The Long Roll
honourable exception! France and England, too! They'll be our active
allies not a minute later than April Fool's Day!"
"You are bitter."
"It is the case, is it not?"
"Yes," said Cleave gravely. "And the blockade is daily growing more
effective, and yet before we are closed in a ring of fire we do not get
our cotton out nor our muskets in! Send the cotton to Europe and sell it
and so fill the treasury with honest gold!--not with this delusion of
wealth, these sheafs of Promises to Pay the Government is issuing. Five
million bales of cotton idle in the South! With every nerve strained,
with daring commensurate to the prize, we could get them out--even now!
To-morrow it will be too late. The blockade will be complete, and we
shall rest as isolated as the other side of the moon. Well! Few
countries or men are wise till after the event."
"You are not bitter."
Cleave shook his head. "I do not believe in bitterness. And if the
government is not altogether wise, so are few others. The people are
heroic. We will see what we will see. I had a letter from the Peninsula
the other day. Fauquier Cary is there with his legion. He says that
McClellan will organize and organize and organize again until
springtime. It's what he does best. Then, if only he can be set going,
he will bring into the field an army that is an army. And if he's not
thwarted by his own government he'll try to reach Richmond from the
correct direction--and that's by sea to Old Point and up both banks of
the James. All of which means heavy fighting on the Peninsula. So Cary
thinks, and I dare say he knows his man. They were classmates and served
together in Mexico."
They approached the old colonnaded hotel. Stafford's horse stood at the
rack. A few soldiers were about the place and down the street, in the
warm dusk a band was playing. "You ride up the valley to-night?" said
Cleave. "When you return to Winchester you must let me serve you in any
way I can."
"You are very good. How red the sunsets are! Look at that bough across
the sky!"
"Were you," asked Cleave, "were you in Albemarle this autumn?"
"Yes. For one day in October. The country looked its loveliest. The old
ride through the woods, by the mill--"
"I remember," said Cleave. "My cousins were well?"
"Quite well. Enchanted princesses guarded by the sable Julius. The old
place was all one drift of red and yellow leaves."
They reached the hotel. Cleave spoke abruptly. "I am to report
presently at headquarters, so I will say good-bye here." The two touched
hands. "A pleasant gallop! You'll have a moon and the road is good. If
you see Randolph of Taliaferro's, tell him to bring that book of mine he
has."
He walked away, stalwart in the afterglow. Stafford watched him from the
porch. "Under other circumstances," he thought, "I might have liked you
well enough. Now I do not care if you lead your mad general's next mad
charge."
The night fell, mild as milk, with a great white moon above the
treetops. It made like mother-of-pearl the small grey house with pointed
windows occupied, this December, by Stonewall Jackson. A clock in the
hall was striking nine as Cleave lifted the knocker. An old negro came
to the door. "Good-evening, Jim. Will you tell the general--"
Some one spoke from down the hall. "Is that Captain Cleave? Come here,
sir."
Passing an open door through which could be seen a clerk writing and an
aide with his hands behind him studying an engraving of Washington
crossing the Delaware, Cleave went on to the room whence the voice had
issued. "Come in, and close the door," it said again.
The room was small, furnished with a Spartan simplicity, but with two
good lamps and with a log of hickory burning on the hearth. A table held
a number of outspread maps and three books--the Bible, a dictionary, and
Napoleon's "Maxims." General Jackson was seated on a small,
rush-bottomed chair beside the table. By the window stood a soldier in
nondescript grey attire, much the worse for mud and brambles. "Captain
Cleave," said the general, "were you ever on the Chesapeake and Ohio
Canal?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know the stretch of the Potomac north of us?"
"I have ridden over the country between Harper's Ferry and Bath."
"Do you know where is Dam No. 5?"
"Yes, sir."
"Come nearer, Gold," said the general. "Go on with your report."
"I counted thirty boats going up, general," said Allan. "All empty.
There's a pretty constant stream of them just now. They'll get the coal
at Cumberland and turn back toward Washington in about ten days. It is
estimated that a thousand tons a day will go down the canal--some of it
for private use in Washington, but the greater part for the warships and
the factories. The flatboats carry a large amount of forage. The Yankees
are using them, too, to transport troops. There is no attempt to rebuild
the section of the Baltimore and Ohio that we destroyed. They seem
willing to depend upon the canal. But if Dam No. 5 were cut it would dry
that canal like a bone for miles. The river men say that if any
considerable breach were made it could not be mended this winter. As for
the troops on the other side of the river--" He drew out a slip of paper
and read from it: "'Yankees upon the Maryland side of the Potomac from
Point of Rocks to Hancock--say thirty-five hundred men. Two thirds of
this force above Dam No. 4. At Williamsport Colonel Leonard with three
regiments and several guns. At Four Locks a troop. At Dam No. 5 several
companies of infantry encamped. At Hancock a considerable force--perhaps
two regiments. A detachment at Clear Spring. Cavalry over against Sleepy
Creek, Cherry Run, and Sir John's Run. Concentration easy at any point
up and down the river. A system of signals both for the other side and
for any of their scouts who may have crossed to this. Troops reported
below Point of Rocks and at the mouth of the Monocacy. The remainder of
General Banks's division--perhaps fifteen thousand men--in winter
quarters at Frederick City.'--That is all I have to report, general."
