The Sword (30 page)

“We’re in a holy war, Lieutenant Tremayne,” Ball said. “We’ve got to wipe the Yankees out so that God can rule over this land.”

“Amen,” Clay said but could not cover his grin. “That was a fine prayer you prayed at our service last Sabbath day, Chaplain. Usually I have a tendency to doze in services, but I remember that fine prayer.”

Ball turned and said, “Are you a believer in the Lord God Jehovah, Lieutenant?”

Clay answered with surprise, “Well, of course I believe in God, sir. Only a fool wouldn’t.”

“It’s not enough just to believe,” Ball said. He leaned closer to Clay and looked deep into his eyes. “The Bible says you must be born again. Have you ever been born again, sir?”

“No, I haven’t, I’m sorry to say.”

“Sorry to say!” Ball snorted. “What a feeble excuse of a reason for not trusting in God. You’re sorry to say. Do you have any
plans for letting God have your life as He demands, Lieutenant Tremayne?”

Clay was accustomed to Major Ball’s outspoken evangelism, but somehow it still intimidated him. “I don’t have any plans right now, Major Ball,” he said in a low voice. “Except to live out the night.”

“God’s going to catch up with you, Clay Tremayne,” Ball said, echoing Jacob Steiner’s words. “One of these days you’ll be just like the apostle Paul. He was just on the road, commencing to his sin, and God simply knocked him out of the saddle.”

“If that happened to me, God would sure get my attention,” Clay said lamely.

“Don’t wait for it! Don’t wait for it! You’ve got to find God, boy. You’re here tonight in good health. As you said, tomorrow you may be facing God in judgment.”

“I sure hope not, sir.”

Ball leaned over and put his bony hand on Clay’s shoulder and squeezed it hard. “I don’t want that to happen to you, my boy. Jesus died for you. He loves you. Keep that on your mind. It’s not enough to be afraid of hell as you ought to be, but you need to find the Friend of all friends. When your father and mother forsake you, when your friends betray you, Jesus will still be your friend. You think about that, Lieutenant.”

Using Clay as a fulcrum, Ball shoved himself up. “I’m going to talk to Private Finch. He’s right close to the kingdom. I’m hoping he’ll come in tonight.”

As Ball walked off into the growing darkness, Clay shook his head. He’s a funny fellow, he observed to himself. Shoot a Yankee down and then come back to camp and preach to all of us lost men. The next day he goes out and steals a bunch of chickens for all of us. I guess he fits in real well with Jeb Stuart’s cavalry.

Chantel had been into town, and when she returned, she saw that Jacob was excited.

His dark eyes were flashing, and he was pacing back and forth. It was most unlike him.

“What’s the matter, Grandpere?” Chantel demanded. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no, no, no. As a matter of fact, daughter, I’m telling you that the greatest thing has happened.”

“What is it? Tell me, tell me!”

“All right, I will. Come here and sit down, daughter. This will take some telling.” Jacob led her to the two camp chairs he had set up.

Since they had been camped in Richmond for three months, Jacob had finally bought six fine wooden straight-back chairs, and Chantel had fixed racks on the outside of the wagons so they could be conveniently hung there.

Chantel sat down, and at once Jacob said, “You know, daughter, for months now we have been praying that God would give us an answer. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Grandpere.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you”—Jacob grinned broadly—“I have had a revelation.”

“And so the good God has been talking to you again?”

“No, not His voice, of course, Chantel. I’ve tried to explain that to you, but it’s difficult. I was just sitting here peeling an apple and watching that big squirrel that comes every day for a bite to eat. I hope no hungry private shoots him. He’s gotten quite fat and sassy since I’ve been feeding him. Anyway, I wasn’t even praying or anything like that, and all of a sudden something began to make itself known. I don’t know how to say it any different.”

Chantel nodded, though she, of course, didn’t and couldn’t understand.

Jacob continued. “We’ve been wondering how we could best serve God, and I had never thought of such a thing before, but this is what God told me we would be doing. We’re going to serve the Lord by serving our men. These fine fellows in uniform.”

“Serve them?” Chantel asked in surprise. “But how? We’re
peddlers. We travel. We sell our goods.”

“Oh, we will still travel, yes. We are going to be sutlers, and we are going to serve the officers and soldiers of the Confederate Army. And you are going to have a new title.”

“What is this, a title?” Chantel asked, mystified.

“Here, look at this. It was in a newspaper from New York, and I clipped it out. I had read about a woman serving, but it was with the U.S. Army. She had a special uniform. I’d seen it in a paper and clipped it out.”

Jacob handed her the clipping. It was faded and not very clear, but Chantel could make it out clearly enough. The woman was young, apparently, and facing the camera. She wore clothes with a distinct military style. It was a dark skirt, a white blouse with a string tie, and a short black jacket, with the conspicuous Hussar stripes that many military units sported, including the Confederate cavalry. On her head she wore a campaign cap, and around her shoulder was a strap that suspended what appeared to be a canteen.

“Read what it says, daughter.”

“All right:

“There … you see?” Jacob cried. “That’s what you are. I’m a sutler, and you are a vivandiere.”

“Pretty French word,” Chantel said. “I like her clothes. Much more than these boring skirts and blouses I’ve been wearing.” True to her word, Bethany Tremayne had taken her to a dressmaker’s,
and Jacob had encouraged her to buy five skirts and five blouses. Chantel had chosen two black skirts and three gray skirts, and plain white blouses. She still wanted to stay in the background, not to be noticed, but she was young, and she secretly yearned for pretty clothes sometimes.

