“I know that you are frustrated, Charles.” Uncle James handed him a glass of brandy,
then poured another for himself. After
leaving the meeting they had retired to the rooms Uncle James used when he
visited Richmond. On the mantel, a small
clock chimed once. “But you can
contribute to your country in many ways beyond fighting her enemies on a
battlefield.”
“I could better contribute by serving with
the Texans,” Stewart said, “if I’m not to be allowed to serve the Confederacy
in the field. I’ll be wasting my time in
New Orleans.”
Uncle James shook his head. The older man was in his early fifties, but
still looked fit and trim. Save for the
gray hair at his temples, he could have been a man in his thirties. Unlike too many wealthy planters, he had not
allowed himself to soften through self-indulgence. He drank in moderation; he did not lay his
hands on the female slaves. He remained
devoted to his family and, if anything, he worked harder now than he had when
Stewart was a child.
"You shouldn’t think of it as a
waste," Uncle James said, getting to his feet. He took a careful sip from his brandy
glass. "You should be thinking of
how to turn this experience to your advantage.
Look at the long view, boy.
Armies are political creatures, almost as political as
legislatures. Do a good job in New
Orleans, no matter how distasteful you may find it from a personal point of
view, and there’s no telling how high you may rise."
Stewart looked at his uncle, and found the
older man observing him carefully.
Stewart had never thought of soldiering as being anything more than the
opportunity to do his duty in the field.
Fighting was all he'd really studied for, and even his academic work had
been done with a field commission in mind.
The idea that there might be more than that had never occurred to him.
Now Uncle James was directly in front of him,
and there was a sort of desperate eagerness in his eyes. "You’ve been given a magnificent
opportunity. Please promise me that
you’ll do everything necessary to take advantage of it, Charles." He leaned forward, and Stewart was forced to
tilt his head back in order to look Uncle James in the eye. "Too many of our boys are wanting in
discipline,” Uncle James said. “We give
them too much freedom as children, and once they're grown it's impossible to
make them see the sense in structure, in discipline—in the following of
orders."
Absurdly, Stewart’s first thought was of
cousin Will. Too many
of our boys, he wondered, or just one?
"You are different from most of your
fellows, Charles." Uncle James
moved back a few paces. "I think
that your father did a better job of raising you than I did with William.” Aha, thought
Stewart. “And you'll make a better
soldier because of it. So please do take
advantage of your opportunities. I don’t
want to see you waste your potential."
The way my father seems to have, Stewart added silently.
"Is it true that you once offered to take my father on as a partner
in running Arran, and he refused?"
Stewart had heard the story from one of Uncle James’s field slaves, but
that didn’t automatically make it untrue.
Uncle James smiled weakly for a moment, then
shook his head. "I don’t think it
would be proper for me to say anything about that," he said, thereby
speaking volumes to Stewart.
"Perhaps you might ask your father."
* * * *
He hadn’t, of course, any more than he’d
been able to ask Uncle James how Cousin Will had disappointed him. I will do my duty, he
thought as he put out the light. They
may not get along all that well, but that’s something that I know both Father
and Uncle James expect of me.
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