Chapter 17: At Two Sites

In the French's dark, dry barn that smelled of hay and horses, Corporal Wainder swam back to consciousness after the repeated thud of distant cannon fire. He lay some six miles north of Fort Stevens, but he could clearly hear echoes of the guns' booming reports and even feel the ground beneath him shake.

He looked around his horse-stall prison and saw nothing but piles of straw and worn, pine boards. "Water," sounded in his parched throat, but he was not sure whether or not he said the word aloud. The farm was very quiet, even the chickens seemed to be resting from the heat. His head ached. He could not see anything clearly. He tried to remember how he got to this place, in this stall, on this farm.

He wondered what day it was. His mouth tasted awful, vile and sour, and his thirst pushed all else from his pained head. He tried to spit and failed. He levered himself to his knees and attempted to stand, surprised to find that his hands and feet were tied. With a groan, he passed out again, face down in the fragrant hay.

Despite the heat, Wainder was not sweating. His scratched face was pale and dry. The lump on the side of his head had stopped bleeding.

High above the French's barnyard, a red hawk sailed in huge circles on the rising air.

"Folks say the city's pretty calm," said Jefferson as he reported on his conversations with teamsters and artillerymen around the back of the fort. "But the price a'flour's a disgrace. Plenty a'cheap meat with all them farmers drivin' in their herds. Oh, lots a'stories just flying about, but they's not wurf repeatin'."

"Did you see those candle stumps on the fence posts?" Seth asked.

"Um hum, lot's a'people was headin' into town las' night while the soldiers was comin' out this a'way. Tha's what they was for."

"Think that man we left in the barn's still there?" Seth asked, saying the thing atop his mind.

Before Jefferson could answer, a very out-of-breath young officer appeared, his sword chain jangling... "You all been hiding? Looked all over the place. They want you at the fort, right now."

Shortly after noon, Seth and Jefferson were ushered into a large barracks office and introduced to General Alex McCook and General Horatio Wright. McCook was one of fourteen members of his family serving in the Union army. He believed himself to be in charge of the city's defenses, the first real command he had held since his crushing defeat at Chickamauga. He was determined to restore his tarnished reputation. General Wright was a bit older and a lot calmer than the red-faced "Fighting" McCook and had a much more distinguished war record. He had led a division at Gettysburg, done well in the Wilderness, and when General Sedgwick was killed, took over the Sixth Corps. He was now tight-lipped and impatient with the confusion of orders and the tangled capital-city chain of command while General McCook seemed relaxed and jovial by comparison.

After the introductions and the usual pleasantries, McCook put his big hand on Seth's shoulder and began with, "Ah, so you are the inspector general. I knew Meade was taking in young ones, but this is a bit much."

Seth stood dumfounded, mouth agape, but McCook went on with a laugh. "Haven't you heard of General Seth Williams, my boy? Fine man, fine as hen hair. Mainer, I believe, West Point. No, well, um, to proceed. I understand that you are the lad that got General Wright's men moving in the proper direction yesterday. Saved my bacon, I can tell you. I'd be supping with Jubal Early today. Well my boy, it is amazing how these things work out, ain't it." He slapped his ample belly when he laughed.

Seth looked from McCook's smiling face to General Wright's impatient frown and did not feel the need to answer.

McCook babbled on. "Poor Early, poor old Jubal. And I am told that you, sir, are Jefferson McKenzie." He reached across the table to grasp the black man's big hand. "Well, sir, be glad to have you in my command, anytime, yes sir."

"Thank you, general," said Jefferson in quiet tones, "but I'm a freedman, an' I think I'll stay where I am, least till this here war's over. War's mostly young man's work."

"Indeed, I see," said McCook with a sudden, embarrassed smile. "Yes indeed."

General Wright cleared his throat and placed his hands flat on the table and looked at Seth. "Yes," he said, "that is all very nice, but what I want to know is what these two civilians know of Jubal A. Early and that bleeding Rebel army out there, bunch a'scavengers." He waved his hand in the general direction of Sligo Creek. I would hate to have him mad at me, thought Seth.

"Our blamed, no-account cavalry can't even tell us how many men he has, or where they are, or if more's coming. So, boy, you tell me. Hardin over at Reno says to trust you." He picked up a sheet of paper and then let it flutter back to the table. "He's a good man, Hardin, but don't you make any mistakes, young man. Good soldiers may die if you are wrong. If you don't know, don't guess."

"Well, sir," Seth began, gathering courage and feeling useful for the first time that already long, hot day, "up in Rockville yesterday mornin'...", and he stopped and shook his head. "Yes, jes' yesterday. Don't seem possible. Oh, 'scuse me. Old General Early was setting his marching orders, an' I was where I could see and hear, and besides they didn' care 'bout me hearin' on account'a this feller I was with, that had me..." Seth stopped and looked at the generals but could not tell whether or not he was being believed.