do you mean, time's so short?" He dragged off his shako. Slapped it against his blue- clad thigh once-twice-struggling to master his temper. Eventually he did: "That's the third piece of news. On Sunday we're breaking camp-was Margaret's hands clenched. "comprovided Captain Macomb finds a horse. We're going up to Harper's Ferry." "This soon?" "It's a critical defense point Joe Johnston's taking over, the command there." Faintly: "I heard that this afternoon." "He'll be an improvement over that lunatic Presbyterian professor from the Institute!" "Jackson?" "The cadets call him Tom Fool." Remembered pain flashed in his eyes. "I guess I never mentioned he was my father's only friend after Mama turned Papa out of the house. Jackson's a fanatic. About discipline-about The Titans395 observing the Sabbath-I can understand why he'd take up with my father. Like to like!" Gideon's face showed that sudden, flushed anger so characteristic of him. It would probably make him a good cavalry officer. She knew he was a good rider. Almost fearless in committing himself and his mount when he drilled at a gallop. He seemed to want to say something else. She waited. At last it came out: "I didn't tell you I met my father in Washington, did I?" Surprised, she shook her head. "When?" The color faded from his cheeks. He gazed in a somber way at the gold and white riffles on the river. "Last month. Right after I enlisted and met you. My stepfather-was "The actor?" Gideon nodded. "Edward and Mama were in Washington so'Edward could appear at a variety hall. Actually, he had a more praiseworthy purpose for being there-was He drew her a few steps further along the path. They reached a large stone. With a gesture, he offered it as a seat, then squatted on the ground beside it She laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping to soothe away the unhappiness showing in his eyes. She was thankful for his apparent need to talk about the Washington encounter. The news about Sunday had thrown her mind into chaos; she needed a chance to think. Her thoughts sped ahead to what she might say later. Not to persuade him to resign from the troop; he'd never do that But she had to counteract the fatal bravado that could lead him straight to the grave-or to the kind of living death her father suffered. He was speaking softly now: "comhe stood up on the stage and led the crowd in 396The Amateur Cavalier singing "Dixie's Land." There was a bad muss. He got beaten by some thugs. Could have been killed-was "Then he shouldn't have taken the chance." "Of course he should have! Edward wanted to prove there's a lot of Southern sympathy in Washington. I admire him for it. But you haven't heard the most peculiar part My father was in the audience. He helped Edward escape. All that happened while I was here. The night I got back, Papa burst into our hotel room spouting a lot of accusations-was "That was the first time you saw him?" "The first time since Lexington." "Who was he accusing?" "Edward. He claimed Edward was plotting to have him murdered." There was disgust in his voice: "Mama used to say he was unbalanced. Anyway, things-got out of hand. I hit him with Edward's cane. More than once." A whisper: "Your own father?" "I lost my head." His eyes grew defiant. "He called Mama names. Filthy names. I'm not ashamed of what I did. But-I can't explain it, exactly-I was hurt and angry at the same time. I've always respected Edward and his feelings for the South. But it's not the same as loving a father. I guess I hoped all the bad times would be forgotten someday-was He shook his head. The breeze stirred green branches behind them. Gideon's next words seethed with bitterness: "It won't happen. Everything Mama said in Lexington is true. I saw it for myself. My father's crazy." Yet Margaret had the strange feeling the truth made him grieve. She touched his face. "Gideon-was His eyes were lost in the Tredegar smoke. "What?" "You've told me very little about what it was like with your father in Lexington." ?" The Titans397 "No point. It was miserable." He sat up a bit straighter. "Mama's back there now. With Edward. I had a note from them today." "Are they going to stay?" "Not indefinitely. When the capital of the Confederacy moves here, Edward wants to volunteer his services." "To the army?" "No, he's too old. No military experience, either. He hopes to find work in some part of the government. If he does, Mama will leave Jeremiah with my grandfather. Captain Tunworth." "Was it really terrible when your father left home?" "Bad enough that, I'd rather not talk about it She hesitated, then plunged on: "But I don't think we should hold anything back from each other any longer." He twisted around to look at her, his blue eyes narrowing just a little: "What do you mean? Why not?" "Because you're leaving Sunday. It's time for-for candor." She stared at her hands. "I have some filings I need to say to you." A kind of dizziness swept over her; a feeling of racing toward a waterfall. Reckless or not, she must go ahead- While you can. "Tell me about Lexington," she said. "I think you want to. And you might feel better. Then I'll talk." He hesitated, though not for long. She'd gauged his need correctly: "Maybe I should. Christ knows it hurts keeping ft penned inside all the time-was As they sat beside the canal in the dusk, he began to speak of Jephtha Kent 398The Amateur Cavalier He began by telling her the essentials: His father's religious objections to slavery, which led to the loss of the itinerancy; his mother's growing consternation, then mounting wrath. Jephtha Kent, Gideon said, particularly loathed his wife's father, one of the few farmers around Lexington who kept a substantial number of slaves and-Gideon didn't gloss the truth- made no secret of treating them harshly: "It was a terrible situation from the beginning. I've always thought Mama might not have turned against Papa if he hadn't despised Captain Tunworth so much. Though I don't think Papa realized it, some of the people in Lexington actually approved of his stand. The Shenandoah isn't the same sort of slave territory as the Tidewater. But Papa made the mistake of picking my grandfather as a special target. Mama ordered him out of the house. She's said since that she regrets doing it, but in view of that damn disgusting scene in Washington, she shouldn't. Papa stayed in Lexington a while. Found a menial job at the Institute. I suspect he liked being a sort of-living conscience