“We will go to the dressmaker’s,” Jacob decided. “You will have bonnie blue skirts, a shiny white blouse, and a red sash around your waist. And your jackets, we will tell her to make them of Confederate gray, with the black stripes for facings, like General Stuart’s men wear. And I know that Clay Tremayne will help us find you a campaign cap. You will look lovely, dear daughter, and when the men see you they will know you are their vivandiere.”

“But, Grandpere, there are hardly any sutlers in the South. They know they can’t run the blockades to get supplies. We can’t get them here—that is what I was going to tell you. Everything that comes in goes to the army. Even the merchants aren’t getting their regular shipments,” Chantel said worriedly. “How will we get supplies? How will we have anything to sell to the men?”

“God will provide, oh yes, Chantel,” Jacob said happily. “Now that He has finally let me know what I am to do, He has also shown me how to do it. And you and I, we will carry the Gospel to these young men before they go out to risk their lives in battle. And when they return, we will give them comfort and hope in the Lord Jesus.”

The excitement of a battle to come was in the air. As Chantel and Jacob made their way to General Thomas Jackson’s headquarters, many of the men, on catching sight of Chantel, stopped and stared blatantly. She was self-conscious in her new demi-uniform, her vivandiere clothes. But, she told herself sturdily, it was no worse than when she was wearing her trousers or even her modest skirts and blouses. Chantel was the type of woman whom men stared at. She looked straight ahead.

Jacob stopped a short rotund lieutenant with rosy cheeks and
mild blue eyes. “Lieutenant, could you direct me to the tent of General Jackson, the commanding officer?”

“I certainly can, sir. You head on right as you are going, and within a hundred yards you will see a tent with a flag in front of it. That will be General Jackson’s. Shall I take you there?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. We can find our way. Thank you very much.”

Jacob moved steadily, and Chantel followed him.

Some of the men were singing, and others were cleaning their equipment. None of them seemed at all concerned that very soon they might very well be lying dead on a battlefield.

“Why aren’t they afraid, Grandpere?”

“They’ve never seen a battle. They have ideas about what war is like, glorious and noble. I’m afraid they’ll soon find out that it’s nothing like that.”

General Jackson’s tent was indeed marked by a flag. A tall, skinny corporal stood outside at attention. He studied Jacob and Chantel and then asked evenly, “Can I help you?”

“We would like to see General Jackson, if that’s possible, young man,” Jacob said pleasantly.

“Sir, General Jackson is very busy at the moment with military matters. I’m sure you understand.”

“Please, sir. Could you at least ask him? It’s very important to us.” Jacob’s sincerity was so obvious, the corporal relented.

“All right, sir. I’ll ask if he might have a moment.” The soldier turned and went into the tent. He was so tall he had to duck his head. Almost at once he returned and said with some surprise, “Come in, sir, ma’am. The general will see you.”

Chantel stepped inside followed by Jacob.

From behind a camp desk a tall soldier with a full dark beard stood to his feet at once. He was not a handsome man, but he had penetrating light blue eyes. He was dressed in a shabby old army coat with major’s stripes, faded and peeling, still visible on the collar. He bowed slightly to his visitors saying, “I’m General Thomas Jackson, at your service.”

“My name is Jacob Steiner, General, and this is my granddaughter, Chantel Fortier. We thank you for seeing us.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Steiner?” He was not rude, but he was businesslike.

“We want a permit to follow the troops. I am a sutler, sir, but I have no permit. I’ve been told that’s necessary. Miss Fortier is a vivandiere.”

“I don’t believe I know that term.”

“It really means a female sutler, General. We’ll be taking our wares to the troops so that they can buy foodstuffs and supplies of all kinds, except alcohol.”

“You don’t serve alcohol, Mr. Steiner? I would have thought that sutlers would, in an army camp.”

“No sir, I do not. I have seen too many lives wrecked and ruined by alcohol to have any part in that vicious trade.”

“I congratulate you.” Jackson’s eyes then lit up warmly, and he smiled, giving his stern face a more welcome look. He waved to two backless canvas stools in front of his desk. “Please, sit down, Mr. Steiner, Miss Fortier.”

Jacob continued, “We also intend to pass out Gospel tracts and small pamphlets containing the Gospel of John. I’m hopeful that we will be able to witness to the men about the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Jackson looked curiously at Jacob. “I see, sir. So you are a Christian?”

Chantel saw that Jacob was smiling. “Ah, you see that I am Jewish, General Jackson. But I am a born-again believer. I like to call myself a completed Jew. I’m an old man now and can do little for the war effort, but I can bear witness to the glory of God in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Jackson said. “I am happy to hear it. I wish we had five hundred more just like you, Mr. Steiner. But I am afraid sutlers in the South are going to be few and far between.”

“You will give us the permit then, sir?”

“Certainly I will. Here. I will make it out now.” Jackson moved around to his desk, sat down, took a sheet of paper, scribbled on it,
and then said, “You will be given a formal permit, a printed one, but this will do if anyone challenges you.” He turned to Chantel. “Miss Fortier, I would hope that most of the Southern men in the army are gentlemen. Sadly, that is not always true. It is possible that you might hear things that would offend you.”