[Concluding chapter one]
Sound returned to Stewart’s ears. It wasn’t the cough, rattle and roar of
battle, either. He awoke to the murmur
of water and the rustle of wind in the trees.
He also awoke to a pain so all-consuming that
not even screaming could dull it. He
screamed anyway.
"Drink this, son. Quickly." Something cold pressed against his lips;
after a second, Stewart recognized the mouth of a flask. He drank.
When Stewart woke again, the water- and
wind-sounds were muffled, as though he was hearing them from under a
blanket. But at least the pain was
bearable now. He opened his eyes, and
saw a huge tree spreading its leaves above him.
Rolling his head to one side, he saw buildings, and white-coated men
clustered around them. On the other
side, he saw a low brick building and, behind it, a long narrow bridge that
faded out at the edge of his blurred vision.
Harper’s Ferry, he realized. I'm down in Harper’s Ferry.
"What happened?" he asked. The words sounded funny, distant.
A man turned and, at an odd angle, began to
walk toward Stewart. Then Stewart felt
himself move, and he was sitting up, his back propped against a massive
tree-trunk. Things no longer looked
odd: Now he could see the Shenandoah
River to his left; behind him it met the Potomac, just below the railway bridge
and the armory over which he and his men had been fighting the Federals. A short distance away was a group of men in
the dark blue worn by officers in the Old Army—and the Federal force he and his
men had been fighting. One of them, a
hatchet-faced man whose frock-coat bore no badges of rank whatever, stared at
him with undisguised interest.
The man who’d lifted him straightened
up. "Can you hear me?" he
asked. He wore an officer’s coat, but,
like the Federal prisoner, he showed no badges of rank.
"It’s a bit fuzzy," Stewart
replied. "Where’s my company?"
"You’ve broken your leg," the man
said, answering a question Stewart hadn’t asked. "Rather badly, I’m afraid. I’ve set it, but it’s going to be a long time
before you can walk properly." A
pause, then: "I’m sorry; I don’t
know what’s happened to your men. I’ll
ask someone." The man—some senior
officer’s physician?—walked toward one of the buildings that faced the
Shenandoah.
Stewart looked at himself. He was filthy, and his magnificent uniform
was spattered with rust-colored blotches where it wasn’t torn or shredded. His left leg stretched out straight before
him, encased in a massive, heavily braced splint. The trouser leg had been shredded, and he
could see the skin, all swollen and purple-green. They’ll have to take me home in a
wagon, he thought. For some
reason that seemed funny.
A jingling alerted him to someone’s
approach. Looking up, he saw a group of
men walking toward him. For a moment,
his eyes refused to focus and the men remained a blur of white and pale
blue. The physician was the first to
resolve himself in Stewart’s gaze. Then
he recognized Colonel Jackson.
Instinctively he brought up his right hand in a salute. Jackson acknowledged with a curt nod,
distracted for some reason.
Stewart was returning his hand to his side
when he realized who the third man was.
A short, dark, beard now covered the firm chin he'd seen in photographs;
but the calm, piercing eyes were unmistakable.
He saluted again.
"Sir," he said.
Brigadier-General Robert E. Lee looked down
at him. "You’re a spirited young
man, Captain Stewart," he said.
"I’ve been told of your repulse of the Federal charge and your
somewhat impromptu advance. And you were
correct in your suggestion; when Colonel Jackson here brought the rest of your
regiment forward, the whole Federal army broke and ran. They’re undoubtedly back in Washington by
now. Save for our guests over
there," the general added, nodding toward the prisoners. “Your men captured a federal brigadier a few
minutes after you were hurt. I know him
from the Old Army; when I told General Grant that he’d been beaten by a company
under the command of a student, he looked as if he was going to be ill.”
"If more of our officers were like this
boy, I’d be in Washington myself."
Colonel Jackson’s voice was an angry growl whose meaning Stewart knew
all too well after six weeks of training.
"This is but one brigade," Lee
said. "Without the rest of the
army, we would like as not have gotten into trouble had we continued
pursuit. General Twiggs made the correct
decision, I think.” Lee smiled at
Jackson. “Don’t worry, Colonel. If need be, we will find ourselves in
Washington before long."
Lee reached down and took Stewart’s
hand. "Captain, you get yourself
healed up as quickly as you can. We're
going to need men of your caliber if we're to bring this unfortunate situation
to a rapid conclusion."
Then they were gone; Stewart's head swam when
he tried to follow their departure.
[End of chapter one of Dixie's Land]
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