William Ervin Keener

PEARL AND THE NIGGER

This story is dedicated to my daughters, Gail and Cathy!

SPECIAL THANKS

A special thanks to my wife, Kaye, and my son, Doug, for their many hours spent at the computer to get this story to its final print stage.

There are many people to thank at Xlibris Publishing for their patience and help to this author who had zero knowledge of getting this story published! Especially, I wish to thank Jess Palamos, Jeanine Kramer and Pepper Andrews.

DISCLAIMER

It is not the intent of this author to offend anyone with the use of the term Nigger — as used in the title of this book. Written in the era of his GreatGrandmother’s time, this was the common term used when speaking to a slave or describing a person of color or with black skin.

PREFACE

In all sincerity I believe the names and happenings in this story to be true, even though it is written as historical fiction. The story was told to me when I was six or seven years of age by my great-grandmother Campbell. She lived during the Civil War within the geographical area where this historical episode happened.

The characters are names of real people. Many of the names, generals Robert E. Lee Thomas “Stonewall” J. Jackson, John B. Floyd, Henry A. Wise, W. S. Rosecrans, J. D. Cox, W. W. Loring, and George B. McClellan, Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes and E. B. Tyler, along with Sergeant William McKinley and others, are recorded in the annals of history.

Hidden away in the archives in Washington are many rosters of men who contributed as much toward the history of the War between the States as the generals and colonels. From one of these records, the names, deeds, and disappointments were checked only to verify that I had not forgotten the names related to me by my great-grandmother over eighty years ago.

The events in this story began in 1861 during the encampment of General Robert E. Lee at what is now Lee’s Tree, West Virginia, on the Big Sewell Mountain, overlooking the Meadow Bluffs.

Although some of the dialogue and details are conjecture, the events related are actual and took place nearly 150 years ago.

CHAPTER I

“Here comes cousin Pearl and that nigger,” exclaimed my great-grandmother as she came to an abrupt stop in the forward motion of her rocking chair.

She was a wiry little woman and very alert to be ninety-six years old. She still had the fire in her eyes and the command in her voice, as if she were sixty years younger, when she used both to bluff and threaten many a Union soldier that tried to take a chicken or cow. Every day before lunch, it was her custom to take a rocking chair on the back porch, weather permitting. There she would sit, dressed in her brightly colored gingham dress, matching bonnet with a ribbon tied under her chin, gazing out over a rolling large meadow, rocking back and forth, smoking a white clay pipe, stained yellow by the Five Brothers tobacco that she had smoked in it for many years.

It was a hot, humid summer morning in 1930, and I was sitting on the back porch steps of a house at Lookout, West Virginia, while my great-grandmother went through her morning ritual of rocking and smoking. That day we had more to look at than the green meadow. We were watching a steam shovel making deep bites into a hillside at the upper end of the field, changing the location of the Midland Trail (US 60).

Many a time, the remark “Cousin Pearl and that nigger” was made by my parents as well as my great-grandmother, but for some reason, this time, it startled me. Maybe because I was so engrossed in watching the steam shovel work, which was a new experience for me. I looked at Mama, a name I used for her, and asked, “Mama, what do you mean, here comes cousin Pearl and that nigger?”

Emphatically she replied, “It’s against all decency for a white woman to have a black nigger man hanging around all the time. Everybody talks.”

“Mama, I don’t understand.”

“Tomorrow I will explain.”

I did not realize that tomorrow and every morning for the balance of the summer, I would sit, wide-eyed and all ears, as she related a story of love and intrigue involving a distant relative.

Cousin Pearl, a heavy, tall, robust, and stout woman, was walking across the field toward our house, the black man walking directly behind her, seemingly stepping into the tracks left by Pearl.

From the first to the last time I remember seeing cousin Pearl, she always appeared the same. A large blue polka-dot kerchief around her head with the ends tied into a knot in the center of her forehead. A faded blue calico dress with a soiled, high round white collar hung sloppily over her large frame. The soiled white collar extended up under a round yellowish-white hair rolled up and pinned in a bun on the back of her neck. Hanging from around her neck and covering the front of her dress was a soiled, splattered white bib apron that had large pockets sewn on each side and tied snugly around her bulging waist. Covering her feet and legs up to her knees were men’s high-top leather boots laced with heavy rawhide string.

For a large woman, near seventy years, she was agile and her movements complimented her robust frame. She spoke good grammar and was wise in ways of survival, alert and inquisitive about all things within her environment. Her piercing gray-green eyes ever searching the surrounding area as if she expected someone or something to pounce on her at any moment.Her face appeared to be etched with a thousand wrinkles, with half of them deep, protruding outward from around the eyes, and the balance around a mouth that supported no teeth. Inside, behind, the lower lip was a dip of snuff creating saliva that seeped out the corners of her mouth, where two wrinkles appeared to be more pronounced and stained.

The black man, or the nigger, as he was continually referred to, was obese like Pearl but not as tall, and much slower moving. He had a smooth, pleasant round face, smiling and showing a mouth full of white teeth, except for one glistening gold incisor on the top row’s left side. His hair, like his skin, was so different from mine. Mine was long, straight, and blond. His was springy short black hair, except in front, and around his ears it was short, springy, and snow-white.

I remember his dress was the same each time I saw him. A long-sleeved blue plaid flannel shirt worn inside bib overalls and buttoned at the top. In the shirt pocket was a half plug of Browns Mule chewing tobacco that was worn smooth by handling and age. I never saw him use tobacco in any way. I think it was carried only to give an impression that he chewed.

Stuck into the pockets on the bib of his overalls were wood pencils and other objects that I have long forgotten. I remember that I was always curious about why he carried them when he couldn’t read or write. The front bottom pockets contained horseshoe nails, bolts, washers, and miscellaneous junk items. One of the back pockets held a worn leather wallet containing bits and pieces of paper. From the other back pocket protruded a red bandanna handkerchief. I liked the copper-colored buttons on his overalls that had railroad engines stamped on them. High-top leather boots, laced with rawhide string and half-soled with pieces cut from automobile tires, covered the largest feet I have ever seen.

Many a remark was made as to his being ignorant or that he didn’t have all his marbles, but I enjoyed his visits. A grown man, nearing fifty years of age, he played with me and my toys, and we played many childlike games. He was exceedingly kind and showed interest in me and what I was doing. He was quiet and only answered in a half-understandable language when spoken to.

At mealtimes he was given the seat at the table that was mine. I would whine, stomp, cry, and pout about losing my place at the table. My mother would put her arms around me and explain, “Ervin, you know you are a child, and we seat grown-ups at the table first.” This quelled my questioning but still left me resenting the nigger, who took my place temporarily.

Up the back porch steps came Pearl and the nigger. Upon ascending her first remarks were “Well, guess I’m just in time for dinner.”

Pearl had quite a knack for arriving at mealtime. She immediately sat down on a rough wooden bench and greeted Mama. “Eunice, it’s sure a hot, sulkee [meaning humid] day.” Before Mama could answer, she inquired, “How’s your health, and is the lumbago still bothering you?”

Mama answered, “As well as can be expected for a woman of my age. Pearl, what are you doing up this way in the middle of the week?” They usually visited on Saturdays.

“Well, didn’t have much to do, so thought we would mosey up this a-way to see about your health” was the reply.

I thought, that is great guns, they have walked a great distance (ten to twelve miles) and it wasn’t lunchtime. Even at seven years I knew visits were for a meal and that my mother would load them down with vegetables from the garden, canned goods, and God only knew what else.

Small talk went on for a short time, and then my mother announced that lunch was ready.

After a full night’s rest and three hearty meals, Pearl and the nigger left soon after breakfast the next morning. When they arrived, each was carrying a canvaslike shopping bag. They left carrying a burlap sack over their shoulders filled until they could hardly be tied closed, the other hand carrying the canvas bags they brought empty, except for the burlap sacks they were now carrying on their shoulders.

Mama said, “They came expecting and went away full.” They were not quite out of sight when I reminded Mama that she was to tell me about “cousin Pearl and the nigger.”

CHAPTER II

“Change, change, change,” Mama started. “See that steam shovel tearing away at that beautiful green bank moving the dirt and rock from side to side? Well, I’m told that is to be the new road through these hills and will be named the Midland Trail.

“See the old road out front? Old records say it once was a buffalo path, then an Indian trail, then it became a stagecoach route and named the James River and Kanawha Turnpike.”

Today it is one of the finest, most modern, improved mountain highways in the United States and is known as the Midland Trail. Today, as of old, it winds from the Tidewater Region of Virginia on the Atlantic Seaboard, among the rolling hills of the Piedmont country, up, over and through the passes of the Blue Ridge Mountains, down across the western valleys of Virginia, on up to the roof of the Alleghenies at the Big Sewell Mountains in westernVirginia, down over the Gauley Mountains to Gauley Bridge, western Virginia, and on westward.

The Midland Trail (US 60) is famous for its beautiful, panoramic mountain scenery, its picturesque valleys, its rough, steep, narrow gorges, and its many historical interests that are an important part of our heritage. From the wars with the Indians to the American Revolution and on through the War between the States are recorded in historical documents, history books, and its history romanced in many a novel.

“On this old trail, the James River and Kanawha Turnpike, just east of the Hawk’s Nest, also known as Marshall’s Pillar, was named for Chief Justice John Marshall, who visited there in 1812. US engineers declared the New River Canyon to be 585 feet deep, surpassing the famed Royal Gorge. At the top of Gauley Mountain, in the town of Ansted stands the Tyree Tavern, a famous and well-known inn in those years, often referred to as the halfway house because on the one-hundred-mile stretch between Lewisburg and Charleston, on the turnpike, it was halfway and stands today,” Mama explained. In the fall of 1946 or 1947 the top floor burned rendering the bottom floor inhabitable. In 1950 the last of the old inn was torn down. The writer visited this old inn on several occasions in the 1930s and late in the 1940s. The description of the inn is from his memories. This old inn had massive stone chimneys adorning each end and dual stairways facing each other, leading from the front lower veranda to the upper portico. People would congregate here to watch the stagecoaches coming over a ridge about two miles to the east or watch their slow final ascent up the Gauley from the west. At the bottom between the two stairways was the front entrance; the door opened into an impressive large vestibule that opened upward the height of the two stories. On the left, after entering was an L-shaped counter with thin round wrought-iron bars extending upward about four feet, joined by a heavier piece of steel that held them together. In the center of this iron railing was a small window where business was transacted.

The hall arena was strewn with many chairs of many descriptions. In each of the four corners were quaint old staircases that joined a balcony extending the perimeter joining the second-story rooms with the portico. The quaint staircases, the hand-fashioned railing around the balcony, appeared to be constructed of highly polished wild cherry wood, but I was told it was a yellow gum finished with shellac.

The most impressive memory I have of the inn is the blazon, carved in wood more than sixscore years before, hanging over the front door. The inscription outlined by a faded border of gold simply stated the following:

HEADQUARTERS

CHICAGO GRAY DRAGOONS

1861

History has recorded that these dragoons were Union soldiers that headquartered there during the summer and fall of 1861. My great-grandmother, in her story, told that a young sergeant named Andy Yates carved the heraldic arms with his jackknife and placed it over the door.

Gray Dragoon records registered in the archives of history show an encampment at Hawk’s Nest, Virginia, 1861. The name Andy Yates is not on the roster. There is a Sergeant Jack Yates, company topographer, on the register. Captain David Bloome is listed as company commander. Other names of importance are lieutenants James LaCrosse Len Millbaugh, and Basil Amerly. Captain Walker Brown, company surgeon, and Sergeant Tony Castino, quartermaster, are also listed. The records indicate that these men enlisted in Chicago, Illinois, at the same time as Jack Yates did. Details of a scheduled court-martial for Jack Yates and a trial for Molly Campbell are also recorded in these records.

“East of this old inn, maybe a hundred yards,” Mama said as she went on with her story, “is a lane that leads back to your great-grandpa’s brother Oran’s house, less than a mile back of the inn. He named his place the Pines. The name was bestowed upon the place, not because of the spotty pines on each side of the lane, but because of the two large, tall hemlocks that flanked the road where the gate opened into the yard in front of the house.

“When the Gray Dragoons were encamped there, only your cousin Molly and her two black slaves, Rubin and Rachel, lived there. Rachel, a few years older than Molly, was her black mammy, and Molly called her Nanny. Molly’s mother died when she was fourteen. Oran, her father, an officer in General Lee’s army, had been killed in a skirmish at the very outset of the war.

Her only brother, Levi, left early in the conflict for Harper’s Ferry. There he joined the praying general, Thomas J. Jackson, who had left his military school at Lexington, Virginia, to go there to enlist men of the northwestern counties and to guard the gateway to the Garden of Virginia, the Shenandoah Valley.

“Molly, a high-spirited maiden of Scotch Irish stock, and as your great-grandpa stated many times, ‘Their ancestry went back to Robert the Bruce, the king of Scots himself. She was beautiful, haughty, and proud but at the same time kind and affectionate, but Southern through and through. She loved the beautiful highland country of old Virginia, in which she lived. At the age of eighteen years, Molly became bitter toward the North and obsessed with the cause of the South. Through her enthusiastic diligence to deal the ‘invaders and murderers’ a decisive blow, she tossed caution, thought, judgment, and freedom for herself to the wind. Her foremost thought was a swift end to this conflict.

“Every week Molly rode up to the Sewell Mountain attired in a black flannel riding habit, of her own make, astride a man’s saddle. She rode like the wind on her high-spirited black stallion with two white front stocking feet that she raised from a colt and named him Black Demon. Some weeks she made more than one trip, stopping only at the Old Stone House for a little rest, food, and water. The Old Stone House, a stage stop between Lewisburg and the Tyree Tavern on the James River and Kanawha Turnpike, stands today basically as it appeared in 1860s. There has been a room built from wood added onto one side. Asphalt shingles replaced the hand-split white oak shakes on the roof. The interior has been changed many times, but the stone walls and roof framing of the basic house are unchanged. From there she rode directly to General Lee’s tent.”

“What was she doing?” I interrupted.

“She was reporting on the movements of the Union troops down Gauley and in the Kanawha Valley. Every day she rode through an area where the Federal troops were to observe their operations. She rode from the Pines, to the Gauley, to Carnifex Ferry and Keasler’s Crosslanes, and around the Gray Dragoons encampment, then to big Sewell, reporting all to General Lee. As she rode, her black hair fluttered in the breeze and her blue eyes blazed and shone like azure sapphires. An expert rider, she was the envy of every Yank and Reb. There weren’t many, if any, who could sit on a horse as she could. She soon became the idol of every trooper along the way, which made it easy to engage in conversation with either Yank or Reb. In the early summer of 1861 until early spring of 1862, the old turnpike in the Appalachian Mountains was alive with troops, both Union and Confederate. As recorded in history, they were constantly coming and going, shifting and changing positions. Threats of attacks and counterattacks prevailed. There were frequent skirmishes, but none serious, and the great decisive battle to retake western Virginia from the Union, which both sides talked about and predicted, never came.

CHAPTER III

The Confederates had been driven out of western Virginia, and they determined to conquer it again. With that objective, General Henry A. Wise moved out of Lexington to Lewisburg, encountering no resistance along the way. Here he learned from those loyal to the Confederacy that a heavy concentration of Union soldiers was encamped at Carnifex Ferry on Gauley River commanded by Colonel Tyler. Farther down the Gauley at the ford where New and Gauley Rivers join at Gauley Bridge was an even larger concentration of troops commanded by General McClellan. The immediate danger was from Union general Cox, who was entrenched on Meadow Bluff, less than twenty miles west. Chancing strong resistance if advancing farther, General Wise decided to halt his troops and camp on the Greenbrier River at Lewisburg.

Richmond, hearing of the danger faced by General Wise and his men, ordered generals John B. Floyd and Robert E. Lee to join General Wise at Lewisburg. General Floyd left immediately with his men. General Lee was given the remnants of General Garnett’s forces, who were defeated and slain by forces led by then colonels Rosecrans and Tyler at Carrick’s Ford, on the Cheat River, a few months earlier. General Lee departed Monterey three days later.

General Lee and his army, upon reaching General Wise, took command and deployed his troops to Big Sewell Mountain and assumed the duty of watching General Cox’s movements between the Meadow Bluff and the Ohio Valley. This was an effort to stop any onrush of Union troops from the Gauley and the Ohio Country and to do what he could in retaking that part of his native state, which was now threatening succession from Virginia to form a new state and join the enemy.

Under a large white oak on top of Big Sewell and today known as Lee’s Tree, the quiet, handsome, and dignified general pitched his tent. Daily, in a spick-and-span gray uniform, he rode on his soon-to-become-famous horse, Traveler, to inspect his troops and view the enemy camp. Far across grassy meadows on a nearby mountain, a northern army commanded by General Cox had dug in. Day after day, week after week, these two great death-dealing armies lay there, threatening each other, ever watching, ever waiting—an occasional cannon would blast the stillness and would promptly be answered by a similar shot from the other side. The valley was made up of a rolling, grassy long green meadow and separated the heights where the armies were entrenched. By day no man dared to walk in these meadows, but by night, many a Yank and Reb met for a friendly chat and to spin yarns of yore, swap tobacco, and speculate on the battle that would come tomorrow—a battle that never took place.

“I had better tell you here how Molly and that no good Andy Yates met and got themselves in a pack of trouble,” Mama went on with the story. “This blue coat, Andy Yates, secretly enlisted in the Chicago Gray Dragoons in Chicago, Illinois, over the wishes of his family. He was nineteen, ran away from home, and told the recruiting officer he was twenty-one. There was no evidence to show that he wasn’t, and his face could pass for that age. He was tall, muscular, with black wavy hair and dark brown eyes. He was a damn handsome soldier, but that damn blue coat told another lie when he gave his name—it wasn’t Andy Yates—it was as far from his family name as he could get. He didn’t want his pa to know where he was. He didn’t mix with the other dragoons. He was unconcerned and uncommunicative in camp. In reality, he was jealous. Because of his education, he felt that he should have a commission. LaCrosse and Millbaugh were given commissions, and they didn’t have his educational qualifications, but they were older.

He listened to the things his comrades had to say about Molly. Their expressions of admiration, their jeers and sarcastic remarks at her expense, and sometimes even threats caused him to swear he would arrange to meet her in some fashion.

He knew Molly hadn’t ridden toward the Big Sewell in the past two days. In his heart he was sure she would be going the next morning. So he arranged with one of the privates in his squad to do picket duty the next day after morning muster. In order to have a better view of the turnpike, over which he knew she would travel, he strayed nearly a mile beyond his post. He positioned himself about one and a half miles east of the tavern upon a small embankment and, at the edge of the timber, slightly concealed behind some laurel.

He leaned his rifle against one of the laurel bushes, prepared to sit down, when he heard the click of hoofbeats. He turned in time to see Molly within a hundred feet. Her horse suddenly reared up, wheeled, and plunged off the right side of the road. A large black bear had ambled out of the thicket into the road in front of Black Demon. The young trooper heard the squeak of saddle leather and saw Molly slide down over the hindquarters of Black Demon and onto the ground.

She was on her feet by the time he reached her, and had drawn a long-barreled pistol from a holster that swung from her belt. By that time, the bear had climbed up a steep bank on the opposite side of the road and paused and looked back at the unhorsed rider. Molly took deliberate aim just behind the bear’s foreleg and fired. The ball sped true to the mark. In an instant, the bruin raised up on its hind legs, pawed the thin air, whirled around, gave forth with a vicious growl, and came crashing down the embankment and rolled out into the road only a few feet from where Molly stood with the Yank beside her.

Instantly Andy Yates realized that his rifle was leaning against a laurel back on the opposite side of the road. With instinct he moved quickly across the road toward his gun while Molly watched in silence the bear’s last struggles until he lay silently still in death.

Molly turned, instantly facing the Yank, and, in a high, shrill, excited voice began, “Serves him right. That damn black bear has caused us trouble before, but I was prepared for him today. And I am prepared for every one of you damn meddlesome Yanks, and you will be getting the same dose if you hang around here long. Did you hear me?”

Andy came to himself. With rifle in hand, he bowed and smiled and politely removed his blue cap. “Ma’am,” he said, “I am Sergeant Andy Yates of the Gray Dragoons. And, Ma’am, if all Rebs were like you, little girl, I-I-I believe we would, we would, we would—you’re wonderful, you’re beautiful. I’ve seen you from a distance pass by here several times, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, or even knowing your name.”

Molly Campbell broke in. “If that’s what you’re trying to ask, I can’t understand why you would want to know.”

“I ask because I do want to know,” replied the young soldier, blushing but with seriousness showing in his face.

“I’m a Reb,” Molly came back. “And you’ll find we’re all made out of the same kind of stuff. We’d as soon shoot a Yankee as a rat.”

“Molly, you and I have no quarrel,” stated a now very calm Andy Yates.

“Don’t we?” With her left hand over her hip and her right hand holding the long-barreled pistol, her icy stare would have frozen an Eskimo clothed in two bear hides. “Reckon you’d have me think that you are here in that uniform on a friendly mission, would you?”

“As far as you are concerned, Ms. Campbell, I am.”

“Call me Molly,” she interrupted. “That’s my name. Nobody ever called me Ms. Campbell, and I don’t want any soft-voiced, flattering blue coat Yankee to start it now.”

“All right, all right,” Yates agreed. “I’ll call you, and let me assure you, little girl, I want to be a friend.”

“Oh, you do? That’s interesting, indeed! Let me tell you something, Sergeant.” She walked up very close, toe to toe, looked hard into his eyes, her own afire with hatred. “You can’t be a friend of mine and fight my people. You dirty Yankee soldiers have already murdered my father, and my only brother, Levi, has joined Jackson in defense of our people and our homes.”

“And you’re—you are in the service of Lee?” blurted Andy.

“Where do you get that from?” snapped Molly.

“Well—you are, aren’t you?” in a trembling voice, Andy responded.

“If I am, it’s no Yankee-loving black abolitionist’s damn business. Do you think the South will stand idly by and watch you murder our people, burn our homes, and steal our belongings? You can bet your damn Yankee ass that we won’t. If need be, every woman in the South will take up arms against you. Thanks to you and your tenderhearted black abolitionists, I am alone here, Sergeant, but you Yanks will find me able to take care of myself.” She snatched the bridle in her left hand, and in one continuous movement, her right hand grabbed the saddle horn and her left foot went into the stirrup, moving upward to mount Black Demon.

Andy seized her arm, preventing her from mounting, and angrily responded, “You damn little high-and-mighty hothead, I’m going to talk to you and it’s for your own good, and you’re going to listen. In no way could you take care of yourself for one minute against the smallest dragoon. Captain Bloome already suspects you of carrying information to Lee, up on Big Sewell, and soon he will throw you in the stockade. A pretty girl like you—well, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Let me repeat some of the remarks my comrades made about you the last time you rode up the lane. ‘There goes that dear again—up to give Daddy Lee some more interesting news.’ Captain Bloome stood up, walked to the window, and exclaimed, ‘God, men, she is a beauty. I’m afraid we’re going to have to make her a prisoner. She knows too much and has too much business up at Big Sewell. God, can she ride! There isn’t a trooper in the dragoons that can ride like she can.’

“‘If she rode my horn like she can that saddle, she can hang her clothes in my tent tomorrow and become queen of all my domain,’ chirped in Lieutenant Millbaugh and laughed a sinister, villain-like laugh.

“‘Nothing like that, Lieutenant,’ Captain Bloome commanded, with a disgusted look showing in his face. I’ll bet you a sawbuck against that old blue hat of yours that this little girl is as pure as purity itself. So pure and innocent, in fact, that she doesn’t suspect the danger she is in with a troop of roughnecks like us camped practically in her front yard. When we arrest her, we’ll treat her fair and square. I hope we’ll not molest her in any way. She’s too fine.

“‘She’s masculine, fellers,’ remonstrated Lieutenant LaCrosse. ‘She’s mannish. Look at the way she rides, and I bet she’s a hell cat clean through and through.

“‘From here I have to agree with you, Lieutenant, sir,’ interjected Sergeant Castino. ‘But she is as beautiful as a mountain daisy swaying in the gentle breeze. I’ll bet my blue cap against that sawbuck that she’d be a wildcat to live with.’

“‘I’d take that chance,’ Captain Bloom snapped back. ‘She doesn’t look like a wildcat to me. Look how graceful she rides that black horse. She’s angry and stirred up over this damn war. But why wouldn’t she be? Man, she’s beautiful, I tell you! She is a perfect specimen of womanhood and a picture of health and vigor. A mountain daisy, you say, Sergeant? But transplant her in Chicago, in a beautiful gown, and she would become a lily of the valley admired by all the townsfolk.’”

Andy’s voice, now growing more softly, continued, “I’ve told you the Union troops already suspect you of carrying news to Lee, up at his camp, and one of these days they’ll take you in. There are men in our troop that would do anything.” In a softer and mellowed voice, he stuttered, “And a pretty girl like you—well, you wouldn’t have the chance a snowball has in hell! You understand what I’m saying? It may be short of treason, but I’m offering to be that friend.”

Molly turned away. She softened, and her face lit up with a faint smile of suspicion showing about the corners of her mouth. Looking down at the young sergeant, she said, “I thank you, Sergeant Yates, for your kind assistance. You have a good face, and I could believe you have a good heart if it were not for that uniform you wear. I’ve killed too much time, but take this message to your pals. I’m hunting bear, the black abolitionist kind, and I’m not afraid of that wart-nosed old Abe Lincoln and his whole Union army. Tell them too that the Yank that comes to get me had better see me before I see him.”

“Trust me, trust me, Molly,” he pleaded. “I’ve been crazy about you since the day I saw you. Molly, believe me. I’ll convince you.”

A naughty little laugh emerged as she replied, “Your commanding officer should lock you up in his guardhouse. It’s not safe for a lunatic to run loose in these parts.”

“Don’t make fun of me, little girl,” he responded, as he stood gazing helplessly into her enchanting blue eyes. “I’m dead serious. I mean every word of what I say.”

There was a doubting smile on her face and a tone of iron in her voice, “Oh! You do? Really?” For an instant she looked him squarely in the eyes. She jerked the rein, and Black Demon wheeled and started forward at a fast gait that would carry Molly on her last trip up the James River-Kanawha Turnpike to General Lee’s camp on Big Sewell Mountain.

In 1933 or 1934, this big white oak began to die. It was cut down, and the smallest pieces were made into souvenirs and sold for charity. I was told the tree was over three hundred years old.

CHAPTER IV

Andy went about doing his duty that day with a nervousness that kept him from doing anything right. Knowing about the hour she would return from Big Sewell that evening, he watched and was determined to continue the conversation of that morning.

The sun had set when he saw her going over the turnpike just before the point when she would turn off into the lane that led to her home in the Pines. He hurriedly mounted his horse and rode through an opening in the rock fence behind the Tyree Tavern into the lane just as Molly reached the same location.

Reining her horse to a standstill, sarcastically she demanded, “Where do you think you are going?”

“I would like to ride all the way home with you, Molly, I—”

“No!” she protested. “I’d just as soon you dragoons did not know where I live. Good-bye.”

Taking hold of Black Demon’s bridle to keep the horse from advancing farther, Andy calmly replied, “But that’s just the point. Some of them do know where you live, and because they do, I want to know myself. They know your two niggers live a distance out back in a shanty and that you are alone and unprotected. I am afraid for you. I am fearful—Molly, that’s the God’s truth. If anything should happen, I need to know how to get there without losing any time. So I insist on going all the way.”

She intensely searched his face before she answered. “You have a good, honest face, and I admit that you are a convincing talker. Surely you would not tell me these things if they were not true. I believe you, Sergeant, and I’m going to trust you. Come on.”

Together they rode down the lane over the brow of a small hill, down a gentle slope to the mountain home where Molly lived.

There it was, not ostentatious, a little snow-white cabin[1] framed by two high hemlock trees standing on each side of the lane. The yard, enclosed by a wood picket fence, dotted with more than a dozen cone-shaped pine trees. The pickets were whitewashed to blend with the cabin, as white and clean looking as a new fallen snow. Between the two large hemlock trees that also served as corners of the front yard ran the white picket fence, with a small oval-top swinging gate in the center. From the gate a small flower-bordered path led up to the front porch of the cabin. The cabin was elevated two steps high off the ground on stone pieces. The fence framed the cabin, extending up each side and around back, meeting another oval-top gate a few yards from the kitchen porch.

Along the left side of the fence, a small lane continued back to four well-kept outbuildings. To the right of the outbuildings, maybe seventy yards back, stood a smaller white cabin, the quarters for Rubin and Rachel. To the immediate rear of the outbuildings and at the foot of a cliff stood a small log springhouse. From within the spring flowed constantly and abundantly to deliver the purest, coolest water that was piped down beside the lane, filling to overflowing a log watering trough that sat close by the white picket fence just a few yards from the back porch.

