The Titans (35 page)

4768The Ball Is Open" musket-aimed men in blue. From the cavalry's position on Jackson's flank, Gideon heard a sound foreign to him before-cannon fired in combat Old Jack's artilleryman was a former preacher named Pendleton. He'd christened his four pieces Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. One of those iron apostles helped hold a road open while Jackson's men retreated in front of blue-clad hordes who fired, reloaded, kept firing, kept coming on- Stuart fretted on the flank with his troopers, waiting to be put to use. Gideon would never forget the scene- especially the moment when he saw a Union soldier fall in the sunlight on the road, hit by a shot from the retreating Confederates. He'd never seen a man die in battle before. A bit later he'd heard another new sound-the screaming of the wounded. All the while, the apostolic cannon kept crumphing. Smoke billowed across the countryside, obscuring the Yank companies on the road. Finally Stuart's patience gave out. He ordered his troopers into action with a shout-"Fours ahead! Get up!" It was a principle with Stuart that cavalry always galloped at the enemy, but trotted away; a gallop was a gait unbecoming to a mounted man unless he was going toward his foe. The troopers swept down on the Yanks. Inevitably, the terrain forced a breakup of the precise formations. Captain Macomb led I Company into a stand of maples where he'd spotted a few moving patches of blue he assumed to be infantrymen. The company galloped into the grove with sabers drawn and side arms ready. In the dapple of sun and shadow, the leading riders came on the enemy. A dozen Yanks. Not on foot. Mounted. The Northern cavalrymen let go with their muskets. Gideon ducked, catching another sound completely new The Titansbledgg to him: the odd, terrifying whine of a Minig ball passing close by. Horse to hone and saber to saber, he clashed with a young officer in blue. He was so hard by the Yank, he could see the pupils of the officer's gray eyes, and a yellow down on his chin. The officer was even younger than Gideon. A lucky saber stroke slashed the officer's wrist. He cried out; fell from his horse. Jack Harris rode up and finished him with a pistol ball Gideon would never forget the astonished look on the officer's face-or the abrupt blackness in his gray eyes as the ragged black hole in his throat spouted blood. The clash in the grove lasted no more than three minutes. The outnumbered Yanks scattered, leaving four dead in the shifting shadows of the maples. Captain Macomb lay dead, too, killed by a saber through the beHy. Harm assumed command and reassembled the company. He refused to let anyone stop for Macomb's body. Riding out of the grove, Gideon was more stunned than elated. It had all happened so quickly. Including the dying. For the rest of the day, the cavalry screened the retreat of Jackson's brigade. By sundown, Gideon had taken part in several more charges, and gone through an almost unconscious transition. The sudden roar of cannon no longer startled him. He was proud of the way he'd adapted to the racket and disorder of battle. But he couldn't get the memory of that first young officer's glazing gray eyes out of Jus mind. Scattered companies of the cavalry fell back in the darkness past the outpost camp Jackson had abandoned to the Federals. Gradually, the regiment reassembled. Stuart was jubilant. He led the men in chorus after cho- 4788The Ball Is Open" rus of "The Bonnie Blue Flag," accompanied by the First Virginia's fifers and drummers. At first Gideon sang with less than full enthusiasm. Soon, though, he was bellowing. Singing had a tonic effect. It helped erase the memory of the gray-eyed Yank. The regiment had fared well. There were no losses except for Macomb. That same night, Harris was brevetted to captain and Gideon to first lieutenant. The vacant post of second lieutenant was filled by a quick election. A sergeant named Sunderlind was elevated to the rank. Sunderlind was a foolishly cheerful young man Gideon considered brainless. After the election, he and Harris met privately and agreed to ignore the feather- headed farm boy as much as possible. Falling Waters was scarcely a victory-or even worthy of being called a battle. But the high command was impressed with the mettle of the officers during the engagement. Johnston recommended Old Jack for promotion to brigadier and Stuart to full colonel. Gideon learned later that the day had been a personal triumph for the commander of the First Virginia. Riding alone, he'd encountered a Union company in a field. The Yanks mistook the man in the blue greatcoat for one of their own. Stuart immediately demanded that the company surrender. He told an effective lie: they were covered by snipers in some nearby trees and would all be massacred if they refused to throw down their arms. Forty- nine shamed men of the 15th Pennsylvania Volunteers were now prisoners thanks to Stuart's audacity. Other stories emerged from the day's fighting. Men in one of the newer companies described how Stuart had led them within range of an enemy artillery piece. He halted the green riders until the camion fired. The round shot roared over the heads of the petrified troop The Titansbledgi ers. One of them told Gideon exactly what the commander had said: "There. I wanted you to learn what a cannon's like. I wanted you to hear it. They fired high. They always do. There's no harm in them." In the days immediately after the Falling Waters fight, the regiment probed toward the Potomac-and Patterson's camp at Martinsburg. Small units patrolled every road by which the Yankees might advance. Occasionally the Confederate troopers saw blue-coated infantry scouts or horsemen. Occasionally fire was exchanged, but with little