Knollys was of the opinion that Napier was the most qualified to second Lee, but understood that politics would not permit it. Of all the Confederate commanders, only Lee had commanded a large force in battle, although Beauregard had led an army when Albert Sidney Johnston had fallen at Shiloh. Jackson had independently commanded his smaller corps, or wing, in the Shenandoah Valley, but with numbers not one fifth of the mighty force now marching northward.
Knollys now fully understood that smart uniforms didn't necessarily make a good soldier. If that were the case, some petty German princeling would control the world. The Confederates were a case in point. Poorly uniformed to the point of being ragged, they moved with a casual determination that showed that they were as skilled in their profession as the red-clad British regulars who marched alongside them. The disparity in uniforms had caused a lot of banter, and some had deteriorated into brawling that had been put down by commanders on both sides.
The march, however, was equalizing the two groups without requiring them to like each other. Clouds of dust, raised by scores of thousands of feet and hooves, settled on everyone, rendering them all a more or less uniform brown. The weather was shifting and dark clouds moved across the sky. A rainstorm would turn the trails into mud and wash off the dust. Knollys wondered just who the hell had ever thought that war was glamorous. It was miserable without having someone out to kill you.
The combined Anglo-Confederate army moved north along several roads or trails and. oftentimes, across fields and countryside. Had they marched along one road, it would have taken an eternity to reach their destination.
And what was their destination? Knollys wondered. As he finished his circuit ride and neared the covey of officers surrounding Lee, one of Stuart's cavalry officers broke from the group and rode past. The officer glared at Knollys, who recognized him as Brigadier General Wade Hampton, a man who had raised his own force, Hampton's Legion, and was now Stuart's second in command in reality if not in title. The two men curtly acknowledged each other. Hampton was one of a number of Confederate officers who resented British influence on the Southern war of independence and anything else that might threaten the South's independence, traditions, and institutions, with the retention of slavery being a paramount concern. Hampton and his supporters were afraid England would exact too great a price for her support of the Confederate cause.
And they'd probably be right, Knollys thought. God only knew what Palmerston would take as his pound of flesh. No, he chuckled to himself. It would be Disraeli in the role of Shylock who would take his chunk of red meat.
He would have to make that observation the next time he was in bed with the delightful Rosemarie DeLisle. Too bad he wasn't wealthy, as she'd originally thought. The idea of his losing her was most distasteful. She fitted his needs perfectly at all levels. It had even reached the point where he could consider himself in love with her. It was a totally new and unexpected experience for him.
Thus, it was most important that England and the Confederacy prevail. A victory and he could virtually count on another promotion and, still hitched to Garnet Wolsey's rising star, perhaps even greater rank in the future. A loss, and he would be lucky to be permitted to stay in the army.
Good lord, he thought. A loss and he might be lucky to be alive.
News of the Confederate army's move north from Richmond brought turmoil and near chaos to Washington. Military units moved to and fro with little clear idea as to where they were marching to and why as they moved about within the heavily fortified perimeter. It almost didn't matter. It was essential that something be done, even though it had little or no meaning. “Alarums and excursions,” Scott had muttered. “Much ado about nothing. The damned rebels are not in our closets or under our beds.”
General Winfield Scott had spent the day and much of the evening in conferences with President Lincoln, General Halleck, and General Meade. Nathan Hunter had attended as Scott's aide.
As a result, General Scott returned to his quarters late and exhausted. Rebecca had stayed to hear the news and to make sure the old man was all right. When he was fed and safely abed in his room, she decided it was time to leave. By then, however, the hour was late and a tremendous rainstorm had commenced lashing the area. It was chill, but she decided that a little rain never hurt anyone. Unfortunately, the stable hand moving her carriage out ran it over a rock and broke a wheel. Since no other carriages were available, she was faced with the necessity of walking through the storm, going on horseback, or staying the night, with the latter being a serious breach of decorum in a strict society.
Bridget Conlin came to her rescue. The young Irish servant calmly suggested that Rebecca and she share her quarters in the servants' wing. Sergeant Fromm and the chastened stable hand moved a couch into Bridget's small room, and Bridget found Rebecca a cotton nightgown, which was voluminous on the smaller woman. It buttoned partway down the front and hung over Rebecca's feet, and the sleeves covered her hands.
“No nun was ever more fully or chastely covered,” Bridget said.
When the two women finished laughing, they shared a light meal and had a glass of wine. Neither thought it was strange that a woman with high social standing like Rebecca had dined with an Irish immigrant and that both enjoyed it.
Later, Rebecca lay on the couch and covered herself with a woolen blanket. Bridget arose from her bed and stood by the door. There was a shy smile on her face.
“I hope you won't be minding, Mrs. Devon, but I might be gone for a while.”
Rebecca flushed. Obviously, Bridget would be heading for Sergeant Fromm's room. “I haven't disturbed something, have I?”
“Nothing that can't be fixed.”
Rebecca grinned impishly. “Then fix it.”
When Bridget was gone, Rebecca got off the couch and paced the tiny room. Was this the time? Was this the place? Were there any doubts? There was only one way to find out. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.
Nathan Hunter preferred to wear pajamas at night, preferably silk, although cotton was quite acceptable. He had first discovered the style of nightclothing when Amy had presented him with a set that had been imported from India, where it was commonly worn both as nightwear or for lounging. He had been so taken with their comfort, warmth, and practicality that he rarely wore a nightshirt again.
He propped himself up in bed and looked at his notes from the day's conferences. The nation, he concluded, was fortunate that a man of General Scott's experience, wisdom, and integrity was still available. With General Grant departed for his army, General Halleck had tried every means possible to get President Lincoln to change his mind. Grant's strategy was too dangerous, he'd argued, and it almost guaranteed the fall of Washington.
Halleck's logic had almost been compelling, and his near hysteria regarding his fears for the capital was not contrived. Halleck was terrified that Washington might be taken. He'd called for reinforcements and even questioned Meade's strategy, which was to hold back two divisions from the trenches and forts to plug any breaches that might be made in the city's defenses. Halleck had wanted all men in the trenches and no reserves.
Meade, inexperienced and cautious, had almost been swayed, and Lincoln looked concerned and confused. Then it had dawned on Meade that Halleck really wanted command for himself, at which point the short-tempered younger general had lashed out at his superior officer. Scott had been able to bring the arguing parties to a kind of truce, while Lincoln watched with sadness. The president wanted a unified front in the face of the Union's enemies, and the petty bickering had to stop.