"Very good," said Jackson. "Give me your memorandum. Captain Cleave--"
"Yes, sir."
Stonewall Jackson rose from the rush-bottomed chair and walked with his
slow stiff stride to the mantelpiece. From behind a china vase he took a
saucer holding a lemon which had been cut in two, then, standing very
rigidly before the fire, he slowly and meditatively sucked the lemon.
Cleave, beside the table, had a whimsical thought. The general, about to
open slightly the door of reticence and impart information, was
stimulating himself to the effort. He put the lemon down and returned to
the table. "Captain Cleave, while I am waiting for General Loring, I
propose to break this dam--Dam No. 5."
"Yes, sir."
"I shall go almost immediately to Martinsburg, taking with me General
Garnett's brigade and two of the Rockbridge guns. It will be necessary
to cover the operation. The work may take several days. By the time the
dam is broken General Loring will be up."
His eyes moved toward the mantel. Allan Gold stepped noiselessly across
the room and brought back the saucer with the lemon, setting it on the
table. "Thank you," said Jackson gently, and sucked the acid treasure.
"With this reinforcement I am going against Kelly at Romney. If God
gives us the victory there, I shall strike past Kelly at Rosecrans."
"I hope that He will give it, sir. That part of Virginia is worth making
an effort for."
"That is my opinion, sir. While I march toward Romney the government at
Washington may thrust General Banks across the Potomac. I do not want
him in my rear, nor between me and General Johnston." He again sucked
the lemon. "The Secretary of War writes that our spies report a clamour
at Washington for some movement before spring. It is thought at Richmond
that General Banks has been ordered to cross the Potomac as soon as
practicable, effecting if possible a junction with Kelly and descending
upon Winchester; General McClellan at the same time to advance against
General Johnston at Manassas. Maybe it is so, maybe not. Of one thing I
am sure--General McClellan will not move until General Banks is on this
side of the river. Yesterday Colonel Ashby captured a courier of Kelly's
bearing a letter to Banks. The letter, which demands an answer, asks to
know explicitly what are Banks's instructions from Washington."
He put the lemon down. "Captain Cleave, I very particularly wish to know
what are General Banks's instructions from Washington. Were Jarrow here
he would find out for me, but I have sent Jarrow on other business. I
want to know within four days."
There was a moment's stillness in the room; then, "Very well, sir," said
Cleave.
"I remember," said Jackson, "that you sent me the scout here. He does
good service. He is at your disposal for the next few days." Drawing ink
and paper toward him, he wrote a few lines. "Go to the adjutant for
anything you may need. _Captain Cleave on Special Service._ Here, too,
is the name and address of a Catholic priest in Frederick City. He may
be depended upon for some readiness of mind, and for good-will. That is
all, I think. Good-night, captain. In four days, if you please. You will
find me somewhere between Martinsburg and the river."
"You spoke, sir," said Cleave, "of a captured dispatch from General
Kelly. May I see it?"
Jackson took it from a box upon the table. "There it is."
"Do you object, sir, to its reaching General Banks?"
The other retook the paper, glanced over it, and gave it back. "No, not
if it goes by a proper courier."
"Has the former courier been sent to Richmond?"
"Not yet." He wrote another line. "This, if you wish to see the
courier."
"That is all, sir?"
"That is all, captain. Within four days, near Martinsburg. Good-night."
The two soldiers saluted and left the room, going softly through the
hall, past the door where the aide was now studying the Capture of Andre
and out into the moonlight. They walked down the long board path to the
gate, unlatched this, and turned their faces toward the camp. For some
distance they were as silent as the street before them; then, "If ever
you had taught school," said Allan, "you would know how headings out of
reading books and sentences that you set for the children to copy have a
way of starting up before you at every corner. _The Post of Honour is
the Post of Danger._ I can see that in round hand. But what I can't see
is how you are going to do it."
"I want," said the other, "one half-hour quite to myself. Then I think
I'll know. Here's the picket. The word's _Bethel_."
The Stonewall Brigade was encamped in the fields just without the town.
It was early in the war and there were yet tents--long line of canvas
"A's" stretching in the moonlight far over the rolling ground. Where the
tents failed there had been erected tiny cabins, very rude, with
abundant ventilation and the strangest chimneys. A few field officers
were quartered in the town and Jackson had with him there his permanent
staff. But captains and lieutenants stayed with the men. The general of
them all ruled with a rod of iron. For the most part it swayed lightly,
with a certain moral effect only over the head of the rank and file, but
it grew to a crushing beam for the _officer_ who did not with alacrity
habitually attend to his every duty, great or small. The do-nothing, the
popinjay, the intractable, the self-important, the remonstrant, the _I
thought, sir_--the _It is due to my dignity, sir_--none of these
flourished in the Army of the Valley. The tendencies had been there, of
course; they came up like the flowers of spring, but each poor bloom as
it appeared met an icy blast. The root beneath learned to send up to the
sky a sturdier growth.