The cabin was not elaborate, but it was inviting, and the setting was excitingly beautiful. There were five rooms, divided by a hall running through the center of the house from the front to the back porches. The back porch was L-shaped, serving the hall and kitchen door.

There were three big outside stone chimneys, one at each end of the house, and Virginia creepers grew and vined upward on each one.

The kitchen looked as if it were a smaller square cube, with a chimney on one end that had been set to one side and joined into a large square cube. In the kitchen were a large fireplace and a long, narrow table with jars and crocks sitting on its top. There were several cast-iron pots in and around the fireplace.

The room adjoining the kitchen was the eating area. Table and chairs were in place. There were windows on the two outside walls. On one wall on each side of the window were cabinets with dishes carefully arranged in them. Under the window on the opposite wall stood a quilting frame holding a half-finished quilt.

The room forward of the eating area was a sitting room. There was a high-backed, wood-framed, and stuffed couch with two or three tables and a few chairs. The floor was wood and different from the other rooms. It was constructed of small narrow strips of beech wood drawn tightly together, nearly white and highly polished. In one corner was a stone fireplace joining a similar one, back-to-back, in the dining area.

The door from the sitting room opened into the hall. A door opened to the front and back porches. Exiting the hall to the back porch, to the left, a stairway led up to the loft.

Across the hall were two bedrooms. In each a corner, fireplaces were back-to-back where the partition separated the two bedrooms.

Molly and Sergeant Yates slackened rein as they rode up to the watering trough, thus allowing the horses to drink.

“So this is the place?” remarked Andy as his eyes surveyed the scene before him.

“Yes. How do you like it?” asked Molly.

“I like it. I think it is beautiful. It is so wonderful. I think I could live here forever.”

“That’s because you have never lived here, Sergeant. Life is hard and terrible lonely in the mountains. After my mother died, before the damn war, for two summers I visited relatives in Richmond, Boston, Washington, and Philadelphia. Since that time, I have wished for the city. Well, I guess we always want the things we do not have. You must be from the city. By the way, where is your home, Sergeant?”

“In Chicago,” Andy replied. “I was born and raised there. My father is a merchant and a banker. My parents are rich. I’m the only child and I-I-I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. They lavished me with a good education and everything else. They petted and humored me till I-I—well, I’m no more than a spoiled baby. I’ve had everything, traveled everywhere, seen everything, and tried about everything at least once. But one day I realized I was not happy. It convinced me that I had an empty life where someone was always doing for me or telling me what to do. I ran away from home and enlisted in the Gray Dragoons, which is the only thing I have ever done on my own. My parents don’t know where I am. Fact is, I haven’t cared much lately until I saw you, and it’s been different. You’ve been like a dream to a dying man.”

“A dream!” she shouted. “You’ve said it quite well, Sergeant. I’m the only girl you have probably seen for months. A dying man will grab at anything, you know. I understand. The dream would quickly fade when you are back in greener pastures.”

“Molly, that’s not right. You’re different. I’ve never seen a girl like you before,” Andy responded with a slight command in his voice.

Molly’s lip curled in a slight smile. She looked suspiciously at him.

“What do you know about me, Mr. Yates?” she asked, with a note of sarcasm in her voice. “Now listen and listen good. We’ve only spoken once before. You are either touched in the head, or you are deceitful. I think you’re devious. I’m only a mountain girl. But let me tell you, I know something of the other world. I’ve had a fairly good education. I’ve traveled a little and have a moderately good library. I know more about life than you give me credit for knowing, sir, and my legs don’t spread like butter.”

Molly’s words were cutting and the sergeant was deeply hurt, but he responded, “Before I leave here, Molly, I hope to have a chance to prove my sincerity. I-I-only wish—”

The sentence was not completed because of a sudden burst of gunfire from the direction of the turnpike and south of the old inn.

Swiftly Andy mounted, wheeled his horse, and galloped up the lane. As he passed the fence in front of the house, he faintly heard Molly call, “What’s that?”

He yelled back, “Sounds like my company is under attack,” as he disappeared out of her sight.

CHAPTER V

Upon returning to the old inn, Sergeant Yates found the dragoons had had a sharp skirmish with a detachment of Confederates who were skirting south of their encampment along the Ramsey and Clifty Roads that circled east of the Tyree Inn.

There was much excitement and confusion in camp. One dragoon had been killed and several wounded. Immediately he was questioned and accused sharply by Captain Bloome as to why he had not reported the proximity of the train.

“You were down that way, Sergeant, and from that cabin you can see over a half mile of the Ramsey and Clifty Roads. We could have taken it had we known of its approach in time. You were sent here to do your duty, not to run off after the first piece of ass that chanced to come your way. Go to your quarters and consider yourself under arrest. You are to report to headquarters in the morning. I think there will be a court-martial for you, Sergeant.”

Andy saluted, made an about-face, and proceeded to his quarters. He lay on his cot, disturbed and worried. He was a good soldier. Conscientious as he was, he had deep regrets. He tried to excuse his feelings with thoughts that he wasn’t on duty, but immediately it flashed through his mind that he was where he should have spotted and reported the enemy’s movement. Like a bolt from nowhere, he realized he could be court-martialed, disgraced, and maybe shot.

The dragoons had given a good account of themselves. In the engagement they captured one supply wagon and took three prisoners. The wagon was found to contain medical supplies and, among other items, a quantity of whiskey and brandy, which were welcomed in the dragoon camp.

Sergeant Castino promptly hid the spirits in the cellar of the old inn and placed it under lock and key. It wasn’t long before every dragoon in camp knew it was in there. Sometime after taps had sounded, the lock on the cellar door was torn off and the spirits stolen.

It was taken to a room adjoining where Andy lay tossing sleeplessly on his old army cot. He heard voices filtering through the thin wall. A door closed in the next room. He rose up on one elbow to listen. Now someone was speaking just outside his window. He crept silently to the window. Cautiously he peered out. There in the darkness of night, he saw three shadowy forms, and one was Millbaugh. His huge hulk and slouching shoulders were unmistakable. Even with the night only starlit, he could see that they were drunk. Instantly, he thought of the captured whiskey, and as if forewarned about Molly, he listened. Millbaugh’s thick tongue began to speak.

“Come on, you damn fools! I know where she lives. Foller’d ’er clear to ’er home t’other day. I’d ’nowed I’d be goin’ to on ’er some day. I-I’m purty wise guy, here, LaCrosse, you betcha your good-for-nothing ass I am. Ask Toney. Yer-yer captured the whiskey, di-di-didn’t yer? Toney, yer-yer a good boy—a hell of a brave soldier.”

Then silence as Andy rose up and peeped out the window again. There the three stood with hands on each other’shoulders, heads together and weaving back and forth.

A soft voice said, “How far ’tis over there?”

Millbaugh let loose of their shoulders, slung his arm to indicate the direction, and fell face forward to the ground. The other two lifted him.

“Millbaugh, you’re too damn drunk to go tonight,” demanded LaCrosse. “Let’s wait till another night.”

“Drunk? Hell no, I ain’t drunk, yer-yer-yer showin’ yer yellow-bellied cowardice,” blurted Millbaugh, grabbing Toney by his arm with brute force. “An-and we’re not gonna wait. Say we’re not going to wait. Say it! You damn yellow-livered coward.”

“Oh-o-o-no-oo, I’m ready,” cried Toney in a rage of pain.

“Shut up, you drunken fools! Sit down and listen,” demanded LaCrosse.

“Listen to w-w-what,” stammered Millbaugh. “The moon. There’s no damn moon. Come on. I got the papers.”

LaCrosse, placing a hand on each of Millbaugh’s shoulders, shoved him downward hard on the seat of his pants and immediately sat down beside him, looking him in the eye. He started, “Listen, you drunken bully. We’re not going anywhere until we know for damn sure that she’s living there alone.”

“Nobody ’er livin’ with ’er but the two niggers, and they not livin’ ne’r. I to-told yer foller’d her t’other day—know lay of the land a-and the nig-niggers live w-way out back. I was there an’ d-didn’t I find out all about it?” answered Millbaugh, in a softer voice.

“You’re sure, Lieutenant?” LaCrosse was slapping Millbaugh on the back. “Come on. Let’s go,” he said as he was starting to stand up.

Millbaugh pulled him back down, saying, “Wait a minute—j-just one damn minute! Ever wh-whose woman is she going to be? Which one goin’ get ’er first?”

There was silence. They set there staring at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

“Hell! Let’s toss for ’er!” blurted Toney.

“All right with me,” answered LaCrosse, looking at Millbaugh.

“Fair ’nough,” proclaimed Millbaugh, reaching into his pocket for a coin.

“First odd man out,” suggested Toney, flipping his coin.

“Ha-ha, Toney. You’re last,” Millbaugh said, in a gentler voice. “Okay, LaCrosse, you match me.” A flip of the coins and then each man looked at each other. Then the three were off to carry out their evil plan.

Andy, with only his forehead and eyes above the windowsill, sat there stunned, not believing what he had heard or saw. The thought of Molly and what was to happen jolted him to his senses. He immediately dressed in his uniform, snapped his pistol and cartridge belt around his waist, and slipped quietly out of the building, skirting the encampment to elude any pickets on duty. He was afraid he would lose his way if he followed the others through the woods. He lost fifteen to twenty minutes eluding guards to reach the lane behind the buildings, and then he was off at top speed on the road to Molly’s home. He was moving at such speed that a horseman coming toward him, evidently on patrol, was within speaking distance before Andy saw him. He quickly and quietly lay down beside the road, close to some brush. As he went by, Andy could see it was a soldier but could not distinguish if the uniform was blue or gray.

After hoofbeats faded from his hearing, Andy hurried down the road at such speed that he was winded when he saw a light through the pines. He knew they were there ahead of him. Then a scream of a woman reached his ears. He charged forward faster with redoubled efforts. It seemed an eternity from the scream until he reached the white picket gate. A few strides and he bounded up the steps and onto the porch like a mountain lion ready to pounce on its prey. The door was ajar. He paused, gasping for air, and softly stepped into the hallway, intending to enter the lighted room.

A shot rang out, and one of the drunken soldiers reeled and fell through the doorway, prostrate at his feet. Yates, peering into the room, saw it was vacant. He leaped over the body and into the vacant room. Sounds of a struggle were coming from the adjoining room. Cautiously he moved toward the door to the adjoining room. He now could hear gasping and sobbing sounds. Exploding with anger and hatred from within, Andy rushed into the dimly lit room where he saw the girl struggling with the other two dragoons.

“Millbaugh! Millbaugh! You son of a bitch, let her go!” shrieked Andy.

The sadistic, drunken fool heeded not. The hand he had over Molly’s mouth swiftly moved downward, ripping open the front of her nightgown, exposing her lily-white breasts.

Madly Andy rushed to Millbaugh, seizing him by the collar, thrusting him backward at the same time striking him full in the face with a hard right fist knocking him to the floor. Quickly he turned toward the other dragoon, whom he recognized as Sergeant Toney Castino. Toney released his hold on the exhausted Molly, who fell backward onto the bed, and snatched his pistol from its holster. Andy drew his, and the two weapons fired at the same time. Toney fell fatally wounded down, onto the bed across the exhausted Molly. Yates felt a hot sting in his left breast and hot blood oozing out and trickling down his side. His vision grew dim; for an instant he sat there dazed and half-conscious.

Sounds of breaking glass aroused him. He looked, seeing Millbaugh, upon one elbow had upset a table, causing the glass breakage, struggling to get on his feet. Yates’ own gun had slipped away from him, and he realized that he could not locate it. Andy saw Millbaugh’s hand go to his belt and the gleam of his pistol as it left the holster. He knew that Millbaugh meant to kill him because they had had trouble before and hatred had existed ever since.

“Yates, you damn fool,” cried Millbaugh as he looked at the young man down on both knees, clinging on to the side of the bed. “LaCrosse thought he was to be the first with the girl, and now I suppose you think you will be the first, but you’ll not be here long.”

Andy knew he must act to save himself. Summoning all his strength, he drew his feet up under him and, like a puma, sprang forward, his shoulder striking Millbaugh just below the knees, turning the bulky hulk forward into a somersault, causing Millbaugh to lose his weapon.

Yates, much younger and faster, had been trained in the science of boxing. He knew he must make quick work of Millbaugh, but the pain in his side was terrible. He was on his feet, weakening from the loss of blood and swirling from dizziness.

Millbaugh was on his feet, going toward Andy, but he couldn’t muster enough strength to strike at him as he drew Andy into a bear hug. Yates tried his best to break from Millbaugh’s giant clutches. This seemed impossible to do. He could only deliver some short jabs to his aggressor’s ribs.

Millbaugh tightened his viselike grip around Andy’s body, repeating, “Damn yer, Yates! Damn yer, Yates! I’m g-gonna kill yer-yer damn yellow dog!”

Andy knew this was a fight to death, but how was he going to break such grip? If only he was not weakened from the loss of blood, he could bash in his opponent’s face. Millbaugh bent Andy backward. His foot touched the floor. With the last ounce of strength left in him, he brought the knee forward into Millbaugh’s groin. Millbaugh howled from pain, relaxing his grip. Andy slid downward and out of the viselike grip to the floor. He saw Millbaugh grab a piece of firewood from the fireplace and start to swing downward. He threw his arms across his face and faded into total darkness.

CHAPTER VI

The first thing that Andy was conscious of was the chirping of birds. Next, he saw a sunray streaming through a window at the foot of where he lay and that the lace curtains were fluttering in the breeze. It was so soft where he lay that his first thought was that he was reclining on a soft white cloud. Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he discovered he was lying flat on his back in a soft, downy bed. It was so much more comfortable than the hard army cot he was accustomed to.

He rolled his eyes about, still dazed; he could not think, but he was gazing at a ceiling of white plaster. Observing the ceiling and its outline revealed that he was in a small cubical room. It started him thinking it a prison. But he rolled his eyes downward and discovered the walls were papered in a faded rose-colored print and spotlessly clean. He began to think, a soft down bed, plastered white ceiling, wallpaper on the walls—for sure it was a hospital.

As he lowered his eyes, he could see pictures on the wall and trinkets here and there. A little farther down, he could see a marble-top dresser. On it a tumbler half filled with water and a large round bowl with a pitcher in it. He could see set between these objects two or three bottles, evidently containing medicine. What had happened? Was he in a hospital? Andy still a little dizzy, his eyes moved to one corner of the dresser. There lay a holster containing a revolver. What! It was his? He started to rise, with thoughts of retrieving the pistol, but a red-hot, burning pain shot across his left side, causing him to cry out. He grasped his side while slowly lying back in bed. He found it bandaged tightly.

He was possessed with a moment of fear because his surroundings were strange and he could not vision what happened.

He heard a step, and the door swung open gently. Immediately Andy’s mind reflected on the fight. He had seen Millbaugh coming at him with a piece of firewood then the crack of a pistol. Andy screamed, “Molly!” Somehow he knew she was there even though he could not see her.

“Yes” came a soft answer as Molly stepped to his bedside, taking his hand as she peered into his face. “And how is the sergeant today?”

“I-I don’t know,” he answered. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You’re at the Pines in Molly’s house. You’re in no immediate danger, so be calm and be quiet,” she ordered.

“What do you mean, ‘no immediate danger’? Have I been in battle? Did I get shot? Am I a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” questioned Andy.

Gently Molly said, “Before you get those answers, you have to be quiet and calm down. Yes, you have been shot. Yes, you are a prisoner. Yes, you were in a battle. The wound is not dangerous. You will recover. You must not talk or get excited.”

Molly could see by the puzzled look on his face that he did not remember the tragedy of two nights before. Letting go of his hand, she sat down on the side of his bed as Andy asked.

“How did it happen, Molly? Where was the battle? Who shot me? Did you—did you do it?”

“Quit talking,” she commanded in a soft whisper. Getting up from the bed, she tiptoed to the door and cautiously peeped out. She thought she had heard someone come up on the porch. It was only the guard posted outside. Then she returned to the bedside and, in a stern but soft voice, demanded, “You are to keep absolutely quiet. You are not to talk, for the present, anyway. You have a bad wound through your lung that barely missed your heart.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, bringing on a small cough that brought the taste of blood into his mouth. “But-but, Molly, why did you shoot me?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No, I did not shoot you,” she replied. “But I did shoot two of your friends.”

Andy was rubbing his hands across his face as if to clear his vision and spur the return of his lost memory. “Yes, yes, yes, I remember now. I see—I see it now—Millbaugh, but-but there were three of them. You shot three of them, Molly?”

“Someone else shot Toney,” she explained. “I heard the gate slam shut. I got up, lit the candle, removed the revolver from under the pillow, and turned around just as the one they called LaCrosse came through the door. I fired. He turned and fell back through the door. Before I could get another shot, the other two grabbed me. A struggle ensued, and that was the last I remembered. When I came to, the one called Toney was laying across me on the bed, dead. His pistol was beside me. I saw Millbaugh coming with the firewood raised above his head. I grabbed Toney’s gun and fired. The bullet hit Millbaugh under the chin, in the throat, and came out the back of his head.”

Andy reached out his hand to her, and Molly gently grasped it in her hand and sat down on the side of the bed once again as Andy was saying, “Was you that saved me, Molly. You saved me. I heard the pistol shot as if it was a dream—afar off. Why—why you little rebel, it was you that saved me from my own comrades.”

“But you saved me first,” she said. “But I didn’t know that until I got Toney off me and I got off the bed and found you there lying on the floor.”

“Yes, I remember. It was Toney who shot me, and I shot him. I remember he fell on top of you on the bed.”

Andy again coughed lightly, and hot pain once again ran through his breast, and a slight hemorrhage warned him of the seriousness of his wound.

Molly administered medical techniques to him with all the skill of a well-trained nurse.

“You’ve had training as a nurse?” he questioned.

“Yes, last summer in Richmond while visiting my aunt. You are not to talk,” she warned him. “If you want to hear the balance of the story, shut up, or I leave you by yourself.”

Even though it was exceedingly painful, Andy smiled and said, “Impossible, Molly, with you it’s—”

“Shut up—stop it!” she commanded, slamming her foot down onto the floor with a thud. “I’m in command here.”

He smiled again. “Molly, you saved me. Your friendship is” was all Andy got to say.

“Hush,” she commanded. “Quiet now, and I will see if Nanny has your breakfast ready.” She turned and left the room.

A minute and she was back. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost noon,” she replied. “I asked Nanny to prepare you dinner. But let’s get one thing straight. I told you I am in command here inside.”

He interrupted, “What do you mean in command inside?”

Nanny entered the room, bearing a tray, and the appetizing aroma of chicken soup and steaming coffee filled the room.

“You got up so late, you missed breakfast,” Molly said, trying to be cheerful.

Andy smiled in response to her attempt to be cheerful, but he was anxious to hear more of the details and what had come as an aftermath of the fight. Again, in spite of Molly’s previous warnings, he asked, “How did they learn about it at camp? What do you mean you are in command inside?”

He reached for her hand. She tenderly stopped it and placed it under the cover. She tiptoed out of the room and peeped down the hallway toward the front of the house. In returning to his bedside, she said, “I told you I am in command inside. Your dragoon friends have guards on the outside. We’re both prisoners. You cannot leave this house. You could not leave even if you were well enough. They’re going to court-martial both of us when you are able to be taken to your headquarters. Anyway, that is some time off. Lots of things can happen before that.”

He heard her leave the room and out to the back porch.

Andy lay there talking to himself. “Prisoners awaiting court-martial! How could that be? How can they court-martial Molly? I guess I would have faced court-martial today. It’s worse now. Wonder what the reports say. I’ll send for Captain Bloome. He stands for justice. He will listen to the truth.”

The door opened, and Molly came into the room, saying, “Nanny forgot the bread for the soup.”

With her assistance, he was raised to a half-sitting position in the bed. And Molly placed the pillows behind his back and began feeding him the well-prepared soup.

“Well, Sergeant, it looks like the only way I can shut you up is to keep poking this spoonful of soup in your mouth,” she said as she kept feeding him.

“Molly, how did they learn about the fight at camp?” he asked.

“Sergeant, when you decide to quit talking, calm down, and listen, maybe I will tell you what I know,” she replied, with sternness in her voice.

Andy said no more. He finished his soup and lay back in the bed as Molly began to speak. “Now, if you’ll not talk anymore, I’ll tell you about it or all I know.

“When I shot Millbaugh, Nanny and Rubin came rushing into the room. Nanny had an ax in her hands and Rubin with a scythe in his. Nanny, seeing the four of you lying there, cried out, ‘Lawdy, Ms. Molly, what is you done?’ After calming Nanny down, I sent Rubin up to the old inn to bring help. They had heard the shots, or some of the pickets did, and when Rubin arrived at the camp, the dragoons were here in less than half an hour. By the time they were here, Nanny and I carried you here and put you in this bed.

“They wanted to take you back to camp, but I convinced them that I could nurse you back to health here. Lieutenant Ambroy bandaged up your wound and finally consented to let you stay.

“I told him the whole story, but I do not feel that he believed me. He said he hoped you recovered because you had a lot of things to explain. They left, taking the others back to camp with them.

“Yesterday morning, Dr. Brown, or Surgeon Brown, came down and redressed your wound and left those bottles of medicine and instructions to keep you quiet and not let you talk. With Surgeon Brown came four guards. Two were placed out back. Two are stationed in front. One of the guards told me this morning that LaCrosse is still living and will recover. From what the guard says, he is telling a story different from what happened. A made-up bunch of lies from start to finish. Trying to save his own hide.”

“What’s—what’s he telling,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about that now. Your concern is to get well. We are prisoners as a result of his story. When you are well, we’ll have a reckoning. A way will be provided.”

There was a knock at the door. Dr. Brown had arrived to administer to Andy’s wound.

CHAPTER VII

It was near on two weeks before Andy was able to talk and sit up some in bed. Surgeon Brown, finding Andy in a good frame of mind and strength returned, questioned him and Molly about the tragic affair that happened at the cabin.

Molly and the young dragoon told their story. They told every detail. They told it convincingly and well, and the surgeon listened intently.

When they had finished, Dr. Brown replied, “A good story. Sounds well, and it might be true.” He shook his head. “But you’ll have trouble convincing anyone at camp that it is true.”

“So what do you mean?” asked Andy.

“Treason,” replied the surgeon.

“Treason!” exclaimed Andy.

“Yes, I said treason! Now, let me tell the both of you. The evidence is against you—Molly as an enemy spy and you for collaborating with the enemy. Both of you are not only charged with treason, but with murder. You and this girl are charged with murdering two of your comrades in cold blood and an attempt on the life of another.”

“I don’t understand, Dr. Brown,” Andy started to speak.

“Shut up! Wait a minute now! Give me a little time to explain!” Andy was interrupted by a harsh command from Surgeon Brown. “This girl is a brazen little rebel. She carries information to General Lee. Everyone at camp knows it, has known it for some time, and you knew it yourself. Forgive me, ma’am,” he said as he turned toward Molly. “She’s charming, a regular little beauty, a heart smasher, and you were weak enough to be enticed by her. I grant you she is all of these and more, but these are times of war, and in war you enlisted taking an oath under the flag to uphold your country first and above everything else. As a soldier, you should have kept in a soldier’s place.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” impatiently Andy broke in. “Haven’t I done this? Haven’t I?”

“Wait a minute. Will you wait a minute?” thundered the doctor.

“Hell no! I will not wait. I’m not going to be charged with disloyalty and tried for treason when I’ve done nothing but my simple duty. I am not a traitor. I have not been untrue to the Union, the flag, or the dragoons. All I have done is defend a helpless girl, be she friend or foe, against three unrestrained, drunken brutes with animal passions.”

“Just a minute. Hold it a minute,” the doctor said. “If you could substantiate your claim, this would be a different matter. But who in hell can prove this for you?”

“Molly. By Ms. Molly Campbell herself,” interjected Andy.

“Do you think her word would have value or weight at camp?” asked the surgeon.

“Why wouldn’t it?” asked Andy.

“I’ll tell you why. Listen. Keep still until I finish my say. Lieutenant LaCrosse is recovering very nicely. He tells an entirely different version of what happened here at the Pines. You must agree he is your superior officer and this young chap’s reputation and word will go at camp since he has some very tangible evidence to substantiate his story.”

“Dr. Brown,” cried Andy, “he is lying to save his own skin. He knows he must tell something other than the truth, or they would have his own hide. Millbaugh and LaCrosse have been enemies of mine ever since our troop was organized in Chicago. They have planned deliberately to destroy me. Isn’t my word and Molly’s equal to LaCrosse’s?”

“Hell no! Not when he has blood-splattered maps and troop charts and plans of operations for the Union armies in Western Virginia in his possession. They are maps and charts you have been making for our operation headquarters. Andy, how did she get them?” asked the doctor.

Andy bolted upright, off the bed, stood erect beside Molly, at first speechless. Recovering, he said, “I-I don’t know, Doctor. I haven’t any idea how she could have gotten them.”

“You don’t know?” asked Dr. Brown, with a note of sarcastic doubt in his voice.

“God knows I don’t know. Molly, do you know what he is talking about?” asked Andy.

“I haven’t the least idea,” replied Molly.

“LaCross says you know. Says you gave them to her,” Dr. Brown answered.

“Dr. Brown, he lies. He knows as well as I that he lies,” answered Andy.

“Be quiet and listen. This is LaCrosse’s story. He says that when the three of them arrived here at this cabin, they found you here, with the girl, explaining the maps and charts to her. They saw you turn them over to her and wish her a speedy journey to meet General Lee. At this point, he contends, they entered the house, demanding the papers, and you and the girl opened fire on them. The maps and charts were found where Millbaugh lay wounded, and you don’t know how they got there?” asked Dr. Brown, again showing doubts.

“I do not, Dr. Brown. I am completely los—” Andy hesitated and began again. “Wait a minute. Maybe I do. You know I have never carried any of the charts or maps on me. They have only been at the shack where I worked. They could have stolen them and planned on stashing them here as evidence against Molly.”

“Well, it looks bad, Yates. There is no question that you are in a lot of trouble, but I thought I should tell you,” replied the doctor.

“Does Captain Bloome believe LaCrosse?” asked Andy.

“I was just coming to that. LaCrosse claims that Captain Bloome assigned him and Millbaugh to watch the girl and the cabin. Captain Bloome substantiated his claim that they were acting under orders,” replied Dr. Brown.

“You think there is no chance for me to establish the truth and convince them that I am not a traitor?” asked Andy.

“The truth will, in all probability, be established,” answered the surgeon. “For you to convince anyone at camp that you have not been disloyal, well, that—that’s an impossibility. I repeat, it looks bad, my boy, if you ever go back to camp. That is, if you go.”

“Dr. Brown, you’ve known me from childhood and you know my family. Have you lost faith in me, have you—have you deserted me too?” asked Andy.

“Why do you think I have been here for days? Does saving your life mean I have deserted you?” he answered Andy. “Did you think I did it just because of your father?”

“Oh, you won’t tell him, will you, Dr. Brown?” asked Andy.

“Do you think I would tell him his son ran away from his command and killed two comrades because of a girl? Perhaps, on second thought, it would be better to tell him than to explain your death. It would break his heart to believe his son turned traitor to his country.”

Andy nodded, smiled, and shook the surgeon’s hand.

“Good-bye,” bade the surgeon. “I’ll be back in a few days. Your extent of exercise is to walk no farther the porch.”

Molly exited the room with Dr. Brown, and Andy lay back on the bed and began to assess his predicament.

CHAPTER VIII

Andy lay there for some time, thinking. Remembering the time they had enlisted in the Dragoons. He recalled how he punched Millbaugh in the face for showing his animal nature and insulting a waitress before leaving recruiting quarters for the Gray Dragoons in Chicago. How LaCrosse came to Millbaugh’s defense and the hostility shown by both men. Millbaugh said then he’d get me. The confrontation had been festering all this time He knew that someplace and at sometime the festering would erupt. Was th is the time and method of evening the score?

How had LaCrosse gained possession of his charts and drawings? He had never carried any of the charts or drawings or any detailed duty away from the barracks. They were only exhibited to proper authorities and then only for explanation and planning. He had been especially cautious and careful, for he had been admonished and cautioned against it by Captain Bloome and the chief engineer who had solicited his services and under whose direction he made the charts and drawings. At no time had Molly seen them; nor did she know what his duty was for the Dragoons. But, nevertheless, they had been found, in her house, beside or under the wounded LaCrosse.

It looked completely logical that anyone would believe him guilty. It’s very plain that Millbaugh planned it. This was his revenge. But, how did they get the maps and drawings? He could understand how they got to Molly’s place and why they were found with the wounded LaCrosse. The question—but how did they get them—kept flowing in Andy’s thoughts.