effect. Gideon lived in the saddle as the cavalry ranged across a fifty-mile front from Leesburg to Shepherdstown, watching. Riders raced back to Winchester at the slightest sign of a Union movement- Tonight, just as darkness fell, half of I Company under Gideon's command had encountered an equal number of Federal riders. There was another running skirmish; another inconclusive exchange of fire as the thunderstorm broke. The rain hampered vision. Gideon saw one of his corporals nicked in the arm, but he failed to see a low-hanging'branch. It slammed his forehead, flung him out of the saddle and left him floundering. The rest of his men thundered away in the rain, not even aware of his accident. Despite his dazed condition, he had the presence of mind to whistle three times. Dancer had been trained to recognize the signal. The stallion came trotting back. Dizzy and sick at his stomach, Gideon struggled to his knees. He caught the reins and wrapped them around his right hand. Then he passed out He woke a short time later. His teeth were chattering. The rain beat on his face. He smelled Dancer in the dark. The reins were still wrapped around his fingers. But he'd lost his command. So here he was an hour later, halted in another wood. 4808The Ball Is Open" Thunder rumbled down the sky. Wind lashed the leaves. He'd just about decided to cut left, away from the road, when he saw a glimmer of light ahead and to the right. The light was no more than a quarter of a mile away. A cabin? Cabins were usually located near croplands. Maybe he was closer to the edge of the wood than he imagined. Wouldn't hurt to stop, he thought Dry off. Ask directions. "Come on, boy." He nudged Dancer. Reluctantly the stallion started along the treacherous track. During a lull in the thunder, Gideon caught another sound. Horses. And more than one. They were up by the cabin, whickering in the downpour. He wiped water from his eyes. He teeth started to chatter again. He shifted his weight a little to free the saber on his left hip, then ran his right hand down over the laces of the oilskin sheath hanging from the saddle. The sheath kept the 30-gauge Paterson shotgun dry and ready to fire. The horses could belong to the cabin's owners. Or even to a couple of his own men. But he advanced cautiously in case he was wrong on both counts. Dancer's hoofs splashed in puddles of water. Gideon reined him to the left; the shoulder. Muddy, but less noisy. He rode another few yards, then stopped again, listening and watching. A fresh gust of wind set nearby tree branches clattering. He clenched his teeth to stop their clicking. The anticipated lightning flash finally lit the heavens, showing him what he wanted to see. The building ahead wasn't a log cabin but a somewhat more substantial plank cottage. Two big horses The Titansbledha were tied to a low-hanging branch of a tree growing between the cottage and the road. Darkness again. Thunder boomed. He waited for more lightning. When it came, he was ready. He concentrated on the saddles of the tethered animals. He recognized the design instantly. Also the wood stirrups with leather hoods. The saddles were McClellans-of which there were precious few in his regiment, just as there were precious few black horses, even though the Northern press continually referred to Virginia's ferocious "black horse cavalry." After an inspection trip of European military establishments some years ago, the Union officer now taking charge in western Virginia had recommended that particular type of saddle for the Federal army. His name had been miked to it. Gideon reckoned the odds were about ninety to ten against the owners of the horses being friendly. He pondered. Capturing a couple of Yanks was a tempting proposition- No, the attempt would be foolish. There were only two of them; the prize wasn't worth the risk. He'd be wiser to pass by and hunt for his own men. He was about to turn Dancer ninety degrees to the left, into the trees, when a woman screamed inside the cottage. ii The piercing scream canceled any idea of leaving. He dismounted. Rubbed Dancer's muzzle to quiet him. Looped the reins and tied them loosely around a low- hanging limb. He unlaced the oilskin sheath. Slid out the revolving- cylindef shotgun. Shielding the mechanism under his left arm, he stole onto the road. 4828The Ball Is Open" The woman shrieked again. Gideon thought he heard a man laugh. He quickened his step. Complete silence was impossible because of the mud and the puddles. But he was reasonably sure the hiss of the rain would cover the sound of his approach. He couldn't see what was happening in the cottage. Burlap curtains hung inside the oil-paper windows. The tied horses stamped as he crept across the yard, doubled over to protect his weapon from the slash of the storm. He heard the woman moan; then sounds of struggle. He pressed himself against the warped planks just to the side of the door. Inside, a man growled: "Lie still, goddamn you. Else Frank's liable to open your skull with that there hogleg." The man laughed again. He was breathing hard: "I said lay stilll This yere's secesh country, and you're a secesh gal, so you might as well give up an' swallow your medicine." A second voice, somewhat higher: "Watch her hand, Saas!" Perhaps the woman struck or scratched. Silas yelled, "Goddamn bitch!" A heavy blow landed. The woman cried out. There were more grunts of effort. More profanity. A sound of doth ripping- "There. Now we got your ass bare, you're gonna take some punishment." "Christ, Silas," the other man protested. "That ain't no way to take a woman." "She ain't a woman, she's a fuckin' rebel whore. She damn near tore my eye out to boot! You want her the regular way, you can have her when I'm done. I'm gonna hurt you, woman. I'm gonna make