Yet what had happened? Grinning soldiers had employed the patches for gambling counters or given them to girl-friends. Others had cleaned their rifles with the badges or else used them to patch the seat of their pants, an insult that had driven the General to decree severe punishment for any man not displaying the red crescent insignia on his uniform jacket, whereupon there had been a religious outcry against the wearing of a Mohammedan symbol in a Christian country! Letters had been written to hometown newspapers, prayer meetings were held to intercede for Washington Faulconer's heathen soul, and seven army chaplains had carried their protests to the War Department itself, forcing Faulconer to explain that the crescent moon was not intended to be a religious symbol but was merely a part of his family's escutcheon, yet that explanation had only prompted new complaints about the restoration of aristocratic privileges in America. The campaign against the insignia had been an outrageous farrago of lies, and now the cause was utterly lost because any man who objected to wearing the red crescent could plausibly claim to have lost the badge in battle. Which all meant that Washington Faulconer had little choice but to accept defeat—a defeat made all the more odious because he was convinced it had been Nathaniel Starbuck who had orchestrated the whole controversy. Only Starbuck could have dreamed up the religious objection or have invented the fantastic claim that wearing the patch reduced the Brigade to the level of European serfs.
Yet even the memory of that humiliation receded as Washington Faulconer rode the summer roads toward Gordonsville. He was contemplating the pleasures of a long bath, a clean bed, and a full table, and the anticipation was more than rewarded when he entered the public parlor of the Rapidan House Hotel to be surprised by the presence of four old friends from Richmond whose visit to the town happily coincided with his own. Two of the men were Confederate congressmen and the other two, like Faulconer himself, were directors of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. The four men formed a commission that was supposed to be reporting to the War Department on how the army's supply system could be improved, but so far not one of the four commissioners had ventured further than the house of assignation that lay next door to the hotel. Happily all four men had read and admired the account in the Richmond! Examiner that had described how the Faulconer Brigade had captured an enemy color at the recent battle, and now they insisted that the General and his aide join them and recount their version of the triumph.
Faulconer told the story modestly, claiming to have been momentarily unsighted when the enemy standard fell, though the modesty was beautifully calculated to encourage his listeners to draw the very opposite conclusion. "The standard-bearer was a great brute of a German, ain't that so, Mox'?" The General appealed for his aide's confirmation.
"He was indeed, sir," Moxey said, "and I was damned glad you were there to deal with the fellow and not me."
"The fellow took a half-dozen bullets"—the General lightly touched the ivory handle of his revolver—"and still he kept on coming. Some of these Northern fellows are remarkably brave, but of course there's not one of the rogues who can compare with our fine boys," and here the General paid a moving tribute to the Southern soldier, describing him as the salt of the earth, a rough diamond, and an honest warrior, each compliment being accompanied by a toast, so that it was soon necessary to order another bottle of whiskey.
"Not that it's very good whiskey," one of the congressman said, "but even the worst is better than water."
"Like the nymphs du monde next door," his fellow politician opined. "Gordonsville's whores are hardly enticing, but even the worst is preferable to a wife."
All six men laughed. "If you've nothing more pressing," one of the railroad men said to Faulconer, "maybe you'd like to saddle one or two of the ladies yourself?"
"I should be delighted," Faulconer said.
"It shall be our pleasure to pay," the other director said, then courteously included Captain Moxey in the invitation.
"Myself, I fancy the mulatto girl tonight," the fatter of the two congressmen said as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. "And we'd better enjoy ourselves this evening, because tomorrow we'll all have to look busy. Can't have Bobby Lee thinking we're idle."
"Lee?" Faulconer asked, hiding his consternation. "Is Lee here?"
"Arrives tomorrow," one of the railroad men said. "Train was ordered this morning."
"Not that any of us are supposed to know who the train's for," the other railroad man said, yawning, "but it's true. Lee's coming to take command."
"What do you make of Lee, Faulconer?" one of the congressmen asked casually.
"Hardly know the man," the General said, which was a transparent evasion, for the Faulconer family was as prominent in Virginian society as the Lees, and Washington Faulconer had been acquainted with Robert Lee almost all his life, yet even so Faulconer found himself puzzled by Lee's present eminence. Lee had started the war with a considerable reputation, but nothing he had achieved since had justified that good standing, yet, with an apparent effortlessness that Faulconer could only admire, Lee had risen to command the Army of Northern Virginia. Faulconer's only explanation for this phenomenon was that the leaders of the Confederacy were deceived by Lee's grave demeanor into believing that deep thoughts were being pondered behind the General's calm and trustworthy eyes, but he could hardly confess as much to two of those leaders. "I worry he's too cautious," Faulconer said instead, "though, of course, caution may be the right tactic to follow at the moment."
"Let the enemy come to us, you mean?" the fatter congressman suggested.
"For the moment, yes," Faulconer said, "because there's little point in maneuvering ourselves into trouble. Let them break themselves on our bastions, eh?" He smiled, sounding confident, but inside he was worrying that if Lee was arriving in Gordonsville next day, then the town would surely be filled with high-ranking Confederate officers who would look askance when they discovered Faulconer was absent from his Brigade without permission, and the very last thing Washington Faulconer needed was the enmity of Stonewall Jackson. Jackson was already suspicious of Faulconer because of his tardiness in joining the counterattack at Cedar Mountain, though happily the capture of the enemy color had gone a long way toward preserving Faulconer's reputation, but even so Jackson could prove a powerful enemy, especially as the Richmond Examiner was as supportive of Stonewall as it was of Washington Faulconer. All in all, Faulconer decided, this was a moment for a tactical withdrawal. "I think this news means that we should get back to camp tonight, Mox'," Faulconer said as he turned to his aide. "If Lee's coming there'll doubtless be orders for us and we need to be ready."
Captain Moxey concealed his surprise at so sudden a departure and his disappointment at being denied the pleasures of the house of assignation next door. "I'll order the horses, sir," Moxey said, and when the tired beasts were saddled, the two officers, without so much as taking a bath let alone partaking of the town's more exquisite recreations, retraced their steps west into the twilight. Back at the hotel one of the congressmen remarked that the country was fortunate indeed in having men as devoted and disciplined as Washington Faulconer at its service, and his three colleagues solemnly agreed before heaving themselves out of their chairs and ushering each other into the house next door.
It was black dark by the time Washington Faulconer reached the farm that was his Brigade's headquarters. Colonel Swynyard was still awake, sitting in candlelight beneath the crossed banners of the Faulconer Legion as he struggled to reconcile the Brigade's muddled accounts. He stood as Faulconer came in, hid his surprise at the General's sudden return, and offered a report on the day's happenings. Two men had been arrested for drunkenness at McComb's Tavern and were waiting for punishment in the morning. "I thought I put the tavern out of bounds," Faulconer said, stretching out his right leg so Moxey could tug off a riding boot.