Quickly he sprang up saying to himself, “I see —I see it all now. It’s very clear. They stole the drawings. When I returned to my room for duty from meeting Molly that morning, there was evidence that my papers had been moved. Only Captain Bloome and the chief engineer had access to the room. It’s all plain enough now—that night—Millbaugh, in a drunken stutter, said, “He had the papers.” Who will believe me? I have no proof. Boy! I’m up against it.”

Surgeon Brown was right. He did not have a chance. Innocent of treason, innocent as he was of disloyalty, he was helpless. The cards were stacked against him. He could not clear the charges against him. He would be court-martialed and shot. If he did not —if he did not—Andy had arrived at his decision. He must escape, but how?

The house was unusually quiet and Andy was deep in thought, planning how to escape, when he was startled by Rachel, the black servant girl. She had brought his supper (dinner, to the Dragoon). Rachel set the meal down and left the room, leaving Andy with his thoughts. In about an hour she returned for the dishes. Andy had no appetite He had not eaten because of the upsetting news of the morning and thinking of how to get away.

“Lawdy sakes alive, mah boy! You ain’t gonna’ eat dem vit’les! Look at dem yams, and dat pork chop, and dat bread! Dem vit’les scrumptious. Deh’s all got cold now. Molly had de las’ pig on de place killed jes’ for you. Nanny warm dem steamin’ hot yams and an’ you-all got to eat dem,” persuaded Rachel.

“Wait—wait—wait,” demanded Andy. “You say Molly had the last pig killed just for me? She’s always thoughtful, Nanny.”

“I knows, boy. She’s an angel without dem wings but she is right from heaven. De very las’ pig, Mr. Yates, she butchered for you. Dem damn Yankees has done took all de res’. So’s when I warm it hot you’s gonna’ eat it, ain’t you?” asked Nanny.

“They paid her for them, didn’t they?” asked Andy.

“Lawd-a-mercy, no. Deh say she ain’t gonna’ need dem and deh paid ’er nothin’.”

“I’m sure they will pay her, Nanny. They just don’t take, and not pay. It takes the government a little time but she will be paid,” Andy tried to assure her.

“Ah don’no,—ahjes’ don’no, Mista Yates. Oem damn black ab’lis’n’st! Deh tain’t payin’ fer nothin’. Deh tell Miss Molly deh not pay ‘cause she will not need nothing. Deh left de cow and de chicken; deh try to take Black Demon, but Molly, she cries and deh le’ve him. Oem black rascals are good fer nothin’,” and Nanny started to cry.

“Here—there now, Nannie, you mustn’t cry. They will not hurt you. You are not against the Yankees, are you?” asked Andy.

Nanny rolled her white eyes, clapped her hands onto her hips and protruded her head forward nearly shouting, “Not agin em? Not agin ’em? Ah’s agin ’em till de Judgment day.”

“I can’t understand why you are against the Yankees. Their aim is to free all you colored folks. Don’t you want to be free?” asked Andy.

“Hel’es no ah do’n wan’ to be free. No, suh, rather be Molly’s slave den be a free niggah eny,” replied Nanny.

The Dragoon picked up the fork, saying, “Guess I’ll have to eat a little—of it since you have gone to the trouble of cooking if for me, and—and since Molly, at a great sacrifice, had the pig butchered for me.

He ate lightly of the delicious meal that Nanny had prepared for him. As he ate, he was quiet, but many a thought was flashing through his mind. He had convinced himself that escape was the only way. He could not defend himself against the lying LaCrosse . His thoughts centered on the awfulness of war, the insincerity of man, the treachery of his comrades, the love and hate within a human heart. Then he relived his life from first remembrances to the present. Deep in his heart he knew that the love and loyalty of a girl like Molly was worth living for, worth fighting for, and, if need be, worth dying for. He made a vow unto himself never to give up and never to be court-martialed.

He turned to Nanny. “Where is Molly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I reckon she gone to de store. Her and one of de guards rode off de place about an hour ago. Deh won’t let ’er go off de place anymore ‘less one of dem damn yankee guards am wid ’er. An ah don’t trust dem Yanks. Ah don’t trust ’em, Mista’ Yates,” Nanny answered, shaking her head.

“Nanny, I’m a Yank and what I am doing is to help free your people. Don’t you trust me?” asked Andy.

“I don’t trust you out ‘O dis niggah’s sight. Na, suh. All ya Yanks are alike. You-all getten’ ready to take Molly erway. Dis niggahjes’ don’t understan’,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t hurt Molly. I wouldn’t take her away under ordinary circumstances, but we will have to get away or they will shoot both of us. I love her, Nanny, but she doesn’t know it’” Andy confided.

“Good lawsy, sakes alive, Mista Yates! Don’t know it!” She threw up her hands and burst into laughter. “Ah ain’t no fool bout that m’self. He-eh! He-eh! He-eh! Listen t’ me.” Rolling up her big white eyes at him and shaking her fists, she grew suddenly serious. “Molly, she know all ‘bout dat, honey, sur-yo born she know. Ev’ybody know dat. An’ you say you gwine take Molly ‘way from me? Yo’ black ablis’n’st bastard.” Fire now glistened in those white rolled up eyes.

“Hold it! Be quiet! Nanny! Molly will never desert you,” he tried to assure her. “I couldn’t desert you after all you have done for me.”

“I done tol’ ya’ I tain’t gwine t’be no free niggah,” she interrupted. “Des de trash, only de trash—nothing but the trash niggah am wantin’ t’be free. Tell me ak’s what’s gonna’ become of all dem niggahs if deh do get free, heh—heh? Ah’d like to know where deh will go.”

Andy was jolted by the black servant’s attitude. He had believed up to this moment, before coming to Virginia that all the colored people were cruelly treated, beaten and the women raped by their owners and all wanted to be free. Yates began to wonder, “What will they do with all of them?” For the first time , he understood that there were two sides to the controversy. Each, perhaps, was sincere in their convictions.

Black Nanny gathered up the dishes and had no more departed from the room and the door was opened. A guard stepped into the room and saluted.

CHAPTER IX

“Yates! Colonel Hayes here to see you, sir,” the guard announced.

“Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes?” with a note of surprise, Andy asked.

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes[2] of the Twenty-Third Army of the Ohio, and his aide-de-camp, Sergeant William McKinley,[3] stepped inside. Hayes, in a close-fitting uniform with the coat buttoned up to his chin, looked every bit a soldier. In appearance he was stern looking, brusque, and military in every aspect. McKinley seemed a mere lad standing beside him. He was rather slender and much shorter in height. He was smooth-shaven, and his uniform was neat and spotlessly clean. His coat, unbuttoned, hung loose and neat from his shoulders. Andy was struck by the kindness that seemed to radiate from his face.

The guard bowed, saluted again, and departed from the room. They saluted. Andy returned the salute and asked them to be seated.

“You are Sergeant Andy Yates?” asked Hayes.

“I am, sir,” replied Andy.

“All morning I’ve been in conference with Captain Bloome and Surgeon Brown pertaining to your court-martial.” Hayes came directly to the point. “Both thought it advisable for me to drop by and have a talk with you. Are you aware that in this sector at the present time, I am judge advocate of the Union army?”

“Yes, I am,” answered Andy.

“As judge advocate I will have the unpleasant duty of investigating and then presiding at your court-martial. How is your wound? When will you be ready for a hearing?” asked the colonel.

“A little weak, but I think I am doing very well. Dr. Brown permits me to get up once a day and walk from here to the porch and back. He talks like it will be some time before I am permitted to leave here,” replied Andy.

“I expected as much,” the colonel snapped. “That’s why I am here. There seems to be some rather serious accusations in the report received at headquarters from Captain Bloome. Needless to say, I was sent here by General Cox from his headquarters at Gauley Bridge. Young man, it’s unfortunate that you got mixed up in an affair like this. There are always serious complications in a business like this, and some matters in Captain Bloome’s report require immediate investigation. So instead of waiting for you to be able to be brought to headquarters, I have come here to hear your story. Every detail of it.”

“Colonel, I am glad to tell my story,” said Yates. “I hope LaCrosse’s story—I am sure is, in Captain Bloome’s report, has not made you prejudiced. I will tell in detail what I remember.”

“Not at all, sir. I am not prejudiced. Go on,” Hayes came back crisply.

“Will you please talk slowly, Sergeant Yates?” asked McKinley, as he fumbled in his pocket for a notebook and pencil. “Just a minute now.” When he was ready, he addressed Andy again, “You may proceed now.”

Andy told his story slowly, deliberately, and in detail to the two men. One a colonel and the other a noncommissioned officer in the Federal army but each destined, in time, to become president of the United States.

So clearly and so thoroughly Andy covered every detail that he was never interrupted during the course of his lengthy narration. There was silence for a few moments after he had finished. The judge advocate was looking him directly in the eye, studying their every move and every expression showing on Andy’s face.

The colonel broke the silence. “A good story, Sergeant, but somebody’s lying. Your story does not jibe with Lieutenant LaCrosse’s story. The two are as different as day and night. What proof do you have to back up your story, Sergeant?”

“Molly. She is the only one that was here,” replied Andy.

Abruptly, the colonel rose from his chair, threw his hands up, and snapped, “In heaven’s sake, that girl! Sergeant, if you have any hope of getting out of this mess, don’t permit that girl to appear in your defense. Her appearance alone would convict you. It is known throughout the Union army that she is the most active, the most bitter, the most daring, and the most impertinent Rebel in Western Virginia. I should add, the most notorious spy and the most dangerous spy to the Union cause in all these mountains. She’s a prisoner now, but she’s liable to escape some way, for she is the most exceedingly resourceful woman in these parts. Before leaving, I am to give her a final warning. If she even makes an effort to escape, or any other suspicious move, I propose to transport her someplace for safekeeping. They tell me she begged Captain Bloome to stay here and nurse you. I am sorry he was so softhearted and consented to do such a thing. She plans something else other than nursing you. It’s unfortunate that you have had anything, whatever to do with her. I warn you, Sergeant, don’t fall for any of her schemes and get into any further complications with her.”

“Colonel Hayes, I told you I was only protecting her from those passionate animals. Wasn’t I justified in doing so?” asked Andy.

“Yes, I would say so,” answered the colonel. “If we can prove your story to be true, I would recommend a commission and shoot the surviving members of the trio you fought with. I would do that as much as I despise and distrust that damn little Rebel. Frankly, no one believes your story. Everyone in camp is set against you. When your own outfit is against you, it’s hard to present evidence in your favor. For some reason, I believe your story. We’ll not deny you a chance. We’ll give you every opportunity to clear yourself. In a few days I will set a time for your hearing, and I trust, by God’s grace, you fare better than we think. Good-bye.” He shook the dragoon’s hand and walked out of the room.

Sergeant McKinley, taking Andy’s hand in his and looking directly into his eyes, said, “We are both sergeants in the same army, fighting for the same cause, and we need to find some way to help you. I believe you also. I cannot believe you to be dishonest and disloyal. You have a good, honest face, and your story rings true. If I can be of service, let me know.”

“Say to Colonel Hayes what you have said to me,” Andy requested.

“As sure as there is a God in heaven, I will do so,” promised McKinley.

They saluted each other, and Sergeant McKinley slowly turned away and left the room. Andy was left alone in silence and to ponder his situation.

2

3

CHAPTER X

Late in the afternoon, Molly returned to the Pines after doing her shopping and being detained at the Tyree Inn by Colonel Hayes, who demanded her version of the story. She described, in detail, what happened, nearly matching to the letter the one related by Andy.

Swiftly she darted into the room where Andy lay dreaming. Startled, Andy bolted upright in the bed, his eyes looking at her smiling face and flushed cheeks. At first he thought an angel had come to minister unto him.

“Molly! I’ve had a bad dream,” he said, as she seated herself on a chair beside the bed. “I dreamed that we were court-martialed—you as a spy and me as a traitor to my country. Colonel Hayes had just ordered me shot, and we, uh—”

“That’s a fact to be. It’s no dream. Your colonel Hayes was not tactful in telling me,” interrupted Molly. “He warned that I would be shot, but there may be a ray of hope for you. I guess we are in for it. It certainly looks bad just now—on with the dream now, Sergeant.”

“Oh, yes, well, they took us by the arm. As we were being escorted outside to face the firing squad, you looked at me and said, ‘Sweetheart, have courage.’ I held your hand in mine, as I am doing now.” Somehow during the conversation, their hands had met. “The command was given, ‘Make ready,’ but before the gun locks clicked, your general Lee rode between us and the firing squad. There he was astride that beautiful horse in a spotless gray uniform. He looked like a general of the gods. His face was so kind, so calm, yet so firm that I wondered what type man is this Rebel general.”

“Andy! Awake to reality. It’s no dream. It’s a fact to be.” That is the first fact, but for the second fact, she smiled and said, “Or maybe he will, yes, he will come—I haven’t been for three weeks. He must know something is wrong.”

“He does not know, Molly. There is no way you could leave here now. Colonel Hayes would know and then all would be lost. Promise me that you will not try!” pleaded Andy.

“How can I do anything these days?” she answered. “I will not even make promises.”

“Molly!” he said, with a lump in his throat as he drew her close to him. Almost speechless, he continued, “Molly, in my dream you called me sweetheart. Could, could—do you think—do you, “he hesitated, thinking what a fool he was, when she turned and asked, “Don’t you believe in dreams?” She resisted only slightly as he drew her closer to him, whispering, “I believe in this one,” as their lips met and he circled his arms around her.

Black Nanny paced back and forth from the kitchen to the closed door. She had tiptoed to the closed door and ventured to listen on several of her paces, but there was no movement. Supper had been waiting nearly an hour when Molly appeared in the kitchen. Black Nanny rose, throwing her arms around her, and tears clouded the eyes.

“Deh’s tears on yo’ cheeks—tears in yo’ eyes,” said Nanny.

“Yes, Nanny,” Molly replied, embracing the black servant, whom she loved and confided in as a mother. “But they’re tears of joy. I’m so happy!” With her head lying on Nanny’s shoulder, she cried heartily.

“That Yank, he’s done gwine t’ take yo’ ‘way from me. He’s done—done take yo’ ’way. Ah knowed it—I knowed it all de time,” she said, crying hysterically.

“No, Nanny. He will not do that,” said Molly, trying to console the black servant. “Where I go, you will go also, unless you wish it otherwise. Unless the North should set you free—”

“No—no! I still be yo’ slave. An’ don’ want to be no free niggah, neber—neber—neber,” cried Black Nanny. “I’s do’s want to be wid yo’.”

“That will be always,” Molly said, trying to assure her. “So dry your tears and forget it. When this awful war is over, we’re going to be very happy. It will soon be over—a few months at the most.”

“Ah dunno—ah dunno, but I pray de Lawd you’s right,” whimpered Nanny.

A few days later, Molly slipped Andy’s blue uniform out of his room and into hers. Just before dark she had Rubin to mix up some whitewash and leave it in the barn. That night, while everyone was asleep, she stole quietly out of the house through the windows of her bedroom, slipped by the guard. She led Black Demon slowly and quietly from the barn and down the hill to the Ramsey Road before she mounted him for her ride to General Lee’s camp on Big Sewell Mountain. She exercised every precaution, taking a circular route out the Clifty Road and then a small trail that took her to the Kanawha Turnpike, a few yards beyond the Old Stone House. At times she rode through fields to avoid contacts with guards that she knew were stationed at various points. She was challenged by Union pickets twice between the Old Stone House and General Lee’s camp. Her uniform and learning of the interpretation of passwords and her knowledge of Federal positions in Western Virginia took her safely through. Black Demon was camouflaged with white spots and streaks of whitewash before she left the barn so that the night prevented detection.

Day was breaking when she reached the Confederate post. In her makeup she encountered difficulty with the men in gray in convincing them that she was not a Yankee spy. She was taken prisoner, but when ushered into camp, a member of General Lee’s staff recognized her and delivered her into the general’s presence.

“Molly Campbell? What in the world?” With a ghostlike expression on his face, the general continued, “What a clever disguise.” He laughed and laughed and laughed as he stood gazing at her. “I am totally surprised that you got through,” he added.

“I’m surprised myself,” said Molly. “But I didn’t have anything to lose either way. The road wasn’t so closely guarded the last time I was here.”

“That’s been more than three weeks ago,” said General Lee. “I’ve been worried about you, and every day I wondered if something had happened to you.”

“That’s just it, General Lee,” said Molly. “I’m a captive now, and I have come to tell you about it. I’ve been planning to come for some time but have found it impossible to escape the prison of my own house until tonight.”

“My gosh, child. Have they taken possession of your home?” the general anxiously asked.

“Yes, General Lee. They have,” answered Molly. She seated herself on one of the campstools and told in minute detail the subsequent happenings at the Pines. General Lee listened with attention and courtesy of a gentleman from the old South. Molly was completely at ease in the presence of this man, talking as if with her own father. So without hesitancy or confusion, she told him everything, and now she was ready to listen to his advice.

“It’s too—too bad! Molly, I’m truly sorry,” he said. “I must do something for our loyal friends down there. I’ve been planning to sweep those dragoons out of there for some time, but we’ve had so many things here. So many ugly things.” He paused, and for an instant his solemn expression showed signs of pain. “I just didn’t do it, but I will have to take care of it at once. You get some rest while I make plans.”

“Oh, glory be!” she shouted, springing up from the stool, throwing her arms around General Lee. “I’ll join the troops myself, as a scout. I know every foot of the way from here to the Gauley. First you must get me a Confederate uniform. I don’t want to wear this Yankee blue any longer. Oh, how I hate those damn Yankees.” She smiled and said, “All but one.”

“All but one?” said General Lee, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “He isn’t a Yankee anymore, is he?”

“I won’t permit him to be,” replied Molly. “I’m going to make a staunch Southern Rebel of him, just like me. I want to change this Union blue uniform for a Southern one of the same size. When Andy is able, he shall wear it, and he shall enlist under the Southern Cross.”

“Molly, you shouldn’t expect that, if you don’t mind my opinion,” answered the general. “I don’t think you should wish for him to put on the gray and forsake his allegiance. Has he indicated to you that he is willing to do this?” asked the general.

“No, he has not!” snapped Molly.

“Let me give you a little advice,” the general spoke, raising his voice slightly. “That is an individual matter, and you cannot decide for him. His allegiance with either the North or the South in this war is a matter of principle. I would say a very deep principle. He would be branded by the North as a traitor and a deserter, and—and—I fear the South could never trust him. Would you want this for the man you love?”

“I, ah, I had not thought of it in that manner. Perhaps you are right, sir,” said Molly, emotion in her voice. She turned away from the general then turned immediately back to face him, pleading, “They are sure to convict him. He has already been branded a traitor. He is due to face court-martial soon. His enemies have made sure that the evidence is sufficient. They even took the maps and charts and shook them in my face and accused me of taking them to bring to you. God knows, General Lee, I had never seen them nor knew of their existence until that damn Yankee colonel Hayes held them before my face, accusing Andy and me of stealing them. Andy had not, even to this day, been guilty of a single act nor spoken a single word that could be construed as treason.”

“Frankly, my child, I must say, that sounds good for him, but any man who is weak enough to change his principles and change his uniform, in this war, is not worthy enough to be your husband,” explained Lee.

“He’s innocent, I swear it, General. That Millbaugh and LaCrosse set a trap for him. He hasn’t a chance. They plan to kill him. He has to come with us,” pleaded Molly.

“Molly, be still and listen to what I am going to say. I don’t want a word out of you until I finish my say,” demanded the general. “Your father was my best and truest friend. We rode many a mile side by side. Ate by many a campfire, but the campaign in Mexico is when I knew we were true friends for life. He has paid the supreme sacrifice for the South. Your brother, Levi, is now at the front with General Jackson. And you I consider as dear as a daughter. In past weeks you have performed an excellent service for the Southern cause, and they owe you a debt of gratitude. Many a day you have come to us with information that has proven very valuable. This was at great risk to yourself in spite of the fact that I have repeatedly warned and cautioned against taking such chances. So that is why I am going to say to you what I know your father would have me say. I am only going to give you a little advice, and I hope you will accept it in the spirit in which I give it. I understand, without question, the things you have experienced and have told me. I am not sure about the rest. I fear you are being deceived. I have experienced it before, and I am not surprised that these young troopers have lost their heads over you to the extent that they are fighting among themselves. There is no doubt you are charming and exceptionally beautiful. I’m not saying this as flattery. It is true, but I wish to bring to your attention that it is easy for the commonplace girl to avoid the pitfalls of innumerable temptations, but not for a girl of your qualities. There is a possibility that I am wrong, but I am suspicious of this Yankee lover of yours. I feel you are being deceived. Throughout my lifetime I have known many cases of young pretty girls like you, Molly, taking up with soldiers whom they knew nothing about. They fell for the sweet-tongued, honey orations of these men and always, almost always, left deserted and lonely, regretting that they gave what the soldier wanted and received nothing in return, except heartbreak and disgrace. For your father’s sake, and for yours, Molly, I speak this way because I have long cherished the friendship, which has prompted me to warn you in this matter.”

The general stood up. Molly immediately stood up, facing him. There was no answer, and the expression in her face did not indicate any reaction to his advice.

With a smile, General Lee placed his arm around her shoulder by way of dismissing the subject. “Daughter,” he said, “let us discuss those people down there.”

Molly placed her right arm around his waist as they turned and strolled toward his tent. The general began to speak again. “Molly, I promise you that we’ll clean out that nest of dragoons in a few days and drop some fire on those in Gauley Bridge and we’ll strike Ferry at the same time. Then we will keep sufficient troops east of the Gauley for about ten days to two weeks, but no longer. Then—we’ll.” The general hesitated, then continued, “What I am going to tell you is very confidential, inside information that must not pass your lips. I know I can trust you is why I do not hesitate to tell you, and—and I feel that you should know. Within two weeks and not more than a month, the troops now stationed here will withdraw to the Shenandoah Valley.”

Molly, drawing back in surprise, and almost pleading, shouted, “Oh, no! No! No! General Lee, you can’t desert these people.”

General Lee placed a hand on each of Molly’s shoulders, looked her straight in the eye, and replied, “It’s imperative, my dear. I’m greatly disappointed in Western Virginia. The majority of the people are openly against us. Others secretly are in sympathy with the Yankees. We cannot waste our time or strength in defense of people who plan on secession from Virginia. Even here, among my own enlisted officers and men, dissension reigns. Dissension is so great that it is impracticable to wage a successful campaign here. Soon as we withdraw this section of Virginia will be taken over by the enemy. Those allied with the Confederates will not be safe. You cannot stay here because your loyalty to the South puts you in grave danger. You must go somewhere well within the Confederate lines. Why not Richmond, where you can stay with your aunt?”

He could see the tears flowing from her blue eyes, so he took her by the hand and opened the flap on the tent. “Molly, Colonel Tyler will give you his tent. You must rest. I have work to do if we leave for the Gauley tonight,” said the general.

CHAPTER XI

It was late afternoon when Molly emerged from the tent. Rested, refreshed, but still in the Yankee uniform. The first thing she saw was Black Demon still hitched to the top rail of an old, worm-eaten fence. When he saw her coming, he perked up and began to whinny. She picked up the reins and walked toward a nearby watering trough with him playfully nudging her in the back.

When they reached the water, Molly let him drink. Then she began washing the whitewash from his black coat. Tearfully, she began to talk, “Black Boy, we’re not disloyal to anyone. We’re both loyal to the South, to Rubin and Nanny, and to General Lee and to Andy. In spite of what General Lee says, and regardless of his suspicions, Andy is loyal to us. He says the enemy will overrun Western Virginia and that we will not be safe. If General Lee says so, it must be true. We have to go with them. We have to leave the Pines.”

“Molly! Molly!” Startled, she turned quickly to see General Lee standing at a table under the huge white oak tree in front of his tent, motioning for her to join him. She could see Generals Wise, Loring, Floyd, Colonel Veneable, and Chapman standing there with him. As she approached, General Lee continued, “Molly, we have completed our plans for one more thrust into the Kanawha Valley before we withdraw. This is August 22nd. We must have our mission completed and back here by mid-September.

“We have reputable information that General Cox has withdrawn to Gauley Bridge, leaving only three to four hundred men on the Meadow Bluffs. Our informant reports that Cox is meeting General Rosecrans, who is now the ranking officer of the Federal troops in Western Virginia. He will be leaving Clarksburg to establish headquarters at Gauley Bridge. We owe a debt of gratitude to General Wise for burning the bridge that crossed Gauley River when he withdrew from the Kanawha Valley. Because of the heavy current, they cannot cross the river at that point. This also means we cannot cross, preventing us from mounting a frontal assault, and we do not wish to, since our orders are to leave Western Virginia.

“There are two points where they can mount an attack against us—first at Carnifex Ferry at Cross Lanes. Second, they could cross at the Montgomery Ferry and come across Cotton Hill. Molly, here is the plan we have decided to pursue. General Floyd will leave this afternoon, going by the Meadow River route to Cross Lanes. There at the Carnifex Ferry, they can prevent Colonel Tyler from crossing. Tomorrow General Wise will leave with his men. They will take the road through Meadow Bridge to the Fayette Court House. There he will set cannons in place and cannonade the hell out of the road below the falls. This will prevent them from reaching the Montgomery Ferry.

“The following day, Colonel Chapman and I will march down the old turnpike. Our first bivouac will be at Spy Rock. This will provide us a strong position to mount our attack on the dragoons’ position. Spy Rock provides an excellent position overlooking a valley several miles broad. From here we can mount our attack, either by the turnpike or the Clifty Road.

“After we drive the dragoons out, Colonel Chapman will place cannons in the beetling cliffs on the New River side overlooking the Gauley. From here he will cannonade the town for ten days to two weeks.

“General Loring will secure our position for withdrawal by marching east to the Greenbrier River, providing defense from any Northern troops coming in from Huntersville.

“Colonel Venable will keep things normal here in camp, keeping a place where we can regroup and withdraw as a complete army. He will also keep the enemy on the other hill from taking this hill. Gentlemen, we all have our assignments. Remember, we are to rendezvous in mid-September.”

Less than two hours later, about three thousand troops were in readiness for their ride to Cross Lanes. They had orders to dislodge any Union picket posts along the way. Orders to move out were given. Next morning, General Loring marched east with nearly one thousand troops. General Wise left that afternoon, leading a column of over two thousand men.

On the third day soon after the midday meal, General Lee and Molly were riding at the head of a column of nearly eight hundred men. Generals Wise and Floyd reached their destination without encountering any resistance. General Lee’s men were in a number of sharp skirmishes along the line of picket posts extending from the old Stone House to Spy Rock. The pickets scattered left and right, but none retreated toward the Gauley.

On the twenty-sixth of August, Floyd reached the Carnifex Ferry at Gauley River. He salvaged two flatboats that had been sunk by Colonel Tyler to prevent an attack from that direction. The flatboats ferried about two thousand troops across the Gauley, launching a surprise attack that routed Tyler’s regiment. Within the next few days, Floyd constructed a footbridge across the river. Currents above and below Carnifex Ferry prevented any crossing. With the bridge in place, Floyd was ready for a hasty retreat.

Rosecrans broke camp just outside Summerville before daylight, the tenth of September, for a two-day march to Gauley, planning to bivouac at Carnifex Ferry. General Benham’s brigade was in front. Soon he met enemy pickets. Assuming that Floyd was in retreat, Benham pressed forward rather rashly, deploying his men to the left, encountering a sharp rain of fire from the enemy’s works. The woods were dense and tangled. It was too late for proper reconnaissance. Rosecrans hastened the advance and deployment of the brigade of Colonels Cook and Scammon. It was impossible to see much of the Rebel troops. They lacked unity, and Rosecrans was at his height of anger because his troops were engaged in battle before he had time to plan an attack. He ordered the troops withdrawn from fire until positions could be unified for an attack in the morning.

Floyd knew his position could be subjected to destructive cannonade; therefore, he silently retreated across the Gauley in the night. He sunk the flatboats and destroyed the footbridge that they had built over the smooth water known as the Fury. Above and below the Fury, the mountain torrent was impassable. The next morning, out of range of the cannons, he started an orderly retreat toward Big Sewell Mountain.

General Lee, with extreme caution, rested his men an extra day while scouting the enemy position in and around the old inn. Reports received from the scouts estimated the force to be somewhere around three hundred men with few pickets east of the Tyree Inn.

The morning of August 26, the morning meal over, plans were reviewed. The sun had risen above the top of the mountain and hung there like a large ball of fire partially secured by a blue morning haze that reminded them that autumn was fast approaching. General Lee mounted Traveler and looked west over the broad valley. The order was relayed to his troops to mount. “Forward ho!” echoed back through the mounted troops as they began to move down the old turnpike.

Upon reaching the intersection of the Clifty Road and the old turnpike, General Lee dispatched Colonel Chapman with three hundred troops out the Clifty Road to cut off any retreat toward Carnifex Ferry and prevent any attack from the rear. The road would also return to the old turnpike below the Tyree Inn, placing the colonel and his men closer to the Gauley.

General Lee had hoped to surprise the company of Gray Dragoons at the old inn and make them prisoners. His progress was impeded by a number of sharp skirmishes along the road, and picket post after picket post was dislodged. These skirmishes bought time, allowing the dragoons to scatter, and General Lee found the camp deserted when he arrived.

The whole force had retreated from the mountain and was beyond the intersection where the Ramsey Road joined the old turnpike when Colonel Chapman arrived. Following them to the heights overlooking the valley, Chapman placed a battery of cannons in sheltered spots along the beetling cliffs on the mountainside and began hurling bombs intermittently on Cox’s position across the Gauley.

After a quick inspection of the Tyree Inn and the surrounding area, General Lee, with nearly fifty troopers and Molly, started riding slowly down the lane toward the Pines. The guards fired a volley and then barely escaped with their own lives.

Andy heard the shots, got up from the bed, and made his way into the front room. Peering through the window, he saw the horsemen in gray surrounding the building. When he saw the men in gray, he was sure that Molly had gone to General Lee. For nearly a week he had quizzed Rubin and Nanny, but they were silent, not by choice, because they didn’t know what happened to Molly.

Then he saw three horsemen coming down the lane. The one in the middle wore a Union uniform! Andy thought, Who have they taken prisoner? They reached the gate. The figure in the blue uniform jumped to the ground, lunged through the gate, and was running toward the house.

“Andy! Andy! Your dream has come true,” screamed Molly.

Then he realized the black horse was Black Demon, but where did Molly get the Union uniform? Instantly he knew. It was his uniform. He met her on the porch. Instantly they were in a deep embrace. “Thanks to General Lee and the South. Thanks to General Lee and the South,” Molly was saying.

“I will still be a prisoner,” answered Andy.

“Yes, I guess you are, but they have no cause to shoot you,” replied Molly.

“Thanks to Molly Campbell, it was she who brought General Lee. It was she who risked escape,” Andy answered.

“Yes, but I am of the South. You must remember that,” she said with a slight demand in her voice.

“I almost forgot. Colonel Hayes said you were the worst and most dangerous little Rebel in Western Virginia. Molly, I surrender unconditionally,” replied Andy.

She snuggled in his arms, and he kissed her again and again.

CHAPTER XII

General Lee remained in the area for a few days riding over the area, thinking about the people who wanted to make it a separate state from Virginia. He rode down the mountain to the rock[4] where hawks built nests and in abundance raised their young. There he stood in silence and awe at the breathtaking view of New River Gorge, surrounded by sheer cliffs as far as he could see to the east and to the west. Then he continued across the mountain to where Colonel Chapman was camped. Inspecting the troops and the placement of cannons, he remarked, “You can pester the hell out of Cox from here.” He could hear sounds of cannon fire downriver and knew that Wise was in position. Immediately he thought of Floyd at Carnifex Ferry, Wise below Kanawha Falls, Chapman on top of the mountain. They had Cox in a trap and could crush his army. But where was Rosecrans? If still in Clarksburg, his plan would succeed, but if he marched down the Gauley, he would be trapped. Also, he knew that a state militia was being formed with men from Raleigh, Mercer, and Fayette Counties. This posed more danger.

The opportunity was tempting, but he was first a commander under orders from Jefferson Davis to withdraw from western Virginia. “Colonel Venable,” he called. “I want you to withdraw your men from here by September 20th. Also dispatch a messenger to General Wise, reminding him to leave when you do.”

He rode back to the Pines. Upon arriving, he found Molly and Andy sitting on the porch. He dismounted and asked, “Enjoying the autumn evening?” Before they answered, he continued, “My men and I will be pulling out three days from now, and you will have to accompany me. It will not be safe to leave you behind. Andy, if you are not able to ride, we will make a wagon available and comfortable.”

“I feel up to riding, sir,” answered Andy hesitantly.

Nanny met General Lee at the door with a cold glass of water. Thanking her, he stepped inside.

“Andy, we will have to go with General Lee where he goes,” Molly said tacitly. “My memories and life are all here. My mother and dad are both buried just beyond the springhouse on the east side of the small knoll. But there is nothing else left for us to do. When General Lee leaves, the people here will be at the mercy of the Union troops. That will be bad enough, but they would hang both of us.”

“I suppose we will, Molly,” Andy answered.

Previously they talked together and came to a complete understanding on the matter of the war and the situation in which they found themselves. They discussed plans for the future—the far distant future was, of course, vague and uncertain.

“We’ll come back sometime and an-an-and I hope it will be soon,” she said.

“We will come back to the Pines when the war is over,” Andy assured her. “I found you here. I found happiness here. I want to live here always.”

“Andy, I’ll go with you anywhere. Here or wherever,” she whispered.

“I would be happy anywhere with you, Molly,” he said, as he put an arm around her. “We’ll have to move our plans up, so let us go to bed, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”

The next morning at sunrise, Andy saddled Black Demon and one of the army’s mounts for him, and they rode to the Fayette Courthouse. It was August 30; they obtained a marriage license and were married by a local preacher, disregarding the advice given by General Lee.

When they returned and informed General Lee, he offered best wishes. Nanny and Rubin cried—their tears were both from joy and sadness.

That night they lay in bed, both very silent until Molly turned over facing Andy and whispered, “Andy, I do want us to come back, but I am afraid you would tire of the mountains. You have lived a fuller life, and that isn’t possible in these mountains. You will seek better opportunities than the mountains can afford. Wherever you go, I’m going with you, dear.”

“Molly, put that foolishness out of your pretty head. I can be happy with you anywhere,” he replied.

She laughed, smoothed his hair, and kissed him as their arms circled in a deep embrace.

The next morning at breakfast, Molly informed General Lee that they would be going with him and then continue to Richmond, where they would stay with her aunt.

After breakfast she asked Nanny to have Rubin go to the house, where she informed them of their plans.

“Nanny,” she said, “you are like a mother to me. In fact, you have done for me everything a mother could do except giving me life. I now have a new life before me. I have promised to take you and Rubin with me, but now, and until this war is over, you and Rubin will have to remain here at the Pines. Andy and I are going to my aunt’s in Richmond.”

Before Molly could explain that they expected to return and make their home at the Pines, Nanny began to cry and blabber hysterically. “I’d know’d it—I’d know’d it. That damn Yankee was goin’ take y’u ’way from me.”

Molly embraced Nanny, and in a calm, soothing voice, she quieted her and began her explanation once more. “Nanny, we will be back as soon as the South wins.”

“Till somebody wins,” interrupted Andy.

“What? You are not turning Rebel?” asked Molly, with fire in her eyes.

“My convictions have not changed,” he assured her. “My sympathies are wholly with the North, but since I have married a Rebel, I realize that I must respect your convictions, and—”

“You expect me to turn into a Yankee,” shouted Molly.

“No! Not unless your conscience dictates it, Molly,” he replied.

“General Lee warned me not to expect you to change, but I wouldn’t listen, and—”

“What did General Lee say about it?” asked Andy.

“He told me not to expect you to change sides. I am not sure that he—”

“Good for General Lee,” interrupted Andy. “From what I know of him, I would expect him to say that. He is a gentleman and a soldier fighting for what he believes is right just as I have enlisted with the side I think is right. Surely I may be wrong, but I do not believe the Southern states have any right to withdraw from the Union just because they cannot accept the policies of the government, and I am not in favor of the extension of slavery into other states and territories. I think slavery is an institution that ought to be abolished entirely.”

“Andy, you are not fair in all of that,” she snorted. “The South does not expect to dictate the policies of the government. The truth is—and you know it—we’re the minority in Washington, and we cannot get an even break. We’ve been kicked around like dogs. The North takes advantage of us. We’re at their mercy. If our best interests cannot be promoted within the Union, can you blame us for wanting to find a new nation? We’ve asked nothing from the North, and they have no right to keep us from withdrawing if we choose. That’s all we—”

“Molly, Molly! Hold up,” Andy shouted. “I’m not convinced that it’s either to your interest or to ours for the Southern states to form a separate nation. I’m very strongly of the opinion that it’s not. Can you visualize two weak republics fussing and quarreling with each other? We should be one strong, invincible country presenting a united people of one solid body. You and I could settle this whole thing tomorrow if we had the chance, and if there had been a little more levelheadedness among the leaders of both the North and South, this war would have never started.”

Andy didn’t finish his lecture because General Lee entered the room and remarked, “One day being man and wife and you have a disagreement.”

“No, just a discussion, General Lee,” answered Molly, and she laughed. “If Andy and I had our way, we would settle this war now. But since we do not, he will wear the blue and I will wear the gray, but we will never fight!”

“Fine!” replied the general. “One of my troopers has a wagon, so load it with what you will be taking with you, for tomorrow we will pull back to Big Sewell Mountain.”

CHAPTER XIII

General Lee’s plans changed before the three days were up, and he remained at the Pines for nearly a week. He was disturbed that General Wise would not heed orders to withdraw on September 10. He met with Wise and Chapman at Chapman’s camp overlooking Gauley Bridge. He confided in him his thoughts of how easy it would be to crush Cox, but he also pointed out the dangers. He definitely made it known that they were to pull back and defend the Valley of Virginia.

The news that Lee was remaining a few days longer was welcomed by Molly and Andy. This allowed them more time to assure Nanny and Rubin that they would be back. Rarely has greater happiness been experienced by anyone as they enjoyed during the brief week that Molly and Andy spent at the Pines.

They discussed briefly imminent dangers. They just refused to be disturbed by these, and unbounded happiness was theirs, despite threatening, thickening storm clouds that loomed on their horizon. Each fully knew the clouds meant sorrow and more sorrow but refused to be disturbed by them and vowed not to cross those bridges until they were before them.

General Lee approved the plan for them to stay with Molly’s aunt in Richmond. He agreed to give Andy a letter that he was a prisoner of war with somewhat of a neutral attitude between the North and the South.

This plan was approved by Molly, and her happiness radiated outward, showing that she believed the storm clouds would go away, maybe completely. Andy accepted the idea, but he knew that they would not have any use for a Yankee in Richmond. Molly, somehow, knew the feelings and tried to assure him that she would be there, but he still knew there still would be problems.

He tried to assure Molly that everything would be happy as long as he was with her, and Molly played upon the excuse that he would not be safe to return to the North.

Molly, clasping her hands behind Andy’s neck, kissed him lightly and sat down on his knee, saying, “Poor Andy! You are almost a man without a country, but the South will adopt you and love you as I do.”

“I am not!” he replied, angrily. “I could reenlist somewhere under another name. The North will list me as a prisoner of the South and would never know but that I died in prison. I am a captive here and will be treated as one in Richmond.”

“It’s all my fault! I guess I’m to blame,” she declared.

“Molly, listen, please—”

“Yes, it’s my fault. I’ll take the blame.” Her words were soft. “I love you, and you are a man without a country.”

“You are just about right, my dear, and I respect every bit of your feelings. It is our love that will keep us together,” he replied. He continued, “I know you mean to provide for me and protect me while under Southern supervision—”

Molly slipped her hand over his mouth and replied, “I’d do just that, and you would do as much for me.”

“Yes, but for a man to depend on his wife—”

“Be quiet! That’s enough,” she commanded. “We’ll continue together until the war is over, and we’ll trust fate and our love, an-an-and we’ll stick together till death, Andy—till death separates us.”

They fell into each other’s arms, embracing, and they were silent for a long time.

The next morning, Molly selected flowers growing around the Pines. Then, with Andy, they walked arm in arm by the springhouse to the little graveyard where Molly stopped and placed flowers on her mother’s grave. Andy noticed the newly erected marker nearby her mother’s grave and knew it was her father’s resting place. In silence he watched as she knelt and placed flowers on the newly marked grave. Her head was bowed, but it did not hide the tears that started flowing down her cheek.

Tears filled Andy’s eyes, and he sobbed, “This war, this damn war! What in hell is it all about, anyway? We are one country. We are one people. We are friends. We are neighbors. We are relatives, and why are we killing one another? Think of the terrible destruction of property. Think of the hearts being broken by the lives being sacrificed. Think of the misery and suffering.” Looking upward, he said, “Oh, God, why does it go on? Why did it start? Who is responsible for this hell that is here on us? God, the youth of our country are being slaughtered. Why? Why? There are a few fanatics, a few hotheads who are too affluent to get in the battle lines themselves. God, punish these few. No—no, God, forgive them, Father, because they do not know what they do—no, God, they do not know what they do and they do it deliberately.”

He walked to Molly’s side and, stooping, tenderly placed his arms around the slender waist of his sobbing wife and assisted her to her feet. Still sobbing, he continued, “It’s horrible—the North—my people did this. Please do not condemn them. They are not murderers any more than your husband. Only yesterday I would have done the same and rejoiced that we had killed another Rebel. If our leaders would feel as I do, we would have peace.”

“Yes, I know,” she interrupted. “But if it hadn’t been for this war, you and I would never have met.”

Arm in arm they turned, and in silence they walked back to the house.

CHAPTER XIV

On the morning of September 3, 1861, autumn crispness filled the air. The morning mess was over, wagons were being loaded, horses were being saddled and readied for the day’s march to the Big Sewell Mountain. General Lee, standing beside Traveler, gazed east toward the Big Sewell as the first light of day broke across the horizon. He had elected to stay at the Tyree Inn during the last of his encampment, to be with his troops.

Andy and Molly had just arrived, prepared for the day’s ride. General Lee summoned them to him, saying, “Molly, Andy, I believe you two would enjoy a few more days at the Pines. May I suggest that you stay here until 9 September? Wise and Chapman are to withdraw from their positions on the tenth, and you would be safe until then. One of my men will take your loaded wagon with us.”

Molly threw her arms around the general, saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. We will make the next few days our honeymoon.”

“Don’t forget. Leave here by the ninth,” he replied, as he mounted Traveler.

The next few days were ecstasy as they began to learn the smallest intimate details about each other. Molly and Andy packed picnic lunches and rode out to a rock overlooking the New River, known as Lovers’ Leap. There she related the saga, as it had been told to her, of an Indian maiden and an Indian brave who, because of their undying love for each other, leaped to their deaths from the rock. They rode to the rock where the hawks nested to an overlook atop the beetling cliffs above Gauley, where they could see New River and Gauley joining to form the Kanawha River. On September 9, Molly and Andy strapped the balance of their clothing on the three mounts. With mixed emotions they said their good-byes to Rubin and Nanny, mounted, and rode away from the Pines, never looking back. Andy had packed his uniform and was wearing a gray citizen’s suit at the suggestion of General Lee. The general thought it would allay suspicion and curiosity and would avoid answering unnecessary questions.

General Wise convinced Colonel Chapman that they were able to crush General Cox and his army at Gauley Bridge. Instead of withdrawing from their positions on the tenth of September, they started a heavy bombardment on Gauley Bridge. On September 11, Wise crossed the Kanawha and dug in. On the twelfth he started a slow advance up the river, only to meet tough resistance. On the thirteenth, Rosecrans joined Cox and Wise and retreated across the river. Rosecrans enjoined Cox from following Wise until he could create a means for crossing the Gauley.

Wise joined Chapman when the Union forces crossed the river. They retreated up the old turnpike, joining General Lee on the Big Sewell on the twentieth. By the twenty-fourth, Rosecrans had concentrated his forces, consisting of four brigades, on the Meadow Bluffs, the wide, broad valley south of the Big Sewell and the Southern encampment. The autumn rains set in upon the very day Rosecrans arrived and continued, without intermission, for eleven days.

By the first of October, the cold, thrashing, cutting rain had reduced Rosecrans’ troops, sick and dead, to approximately 5,200 effective men. By the fifth he started a slow retreat to Gauley Bridge.

On October 3, Reynolds delivered a blow upon General Loring’s position on Greenbrier River but found it too strong and had to retreat to Cheat Mountain.

By the end of October, General Lee and his troops left the Big Sewell Mountain on their way to defend the Valley of Virginia, leaving western Virginia to organize a free state.

There was no necessity for any considerable rear guard for defense in the retreat of Lee’s army since General Rosecrans had withdrawn his forces from the Meadow Bluffs. So in peace and quiet, Molly and Andy rode along with the Confederate troops over the old turnpike toward Staunton.

“Molly, these mountains are beautiful,” declared Andy. “Whenever and wherever we locate our home, I hope it can be in these mountains.”

“It must be Chicago,” Molly replied. “It would be best from a business standpoint, and I am sure the opportunity is greater. But, Andy, we’ll have to come back to the Pines for summer vacations.”

“That would be heaven,” Andy replied, excitedly. “I love the city. Chicago is wonderful, but I love these mountains. Whenever best, we’ll discuss where our home will be located, but I am willing to make it anywhere where you will be happy.”

General Lee was not even challenged on his march to the Valley of Virginia. With his army healthy, safe, and in good spirits, he announced that he was leaving for the Confederate capitol the next morning, where he would meet with Jefferson Davis and discuss his new assignment in Charleston, South Carolina, where he was to strengthen the eastern coastal defenses.

Early the next morning, Lee dispatched a courier to the camp of the hero of Bull Run, General Jackson, at Manassas, Virginia. His letter requested that they meet at a prearranged place near Culpepper, Virginia. He requested that Molly’s brother, Lieutenant Levi Campbell, accompany him and his staff. He expressed hope that he could be granted a few days’ furlough to accompany his sister to Richmond. He explained why his army had withdrawn from western Virginia and that those remaining loyal to the Confederate cause were no longer safe and were deserting their homes and seeking shelter within the Confederate lines. Soon after the courier departed, General Lee and his staff bade farewell to his men and then rode toward Culpepper with Molly and Andy accompanying them.

General Jackson welcomed the opportunity to confer with General Lee. He needed firsthand information on the conditions in western Virginia. This would be a private meeting of two dear friends where things could be discussed in confidence, personal opinions would be laid bare, and likes and dislikes could be called by their right names. General Jackson and two staff members accompanied by Lieutenant Campbell left for the secret meeting place.

General Lee was the first to arrive at the secluded country farmhouse of an old and trusted personal friend. He was thrilled that he and Jackson would meet and talk matters over, out of range of the eyes of the army and the ears of the government in Richmond. These men, already looming as the right and left arm of the Confederacy, would talk, not as officials of the army, but as citizens of the old South.

It was nearing sundown when General Jackson and his party arrived at the appointed rendezvous. When Molly saw her brother coming, she ran from the porch down to the roadside to meet him.

“Levi, Levi,” she called. “Oh! It’s so good to see you. I have a big surprise for you.”

Levi threw his arms around his sister, kissed her on the cheek, and replied, “Yes? Little sister? Did you kill a Yankee?”

“You’re right. How did you know?” she replied.

“You did? You mean, you killed him dead?” excitedly, he asked.

“Yes, big brother, I killed one and I married one.”

“Hallelujah, you’re not fooling—”

Molly interrupted. “Levi! Listen to me, I said, I married one. You know, I wrote you about my Yankee friend.”

Levi’s lips parted—he froze, and for a few seconds he couldn’t speak.

“He’s more than a friend now, Levi. We were married over a month ago. And, Levi, he is here, see, standing on the porch, up there?” Molly said, pointing toward the Southern mansion.

Before any more could be said, the host greeted them and ushered his distinguished guest and members of his party up the brick walk that curved slightly between two large sugar maples before joining the steps to the porch.

As they stepped out onto the porch, General Lee greeted each of the officers in Jackson’s party and then greeted Thomas J. Jackson with a hearty hug and a kiss on his cheek. They exchanged pleasantries, turned, and walked into the mansion.

Molly, upon reaching the porch, took Andy’s hand and said, “Levi, this is my husband, Andy Yates. Andy, this is my big brother, Levi Campbell.”

Under his breath into Molly’s ear, Levi hissed, “A Yankee! Do you mean you married a damn Yankee?”

“Why not? Why not?” she replied, stamping her foot.

“You, you—you—Molly Campbell! You ask me why not?” Levi angrily answered.

“Yes, I ask you why not,” Molly responded. “He saved my life when I was attacked by three drunken Yankee soldiers. I owe him my life and you owe him a debt of gratitude.”

Andy stepped forward and extended his hand. Levi Campbell took one step back, stiffened, and did not accept the friendly gesture. Instead, he turned toward Molly and answered, “I owe him nothing! I owe no damn Yankee anything but cold steel and a miniball. Molly, how in hell could you do this? Have you forgotten our father?”

Cold steel flashed in Molly’s eyes, but softly and tearfully she replied, “No I have not forgotten my father. If alive, he would approve and be thankful. Levi, I haven’t lost any of my devotion or loyalty to the South just because I married a Yankee. Andy cannot return to the North. Don’t you understand that? He was charged with treason and murder after he came to my rescue that night. That damn Yankee Colonel Hayes would have court-martialed him and shot both of us if General Lee hadn’t come to our rescue. You know, I wrote you that two of those drunken soldiers were killed and another one badly wounded in the fight that night.”

“Because of this, I owe him?” sneered Levi. “I owe him nothing—nothing—nothing.”

“We’re going to Richmond,” interrupted Molly. “We’ll stay in Richmond until this war is over.”

“A Yankee will not find any peace in Richmond,” Levi laughed. “And you a Yankee’s wife will be miserable. I think this will be punishment enough for you—”

“Levi, but you don’t understand,” angrily Molly interrupted. “Andy is going as a prisoner of war. He has a letter from General Lee. This war won’t last long. He won’t have to stay there long.”

“No, it cannot,” Lieutenant Campbell declared. “We’re going to stomp the hell out of them. The South is preparing to conscript enough of its young men to make an end to this war in short order. It will soon end after enrolling all the eligible men in the South.”

Andy had listened in silence to his hotheaded brother-in-law until his blood was boiling. “What if the North resorts to drafting?” interrupted Andy. “The North has legions of young men that can be enrolled in the defense of our flag.”

“Our flag, like hell, it’s your flag,” snapped Levi. “Let them bring their legions. They will need them. Many—many more than they have. If you’d seen that footrace over at Bull Run the other day, you’d understand what I am saying. They were running like scared rabbits. Stonewall Jackson demoralized the hell out of them and could whip the whole damn Northern army if they would turn him loose.”

Andy, smiling, replied, “I have great admiration and respect for both General Jackson and General Lee and many other Rebels despite the fact that they have cast off the United States uniform and joined the Southern cause, but there is one little Rebel that I adore more than any person here on earth. That is your sister and my wife. I love her regardless of her attachment to the South. Regardless of who wins the war, you are my brother-in-law, and for Molly’s sake, let’s be friends.”

“Never! Never!” thundered the lieutenant. “Anyone who makes war on my people, who allies himself with the murderers of my father and invades the proud state of old Virginia, can never be my friend.”

Tears in her eyes, Molly asked, “What has embittered you so? You do not act like my brother. How can you treat the man I love so badly? Andy is my husband, and for my sake, be friends with him.”

“First, let him prove he is my friend by putting on the gray and taking his place in the ranks of the South,” retorted Levi.

“That could never happen, Lieutenant” was Andy’s prompt reply. “My sympathies are with the Union. A few months ago I enlisted pledging my support and loyalty to the North, and God helping me, I will give my life if necessary to defend the Union against any who seeks to destroy it.”

“I like your frankness, sir, and admire your loyalty and fighting spirit. It is useless for us to discuss the matter further. We cannot and will not be friends,” answered Levi, turning and walking from the porch out into the beautiful garden surrounding the old mansion.

CHAPTER XV

Andy had never eaten such a delicious dinner. He had never tasted chicken dipped in a milk batter and fried to a golden brown in a large cast-iron skillet. Potatoes that had been mashed and mixed with fresh homemade cow’s butter; beets with a light, tart sauce, which the host referred to as Harvard; and a vegetable that Andy had never seen and surely never eaten that Molly called okra. That had been rolled in a light cornmeal batter and fried in another large cast-iron skillet until golden brown. Then for dessert, another new taste that Andy found very delicious, apples and pears that had been spiced and pickled and canned, in the same jar, early that fall.

Dinner had been over for better than an hour, but no one had left the table. Andy was growing weary and angry at all the talk of the Rebels winning the war. With the exception of a few minutes in which General Lee highlighted the occurrences in Western Virginia, all he had heard was about the battle of Bull Run. How Union forces under General McDowell advanced across Bull Run Creek and stormed the plateau of Manassas, causing the Confederate troops to retreat until General Jackson rallied his men and halted the Union advance. Levi led the discussion relating how for three hours General Jackson stood like a stone wall, giving orders, rallying his men until the advantage shifted and the Federal troops retreated in confusion. Levi, in telling the story, had become too familiar, calling General Jackson TJ and Stonewall. Andy thought Levi to be insubordinate by referring to the general by his initials and a nickname.

The retreat as told over and over of Bull Run angered Andy, but he kept his anger inside him. When Levi proposed a toast to General Stonewall Jackson, it was greeted with a loud cheer. This afforded Andy a chance to slip away and out into the beautiful gardens surrounding the mansion.

As he strolled about the grounds, he was too obsessed by his own thoughts to notice the beautiful shrubbery, the large sugar maples, white oaks, and spreading American chestnut trees. Far within him raged a torrent of anger. From the time the army left the Big Sewell and traveled east, he had suffered taunts and jeers. Traitor, turncoat, yellow blue belly, nigger lover did not bother him, but boasting, vindictive, and embittered remarks from a few troops caused his skin to burn. Now, Molly’s brother, so uncompromising and hotheaded, would indeed cause trouble between him and his wife. And he was sure it would be worse in Richmond.

“How can I stand it? How can I stand it?” he asked himself. Then trying to assure himself, he uttered, “I can stand anything. I will stand anything that mortal man can take, for Molly—yes, for Molly. It cannot be for long. The North will crush these rats in short order.” He perked up and stood as if at attention. “I want to help them do it!” he exclaimed, to himself. “I’m more determined than ever to fight for the Union cause. With God’s help, I’ll do it,” he avowed.

Andy continued talking to himself, “I’m in possession of some very valuable information now. But—but—if I could come up with something really vital and if I could escape, I could make the North believe I have been a prisoner. They would pardon me and receive me with open arms. Then I could put those vultures out of the way. And—and—Molly will be better off without me in Richmond.”

More determined to escape, Andy turned and walked back to the mansion, up the stairway toward the room that had been assigned to Molly and him. The door was closed as he approached, but he could hear voices within. He came to a complete halt, with hand extended toward the doorknob. He could hear Molly sobbing and the angry tone of her brother’s voice reechoing throughout the room. “I disown you—you damn slut. You’re not my sister—you’re a disgrace to the family, marrying that damn renegade Yankee soldier! Scum of the earth, I tell you—scum of the earth. Who knows what or who he is? If you had married an Ethiopian black abolitionist nigger, I wouldn’t have been any more disappointed.”

Suppressing her sobs, Molly screamed, “He’s renegade, Levi! He’s not—he’s not—I tell you, he is every inch a man!”

“Like hell he is! He’s neither! A man and a gentleman wouldn’t take unfair advantage of you. You know nothing about him or his family,” retorted Levi.

“He’s told me. He’s told me, everything—about his family, about—”

“Lies! All lies!” interrupted Levi. “You have swallowed hook, line, and sinker the oldest patented line of sympathy used by all soldiers. I know. I love you—I this, I that—the honey flows from their lips until they get what they want. Then they are through. In time—soon, he’ll cast you aside and desert you at the first opportunity—it will be hotter than hell for him in Richmond. Oh, why didn’t I make you go to Richmond at the onset of this damn war?”

“Levi, you don’t understand! If it hadn’t been for Andy, I would have been raped and probably killed. He saved my life. You should be grateful. Instead, you hate him. He offered you his hand in friendship—you shunned him, and the two people on earth I love are enemies. Oh! How I wish I could die! God helping me, I could kill myself—I could—”

“Shut up, you damn fool!” Levi hissed through closed teeth. “Shut up. They will hear you downstairs.”

Andy heard a slap. He knew her brother had hit her. He grasped the doorknob, flung open the door, and found Levi bending over Molly, grasping her left shoulder with his right hand as she lay prostrate on the bed. Instantly, he was upon Levi, grabbing his jacket, spinning him around and, with the other hand, smashed him in the face with the open palm, pulled him up close, and angrily shouted, “You damn yellow coward, afraid to hit a man but you strike an innocent girl. Now, listen to me! If you ever lay a hand on or speak an angry word to my wife, I’ll kill you, you damn hothead. You have disowned her as a sister. Together we now disown you as a brother. Now, get the hell out and stay out!”

He immediately flung Levi toward the door; missing, he slammed backward against the wall. Recovering, the lieutenant unsnapped his holster, whipped out his revolver, and he would have shot Andy, but Molly sprang between them. Her own weapon leveled at her brother, sobbing ceased, solemnly and coolly she said, “Levi, leave this room now. I’ll kill you as sure as my name is Molly Campbell Yates if you try to take any unfair advantage of my husband. Now, get out, and don’t you ever mention what happened in this room tonight.”

Levi slowly backed out of the room, closing the door. He paused in the hallway, holstered his gun, gained composure, and walked downstairs.

Inside the room Molly and Andy sat down on the bed, and in detail they discussed their situation. Andy related his thoughts as he strolled through the garden. He gained courage to tell Molly what was uppermost in his mind. “Yes, Molly, escape is all I can think about. Escape to the Northern lines. It will not work for us in Richmond. I-I can’t go there. Even my love for you will not let me compromise my principles and beliefs.”

Andy hesitated, anticipating Molly opposing him violently. Instead, she pleaded, “No—no, Andy. You must not try to escape. It’s too dangerous. You are too far into Confederate territory. You’ll never make it. Let’s go to Richmond and we’ll pray that this war will end—some way—soon. Please, Andy, don’t think of escaping.”

He could see in her face that she was weakening, both physically and in spirit. The strain of events must have completely reduced her stamina and willpower. He could feel that she was not so sure of herself, but he had to express his thoughts.

“You are exhausted, and I am so tired, so come let us go to bed, sleep, and rest. Forget what has happened. Forget it till morning. But I can’t promise that I will not try to escape.”

“Yes, I am tired,” she sobbed. “Let’s get some rest.”

He kissed her again, again and again, and held her close to him, whispering in her ear, “Whatever happens, Molly, I shall always love you. Yes—yes—I will love you until death. Never doubt me, Molly.”

She interrupted, “As long as I live, Andy, I shall never, never, never—doubt you. Let us be resigned to our fate tonight, tomorrow, and whatever.”

“Yes, my little sweetheart, to our fate, whatever it may be,” he whispered back.

CHAPTER XVI

After retiring, Andy lay on his back, gazing up into the blackness that enveloped the room. Light from the window evidenced only a slight difference between the darkness on the outside. He lay there thinking, What can I do? What should I do? Escape, escape kept echoing in his mind, but how? Escape—escape was going to be difficult, if not impossible. Molly, deep in sleep and unconscious to her surroundings, did not know when Andy slipped out of bed, dressed, and began pacing back and forth.

He picked up his boots. Silently he opened the door, slipped out and carefully pulled the door closed, and sat down on the top step of the inside stairway. Placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he leaned forward. The thoughts of escape were still playing in his mind. Now his thoughts turned toward the perils of escape. His first thought was How will it affect Molly? I could be shot escaping, or be caught and shot later. I don’t know exactly where I’m at. Travel north was his first inclination, but it’s closer to Northern lines if I go west—no, no, Rosecrans—McKinley knows. They will have me shot as a traitor. I can’t go west. I can’t, I can’t—it would kill my father if I was shot as a traitor.

Andy’s thoughts now centered on his father, a tough, hard, but fair man who always had an answer for any situation and every problem. He couldn’t accept my indecision after college, but his snap decision sent me to Europe for a year. After my return, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t desire a position in his bank or to manage his mercantile agency. The argument ensued and ended in a lecture. Then placing his arm around Andy’s shoulder, he began to speak softly, “Son, there are some things that cannot be forced or reasoned out, but if left alone, they’ll work themselves out. There comes a time in the affairs of every man’s life when he cannot see which way to go. Force only serves to confuse and plunge him into darkness. If he will sit down and forget, in time, the answer will come of its own accord.”

The next day Andy enlisted in the Gray Dragoons, but he had remembered every word of the speech. Maybe it impressed him because his father was not a logical man.

Unaware of the time, he had wrestled with his thoughts. Suddenly, voices jolted him back into reality. He raised his head from his hands and peeped through the stairway newels, seeking the location of the voices. The library door was halfway open. Light was beaming out into the hallway. Surveying the semidark hallway, he saw it was clear. Silently, he slipped down the stairs until he positioned himself where he had a good view of the library room. Cautiously he lay down on the stairs, his body stretched perpendicular to the stairway. From this position, peering between the newels, his view through the half-open door was nearly as good as if he were in the room.

Andy smiled as he thought, What a stroke of good luck. There they were—Lee and Jackson—the right and left arm of the South, two great military geniuses, one on either side of the large library table. They were first standing, then walking or sitting, depending as to the importance of their discussion. They were engaged in a heart-to-heart talk from friend to friend.

Andy, peering directly into the room, etched into his mind a scene never to be forgotten. Yes, there they were—the two great generals whom the fate of the South depended on. Each had an athletic build and each was standing six feet or better, straight and dignified. Both wearing a uniform of spotless gray with a handsome sword and a sash. Yes, these two, so different yet so alike in their ability to lead and direct men. Jackson was direct, blunt, decisive—a dynamic force that knew no fear and believed that he could do whatever he desired to do. Lee was suave, reserved, polished—a typical gentleman of the old South.

Andy asked himself, “Why had they come here? They were elated over their victory at Bull Run, but both seemed despondent and discouraged. Was it because Lee had evacuated Western Virginia? Yes, yes—yes—that was it. The press had already nicknamed Lee Evacuation Lee, and Jackson was disappointed and humiliated that his own people—the people of Western Virginia—had proved disloyal to him and the South. So they were here to discuss the fortunes of war.”

Andy’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Jackson speak. “Robert, without a shadow of a doubt I could have captured Washington. With ten thousand fresh troops, we had them and even more, but they wouldn’t let me. Davis wouldn’t let me. You understand, Robert! Davis wouldn’t permit me to take Washington.” He sprang to his feet, marched around the table, jaw set, his blue eyes flashing fire. He halted in front of Lee and crashed his clenched fist down on the table, saying once again, “Robert, Jefferson Davis would not let me continue into the city. I still pray that our Heavenly Father gives us victory. But if the war is lost, we lost it the day after Bull Run.”

General Lee did not move. He sat there, on the opposite side of the table, maintaining the dignified composure that was always his. The Gray Dragoon from his position was looking directly into his handsome face, slightly reddened under the wealth of iron-gray hair that so distinguished him. His hazel-brown eyes gave forth a radiant expression of kindness. For a moment Andy was moved with such admiration; he felt like rushing forth, asking forgiveness for his thoughts of escaping.

“Tom, anyone can make a mistake,” replied Lee. “There will be many more before this war is over.”

“I agree. There will be errors,” avowed Jackson. “But the way and hour was clear. Everyone knew it. My men begged that we push forth and take the city. I could only tell them that our president would not permit us to go any farther. I prayed for God to give us the opportunity. He appointed the hour, and, General, we failed to take advantage of His answer. I am sure as I sit here before you this night, God gave us the opportunity the next day because McDowell’s army broke and ran back to Washington in a complete rout. They were panic-stricken. Thousands threw down their arms. Hundreds deserted and hundreds waited to surrender. They were in utter discord, dirty, ragged, hungry, exhausted, and half of them without arms. I could have taken the city, the next day, without a struggle.”

“Robert, think what it would have meant. It would have discouraged and depressed the entire North. I’m sure Maryland would have been our ally, an’—an’—and Kentucky and Missouri would have joined us. I know most of the people in Western Virginia would have stayed on our side.”

He brought his clenched fist down once again on the table, sprang to his feet, and began pacing back and forth in front of the table. He stopped at the end of the room, standing as if at attention, and peered out the window into the darkness.

A few moments of silence engulfed the room before Lee answered.

“Tom,” he began. “A great general has the instinct or knack for knowing the situation of his enemy and somehow pretty well knows what will happen before he attacks. When we were in Mexico, you displayed the uncanny wisdom and always had our next move figured out long before anyone else. I have no doubt that you’re right in your assessment now. You were there. You knew the conditions, but I am not sure that your assumption that the North would have collapsed is a true picture. Tom, be reasonable. I agree. Taking their capitol would have been a stunning blow. I agree. If it had been followed up with the sufficient forces and momentum, that may have won the war. But, Tom, could we have backed it up? I am convinced, if you had taken the city, they would have been determined to do everything in their power to drive us out. They have unlimited resources and men. They would have redoubled their effort and we would have had to prepare for a long and bloody battle. What if we had wavered?”

“Wavered?” exclaimed Jackson, wheeling around, facing Lee from his position in front of the window. “That is exactly what we did. We wavered—we did not make a halfhearted effort to follow the crushing blow rendered to our enemy at Bull Run. Now the whole North is aroused. Lincoln has called for a half million volunteers. They will be coming. Yes, they will be coming—from Western Virginia, Missouri, Kentucky, an-an-and other states will follow.”

“Robert, there are two ways to win a war. One is by delaying and wearing down the process. We are the ones wearing down. Look at the area we have seceded. The other is to hit the enemy where it hurts and before he is ready for battle and then pound—pound the life out of him before he can recover. That is what I wanted to do at Bull Run.”

“Tom, I know you are right, and generally you were right in the past,” replied Lee.

“Jeff Davis held me back.” Ignoring Lee’s compliment, Jackson continued, “He may be a good president, but he doesn’t know anything about fighting a war. The result of his decision is that the North is beginning to gather a huge force to unleash against us. Our men have been inactive for weeks. Lying in camp, they have become discouraged, disappointed, and many are ill with the fever. They have dwindled away by going on furloughs and just plain quit because their enlistment has expired or they have deserted. Some leaving because they feel the war is nearly over.

“You said yourself the war has only begun. The fools in Richmond are responsible. Ever since Bull Run, the information they have released leads one to believe this war is nearly over until the whole South now believes it is true. They have created a delusion that is fast depleting our ranks. We have the lack of capable leadership in Richmond and even in the field. I ask you, General, what will be our fate when hordes from the North sweep down in a few months?”

“General, what would you suggest or do to correct this error?” asked Lee.

“First I would appoint a commander in chief for our armies. Then, I would give him unrestricted power to act, pursue, and direct the war using military principles” was Jackson’s prompt reply. “I would enact a law or make some provision to provide men, supplies, and equipment for our armies. Establish a quartermaster corps commanded by a high-ranking officer from the field.”

“Once again you are right, Tom, but who would want such a great responsibility and who would have these qualifications?” asked Lee.

“I know I am right,” answered Jackson. “There is only one man in the South that could unify the Confederate Army. Robert, you are that man.”

Lee promptly stood up. Raising his hands, he protested, “No—no—no. This time you are wrong, General. You are all wrong. It is my sincere opinion that you are the man. You fill the requirements better than I or any other man in the South. This is my true feeling and not flattery. Evidently you have thoroughly thought this out and know how the chain of command should perform.”

“Wait—wait—no! No! No!” Waving his hands, shaking his head, Jackson’s voice appearing to reflect a tone of anger. “When I am in the field, I can plan and manage a campaign and even fight the battle. But I would not and could not handle the delegation that the command would require. You are the man—you are the only man the South has that could plan, organize, and make it work.”

“You always underestimate yourself, General. You are too modest. You sell yourself to the public and superiors for less than your achievements and ability. I admire you for it,” said General Lee. “They need to know how you command and your conquests. It has worked in reverse for me. The public and Richmond have expected miracles from me. Instead, upon their orders, I am returning from Western Virginia defeated and a great disappointment to the South. You know success was impossible because of Richmond and their halfhearted decisions. But the people of the South don’t know or understand my defeat. They will never understand because the Southern press continually fills their print with thrusts, lies, and cutting words of criticism. Do you think the people would accept a man who the press shows as a failure?”

“Yes, I do,” interrupted Jackson. “If you let them know who really was responsible for the failure of the Western campaign. Instead, you choose not to explain or answer your critics. Sure, the mudslinging of the press is a shame. It’s unpardonable. It’s without excuse and in ignorance on the part of those who write and print it. Unless you rebut and expose those who ordered your retreat, then let it go, forget it. Western Virginia is lost to the South. It is my home. It hurts me greatly, but the people there will have to pay the price for their disloyalty.

“I’ve known you personally and intimately for over twenty years, and I would be willing to follow you to the ends of the world. The facts will come out. The lies of the press will soon blow over. In spite of everything that has been printed and anything that has been said, the South, down deep in its heart, still loves you and will depend upon your strong leadership before this war is over. You may as well get ready to take command. It’s coming and sooner than any of us may think.”

There was silence. General Lee’s eyes filled with tears, and he bit his lip in choking back his emotions.

“I understand you are going to the coast soon?” questioned Jackson.

“Yes,” replied Lee. “Jeff Davis has requested that I go to Charleston and see what can be done to strengthen our coastal defenses.”

“You could be of greater service here in the valley,” answered Jackson. “The change of scenery and assignment will be good for you. The warmer temperature will help your body and mind. You’ll be back by spring. Something, maybe instinct, tells me you will be back and take command by spring. I’m so sure, I would like to go over some important facts that I have collected and show you a plan I have formulated for a spring campaign. It is only a rough draft. It requires your knowledge to work out the details. I have gone as far as I can.”

Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he removed a packet and then carefully selected from it the papers he wanted.

“Here, I have made two copies,” Jackson said, as he unfolded the papers. “One is for you and the other for me. I want you to take them to Charleston with you, study them, and let me know your thoughts.”

He unfolded the papers and laid one on the table before General Lee, the other he folded and laid to one side.

“Tom, the drawings are professional,” said Lee.

“I have gone as far as I can go,” replied Jackson. “But my whole plan centers around carrying this war to the enemy—I suggest we invade the North in the spring. Here, let me explain it to you.”

The two great men discussed the draft in detail for a short time, which seemed like an eternity to Andy. When they finished, General Lee folded his copy and placed it inside his coat pocket. Then he blew out all but one candle, which they used to light the way to their rooms.

Andy heard them wishing each a good night, but his thoughts were on the chart left on the table. There was the information he needed—left behind and forgotten. The chart and other information he had gathered along the way would definitely clear him if he could escape and deliver this information to the North.

He moved silently down the stairs, slipped through the door, and began feeling over the table surface for the papers. As his hands made contact, he heard two voices, he froze, but soon discovered that they were from two guards outside. Cautiously he retreated through the door into the hallway. Steadily he eased up the stairway and back into his room.

He was glad when he didn’t waken Molly. He knew where there were paper and quill. It was hard to write in the dark, but he wrote:

My dear wife:

Even my love for you will not let me endure what I may face in Richmond, and I cannot compromise my convictions. I have decided that it is best for me to escape. I will make my way to the Northern lines. Wait for me until the war is over. I will come to you in Richmond. If you are not there, I will come to the Pines. As sure as there is a God in heaven, I will come back to you. With all my love.

Andy

He picked up his hat and slipped back through the door, where he gathered up his boots, and moved silently down the stairs and to the window at the end of the hallway. A soft breeze passed through the half-opened window. There was no moon, but the stars appeared brighter than he had ever seen them. He peered into the night, but the darkness made it nearly impossible to distinguish objects.

He listened and watched because he knew the house was well guarded. There must be a dozen soldiers out there, but where? Andy soon reasoned that they must be in front of the mansion and down the lane near the main road. After a few minutes, he knew there were no guards at the back of the house. He slipped through the open window and began to crawl toward some trees at the edge of the lawn.

Upon reaching the trees, he refolded the chart, placed it in the inside of his boots, and then put them on. He listened and looked, but his ears detected only the gentle breeze stirring the leaves. He thought, I need to get into Culpepper before morning, where I can disguise myself as a black slave and avoid detection until they quit searching for me.

He hunched over and silently moved toward an outbuilding he could see. He made it to the fence and prepared to cross over when a twig snapped under his foot.

“Who goes there?” a challenging voice demanded. “Halt.”

The Gray Dragoon lay flat down on the ground and strained his eyes to see who challenged him. He could see no one, but the pounding of his heart rang in his ears like hoofbeats.

Then he heard a rasping sound and knew the guard was raking the end of his musket along the fence. Yes, there he was, climbing over the fence. He took advantage of the noise the guard was making and eased in under some shrubbery growing against the fence.

He heard the same voice once again demand, “Halt! who goes there?” Then silence—then, from the guard’s lips, a sharp whistle came forth. From near the mansion it was answered by another whistle.

Andy knew if he was to get away, he would have to make his move at once. Just at that moment, the guard stopped right in front of where he lay. He could see his boots. Unarmed but desperate, he felt strong as a gorilla. He rose upon his knees and sprang forward, his shoulder striking the guard fully under his chin, knocking him unconscious. As the guard went down, his rifle flew out of his hands. Andy grabbed it. He wheeled toward the fence, and with one leap he was over, but from the corner of his eye he caught sight of two dark forms running from the mansion in his direction.

He heard them command, “Halt before we fire. Halt, damn you, or you are dead.”

Andy was now running full speed toward the forest, but through the intervention of fate, his foot landed in a hole and the fall winded him. The guards were now upon him. Before he gained his feet, they seized him, dragging him upright. With force, Andy came around with his right arm, slamming one of the soldiers directly in the face, causing him to release his left arm. Then he immediately fell to his knees, causing the other guard to release his hold from around his neck. Twisting and rolling to one side, he was free and back on his feet, but so was his pursuer. Immediately they grabbed each other, but the young dragoon was dealt a stunning blow from behind. The butt of a rifle had struck the back of his head. His legs quivered; his knees gave way, and he fell to the ground, insensible.

A little later he began to come to himself. There were strange voices and familiar ones. Voices of birds, voices of men were in his ears. Was it morning? What happened? He moved slightly and called out, “Molly. Molly, dear, where are you?”

Then he heard a jeering, mocking voice. “Molly, dear! Molly, dear! Do you hear? Listen to that damn yellow-bellied Yankee dog. I told her—I told that little slut what the spineless coward would do. I knew he would desert her at the first opportunity. She will listen to me now.”

Andy was fast regaining consciousness and recognized it was Levi speaking. He lay perfectly quiet, listening and remembering what had happened.

“Listen, men, I tell you what I think,” Levi continued. “He knows too much. It would be better for the South and better for Molly and save our superiors time if we shot the son of a bitch.”

“Lieutenant, you can’t mean that,” exclaimed one of the guards. “You cannot shoot this man without a formal trial and conviction by court-martial—”

“Sergeant, who’s in charge here?” interrupted the young lieutenant. “Why not? Tell me why I can’t shoot this damn Yankee right here on the spot. We caught this damn spy trying to escape to Northern lines with all the information that Southern hospitality has permitted him to gather. He was deserting his wife. He would kill each of you if he had a chance. Shoot him. Bury him there in the woods, and let her think he escaped. It will be easier than letting her see the general have him shot while she watches.”

“He nearly killed me when he hit me under the chin. I agree. Let the lieutenant shoot him,” said one of the guards. “Tell his sister that he escaped, but tell General Lee and Jackson the truth. We can’t let them think he escaped to the North.”

The blood froze within Andy’s veins. The Gray Dragoon was turned over and raised upon his elbows and was grabbed by each shoulder and pulled to his feet.

“To the task. Place him over against that large white oak,” commanded Levi.

CHAPTER XVII

The two guards grabbed Andy’s arms, pinning them behind his back, and with force started toward the large oak. Andy’s blood froze within his veins. This was the first time in his life that he knew fear, but it did not affect his thinking. He quit struggling and began to move forward at a faster pace, hoping to get the guard off balance. Flatfooted, he came to an abrupt stop, fell forward onto both knees, using the forward motion of his captors to flip them over his back. Instantly, he turned, to strike Levi, but the lieutenant, closer than he thought, kicked Andy in the pit of the stomach, rendering him breathless.

“You slimy, filthy snake. I’ll shoot your damn brains out right here,” barked the lieutenant.

Andy turned over, raised upon one elbow, and looked upward at the instant Levi cocked his side arm for the fatal shot.

“Just one moment, Lieutenant Campbell,” a soft, suave voice demanded.

Andy knew it was the voice of General Lee. All three turned and were shocked to see General Lee standing there half-dressed. Surprised, they snapped to attention and saluted in their recognition of the presence in which they unexpectedly found themselves.

“It was by accident that I heard your plans, Lieutenant,” said Lee. “It’s well that I did overhear, for you must not do this thing, Lieutenant. At ease. It’s a good thing for all that I did hear and did not come too late. I admire your honor, loyalty, and devotion to the South, but no true son of the South contemplates such a heinous crime as murder in her name. The only offense I see is that Sergeant Yates has made an unsuccessful attempt for liberty. Isn’t that all, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Levi.

“That is not punishable by death in the military code of the South,” replied the General. “If you had carried out your plan, it would have been deliberate murder. I happen to know a great deal about this young man. First, he is your sister’s husband. He loves her very much to have subjected himself to the insults, threats, and barbs that he had taken from our men these past few weeks without complaining. He loves her enough to have killed his own men in her defense. And she loves him dearly. He has been the victim of adverse and trying circumstances for the past few weeks. His case is an unusual one, but the young man is outstanding in more ways than one. Bring him to the house, Lieutenant.”

The three saluted and began executing the general’s orders. They assisted the prisoner to his feet. Andy was barely able to walk and then only with assistance of the two guards. They walked back to the house, Levi leading the way, the two guards and Andy and General Lee behind them.

As they mounted the stairs to the big porch at the front of the house, a cock sounded his warning of the approaching day. A grayish-pink hue appeared in the east. Andy was ordered to sit in one of the many chairs on the veranda. He selected a comfortable one, sat down, and began to regain his breath as General Lee spoke with him about his injury. The Gray Dragoon, still dazed somewhat, seized his hand and clung tenaciously to it, and the words he spoke came spontaneously.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir—you have, once again, saved my life,” Andy murmured. “But, General, what will our fate be when hordes from the north sweep down in a few months?”

General Lee, shocked by the question, jerked his hand away from Andy and drew back from the Gray Dragoon. “I can’t believe it! Those are the words of General Jackson,” exclaimed Lee. “Did you hear?”

“Yes—yes—I did,” Andy replied, as he dropped his head forward. “I cannot deceive you, General. I heard everything.”

General Lee, astonished, gazed down at Andy in silence. When he spoke, the soft, suave voice showed a tone of anger.

“Lieutenant Campbell, guard this man until your sister awakens,” General Lee said, as he turned and entered the house.

Andy sat with his head lowered, wondering what would be his destiny. It seemed an eternity since anybody moved or spoke. The stillness was broken when he heard General Jackson call for his staff.

General Jackson, upon rising, refreshed himself from the cool water poured from the pitcher into the bowl that sat on the marble topped lavatory in his room. He dressed and started to look for his copy of the chart that he had discussed with General Lee He could not locate it in his bedroom. Remembering that he left it in the library, he proceeded there to retrieve it. Upon entering the library room, he failed to locate the chart. This is when he summoned his staff to the library and ordered them to search for the chart.

The sun was streaming in at the window when Molly awakened. It startled her because her first thoughts were that she had kept the escort that was taking her to Richmond waiting. She thought it strange that Andy had not aroused her. She sprang from bed, dressed, and opened the door to the stairway. Instead of departing from the room, she turned and went to the mirror to check her hair. Looking down, she spied Andy’s note lying on the dresser top. Quickly she picked it up, read the contents as she staggered from the room. Outside, in the hallway, she leaned heavily against the railing. Faint, her head in a whirl, and black shadows flitted before her eyes. Voices from below brought Molly to her senses. She pulled herself together and ran downstairs. She sought the voices from the hallway, but they were not there.

Realizing the voices were from the porch outside, she whirled and dashed for the door. She stopped outside just in time to see a guard remove Andy’s sock. Reaching into the sock, the guard withdrew the chart that the young dragoon had taken from the library table a few hours before and handed it to General Jackson.

General Jackson, crushing the chart in his hand, steel blue eyes flashing, trying to conceal the storm that was raging in his breast, emotionally confronted the dragoon, “A spy? I can’t believe, a spy in our very midst! For you, sir, a punishment befitting a spy. You shall be shot in one hour. Just one hour. Make the most of it.”

Jackson wheeled, entered the door, and had started down the hallway when Molly shouted, “General Jackson! General Jackson!” Running after the general, she caught his arm and clung desperately to him. “General Jackson, you cannot do this. This is my husband. You must not shoot Andy—you shall not—”

Jackson, swinging his arm forward, spun Molly in front of him. Sternly he stood facing her. The same invincible, subdued grin that had stood at Bull Run, nicknaming him Stonewall, was upon his face as he answered Molly, “Young lady, this man is a spy. Do you know what a spy is?”

“Yes, General Jackson, yes, yes,” Molly replied with tears in her eyes. “I know—and I know it’s terrible, but I love him. He’s my husband. General, you must not—can’t you understand?”

“Yes, I understand, young lady,” interrupted the general. “I deeply sympathize with you. Don’t you think I have no heart? I have. I would give my right arm to mitigate your grief. This is war. In war, military rules must be enforced. It would be unthinkable to pardon a spy caught red-handed in an act such as this. This man, enjoying our hospitality and our protection, has come to destroy us. In his seeking to betray us is evidence enough that he is an enemy of the South. If it be my own brother, I would do the same. There is no other way! He must die!”

With this he turned and walked into his room, leaving Molly standing there terror stricken with grief. She staggered and would have fallen if it had not been for the protecting arms of General Lee, who upheld her.

Half-rationally, Molly blurted, “You must save him, General Lee. You must save Andy, for I love him so.” With this, Molly wilted.

The kindhearted general carried her into the library and tenderly laid her on the library table. She opened her eyes and sat up.

“Molly, General Jackson is in command here,” said General Lee. “He is firm but a just man. Nobody could influence him to do other than what he believes to be his duty to the South. You must be brave, my little girl. You must be brave. Why don’t we go out on the veranda, where they are guarding Andy? Enjoy these last minutes together.”

The general put his arm around her waist, and they walked to the porch. Instantly Molly flung her arms around Andy and began weeping openly and profusely.

CHAPTER XVIII

The servants were bringing the horses around to the front, and final arrangements were being tended to before the parties departed. There was less than thirty minutes left when Molly asked her brother, “Levi, may Andy and I walk out into the garden where we can have a few minutes so that all of you can’t hear what we have to say to each other?”

Levi granted permission but ordered one of the guards to walk behind with orders to shoot if Andy made any suspicious move.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the air was a little crisp on this early November morning. Andy and Molly walked out among the trees and flowers, stopping frequently to whisper to each other. It was their last minutes together, and words did not flow freely. Thoughts were sluggish and confused. As they walked near the gate to the lane, where the horses were hitched, Black Demon, at the sight of Molly, tossed his head and whinnied.

Molly’s face lit up as if a divine influence had immediately exerted some thought upon her mind. She guided Andy toward the gate with the guard trudging close behind. She stopped, placed her arms around Andy’s neck, and he was the only one that could hear her whisper.

“There is not a horse in Virginia that can overtake Black Demon. Walk slowly and let the guard come a little closer. When we are near the gate, spring into the saddle and be off. I’ll manage the guard. This, now, is the only way I can show my strength and everlasting love for you. My strength is strong enough to save you. They will not have me shot because General Lee would not hear to it. When the war is over, come for me. I’ll be waiting for you in Richmond or at the Pines.”

She kissed him as she removed her arms from around his neck.

Andy squeezed her waist, and in a trembling whisper, he said, “God bless you, Molly, you dear! I’ll come back for you through hell or high water. I’ll be there.”

He choked on his emotions as they edged closer to the gate. The guard had quickened his step and was now close behind and started to speak. With lightning quickness, Andy wheeled and dealt him a smashing blow directly on the point of the chin, knocking him to the ground, unconscious. Whatever he was going to say was never spoken.

With one large leap he was astride Black Demon and was on his way. Molly released the other horses that scattered from all the shouting. One shot fired from the rifle of one of the guards spooked them even more.

It was several minutes before anyone was able to catch and mount one of the horses. It was nearly an hour before they were all corralled. Andy was well on his way.

General Jackson remarked, “It is too late for a chase. He will never make it through our lines.”

It was midmorning before everything was made ready for the parties’ departures. General Lee had requested that General Jackson let Molly’s brother, Levi, ride along with them to Richmond. General Jackson obliged. Farewells were said. They departed Culpepper that morning. General Jackson and his party left for Manassas. General Lee with his party, Molly and Levi, started their ride to Richmond.

Upon their arrival in Richmond, General Lee said his good-byes to Molly and Levi. Then he proceeded to the capitol to meet President Davis, who gave him his new assignment to Charleston, South Carolina.

Molly and Levi rode on to their aunt’s house, where Molly was to stay until the end of the war. Levi gave his aunt explicit instructions that Molly was not to receive any mail from Andy Yates.

Days extended into weeks and weeks into months, and Molly had not received any letters from Andy. She had received letters regularly from Levi in which he always referred to the Yankee dog who deserted his sister.

Molly’s aunt intercepted Andy’s letters and carried out Levi’s instructions. She took the liberty of opening the first letter from Andy because she was anxious to know of his escape. The letter read:

Molly, my dearest:

My little darling, you will never understand how much I am indebted to you. You not only saved my life, but you mastered my escape, enabling me to serve my country once again during this awful war.

My love for you is endless just like the band I placed upon your finger a few months ago. I miss your raven-black hair, your bright blue eyes, and that little fiery temper. I only wish I could hold you in my arms and relate to you, my everlasting love.

My escape, as you gather by now, was successful. My left shoulder was barely scratched by rifle fire as Black Demon carried me away from my captors. You are correct when you say no horse can catch him. He has become my friend and constant companion, and his high spirit reminds me of you each day. Oh! How I long to be in your presence and just to hold you so tightly and tell you of my love for you.

Black Demon went through Culpepper that morning like a black streak. Each time I saw a group of people, I would shout, “Yankees are coming! Banks and his whole army is on his way!” I headed North and used this same tactic once again at Manassas. The gray suit was a great asset until I reached Washington. I was questioned and treated rather roughly when I appeared at the capitol requesting to see “that wart-nosed president,” as you referred to him, President Lincoln. The gray suit made the soldiers believe I was a Rebel.

It took the better part of two weeks before the president would permit me an audience. I told him the whole story from time of enlistment through my escape. He is a man of honor and believed what had happened to me. He said, “Young man, your risking death to return to the Union to fight for what you believe right is evidence enough for me to believe you.” He requested that I return within three days.

I kept the appointment and was amazed to learn that my accusers were now dead and could not appear at any court-martial to give evidence against me. The president said to me, “Mr. Yates, I feel that an injustice has been rendered to you since the first day of your enlistment. Your educational background entitled you to a commission at time of enlistment. The experience gained since enlistment and the knowledge you have of the enemy definitely entitles you to a commission. It is my pleasure to commission you a full captain in the Union army.”

Then he shook my hand, patted me on the back, and wished me luck. I have been placed under General Hooker’s command. I will be reporting in the next day or so.I close trying to relate to you my never-dying love and hope that I have conveyed to you how much I am indebted to you for my life and blessed by your love.

I will write again. Soon but until then, my love and gratefulness to you is beyond belief.

Yours forever,

Andy.

Molly never saw this letter or any of the many others that were delivered to her aunt in Richmond. June 20, 1862, Molly gave birth to a baby girl and named her Pearl Ann. From this date forward, Molly’s spirit began to break. She longed to hear from Andy. She wanted him to know they had a child.

Each time she received a letter from Levi, she would say something to her aunt about wanting to hear from Andy, only to receive a lecture about what a mangy dog the Yank was for deserting her.

Molly became more sullen and began to resent her aunt and her remarks about Andy. In October 1862, Molly left the house of her aunt and returned to the Pines.

CHAPTER XIX

The war clouds loomed larger, and the great battle of Chancellorsville was soon to start. Burnside, whose disaster at Fredericksburg had so disheartened the North, succeeded by General Hooker as commander of the army of the Potomac.

In the latter days of April 1863, General Hooker, with an army of 130,000 seasoned troops, set out to crush the armies of Lee and Jackson, who numbered near fifty thousand, not even half his strength. General Hooker boasted that he had the “finest army on the planet” and that he would make quick work of the job before him and then proceed to capture Richmond, the Confederate capitol.

Hooker greatly underrated the strength and character of Lee and Jackson and the men who would oppose him. He gave the impression that he knew, but he had not been with Burnside at Fredericksburg and witnessed the terrible havoc inflicted by that invincible fighting machine of Stonewall Jackson’s. Sure he knew that the “praying general’s” powers had, by this time, spread around the world and that everywhere he was being hailed as the greatest military genius of the age. The crowned heads and military experts of Europe had come to look upon him as a Napoleonic prodigy.

Great numbers from abroad came to see the “praying army of the Valley of Virginia” and to get a close-up look at the “praying general.” Jackson’s praying had long since become a habit with all his troops and a part of their daily program from reveille to taps as well as before each meal and before they entered into battle. They prayed as Jackson himself invariably did, and there they were inspired by an invincible confidence that victory must surely be theirs. All his troops wanted to know was “Is Jackson with us?” With his presence, they could not lose.

Deafening volleys of cheers greeted him when he rode along the lines. The cheering starting in any sector would raise wave upon wave as he proceeded. Each company would stand at attention, waiting, with hats off, and you could hear them saying, “Here comes Praying Jack.”

He deserved this fame and devotion. Where in history can there be pointed out a more remarkable series of victories, in the face of overwhelming odds, than the victories that crowned the efforts of Stonewall Jackson in the Valley of Virginia? At the first Bull Run engagement, he, with a mere handful of men,wrenched victory from the jaws of defeat and shattered McDowell’s whole army. He cut Bragg’s forces to pieces in the Winchester campaign and captured immense quantities of arms and supplies. He destroyed Pope at Second Manassas, and Burnside met a more humiliating defeat by his “praying band” at Fredericksburg. In each one of these engagements, his command had been vastly outnumbered by the forces that opposed him.

Yes, Hooker should have known. All the engagements and defeats were common knowledge in the Union army. Yes, he must have known. He must have known that he not only had Jackson to contend with at Chancellorsville, but he had General Lee as well. Yes, Jackson had his way about appointing a commander in chief of the Confederate armies, and he saw that Lee was recalled from Charleston, South Carolina, and named to the position.

Was Hooker egotistical, proud, or overconfident because he knew he had the enemy outnumbered by about two to one with well-equipped and well-seasoned troops?

General Lee was near Fredericksburg, in hearing distance of the advance firing, when General Hooker crossed the Rappanhannock and proceeded toward Chancellorsville. Jackson immediately sent an aide to advise Lee of the enemy’s movement and ask for instructions. “Advise Jackson that he knows as well what to do with the enemy as I do” was the reply from General Lee. “Tell him to proceed, and I will join him at once.”

After receiving the message, Jackson spent the day searching out the enemy’s positions by throwing forward skirmishing parties and in reconnaissance of the topography of the area. Information from reconnaissance proved that Hooker had his great army hidden in the densely wooded plains about Chancellorsville and had fortified his position only on three sides.

That night Jackson met with Lee at a spot that was nearly a mile in front of Hooker’s vast army and laid their plans for battle. Jackson suggested that he withdraw his troops toward the south at dawn, make a wide detour in order to avoid the prying eyes of the enemy’s pickets, and then surprise Hooker by striking his army from the rear. Lee, giving Jackson time to make the march, would then strike simultaneously at whatever strategic point of the front he thought best.

They agreed. The plan was adopted. General Stewart was assigned to patrol the area between Jackson’s line of march and the outposts of Hooker’s army so that the true purpose of the movement could be kept from the enemy.

At daybreak the next morning, Jackson’s army marched away. Union scouts reported the movement to Hooker, who supposedly remarked, “The disheartened Rebels are in full retreat toward Richmond, leaving only General Stewart’s handful of men as a decoy. Yes, by god! They will make their stand at Richmond.”

General Stewart’s patrol was eminently successful in the task of keeping the Yankees from knowing their plans. Jackson estimated he would be striking the enemy from the rear around five o’clock in the afternoon. At three o’clock in the afternoon, Jackson found himself six miles west of Chancellorsville and upon exactly the opposite side of the enemy to that occupied by General Lee. His march had covered fifteen miles when he called for a rest and sat down to address the last of his official notes to General Lee.

Near 3:00 p.m., May 2, 1863

General Robert E. Lee

General,

The enemy has made a stand at Chancellor’s farm, about two miles from Chancellorsville. I hope, as soon as practicable, to attack, and trust that an ever kind Providence will bless us with success.

Respectfully

T. J. Jackson

General Hooker must have had a secure feeling that the heavy forest on his northwest flank and thick underbrush were the only protection he needed because there was no evidence of pickets in the area.

General Jackson spent the next two hours perfecting his plan of attack. So dense was the underbrush that the soldiers were required to creep through the thickets. In the thickest spots they had to crawl flat on their bellies, and many had their clothing nearly torn from their bodies. It was now between five and six o’clock, and Jackson’s men had advanced nearly two miles through the heavy underbrush when suddenly they came upon the right wing of Hooker’s army. There, in a beautiful open area under several large trees, free of underbrush, unsuspicious, in all security were the men scattered about the open places, joking and preparing their evening meal. Their arms were stacked and their accoutrements lay here, there, and everywhere. There was a shout, and Jackson’s advanced lines fired a full-scale volley into the unsuspecting encampment. Bodies reeled, staggered, and fell here, there, and everywhere. Another shout, another volley decided their utter rout.

Shouts echoes through the enemy lines, “It’s Jackson! It’s that praying son of a bitch—it’s Jackson! That coldhearted bastard! Run—run—he will kill everyone.”

Over three miles, Jackson’s army pursued the panic-stricken, utterly disorganized Union troops as they fled pell-mell through the woods, without hats, without muskets, without any accoutrements, and with but a single purpose in their minds—that of escape. The battle was one continuous forward and unresisted charge. Thousands of Hooker’s troops lay dead or dying. Thousands of Hooker’s surprised and terrorized men ran all the way through the entrenched camp, trampling whatever lay in their path, and did not pause until they reached the fords of the Rappahannock, and then only water slowed their retreat.

In the meantime, General Lee surprised Hooker and struck his front encampment as they were preparing their evening meal. By the time darkness came on, the great, boastful Northern giant was already knocked to his knees, dazed and groggy. Had there been another hour or two of daylight and Jackson had been spared the misfortune that befell him, it is reasonable to believe that Chancellorsville might have been the decisive battle of the war instead of Gettysburg.

The Battle of Chancellorsville was terminated the next day when Lee made a vigorous attack against the center and right of the Union line, under Generals Sickles and Slocum. Hooker became panic-stricken and ordered a general retreat across the Rappahannock.

The career of Stonewall Jackson was at an end. Riding forth in the darkness to inspect and survey the territory after his troops had settled for a restful night, Jackson, accompanied by members of his staff, encountered Northern pickets who fired on his party. Hastily they retreated toward his camp. He and his men were thought by Confederate outposts to be enemy cavalry, and a deadly fire was delivered. Several of his party fell dead on the spot. Jackson was hit three times. His left arm was broken just above the elbow, and the miniball crushed the bone and severed the main artery. A few minutes later he was assisted to dismount and, from loss of blood, fainted in his comrades’ arms. The volley had given the Union pickets a cue, and it went on for some time. They directed a withering fire upon the area, which delayed the removal of the wounded men from the sector, preventing prompt medical attention that may have saved his life. Finally, the Confederate troops silenced the enemy, and the beloved general was conveyed to the rear. His left arm was amputated, but complications developed, which caused his death near Chancellorsville, Virginia, on May 10, 1863.

His loss depressed the South as nothing else could. To his “praying army,” it was a strange dispensation of Providence, and there was no one to take his place. Without Jackson it seemed difficult to conceive another Bull Run—another Winchester—or another Fredericksburg.

It is reported that when President Lincoln received the news of Hooker’s defeat at Chancellorsville, walking the floor in his office at the nation’s capitol, he was overheard to declare out loud, “This is the darkest hour of the war. Dear Lord. Oh, what will the country say? What will the people think? Almighty God. This is your war. Our cause is your cause, and we have never needed your help as we need it now. We can’t stand another Chancellorsville. Amen.”

CHAPTER XX

Remember that Lieutenant Levi Campbell was a member of Jackson’s staff. By chance he was in the party when Jackson was wounded, but he escaped uninjured. After the general was cared for, Levi stayed close by the general all night. He was partaking of the morning chow when he decided to pen Molly a letter.

May 3, 1863

My dear little sister:

Yesterday we were a very happy lot because of our success against Hooker’s mighty army. Today we are saddened by the wounding of General Jackson. I spent the night in the hospital-tent close beside the general. Molly, it doesn’t look good. He has three serious wounds, and they have amputated his arm nearly at the shoulder. I hope and pray that God will spare him because his loss would be devastating to the South.

Last evening, after the battle had quieted down, I went with the general on a reconnaissance mission when we encountered Union pickets. At full gallop we retreated toward our lines, and our own troops fired on us. Can you believe that our own men wounded Stonewall? We were pinned down for at least half an hour with our own men firing volley upon volley on our position. He taught the men to pray, but I have not heard the first prayer on his behalf.

Sorrow has turned the troops into savages. This morning they are near the banks of the Rappahannock, fighting like demons. They have shed tears because of the mistake in firing on their own men. Now they are swearing, yelling, and charging the enemy in blind rage. I hope they don’t forget what the general taught them.

The moon was very bright early last evening when we were reconnoitering the enemy position.

In that grayish moonlight I am certain that I saw Black Demon. After I close this letter, I am going searching for Black Demon, and I hope to find that damn Yankee who seduced you, stole your horse, and deserted you. I promise that I will never make him a prisoner. My desire is to deliver a death-dealing blow to that Yankee cur with my own hands. If I find him, I will kill him or die in the act. I can’t believe you haven’t had any word from him since he escaped from the firing squad at Culpepper. I would have gladly pulled the trigger that morning, and if I find him now, I promise you that I will kill him and return Black Demon to you.

I fear for your safety at the Pines. You know that secession talk by Western Virginia is nearing conclusion, and with your outspoken sympathy for the South, it could place you in grave danger. I would feel better if you returned to Richmond.

I will keep you informed as to what I find out as to the condition of General Jackson.

Your brother,

Levi

Molly received her brother’s letter after she learned of General Jackson’s death. Some days later, she received another letter.

May 4, 1863

Near Chancellorsville, Virginia

Molly—my dearest:

I have wondered many, many times why I have never received a letter from you since that never-to-be-forgotten morning when we separated at the mansion near Culpepper.How can you ever forgive me? I know now that you feel that I deserted you. It was only yesterday that I learned that you had returned to the Pines. It was only yesterday that I learned that you have never received any of the numerous letters that I have written you and sent to Richmond. I know you never received my letter where I expressed my indebtedness to you for saving my life, enabling my escape. I owe you my life, and my love for you is endless as time itself. There is nothing I want more than for this dreadful war to end and my return to you so that I can show you for the rest of my life how much I do love you.

Last night, as I lay in my tent, I had a thousand thoughts on how to convey to you the dastardly thing that happened yesterday. The wounding of Jackson will be a stunning blow to your beloved South. I have to respect such an enemy as Stonewall. Even with the devastating havoc he rained on our troops, I have to admit he is a military genius, and our officers say he is greater than Napoleon.

Yesterday, in the early grayish evening, while scanning the enemy position through my field glasses, I saw the “praying general” and his escort slowly riding toward our right flank. There was Levi, up front with the general. My blood froze because my first inclination was to ride at full gallop and confront him to learn of your whereabouts and your well-being, but at that very moment our pickets started firing on Jackson and his escort. They whirled and retreated at full gallop, and as he neared his own encampment, I saw him slump forward in the saddle. I knew he was wounded.

I swore to myself that before another day ended, I would find Levi and make him talk. Yes, I vowed, “If I get my hands on him, I will make him tell me what happened to you. If he doesn’t talk, I will choke the hell out of that Rebel.”

I formed a plan. Soon after daylight, I took two of my men, and we cautiously rode toward the enemy lines, only to be fired upon at every turn and every point. I knew then that I would have to skirt their right flank and come in from their rear flank. So I rode back toward our own troops and then headed north to pick up the old turnpike by midafternoon. We came to a spot where we could see some distance up and down the old highway. We rode into a closed space just off the road, dismounted, and tied our horses under some low branches of a giant hemlock. The sky was threatening rain and had become very black, reducing our visibility of the highway to the south.

We had relaxed, opened our knapsacks, and had started partaking of some rations when we heard the cracking of limbs as something or someone made their way through the thicket toward the turnpike. We took our guns and crawled into a ditch that paralleled the road. We had barely made the ditch when a Confederate soldier, upon his horse, came crashing through the brush out into the highway. He stopped his horse, looked up and then down the turnpike. His steed stood very still, and you could tell he was listening to see if he had been discovered from all the noise he made coming through the thicket. He could see no one and slowly rode up the road toward us. Just before he reached the point in front of us, there was a click of hooves down the highway. He paused, turned, and looked backward just as four mounted Union scouts came into view. I motioned my men to advance toward him. He turned and at the same time urged his mount forward with a quick kick of his heel.

It was too late. I seized the reins at the same instant he kicked his mount for a speedy getaway. The horse reared, but I did not lose hold of the reins. Instantly I recognized Levi.

“Lieutenant, are you looking for me?” I calmly asked.

“Yes, I was looking for you, you damn wife deserter,” Levi barked back.

“Sorry, Lieutenant, those are my men coming there, and you are my prisoner,” I answered, as the Union scouts rode up.

There was some talk between the scouts as to what they were going to do with the prisoner. I informed them that Levi was an old friend of mine and he was my prisoner, not theirs.

“Levi, calm yourself and dismount” was my order. “You and I are going over here on that small knoll together and have a little talk.”

Levi alit as I gave an order to my men and the Union scouts. “Take the lieutenant’s horse. Tie him with ours, and you wait there until I signal for you. The lieutenant and I are going to the other side of the road upon that hill and have a quiet talk.”

The men proceeded to execute the order I had given them. Levi offered no resistance as we scrambled up the rather steep embankment on the opposite side of the turnpike, and under some low-hanging branches we seated ourselves upon a rock, facing each other. The silence seemed an eternity as neither of us chose to speak.

Finally, after the many things I thought I would say and do, I broke the silence by asking, “Well, Lieutenant, I suppose you have come to kill me.”

Without any hesitation, Levi answered, “Yes, Yates, that is exactly what I plan to do, you, you—you horse stealer, you seducer of innocent women, you—you damn wife deserter.”

“Levi, I’m a captain now, and I request your respect due an officer and a gentleman,” I advised.

“A gentleman you are not, and the captaincy is an ill-deserved honor, sir! And I will never recognize it either,” sarcastically blurted Levi.

“Address me as you like, but I advise you that you are a prisoner of Union troops,” I reminded him. “This time you are in my hands, and I could mete out the same treatment that you desired for me that night at Culpepper. Yes, Lieutenant! Perhaps you thought I was unconscious and did not hear your plan to kill me and do away with my body that night. That was an unmanly, weak, cowardly, and unmilitary plan you concocted that night. You would have carried it out if General Lee hadn’t surprised you.”

“That’s past and forgotten,” Levi, snarling, snapped back. “There’s no use to talk about bygones. It’s now I am concerned with. I guess I am at your mercy. It’s your move. Do whatever you plan, and that yellow streak running up your back won’t let you do anything drastically.”

“Yes, you are at my mercy,” I agreed. “A man that’s a real man will not take unfair advantage simply because he can. You can label it yellow or whatever, but a man would not use such an advantage to even the score, regardless of how dastardly it may have been. I could have killed you last evening when you rode out there with General Jackson. He too would have been killed if I had not recognized him and ordered my men to cease firing. I gave the order under full realization that the loss of General Jackson would be a devastating blow to the South. We want to win, but not in that fashion. I admire Jackson, even knowing he ordered me shot. If I had not ordered my men to cease fire, you would have been killed in the onslaught. An—and I could not think about killing you, Levi. You are Molly’s brother. I know she loves you, and I would not kill something she loves. I’m sincere when I tell you I love Molly. Surely you are convinced now that I love Molly and that I would make any sacrifice just to be—”

Levi sprang up off the rock where he was sitting, waving his hands back and forth in front of his face, signaling for Andy to quit speaking. “Stop! Stop, damn you!” he commanded. “Don’t ever speak to me of your love for my sister. Don’t ever talk of your sincerity. Do you think I am a fool? You slipped into her life like the slimy, filthy, lowdown snake that you are! You deceived her—you ruined her, you stole her horse, you deserted her and—and may God mete out justice to you as only He can. Let me inform you that I would kill you showing less mercy than I would for a rattlesnake as I crush his head. I would want you to die agonizing over the hurt you have brought to Molly.”

I rose slowly from my seated position, looked Levi squarely in the eye, and asked, “What other reason would I have for saving your life? Tell me what—”

“Hell, it’s only your word. There is no way you can convince me that you have done this. Yankees are not down here on a lifesaving mission. Hell no! You’re here to kill and destroy. I’ve heard your Yankee lies before. Do you think I will ever forget that map we found in your sock? Why should I believe anything you tell me? Why should I trust you?” shouted the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant!” I shouted. “You have admitted you came here to kill me and you would have killed me that night at Culpepper if General Lee hadn’t interfered. Can’t you understand that I am doing everything within my power to save you? I am doing this only because of my unlimited love for Molly and you’re my brother-in-law.”

“You’re my what?” hissed Levi. “Don’t ever speak to me of your love for my sister. Your hellish thirst for sex has not been satisfied, and you continue to lust for her beautiful body. May the god of heaven give me strength to kill you this day so you will never—no, never go back to her.”

Molly, with this outburst, he grabbed me by the throat, and with the strength of a demon, his fingers were closing off my breathing. I punched him in his midsection, breaking his grip on my throat. He countered with a left to my jaw that took me to my knees. There he planted his knee directly in my face, knocking me backward. Then he lunged on me as I lay on my back. In an instant we had clenched, and each of us was tearing at the other’s throat or any vulnerable part of the body. Being heavier and a little stronger, I finally pinned Levi’s arms under each of my knees, and my fingers fully gripped around his throat.

I was choking him and yelling at the same time, “Tell me, Levi! Tell me, where is Molly? Tell me! Tell me! Tell, or I will break your damn neck.”

The tremendous earnestness in his face showed courage, and I knew that he wasn’t going to reveal your whereabouts.

“Never, damn you. Never. Never—never,” he hissed through closed teeth.

For an instant I relaxed, allowing him to free his right hand. With a powerful blow, he struck me full in the face. I tasted blood and tightened my grip on his throat and began yelling again, “Where is Molly? Is she in Richmond? Have you been taking care of her? Is she safe? Tell me, you damn hardheaded Rebel, or I’ll choke your damn tongue out until it is only good for ant food.”

Molly, I was a savage, when suddenly I came to my senses and realized I was killing him. I relaxed my hold, and Levi freed his other arm. Locking his hands together, he swung from the ground upward, catching me across the bridge of my nose, sending me backward. We clenched again before I could regain my feet. The force knocked me backward, winding me as I fell across a flat large stone. He quickly lunged on top of me. As I lay underneath, he drew a knife from his belt and raised it for the fatal blow. With superhuman strength I hurled him upward and away from me in such a way that he lost the weapon.

We were on our feet again, clenched and fighting with all the fury and strength left in either of us. He placed his thumbs in my eyes and began forcing them into my eye sockets. We stumbled, crashed backward, and rolled down the steep embankment into the ditch that paralleled the highway. We hit the bottom of the ditch with terrific force. Instantly he released his hold on me. I regained my feet. Looking downward, I saw his limp body lying motionless. Instantly I saw there was blood spurting from a cut in his forehead between his ear and right eye.

I knelt beside him, wiped the blood away, and I knew by the depression that his skull was fractured. My first thoughts were that I killed your brother. I called to my men.

When they came across the road I blurted out, “I have killed my wife’s brother.”

One of the men examined his pulse and found it to be strong. They suggested we take him to our field hospital. “No,” I said. “We’ll take him to the Confederate lines and let them put him in one of their field hospitals.”

They resented the idea, but with me being in command, they accepted the order. We unbuttoned Levi’s coat and found an enlistment card in his pocket. It supplied all the needed information: home address, enlistment record, and instructions in case of accident or death. As I replaced the card, I discovered a letter in another pocket postmarked Richmond. My heart missed a beat and my eyes blurred when I thought it was from you. I did not read the letter then because of the haste to get Levi back to the Confederate line. I secured one of the men’s white handkerchiefs, tied it to a stick, making a white flag of truce, dismissed the men, and rode forward toward the Confederate encampment, leading Levi’s horse, with him strapped across its back.

I was soon challenged by a young Confederate officer whom I convinced to take me to a field hospital. I delivered him to the attending surgeon and explained, “Lieutenant Campbell is a friend of mine. I picked him up some distance out the turnpike and felt I should bring him to his people rather than one of our stations. I would be obliged if there would be no pains spared to save his life. Here is the last money I have, sir. Take it, and if there are more expenses, I will gladly share in them to my last dollar.”

They removed Levi from his mount and placed him on a cot. The surgeon knelt beside the bed. A few moments later he arose to his feet, looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry, Captain. He is dead. We cannot return his body to Western Virginia as he requested on his card. We will send it to Richmond since that was his next request.”

The young Confederate officer escorted me back through the Confederate camp and beyond their line of encampment. I was so dazed and bewildered that I remained silent as the Rebel officer talked.

I arrived back at my tent before dark. I could not partake of the evening meal. I rolled and turned all night, trying to shut the day’s happenings from my mind. I was unable to do so because I fear that this untimely accident will stop you front loving me. I could keep saying I’m sorry, forgive me—but this awful tragedy I will never forget. Molly, I pray that this does not destroy our love for each other.

Early this morning by candlelight, I read the letter I removed from Levi’s pocket. I hoped it was from you. Instead, it was from your aunt in Richmond. Here, basically, is its content:

October 27, 1862

Richmond, Virginia

My dearest nephew

Molly left this morning for the Pines. She is so unhappy and despondent. She is grieving herself to death over that unscrupulous Yankee she married. I have a large bundle of letters from that scallywag. Of course, she does not know I have them. I have intercepted every one as you directed. For all she knows, he is dead. I wonder if keeping the letters from her is wise. She was nearly mad from grief when she left here. I want to do your will in this matter, but I believe we are making a grave mistake. She sure loves him, and a love like hers cannot be broken regardless of what you do. You are foolish to try it.

Oh, I wonder when this war will be over. Surely it cannot last much longer with Daddy Lee returning from South Carolina to join Jackson. You would have thought the North would have given up after the crushing defeat at Bull Run. It seems there are still some fools up there that continue to believe they can defeat the South just because wart-nosed Abe Lincoln says they can. One of these days soon, Stonewall and Robert, somewhere there in the Valley, will mop up the whole mob and end this war.

Levi, Molly worries about you. I hear her pray for you each day, and I pray for you. Do be careful. If anything should happen to you, with all her other worries, I believe she would lose her mind. She is not strong like she used to be, and I believe with her not knowing what has happened to that Yankee husband of hers is breaking her heart. I say once again, I think withholding his letters from her is a grave mistake. Grant me permission to forward his letter to her at the Pines.

Molly loves you, Levi, and you may be her only strength when this awful war is over. So for her sake, as well as your own, be careful.

Your aunt Minnie

Molly, I must have fallen asleep before I finished this letter because the bugler has just sounded mess call. I didn’t hear reveille. I suppose I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. This letter lay at my feet on the floor of my tent.

I can see that God has created another beautiful day. The sky in the east is intermingled in crimson, blue, and pinks touched with gray. It is an indescribable splendor of beauty. The leaves on the trees are cloaked in their richest green, stirring gently from a soft Southern breeze. The wildflowers on the hillsides are the hues of the rainbow and morning glory vines over the old rail fence in front of my tent. Once again, the birds are singing songs of joy and gladness. It is like the Garden of Eden, and it would be paradise if you were here and I were holding you in my arms. Oh! Molly, just to hold you close to me once again would be paradise. I know this will be some days afar, but one day it will be and we will be so happy.

It will be only minutes from now that guns will sound again and the battle will rage. There they are. The Rebels are attacking. Molly, my love is always for you. You are the most precious thing on this earth to me. I will be there when this war is over. I will write you soon, but I have to go. The cannon fire is now landing close to my tent.

Love forever,

Andy

A few minutes after Andy signed his letter, the two armies were gripped again in the last day of combat at Chancellorsville. Hooker became panic-stricken and ordered a general retreat across the Rappahannock. Lee was deterred from following up his advantage of news of the success of General Sedgewick, commanding the Union left. General Lee prepared to renew the battle on the fifth of May 1863, but the enemy was gone. After his disastrous encounter with Lee and Jackson at Chancellorsville, General Joseph Hooker resigned his command of the Army of the Potomac on June 28, 1863. In November of the same year, he redeemed himself by winning Battle of the Clouds on Lookout Mountain and continued his aggressiveness in serving with General Sherman in the Atlanta Campaign.

Before Andy’s letter reached Molly, her brother’s body was delivered to her. She buried him in the family graveyard out back and to the left, beyond the springhouse.

CHAPTER XXI

Two months later, the great struggle between the North and the South, testing whether a “government of the people, by the people, and for the people” could long endure, was reached in the terrific three days’ encounter at Gettysburg. Lee, on the offensive, attempted to carry the war into the North, and the army of ninety thousand veteran troops marched up the Valley of Virginia, crossing into Pennsylvania, drawing the Army of the Potomac after him.

At Frederick, Maryland, on the eve of the Battle of Gettysburg, General Meade succeeded General Hooker as commander of the Northern army, whose forces numbered in excess of 130,000 who wished to atone for the Chancellorsville rout. It was a sultry July day when General Meade’s advanced guard clashed with Lee’s columns.

Three days the struggle raged, but this time the North was fighting in defense of their own homes and on her own ground, and who will say that they did not fight better? To withstand and repulse such terrific and determined onslaughts as those made by General Pickett in his famous charge on Cemetery Hill, they must have fought with all the courage and patriotism a Yankee could muster.

Lee was disappointed at every turn. It was only at dreadful sacrifice that he could gain ground. Then he could not hold it. He thought his men fought with even more zeal and courage than they did at Chancellorsville. He was better prepared, better equipped, and the chance for a decisive victory never seemed brighter. It was not until the last great effort, on the memorable third day, when Pickett’s men gallantly swept across this open field to Cemetery Hill that the charge failed as did hope. Lee had never experienced this before. “Something is wrong,” he was heard to say, as he shook his head and turned away.

Yes, surely something was wrong. He had lost his right arm—Stonewall Jackson.

He knew on the afternoon of the third day that pursuing the battle further was futile. He ordered a retreat, and the grand army of the South that had gone forth to crush the North on her own grounds, dazed, staggered, and bleeding, retreated into the Valley of Virginia, from whence it had come. Depressed, disheartened, and defeated, they skillfully withdrew to a strong position along the Rapidan in Virginia. There he penned Molly another letter.

November 1863

Rapidan, Virginia

My dear child:

It has been long, hard days and months since the loss of General Jackson, and I know your grief for Levi must be great. But I suffer grief for each of my men, but your family and mine are different since our ancestry extends back to Robert Bruce, the king of Scots. We are kin, Molly, and I suffer with you in your grief for Levi.

Something has been on my mind since the day we withdrew from Seminary Ridge. As we were riding away from the raging battle, my attention was drawn to a Union cavalry officer in a captain’s uniform who lay wounded off to one side.

He beckoned by calling, “General Lee, General Lee.” As he struggled to his feet, he called, “Come this way—come this way—I’ve something to say to you.”

I turned and rode over to where he stood, unsteadily, as he called again, “General Lee, I—I—I’m Captain Andy Yates. You know me. I’m Molly Campbell’s husband. You know, Molly Campbell, from Gauley Mountain. Tell her, tell her for me—somehow get word to her—that I’m all right. That I’ll be coming home soon.”

I dismounted and inquired as to where he was wounded. He showed me the top of his head where the hair was discolored by blood.

“A piece of shell hit me. I guess it knocked me out for a while. I’m all right now. I’m Andy—don’t you recognize me? Over there, under that tree is Black Demon, waiting for me. They won’t deliver my letters to her. She thinks I’ve deserted her. Can’t you get word that I’m all right?” he requested.

I assured him that I would do my best, and he ran to me, throwing his arms around me. He asked, “Are you retreating, General?”

I assured him we were withdrawing and for him to be careful and return to his men.

Then he asked, “You missed General Jackson today?”

I had to be truthful and answered yes.

He answered, “If he had been here today, you would be riding the other way.”

He did not know how true it was. He didn’t know that General Longstreet, who was second in command, taking Thomas’s place, disapproved of my plan for battle. Sulking, he failed to support and cooperate with me, like Jackson would have done.

Over and over in my mind I question if I was too prone to take the offensive and march into the North’s territory. We crushed them at Chancellorsville, and the odds were about the same. Have I lost the war for the South by ordering thousands of men into battle against terrible odds because of my overconfidence? Lord forbid.

Molly, you may have had word from Andy by the time this letter reaches you. I assure you his wound was not serious. Forgive me for not writing you sooner, but preparing for the defense of the valley has been quite an undertaking without Tom.

Your “uncle,”

Robert

Some weeks later, Rachel carried General Lee’s letter into Molly’s bedroom, where she lay rigidly in bed, her eyes wide and staring, and every bone and muscle in her grief-ridden body ached. A few days after she laid her brother to rest in the small family cemetery, she received Andy’s letter relating how Levi died.

After reading the contents, Molly’s depression deepened until she began spending hour after hour in her bedroom, sobbing. Hours grew from mealtime to mealtime and then into days. Molly had not departed her bedroom for nearly a month before the letter from General Lee arrived. Rachel cooked and carried her meals to her room each day. At first she ate most of what was placed before her. As the days went by she consumed less and less, until now it was down to a bite or two at each meal and then only when Rachel pleaded, coaxed, and hand-fed her.

The only thing she neglected more than her meals was her daughter, Pearl. It was as if she did not exist. Rachel had become Pearl’s black Nanny and cared for her with the same love and affection that she gave her mother only a few years before.

Molly’s feeble hands opened the letter. With arms shaking and bent upward, she held the paper in front of her and slowly read the message. Her weakened fingers let go; the pages dangled from one hand and then floated down onto her breast.

Rachel bent downward to retrieve them when Molly took her thin, seamed face in her bony hands and weakly pulled her forward and in a weak, low voice murmured, “Nanny—Rachel—take good care of Pearl for me. Take her. Make her yours, but never, never let Andy know. Never let him know she is his—promise me. Promise me.”

Tears began to flow down Rachel’s long, slim cheeks. Sobbing, she answered, “Molly! Molly! I’ll promise you, child. I’ll promise, missy, that you can cut my heart out, I’ll never tell.”

Somewhere within, Molly gained strength, smiled, and then she knew nothing.

It was near dusk when Rubin rode into our place, shouting hysterically. After calming him down, he explained that Molly had died. He soon saddled my horse. It was dark when we rode out the Clifty Road to the Pines. I was the only one that could go. Your great-granddad was with the Confederate troops somewhere in Tennessee.

The following morning, Rubin hitched up the horses to the wagon for a trip to Fayetteville. There he notified the undertaker of Molly’s death. He obtained a mahogany-stained pine casket and returned. Late in the afternoon he dug a grave by Levi, and we laid Molly to rest.

It was in April 1865, almost two years after Molly’s death, that General Lee wrote her another letter. Rachel delivered the letter to me along with a stack of Andy’s letters, tied together with brown twine, and those written by General Lee. I kept them for several years and gave them to Pearl on her sixteenth birthday.

In those two years terrible battles had been fought, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, the Wilderness, Petersburg, stirring and terrible scenes had been wasted across the face of our nation. General Grant had been placed in command of all the Yankee armies, and he promised Lincoln that he would “hammer” the Confederacy unceasingly until he hammered the life out of her. He fulfilled his promise. General Sherman had marched south with his army, where he sacked and burned Atlanta. From Atlanta he marched to the sea, laying waste the country for miles around. General Phil Sheridan devastated the Valley of Virginia, the bread basket of the Confederacy, with such malicious destruction that in one of his reports to Grant, he is supposed to have written, “A crow crossing the Valley of Virginia will have to carry its own rations.”

The South had been hemmed in by land and by sea. Although her resources were drained, she was game to the end. But the end had come, and Lee, with his little army, ragged and starving, had surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. A week previous, Lee staved off final defeat by withdrawing during the night from Petersburg and Richmond, retreating westward, hoping to save the cities. At the same time, President Davis and other members of the Confederate government deserted the capitol, which was left to the mercy of plundering blacks and drunken whites. Much destruction was wrought until Phil Sheridan dispatched a Colonel Yates[5] with a detachment of cavalry to quell the plundering. He held the plunderers in check until General Wetzel arrived with his division to occupy the city.

Two days after his surrender at Appomattox, General Lee bade farewell to his troops. Then, mounting his faithful horse, Traveler, he rode away, down the Valley of Humiliation. He was going home now—home to his wife and children at the fallen Confederate capitol, Richmond. His head was bowed, his lips closed, and teardrops dampened his cheeks as he rode away with many following in pitying silence.

When he rode across the bridge over the James River into Richmond, he found the whole city waiting to receive him. Throngs of citizens and troops gathered about him and rent the air with deafening cheers. As he rode through the city streets toward his home, the crowds thickened and the cheers grew louder. “It was the greeting of a conqueror rather than that of the conquered,” one newspaper account reported, in describing his return home. “This man, wonderful even in adversity, with hat removed, head bowed, passed through the streets of the fallen citadel of the once proud Confederacy, to his home, which for several days had been vigilantly guarded and protected by Federal troops. When he reached his door and was about to escape into the house, a Federal officer burst through the crowd and seized his arm. The officer wore a stubble beard of a month’s growth or more. His uniform was wrinkled and bespattered with mud. From head to foot he was unkempt, and neglect was personified. In his eyes was an expression of wild delirium as he called in a strained and excited tone to the great warrior, “General Lee! General Lee!” And then he was overheard to say, “Molly’s aunt has been killed by plunderers and her house has been burned.”

General Lee at once recognized the officer, embraced him, then they whispered for a few minutes before the general said, “Wait here.” As he turned to enter the house, he looked at the Union colonel, saying, “Thank God this war is over!” Entering, he closed the door after him as if to shut out the whole tragic past.

In a short time a member of the general’s staff appeared. “Colonel Yates,” he called, for he did not, at first, see the man in the great crowd. “General Lee directs me to give you this letter to deliver to your wife, and may you have a speedy journey westward.”

“Thank the general for me,” he managed to say. “And may God bless him.” He saluted, turned, mounted a big black horse, and rode away.

CHAPTER XXII

He came back—yes, that damn Yank came back. Can’t you just feel the gladness in his heart as he rode back over the old trail whence he had come in the fall of ’61? Back across the valley; over the turnpike to White Sulphur Springs, through the war-battered old town of Lewisburg; up over Big Sewell, where Lee had camped; down past the old Stone House; by Spy Rock; down Gauley to the Tyree Tavern, which was deserted then; and finally, the last mile down the lane to the Pines.

For companionship on the journey home, you can close your eyes and imagine a conversation with Black Demon, the high-spirited, intelligent steed that carried him safely through the war. Can’t you hear him saying, as he patted the animal’s sleek neck, “Thank God the war is over. We’re going home to Molly—won’t she be glad to see us? What a surprise when we blow in unannounced—you and me, boy. Well, you and I—we’re the two things she loves most”?

Can’t you see the horse prick up his ears and turn his head from side to side, as if he were answering? As they turned down the lane, he would sense that he was home and his heart would pound as hard as his rider’s.

Rubin was in the barn out back when the rider dismounted, dropped the reins, hurried up the wood walk, bounded out to the porch, and rapped on the closed door. Again and again he knocked. He tried the latch—it was locked. He came around to the front; the same greeted him—no answer. He walked around the house, peeking into the windows. Things were in place as he remembered. Then he sat down on the back porch.

Rubin knew it was Black Demon sipping from the old moss-covered trough, but he stayed hidden, remembering Rachel’s promise to Molly. At once Black Demon raised his head, looked toward the barn, and whinnied. Had he recognized Rubin, or was he wondering where Molly was? Rubin saw Andy look his way. He froze when he started toward the barn but changed directions and walked across the ravine by the springhouse and down to the family cemetery.

There he saw two new graves marked with one stone. He eased forward to read,

“Captain Levi Campbell

Killed at the Battle of

Chancellorsville.”

He turned away and gazed back toward the barn, where Rubin was watching through a crack between the siding. He saw the tall, strong Yankee turn back toward the marker and bound to the other side to read its inscription. He saw Andy stagger, fall to his knees, grasping the stone in each hand. He turned white. Sobbing, he read out loud the delicate lettering chiseled into the marker,

“Molly Campbell

Born June 1845

Died January 1864

A martyr to country and loved ones.”

Rubin heard him gasp and cry out loud, “Oh God—what trick has fate played on me now? Molly, I promised I’d come back to you. I’ve kept my promise—I’m here. Why didn’t you wait? Oh God—you can’t come back. Fate has taken you away—someday, someday—by God’s grace, I’ll come to you.”

Andy staggered to his feet, removed something from his pocket, dropped it on Molly’s grave; dazed and blinded with tears, he walked back across the ravine, by the barn, where Rubin watched and could hear his hysterical sobbing, on his way to Black Demon. He threw his arms around his neck, saying, “Molly’s not here—she won’t be with us.”

He gathered the reins in his hand, mounted, and rode back up the lane, head bowed and tears flowing.

Halfway up the lane, he met a wagon driving toward the cabin. A black woman occupied the seat with a little child—a white child. She spoke to the Yankee soldier, but Andy, seemingly, unconscious even to their presence, gazed straight ahead and rode hastily on.

Rachel, after the soldier passed, to herself said, “It’s Black Demon.” Bringing the horses to a stop, she stood up, turned around shouting, “It’s Black Demon! Oh God! It’s Black Demon—Ah tell yo’, it’s Black Demon.”

It was too late. The retreating horse and rider were out of sight. The rest of the way down the lane, she mumbled to Pearl, “Yo’ can’t fool Black Nanny on dat horse. No, sah! Recon’ ah’d know ’im if ah’d see ’im—an’—an’ that black-whiskered good-for-nothing Yankee’s done stole ’im. Dat’s exactly what he’s done. But Master Lee’ll get ’im and hang dat black ablish’nists, for dis heah war am ober.”

Rubin couldn’t wait to tell Rachel what had happened. When he saw her coming down the lane, he ran to her, shouting. Rachel was shouting back, “Yo’ black nigger, why yo’ no git Black Demon an’ stop dat Yank?”

A verbal battle ensued, and because of Rubin’s fear, Andy, he was allowed to ride away without knowing that white child in the wagon was his.

Some days later, Rachel brought me the letter that Andy dropped on Molly’s grave. It was from General Lee.

April 11, 1865Richmond, Virginia

My dear child:

Today you would have thought me a hero when I rode into Richmond. The crowds cheered and cheered the commander of a defeated army. There is no one more thankful than I that the war is over.

When I arrived home, my family was not allowed to meet me out front. The Union troops kept them inside for their protection. But when I dismounted, I heard a familiar voice, calling, “General Lee, General Lee, I’m Andy Yates. Could I speak to you?”

There he was, a colonel in the most unkempt and dirty uniform I have ever seen. He and a quadrant of men were guarding the homeplace and my family.

Molly, this letter is threefold. First, I wish to extend my sympathy to you in your aunt’s death. Colonel Yates, only a few moments ago, informed me she was killed by black plunderers. I’m totally sorry that something wasn’t done to protect the citizens of this city.

The second item I know is of great sadness to you. Your father and I were like brothers. You and Levi I thought of as my children. I feel pain in my heart for all the men of the South who sacrificed themselves for our cause. But somehow, the pain is greater when I think of Oran, your father, and your brother, Levi. I hope they can share in the history of this great war. You should also have a place in its history. I have been and will be forever grateful for the information and assistance you afforded me in the Sewell Mountain encampment.

Thirdly, Molly, I owe you an apology. I remember when you rode into my camp on Big Sewell in the fall of ’61 relating your and Andy’s plight. I also remember the fatherly advice I tried to give you. I know now I was wrong. This colonel—this Andy Yates—he loves you dearly. You are his every concern.

His thoughts are ever of you. I can see the admiration in his eyes when he speaks of you. You can be proud of this Yank, not because of his rank in the Union army, nor for his deeds during battle, but because of his enduring love. Child, he is far above the average husband. Cherish and love him forever.

Wherever my home is, I wish that you and Andy will bless me by your visits—please make them often.

He is waiting outside to be the special messenger to deliver this letter to you. May God richly bless you and Andy.

Until we meet,

Uncle Robert

It saddened me to read Lee’s letter because I only wished they could have had a life together, but the fate of war demolished a strong love of two lovely people.

Rachel and Rubin raised Pearl, provided her with everything possible within their means—a good education, a loving home, and she was theirs. No one ever had better hurt the child, or the wrath of Rachel and Rubin was fierce.

Pearl was in her late teens when Rachel gave birth to a little black boy, and that’s the Nigger they all refer to. The boy was nearing eight or nine years when Rachel died. Rubin had been killed a few years before by some drunken whites. Pearl gave Rachel the same promise that Rachel gave to Molly a few years before. Believe me, Pearl has fulfilled her promise, through great sacrifice of suspicion, mockery, and hate. But she has never faltered, even though the road has been hard.

She loves the Nigger as her own brother, and the nasty things said about her have never been true. Very few of her own relatives have anything to do with her. That is why your mother is so good to them, and Pearl can depend upon her friendship.

My great-grandmother’s story ended here about Pearl and the Nigger, but three years later, a different life was offered them.

CHAPTER XXIII

In the summer of 1933, my father and I were in front of the Lee’s Tree Tavern on the newly built Midland Trail (US 60) when a big black touring car bearing Illinois tags pulled up beside the gasoline tank and waited their turn to fill their gas tank. There was only one pump, and when Dad got gasoline, I liked to operate the lever that pumped the gas up into a large glass container on top. You always pumped only the gallons that you were purchasing into the large clear glass container that had the gallon markings numbered on the side.

The occupants in the car turned out to be a man, his wife, his daughter, and a big black man, dressed in a dark blue uniform, who did the driving. My father informed me he was the chauffeur. The man had in his hand a road map and a descriptive small pamphlet of West Virginia that gave a brief history of the Midland Trail. He studied the map a moment. Then referring to the pamphlet, he turned to my father and spoke.

“Mister, my map tells me that I am at or near the tree where General Lee camped in 1861. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir,” my dad answered. “It is that large oak standing up there on the hill,” Dad said, pointing as he spoke.

The man bent forward and addressed the woman in the auto. “That’s it, Mother. You remember Father is always telling us something about Lee’s tree, and how—”

“Oh, yes, yes, Daddy,” cried the teenage girl. “We must walk up to that tree, by all means. We must see it. I remember Grandfather told me about the tree and General Lee and the soldiers. Come on, everyone, we must go up to the tree.” She sprang out of the car, ran across the highway, and began to climb a steep bank toward the wood rail fence on top.

Her father called, “Becky, we can’t go up that way. Come back. We must find a better way.”

My father informed them that I would show way. We walked eastward, around a small curve in the road where some steps led up to a schoolhouse. We walked up the steps, turning at the top, and walked through the field to the big tree.

The father walked around under the tree, stopping looking upward, surveying the countryside with his eyes, then he stopped. “Here is about where General Lee’s tent stood. Can’t you just see him and his famous horse here in the shade of this tree?” he asked.

“I can, Daddy. I can,” said the daughter. “Isn’t it wonderful! We can stand where Grandfather must have met General Lee when he came here as a prisoner and was taken back with the Army to Virginia. Daddy, let’s not go back home just now. Let’s go to Culpepper and visit that old mansion and see the place where Granddaddy had such an exciting experience on that eventful night and the next day escaped on that little Confederate girl’s horse.”

“I wish we could, honey,” he answered. “But it is out of the question to think of covering all of Father’s trail in the war. I promised to bring you to the famous White Sulphur Springs resort, where we would rest a few days. Then, if the places were nearby where your grandfather met the beautiful mountain girl and where he met General Lee, we would stop. Now if we don’t hurry, we won’t see the mountain home of the girl or the old inn.”

“Shhh! We’d better let that subject rest, Mother,” the husband interrupted. “That, you remember, was always a delicate subject with my mother, and for some cause, Dad never would tell us the girl’s name or talk much about her—but when he spoke of her, it was always with tears in his eyes. Maybe we should go on and not try to locate the Pines.”

“He did talk about her once, Father,” interrupted the daughter. “Remember the time he was so ill and—and—delirious?”

“Yes, Becky,” admitted the father. “That’s true. He talked about many absurd things at the time he was ill.”

“Some very strange things, Jack,” replied his wife. “You know, he talked of a first wife—that I have always wondered about—the little mountain girl. The little wife of the mountain, he called her, and—and how she assisted him to escape at Culpepper. He called her name. Her name was Molly. Yes, Molly! Molly somebody. Remember Molly, Molly, Molly—yes, Molly Campbell of Gauley. That’s it, Jack.”

“Oh, hogwash, I tell you,” the man nearly shouted. “It was the mere wanderings of a delirious mind. Don’t you dare speak of her in the presence of any of these people. Just don’t mention it. It’s better that we don’t. I don’t know what it might lead to. I never believed it for one moment, and Father had no recollection of any of the stuff he talked about after he got well. He branded it as just a story after I confronted him with what he said when he was ill. Forget it.

“But, Daddy!” Becky blurted, nearly crying. “You promised.”

“Now look, you two, let me do the talking to these people here about Father’s war career, and I mean that neither of you say anything. That’s what I think best. Come on, let’s go,” demanded the man.

Upon returning to the auto, I called to my dad, saying, “These people are looking for where Molly Campbell lived and the old Tyree Inn.”

The man blushed and headed toward the car when my dad asked, “Are you interested in the Pines and the old Inn?”

“Why, er—er, yes, we are,” answered the man.

“We’re going from here to Ansted. Why don’t you just follow me?” my dad asked.

Everything agreed, we climbed into our autos and rolled away down the mountains through Lookout, over Spy Rock Hill, and then into the outskirts of Ansted and then onto the old turnpike, soon stopping in front of the old Tyree Inn.

The man stepped out of his car. Looking at the old inn he turned to my father and said, “I’d know that building if I’d see it floating in Lake Michigan. My father has described it so many times that it is as if I am looking at a picture. Could we go in and examine the interior?”

My father bade them wait until he spoke with the lady who at present occupied the old inn. She extended an invitation for all to go in.

When we walked onto the porch, the man cried out excitedly, “Look! Look, up there!” as he pointed to the inscription over the door. “See that? See what it says?” And he read out loud:

HEADQUARTERS

CHICAGO GRAY DRAGOONS

1861

“My father has related many times how he fashioned that blazon with only his pocketknife.”

They found the occupant of the old inn very kind and courteous, just like all mountain people. The lady showed them about the place, telling many interesting things—stories of the war, incidents that happened before and after the Gray Dragoon was there, and often in detail, corroborating things they had heard many times before. They spent an hour or more listening to the aged and interesting woman tell of her personal experiences in the area during the wartime days. She was ninety-three and a widow. Her husband had been killed in a railroad accident several years before. She had lived in the area all her life, and before we departed, the man whispered confidentially with her, but what they talked about, we did not know.

We heard her say “The place was called the Pines then, and it’s still there and still known by the same name. You’ll find Molly’s grave in the family cemetery. Her daughter, Pearl, lives there with her son. We used to refer to Pearl as little Molly, but she is very unsociable because of that son[6] of hers. They say the Gray Dragoon came back. Black Nanny saw him but did not recognize him at the time. She’s long since been dead, of course. But she did recognize Black Demon, Molly’s horse. Black Nanny said when he found that his wife had died, he was so heartbroken that he rode away without knowing anything about the little girl. He’s never been heard of since. That’s the story, mister, or as we’ve always known it here.”

“Did anyone try to find him and let him know he had a daughter?” asked the man.

“Oh yes. Every effort was made at that time to locate him, but they ran into a blank wall. There was no one in Chicago by the name of Jack Yates. It was learned later that he enlisted in the dragoons under an assumed name. Even the address on his enlistment papers was fictitious. The whole matter has been forgotten here years ago. Why do you ask, mister? Do you know a Jack Yates?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “The story is so intriguing that it is interesting. I assure you, it’s only a passing interest.”

He laughed lightly, turned, walked out onto the porch, looked up at the blazon, and I heard him, under his breath, exclaim to himself, “My God—it is true—God, take me away from this place as far as possible, today.”

He was joined by the others. He and the elderly lady stood looking up at the plaque. They talked as we moved toward the old turnpike. I saw him remove from his wallet a ten-dollar bill and hand it to her. She pulled a long wooden bench across the door on which he stood and removed the blazon.

He lapsed into silence and for a moment was lost in his own thoughts as he held the plaque. He smiled lightly, and after shaking her hand heartily, he bid adieu, turned, and joined the others, who had already returned to the car.

Before entering his auto, he turned to my father, put out his hand, and said, “All this time I have not introduced myself. My name is Jack Wainwright.[7] My father was Jack Yates Wainwright, one of the Gray Dragoons that camped here in ’61.”

My father introduced himself, gave his name, and then introduced me. Then we were introduced to the man’s wife, daughter, and the chauffeur, George. Then Mr. Wainwright said, “You have been so kind and taken so much of your time, I would like to pay you.”

My father refused.

By this time, George started the car and was preparing to leave when Becky, their daughter, put up quite an argument and insisted on seeing the Pines.

Once again my dad agreed to show them where Pearl lived. We turned around and drove several hundred feet, turning into the lane that led to Molly’s home.

We soon stopped in front of the two large hemlocks, got out, and were greeted by Pearl as we walked upon the porch. After introductions, everyone talked at once.

Becky asked to see the springhouse. A young man from Gauley Bridge was visiting there that afternoon, offered to show her around the old place. The others walked slowly through the house, exiting through the back door. Then out the wood walk, by the barn, and started their walk toward the spring. As we approached the little springhouse, Mr. Wainwright slipped, falling against a tree. There was some concern that he had injured his ribs. He assured everyone that he was not hurt.

“It is dangerous around here,” Pearl said. “Black Nanny told me long ago, before the springhouse was built that my mother, a mere girl of fourteen, came here to dip a bucket of water only to be challenged by a large black bear. She promptly set her pail down, retreated back to the house, where she obtained my grandfather’s rifle, returned, and killed him. A few years later, she killed another one up on the old turnpike, with a pistol, while some Yankee watched.”

We were at the springhouse when Mrs. Wainwright spoke, “I know Jack would love a drink of that cool water and I would too.”

Pearl picked up a dipper that hung on the side of the springhouse, dipped it full from whence the water flowed out of the ground, handed it to Mrs. Wainwright.

Gasping, she exclaimed, “Oh! This is really cold. It’s like ice.”

All took turns sipping from the one and only long-handled dipper before Mr. Wainwright asked, “Can we see the family cemetery?”

We crossed the ravine walked up to the little family burying ground. Silently we stood looking and reading the headstones. Pearl broke the silence by saying, “My mother married one of the Gray Dragoons while they camped at the old Tyree Inn. His name was Jack Yates. He was also from Chicago. Do you know any Yates in Chicago, Mr. Wainwright?”

“Yates? Yates? Yates?” he answered questioningly. “No—no—no. I do not believe I ever knew anyone with that name.”

“I have his picture—also hers. Would you care to see them?” asked Pearl.

“By all means. I surely would. It would be a pleasure,” he answered.

“I have them here in my apron pocket. I took them this morning to Gauley Bridge to show an old Civil War veteran—a friend of the family.” She fumbled in her pockets and produced three old tintypes.

“Those are rare old treasures,” he remarked, as she held them up before him.

“They were made on their wedding day, only a few days before they left with General Lee’s army as it retreated to the Valley of Virginia,” explained Pearl.

“Here they are together. He’s in a gray suit and Mother in a beautiful white dress. And this one is of her. She was only nineteen then.”

“Oh! How beautiful!” Mr. Wainwright interrupted. “Look at that wonderful face! You can see the courage, devotion—determination in that beautiful face.”

“This one is of my father taken in his Yankee uniform that he wore when he came here with the Gray Dragoons,” she explained, as she handed him the picture.

He gasped in astonishment, and his face grew ghostly white when his eyes fell on the picture.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Wainwright?” asked Pearl. “Are you faint?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Just a slight dizziness—maybe from the fall. I’m all right—now.” Then he turned and looked out over the beautiful mountains to the west.

The others had started walking back toward the house. I lingered off to one side, picking flowers, waiting to be the last to depart. My heart leaped up in my throat, and I froze when I heard a low, soft voice, sobbing and muttering. Turning, I saw Mr. Wainwright standing there as if rooted there, gazing at the tombstones, sobbing until his sides moved in and out. I could hear him saying, “And this is the little mountain wife that Daddy has told me about. This is where he found her when he came back. Oh God! And—and her brother—that, that he killed. Oh, how he cried when he told me—what a tragedy! What a tragedy!”

Shaking, he pulled from his pocket a handkerchief, dried his eyes, and then started walking slowly back to the house.

Upon reaching the porch, he placed his arms around Pearl and hugged her tightly. Stuttering, he said, “I-I’m sorry, but we must be going. Oh, how I’ve loved this day.”

“I have beds enough,” Pearl answered. “I could show you the town—nothing like Chicago—show you some of the old Civil War places. Tell you about my mother, grandfather, and uncle.”

“No, no—I’m sorry, but we must get to Charleston before nightfall,” he replied. “I could spend a month in such peaceful surroundings, but time won’t permit.”

Good-byes were said and we departed. Halfway up the lane, the big car stopped. Mr. Wainwright got out and came back to Dad’s car. He looked at us and said, “My God, Mr. Keener, I can’t leave—this way. That woman back there—know who she is? My sister—my own blood sister. And—and—she doesn’t know. Oh, how I wanted to tell her when I hugged her. What will I do? What will—I—do?” Sobbing hysterically, with tears dropping from his cheeks, he leaned in the car window to prevent the others from knowing his emotions.

Bringing his emotions under control, he spoke. “I can’t tell her until I tell Daddy first. He is now nearing ninety-five. He is very alert of mind and knows everything that goes on. Even confined to a wheelchair, he visits his mercantile house and bank one day a week. Mother has been dead now nearly twenty years. Can you understand my position?”

My father swore silence until he or Pearl heard from him.

CHAPTER XXIV

It was later in the summer when Pearl and the Nigger came to our home. She was very excited about a letter she had received, typewritten, on Chicago Banking[8] and Trust stationary. I remember my father reading silently, and then he read it to my mother.

861 Michigan Avenue

Chicago, Illinois,

July 27, 1933

Dear Daughter:

Maybe I should not say daughter because I am sure that you have been taught that your father has long been dead. I have only recently found that I have a daughter.

I do not know how to start or begin to compose this letter. So many years have gone by. My thoughts of Molly have been many. Each thought turned to grief until finally the grief faded away, but the thoughts of your mother still linger in an old man’s mind.

I do not know what to say, but let an old man write what he feels. First, I should say I am sorry. May God forgive me. I did not know I had a daughter, until a week or two ago, when Jeff, my son, told me of his visit to West Virginia. He made the trip up the old trail, stopping at Lee’s Tree—Tyree Tavern and the Pines.

My thoughts carry me back to the day I returned only to find my beautiful mountain wife buried there in the family cemetery. My grief was so great that I wanted to get as far away from there I could.

I recall how I rode up the lane with tear-blinded eyes, never looking back. I did not think that the two black slaves that adored Molly would be there. I just didn’t think. I was beyond Charleston before Black Demon and I stopped because we were both exhausted.

I do not know how to make up all these years, but you would bring joy to an old man’s heart to let him try.

Instead of my rambling on this way, by letter, I prefer to do it where I can look into your face and you can see into mine. Here we can see the honesty and share our feelings.

Enclosed with this letter, you will find four round-trip passes on the Chesapeake and Ohio railroad from Cotton Hill, West Virginia, to Chicago, Illinois. This is my invitation for you to visit me here at my home since I am unable to travel. After the visit, if you choose to return, you may do so. My home is yours, and I welcome you to come and stay forever.

I have provided four tickets because I understand you have a son. Bring him with you. He is welcome, and one of the tickets is for his passage. If you feel uncomfortable traveling to this large city alone, then use the other two, maybe a man and his wife, for whom you would trust. By all means, I wish you here as soon as you can arrange.

Your loving father,

Jack {Andy} Yates Wainwright

Pearl and the black man spent the night. Next morning, my father agreed to accompany them to Chicago. My mother was unable to make the trip because of four small children. So Dad agreed that I could go with him. I remember how happy I was.

Two days later the four of us boarded a train at Cotton Hill, West Virginia, changed in Cincinnati, Ohio, late that evening, arriving in Chicago early the next morning. We checked into a hotel, where Dad and I freshened up and had breakfast. Leaving Pearl and the Nigger, we set out to find the bank on Michigan Avenue. It was well-known and was easy to locate.

Soon we stepped through polished-brass-framed glass doors into a spacious lobby all finished in decorative Italian marble. There were massive marble columns on either side of a bronze statue of a Union officer astride a large steed. Cut into the base was an inscription, which my father read, “Black Demon and Jack.” Behind the columns and statue, we saw a score or more bronze cages wherein cashiers busily waited on numerous customers of the bank. Over a desk that stood beside a nearby wall hung a calendar that flaunted an advertisement of the bank.

“Wh-e-e-e-w!” my father whistled, reading the print on the calendar. “Five million capital stock, resources, thirty-two million.”

It was a modestly dressed, clean-cut tall young man who confronted us and asked, “May I be of service?”

Yes was my father’s reply. “Mr. Jeff Wainwright, please.”

“Er—do—you have an appointment?” the clerk stuttered.

“Well, no, sir, but” was all my father could say before the clerk interrupted.

“Sir, if you have not made a previous appointment, I fear it will be impossible to see Mr. Wainwright this morning. He is a very busy man, you understand, and I’m quite sure he’s booked up until noon, anyway.”

“It’s important, sir,” my father insisted. “I wonder if you will ask if I may have a few minutes with him sometime before noon?”

Picking up a pen and paper from the desk, my father wrote and then handed the note to the clerk. “Here, take this to him.”

“You know Mr. Wainwright, Mr. Keener?” inquired the clerk, after glancing at the paper.

“I have met him, sir” was my father’s reply.

The clerk paused, looked again at the paper, then turning, walked through a low gate at the rear of the railed-in bronze cages into a vestibule that attached to a suite of offices. He was gone several minutes. Returning, he announced, “Mr. Wainwright will see you in a few minutes, Mr. Keener. Come inside and be seated, sir.”

He opened the gate. We stepped inside the polished-brass rail. He motioned for us to be seated, and we dropped into highly polished mahogany office chairs.

“This is quite a surprise, Mr. Keener, I assure you,” greeted the banker, who soon extended his hand in welcome. “When did you arrive in Chicago?”

“Early this morning,” Father answered.

The banker’s handshake was not friendly, and I detected a glint of suspicion in his steel gray eyes.

“Have a chair, sir, and tell me what brought you to our fair city.”

As we were seated, Mr. Wainwright persisted in his cold, businesslike manner. “What can I do for you, Mr. Keener?”

My father, looking at him from across the room into his cold gray eyes, replied, “I have brought Pearl to see her father.”

“To see her father?” he asked in a raised voice. “That’s correct,” answered my father.

“Well—well—well.” He paused, then after a time, continued, “Who is her father?”

My father was on his feet instantly, hands on top of the desk, jaw set and leaning forward. He thundered, “You know damn well who her father is. You told me back in the lane at the Pines that her father is your father. Are you a hypocrite? Don’t carry this lie with you any longer.”

The banker opened his desk drawer, snatched a cigar from a box, lit it, and puffed viciously for a few seconds.

“Sit down! Sit down!” he commanded. “I understand. I understand.”

“You understand what?” asked my father, as he seated himself back into the chair.

“In a moment of emotional weakness, I became confused and thought her my sister. But I assure you, it was untrue,” blurted the banker. As he removed a checkbook from his desk drawer, he continued in a cold, nervous voice, “I’ve halfway been expecting you ever since the day there on Gauley Mountain. How much do you want to forget my mistake? Say, ten thousand?”

“Forget—forget—damn you, there isn’t enough money in your bank to bribe me, sir!” Losing his temper, my father jumped to his feet, shouting, “I’m not here to take one damn cent from you or yours, but only to ask that you treat your sister as you like and surely expect her to treat you. You now refuse to recognize her as your sister, and you were too selfish to tell her when you saw her in her home a few weeks ago. Definitely and without question she is your sister. She did not learn your identity or that her father still lives until a week ago, and I did not tell her. The letter, when it came, was like a dream to Pearl. It is only natural that she should desire to see him. That desire has become a consuming passion. I cannot and I will not deny her the privilege to see him even if I have to take the letter to your police.”

“Is—is—that all she desires? Merely Father?” Mr. Wainwright blurted.

“You have made a mean, dirty insinuation, Mr. Wainwright. Let me give you a warning. When you insult a mountaineer, you are treading on dangerous ground,” my father warned, as he leaned across the desk. “We are poor but we are not paupers, nor are we beggars, nor are we blackmail artists. Sir, you had better retract your damn defaming words.”

The banker slid down in his chair, and I am sure he was frightened, as he humbly said, “I apologize, rash of me to assume blackmail, but you have to look at this thing from my point of view. Father is old and in bad health. He could not withstand the shock of seeing her. I know it would kill him. Don’t you see? I’m protecting my old father, and I feel it unwise to take such a chance.

“I do not see it that way,” Father replied. “Mr. Jack Yates Wainwright wrote Pearl a letter on this, his bank’s stationary, requesting that she come to see him. It’s unfair to him and to her to keep them apart. I do not believe he would have it so at any price. To meet her and know her will be a joy in his last days. When he meets her and recognizes the fact that she is his own, it will be the happiest moment of their lives. Let us not deprive or disappoint your father by keeping him from meeting her, as he has requested.”

The banker was silent, but his nervousness was evident as his fingertips drummed on the desk top. He then got up and paced back and forth across the room behind his desk. Finally, he paused, turned, and confronted my father with another offer. “Would fifty thousand dollars be any inducement for you and Pearl to go back home and forget this thing forever?” he asked.

My father froze for a moment then started around the desk after Mr. Wainwright, saying, “Why, you damn son of a bitch. I warned you.”

Holding up his hands, the banker hastily replied, “I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to test you with one more offer. Mr. Keener, you are an honest man. Now, calm yourself and listen to what I would like to suggest. We will meet here at four o’clock today. I will brief Father and prepare him for our meeting. Yes—yes—I know we close at three, and what if I don’t show? Our cashiers have to balance the day’s business, which makes it later when they leave. Don’t fear, we will be here, and I insist that you be our dinner guests tonight.”

It was noon when we returned to the hotel. Pearl was up, refreshed, and seemingly without ill effects from the trip. The Nigger was still in his blue bibbed overalls, this being the only form of dress he had ever owned. We went to lunch, and Father told Pearl about his conference with Mr. Wainwright and about the fact that we were to meet him and perhaps her father at four o’clock at their bank. He carefully avoided the talk with her brother and the attitude her brother had assumed.

“By the way,” Father said, “we are invited to dinner tonight and are expected, according to your letter, to be their guests during our stay in Chicago. Pack your things, and we will check out. Reckin we mountaineers will not feel at home in the mansion of the elite. But it’s your father’s home, after all, so we’ll stay anyway.”

“I guess we would be expected to do that. But we’ll leave our things and wait for Father’s invitation. I just can’t wait to meet him. What a privilege it will be. What a dream come true,” replied Pearl.

Back in our room at the hotel, we rested and waited. Father assured me that Mr. Wainwright would not change his mind and he would meet us with his father at the appointed time.

To Pearl it must have seemed that four o’clock would never come. But it did, and we boarded a taxi that carried us to the bank.

We hadn’t traveled far when Pearl asked, “What if they don’t meet us at the bank?”

Our fears were ungrounded. Mr. Wainwright himself was standing at the curb in front of the bank to greet us as we came to a stop. The greeting he accorded his sister left us astounded. He must have experienced a change of heart since our meeting earlier. I thought, What a miracle transformed this man in such a short time.

Mr. Wainwright made no attempt to deny identity when Pearl emerged from the taxi. He flung his arms around her, and big tears ran down his cheeks.

“I’m so thrilled you have come to see your father,” he sobbed. “This is going to be one of the happiest moments of his life.”

Without undue delay, he ushered us into the building and into an office one door down the hall from where we had met him that morning. And there, in the office seldom used by him anymore, in that great financial institution he had built and directed for many years, on that late afternoon, sat a man later still in his rapidly ebbing life. Colonel Jack Yates Wainwright, once Jack (Andy) Yates, the Gray Dragoon, saw Pearl for the first time, his little Molly, who had been his inspiration through the awful years from Fredericksburg to Appomattox. He was ninety-four now, and she was seventy.

There on the beautiful, plush carpet, under the soft light, face-to-face, at last, the tall, slim, erect, snow-white haired but feeble man held her to his breast, and she hugged him even tighter. There was not a dry eye in the room. It had been sixty-seven years since the day he had passed her, unaware, in the lane at the Pines. In his aging mind he recalled hearing “Da-da!” but through tear-blinded eyes, he did not see her, for his grief-stricken heart was back at the grave—there with his Molly, who had given her all for two opposing ideals: him and the old South.

“Yes—yes,” he sobbed in a crackly and stifled voice. “I would have known you. Your face, your eyes, your voice—you, you are so much like her—your mother. I would have known you had I met you anywhere. Pearl—oh, God forgive me that I have neglected you, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know! I could never go back—no—no, I could never go back. I never dreamed Molly left me a child. There wasn’t anything left—for me—but to forget. I worked—in my grief I devoted myself only to my work, trying to forget. Finally, my grief left me and I married, but never have I forgotten Molly. You shall never leave me. No—no, child! You shall never go from me!”

She clung to him as a baby so instinctively clings to a loving and protecting parent in times of danger. There was not a doubt in any heart that the woman nestled in the old gray veteran’s embrace was other than his own—his true and legitimate daughter.

The old veteran sat down, leaned back in his chair, crossed his feet, and beckoned to Pearl to sit on a stool nearby. Then he spoke, “Jeff, give me the strong box from my safe. I wish to take it home with me tonight because locked inside are many memories that we shall share this evening after dinner.”

Jeff, handing the long, slim metal box to his father, said, “Father, George will be outside anytime now. Let us not keep him waiting.”

“By all means—by all means,” replied the white-headed old dragoon. “Pearl, you and your son must stay with me as long as you wish.”

“Our things are at the hotel,” Pearl responded.

“Don’t worry. Soon as George takes us home, he will pick up your belongings and settle with the proprietor. Mr. Keener, you must stay with us while here in Chicago. Give me your key, and I will have George take care of your luggage and bill also,” answered the old veteran, holding his hand out for the key.

The old colonel was beside himself with joy and gladness. There could be no doubt about his sincerity—a heart of pure gold. It reverberated in every word, and it was etched in his face.

George, the chauffeur, was waiting when we exited the bank. The Nigger and I rode up front with the big black man. Pearl rode in the middle, between the banker and her father, in the back. My father rode on the left in the back. At last, farther north on Michigan Avenue, we turned into a driveway that was the palatial Wainwright home.

In front and on either side of the mansion was a wide, beautifully kept lawn. Shrubbery was well arranged around the building and surrounding grounds. Large trees were scattered around the spacious area. Many flowerpots with beautiful blooming flowers lined the steps and porch.

The chauffeur brought the big car to a halt at the side entrance. Slightly to the rear and right of the entrance was a beautiful, symmetric garden surrounding a brick walkway leading to a fountain, and there directly located behind the fountain stood another statue of a Union officer astride a magnificent steed. Through the falling spray from the fountain, we could see the inscription on the base, “Black Demon and Jack, the truest friends.”

After dinner, in all the style and luxury of the vainly rich, we retired to the library room. There Mrs. Wainwright asked, “I would like to take you to the theater tonight. There is a wonderful comedy playing, and I know you would love it.”

The old veteran insisted that Pearl stay so they could become better acquainted.

My father excused us by saying, “I’m not one who likes plays.”

George had delivered our baggage. Mrs. Wainwright had Pearl’s placed in a room inside the mansion. The Nigger’s, Father’s, and my luggage was sent to a guesthouse out back. After George had placed our luggage according to her instructions, he drove Mrs. Wainwright, her husband, and her daughter to the theater.

The old colonel, Pearl, Father, and I were left in the library room. The Nigger went outside to sit in the beautiful little garden. Soon the old dragoon opened the long, slim strongbox and brought forth a time-worn and faded diary.

It told, in detail, about his first enlistment as Ensign Jack Yates and his attachment to the Chicago Gray Dragoons and their assignment in Western Virginia. It related the trouble he had with certain officers and men in the detachment. It told about the fight with his own comrades over Molly Campbell at a little mountain place called the Pines. There was the account on how he had killed one and how Molly killed another, saving his life; how Molly had nursed him back to health; his great love for her; his talk with Colonel Rutherford Hayes and the sympathetic view and Sergeant William McKinley. It told about their scheduled court-martial and how he was then taken by General Lee and the Rebel army to Culpepper. It related how he stole Jackson’s plans and his affair with General Jackson.

Here the old veteran paused. His eyes filled with tears. Turning, looking at Pearl, and sobbing, he said, “I can see her again on that never-to-be forgotten morning. There at Culpepper, when Jackson had sentenced me to be shot in an hour. How wonderful—how beautiful she was then. It was as if she knew it was our last moment together. I remember our walk through the garden, our whispering and the look on her face when she conceived the plan for me to escape. Ah—I hear her words ringing in my ears yet. It was as if she knew it was our last moment together. Yet her words did not imply such premonition. No angel from heaven could have surpassed her magnificence when she said, ‘I’ll manage the guard. Spring into the saddle and be off. This is the strength of my unconquerable love for you—a strength strong enough to save you. When the war is over, come for me. I’ll be in Richmond or at the Pines. Waiting, waiting.’” He paused, choking back his emotions. He continued, “I found her at the Pines waiting, but not knowing of my return. Pearl, to have the blood of such a heroine in your veins is worth more than all the gold in the world. You are Molly made over. A little older, a little larger, but you are her.”

Pearl, crying, rose from her chair, embraced the old man, and replied, “What about the blood of a hero like you?”

There was silence. It was several moments before he continued from the diary, which now told the facts pertaining to his second enlistment—this time under his name Jack Y. Wainwright. It listed his commission as a captain and assignment to the Army of the Potomac and many brief notations on his war experiences. Also recorded were the dates and brief contents of every letter to Molly—the detailed account of the death of Lieutenant Levi Campbell, his meeting with Lee on the battlefield, his being wounded, and his meeting in Richmond when Lee returned home. The last noted entry in the diary was his return to the Pines only to find his dearly beloved wife was dead and slept in peace in the little family cemetery across the ravine from the little mountain home at the Pines.

“We have talked about many things tonight, but we have an unspoken space of sixty-seven years to fill in. We will take the rest of our lives doing this, but this old man has to retire, or I will be ill tomorrow,” he said, excusing himself. He departed from the room.

CHAPTER XXV

After the old dragoon went to bed, we sat and discussed with Pearl what a blessing it had been for her to meet her father while we awaited the Wainwrights’ return from the theater. Dad excused himself, saying, “I’m going outside to have a smoke.”

Walking out onto the porch, he saw two people sitting on a bench, by the fountain, in the garden. He strolled over and found a white woman of considerable beauty talking with the Nigger. He made small talk with both while consuming his cigarette. Finishing his smoke, he returned to the house.

Entering into the hallway, he thought he heard footsteps and then the faint creak of a door followed by a dull thud and a human groan. Passing down the pitch-dark hall, he could see a faint streak of light, evidently the moonlight that flooded the old man’s room, shimmering through the door standing slightly ajar. Fearing the old colonel had gotten out of bed and fallen, my father silently and quickly stepped down the hall. He slowly opened the door, and there the moonbeams were pouring through the latticed window, revealing the form of a person bending over the body of the old dragoon, who lay prostrate on the bed.

He saw the person lift a bar upward to deliver a blow. Instantly, before the wielder could strike, my father was upon him. A desperate struggle followed. In the scuffle, my dad slipped, and the intruder swung the weapon, which caught Dad a glancing blow up and across the side of the head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Hearing the commotion, Pearl and I started for the room. Pearl turned on the hall light as the intruder started out of the bedroom door. He turned swiftly, retreated into the room, and departed out the window.

The Nigger, hearing the noise, looking up, saw the person exit the bedroom window. When he hit the ground, the black man hit him full in the face. The intruder bounced against the wall, staggered forward into the large black fist once more. The woman that the Nigger had been chatting with sailed on his back, scratching, clawing, biting and kicking, but the big black fist rendered her unconscious also.

By this time the old colonel was fully awake and called for the police.

By the time the two policemen arrived, Pearl and the Nigger had bound the man and woman securely. Father was sitting on the side of the old man’s bed, rubbing his head.

The old dragoon, after calling the police, summoned his doctor, who arrived soon after the officers. Looking Dad over, he advised, “He didn’t fare too badly from the fight. It appears as if it was a glancing blow that felled him. He’ll be all right—maybe a little headache.”

“You are fortunate to be able to feel any ache,” one of the policemen said, holding up a piece of pipe about eighteen inches long. “That’s what hit you, and you are fortunate it was only a glancing blow.”

By this time the Wainwrights had returned from the theater. Following them through the door was the police chief.

In a gruff voice he asked, “Where are the prisoners?”

They were escorted into the now brightly lighted hallway and were handcuffed together. The chief looked and looked at the prisoners. All at once he shouted, “Glory hallelujah! Do you know who this bird is? Look! Men, don’t you recognize him?”

Pausing, awaiting an answer, he then continued, “He’s exceedingly clever with makeup stuff. Hell’s fire you’ve searched all of Chicago for him.”

Still no one answered the chief.

Then once again, he asked, “Who is the number one man we have been looking for in all of Chicago?”

Waiting an answer that did not come, he stepped up close to the prisoners and, in a flash, ripped a false mustache from under the man’s nose. Then one at a time he pulled heavy black false eyebrows from above the man’s eyes.

“Well, I’ll be—I’ll be,” stuttered one of the officers. “It’s Waal, the slickest, meanest, hit man in Chicago. That explains this .38 Special found in his hip pocket and small Derringer that we removed from his forearm. And—and here’s something else we found on him.”

The policeman handed the chief a folded slip of paper. The chief took the note and read aloud:

Ma’am:

Instructions given me by your contact have been carried out to the letter. The master key your contact gave me worked perfectly. I tried it earlier today. I shall enter from the hall and get away through the window. I will leave one of the windows open. I’ll leave the weapon, key, and red bandanna in the old man’s room. The other master key given me, along with the old man’s will, you will find hidden in the mattress on the black man’s bed. The planted evidence ought to make an airtight case against him.

You can bring the balance of the money to church Sunday. I will be sitting on the back pew, left center aisle, as you enter. I will be wearing a dark brown suit, white panama hat, and white shoes. My mustache and hair will be gray. Don’t forget the balance is $5,000.

Waal

For several minutes after the chief quit reading, there was rapt silence. George, the chauffeur, breathed a sigh of relief. Jeff Wainwright turned a pale, ashen gray. It was almost unbelievable. He was pale as death and looked like he would faint at any moment.

The chief broke the silence, asking, “Where is the black man’s room?”

“Come, I’ll show you,” said Jeff, leading them to George’s room.

They searched the chauffeur’s room but did not find the evidence.

The chief then noticed there were two black men present. Pointing his finger at the Nigger, he inquired, “Where is his room?”

We then went to the other room. There the truth of the note was proven. In the mattress on the Nigger’s bed, the chief found the key, the red bandanna handkerchief, and the original copy of the old colonel’s will.

The old colonel, turning to Jeff, spoke, “For years I’ve tried to warn you about your wife. Her lust for wealth and power is an obsession.”

The next day was Saturday, and the old dragoon insisted on showing us the city.

We were preparing to depart when the police chief drove up. Smiling, he walked toward us as he spoke, “The prisoner was the person we thought him to be. His moll, Lulu, was also wanted on several charges.” Laying his hand on the Nigger’s shoulder, he continued, “I have good news for you. There was a twenty-five-hundred-dollar reward for Waal’s capture. I have brought the money, and I think you and Mr. Keener should split it between you.”

They agreed. Some papers had to be signed. My father signed his name, and the Nigger made his “X”. We then departed for our tour of the city. Downtown I was awestruck by the tall buildings. I came away with the impression that there was a statue of President Lincoln at every turn and on every corner.

In Lincoln Park, I found the Grant monument to be the most impressive. There sat General Grant, in full uniform, astride a bronze-green-streaked steed, holding a field glass in his right hand. His expression of critical inspection suggests that he is reviewing a movement of troops.

Another impressive landmark was the old water tower that survived the Chicago fire. The field museum was too much for this mountain boy to grasp. Our final visit of the day was Grant Park, where the old colonel told us the history of the beautiful Buckingham Memorial Fountain.

For years my memory of Chicago was statues of Lincoln and Grant, fountains, and awe-inspiring buildings.

My father voiced his plans to depart the city the next evening for home.

The next day the Wainwrights insisted that we attend church with them that Sunday morning. Being guests, we obliged.

It was a beautiful church building. As we entered, Jeff Wainwright said to my father, “Most of the interior furnishing and decorations are imported.”

The family occupied a pew together, and we sat beside them as their guests.

I overheard Jeff whisper to my dad, “We contribute a thousand dollars a month to this church, and other members are assessed according to their ability to pay. There is no one admitted who cannot pay two or three thousand a year, so you can see why our congregation is an exclusive one. That pipe organ cost a million dollars. Our orchestra and choir are paid musicians. Why, we pay our minister thirty-five thousand a year and provide his house and keep. Our preacher preaches to suit us. If he doesn’t, then we call another. Half-hour sermons are all we permit on Sunday mornings. That’s all we’ll stand for.”

The service was very boring. The congregation did not join in the singing; in fact, no one in the auditorium did anything but sit and listen. The sermon topic I do not remember, but I can close my eyes today and remember all the finery inside that cold, cold structure that belonged and was used by man but never dedicated or used for God, by a preacher who preached what he was told, not what God laid on his heart.

On our way from church, the old colonel smiled and declared, “I’m going to be on that train with you this evening, Mr. Keener.”

Jeff Wainwright exploded. He found a hundred excuses why the old dragoon should not go.

“Yes, I’m going,” snapped the old soldier. “There is nothing you can do or say that will prevent me from going—before I couldn’t go, but now I must go. I’ll help Pearl gather her things and return. Yes, with the black man. He will make a good night watchman at the bank. He and Pearl will reside in the guesthouse until or when we deem it necessary to find a more suitable place. And, Jeff, while you were out yesterday at the police station with your wife, our lawyer came to the house and I signed a codicil to my will. It will suffice until they write a new one. Pearl will share in my estate after I am gone. If I die there in West Virginia, I wish to be laid beside Molly to rest. If I make it back, then you know my wishes for burial.”

Good-byes were exchanged and tears were shed even as we boarded the train.

I have often wondered what happened to the old colonel, Pearl, the Nigger, after they returned to Chicago. There is no one living today that can give me the answers.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Mr. Keener is a native of West Virginia. The historical areas mentioned herein contained the schools, playgrounds, State and National Parks he enjoyed throughout his youth. He is the father of two daughters and one son. He and his wife now reside on the Gulf Coast in Biloxi, MS.

Copyright

Copyright © 1983, 2012 by William Ervin Keener.

Library of Congress Control Number:

2012911687

ISBN:

Hardcover 978-1-4771-3562-4

Softcover 978-1-4771-3561-7

Ebook 978-1-4771-3563-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

Orders@Xlibris.com

116449

Footnotes

1

The cabin and buildings were still standing in 1933 when I last visited. They were not white anymore. They had weathered and rotted. Rachel and Rubin’s cabin had collapsed on one end. The outbuildings were falling down. The cabin, with its twin fireplaces and chimneys, was still livable. The springhouse and watering trough were gone. They carried water from the spring, which was still flowing, abundant and cool.

2

Rutherford Birchard Hayes gained the rank of major general before the end of the war. Returning to Ohio, he became a congressman and from there he was elected the nineteenth president (1877-1881) in a fiercely disputed election that threatened the country with civil war.

3

William McKinley attained the rank of major before war’s end. Entered politics and served two terms as governor of Ohio. He was elected twenty-fifth president (1897-1901) and was assassinated in September 1901.

4

Southwest of Ansted, West Virginia, still stands the rock where hawks build their nests. It is a beautiful state park named Hawk’s Nest, built in the mid-1900s by the CCCs. At the foot of this stately large rock is a dam that my father helped build that crosses New River, backing water behind it and forming a large lake. On the northwest side of the dam begins a tunnel that is carved through three miles of solid rock, with water flowing through turning hydroelectric generators supplying electric power for the community of Alloy, West Virginia. The water rejoins the river bed approximately four miles from the beetling cliffs, where Colonel Chapman placed the cannons he used to bombard Gauley Bridge, West Virginia, during this period of history. The writer remembers seeing New River from Hawk’s Nest before the dam was built and as it is today. Even with the dam at its foot, it is still an awe-inspiring and breathtaking view for many a traveler.

5

Colonel Andy Yates was registered as one of Phil Sheridan’s staff, which substantiates the last two letters from General Lee to Molly. One she read. The other, she didn’t.

6

The neighborhood talk was that Pearl had an affair with a black man and the one referred to as the Nigger was her son. Because of this, she was an outcast in the community.

7

I remember the name as Wainwright, but it could very well be Weighbright or some similar name used, as I remember.

8

I am not sure that this was the name of the bank, but I am certain that the bank and his house were on Michigan Boulevard.

Content

William Ervin Keener
PEARL AND THE NIGGER

SPECIAL THANKS

DISCLAIMER

PREFACE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Copyright

Footnotes