you mighty sorry you clawed me like you did-was Another powerful grant; another scream. Gideon stepped in front of the door, kicked it open and jumped into the lamplit room. r The Titansbledhc "Silas, look owf!" The younger Yank's cap fell off as he spun toward the door, caught with his revolver dangling at his side. Details of the scene registered in an instant The men were on Gideon's right, in front of a low, rope-spring bed placed against the wall. The woman lay face down on the bed. Her butternut skirt was hiked above her hips. Tom cotton pantaloons hung around her calves. The bigger man-bearded; perhaps thirty-had one knee on the bed. His other boot-was braced on the floor. The man's trousers and drawers had fallen below his knees. He held his stiffened organ in his right hand. A plank table stood between Gideon and the soldiers. He booted the near edge as young Frank leveled the revolver. The table skidded into the Yank's thighs, ruining his aim. Gideon ducked a second before the revolver went off. The ball struck the wall behind him. Before Frank could aim and fire again, Gideon pulled the trigger of his 30-gauge, aiming high so as not to hit the woman. Thunder blended with the boom of the gun. The shot spread, striking the back of the bearded soldier's head and the wall beyond. Little geysers of blood erupted from the man's hair. He fell forward across the writhing Woman, who began to scream hysterically. Blood ran down the soldier's cheek onto her neck. Frank didn't try a second shot. He raised his hands: "Don't shoot me, Reb. Jesus, don't! This weren't my idea-was It was a trick. While Qideon hesitated, the young soldier lunged for the table. Overturned it in Gideon's direction. Gideon leaped back. But not far enough. The table banged his leg painfully. Frank bolted past and dashed outside. By the time Gideon reached the door, the young soldier had untied both horses, mounted one and started 4848The Ball Is Operf' out of the yard. Gideon knelt, jammed the stock against his shoulder and fired. His aim was poor. The soldier galloped away, unhurt The riderless horse followed the first into the dark. Gideon was shaking with rage. He took a minute to gain control. He staggered to his feet, stepped away from the open door and laid the shotgun on the floor. The woman sobbed and struggled under the dead man. Gideon walked to the bed, his boots squishing. Vomit rose in his throat at the sight of the Yank's head. The woman screamed again, unable to free herself from the weight of the corpse. Blood slopped down over her throat, her shoulder- Gagging, Gideon dug his hands into the Union soldier's armpits; heaved upward. His speech was wheezy: "I'm with-Colonel Stuart's cavalry," ma'am. I'll get him outside-was The dead man's head lolled. The woman rolled over, saw the corpse. She covered her mouth and buried her face in the gory blanket. Modesty was forgotten. Her bare buttocks were still in plain sight. Her body was thin; bony. The body of a woman worn by working the land. Gideon was thankful for the bracing feel of the rain as he hauled the dead man through the yard. He dragged him to the corner of the cottage, then about a half dozen yards into the brush. He let the body fall as lightning burst. He whirled away so as not to see the corpse. I killed him. I killed a man. His hands were shaking. Back at the cottage door, he braced himself
against the frame, staring straight ahead to the dark mud-brick hearth. He didn't want to go in and embarrass the woman, whom he heard stirring on the bed. "Ma'am?" Her voice was faint: "What is it?" The Titansbledhe "My horse is tied down the road a piece. Ill gp fetch him so you'll have time to-to fix up." "All right" She sounded a little less shaky. He trudged back to Dancer, wondering why he felt no pride in having killed an enemy soldier-and one bent on rape at that. The image of the man's bloody head lingered in his mind, lapped by a second one- the wide gray eyes of the young officer. As he led Dancer into the cottage yard, the woman appeared in silhouette in the doorway. She brushed at her straggly hair. "You'll find a shed "round to the side. You can put the horse in there if you want. There's some old straw-was "Thanks." His teeth started to. chatter again. He unsaddled Dancer, and pushed him into the shed. The stallion resented the unfamiliar surroundings; kicked hard at the door as Gideon dropped the outside bar into its bracket. Two more sharp kicks and the stallion settled down. Gideon walked around to the front. He spotted his campaign hat lying in the mud. He hadn't even felt it fall off. He approached the door but didn't enter. He heard the woman righting the overturned table. He knocked. "You can come in," the woman said. "I'm fine now." "Much obliged." He stepped into the light, easing the door shut. The rain's roar became a quiet rush. The woman bent to pick up a stool. As she straightened, Gideon noticed she'd wiped the blood from her neck and thrown the blanket and the ragged remains of her pantaloons in a corner. The stains on the shoulder of her blouse were drying. She set the stool beside the table. Gave another push to the untidy hair hanging over the right side of her face. 4868The Ball Is Open" She tried to smile. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. To ease the tension, Gideon said: "I got separated from my unit. I was coming along the road when I heard you yell." "They-was Her shiver left no doubt about who she meant "comthey were lost too. They barged in about ten minutes before you got here. At first they pretended to be courteous." Her mouth wrenched. "I thought all they wanted was food." Though she was nervous, she still showed admirable composure considering what she'd been through. Her hand jerked toward the stool. "Won't you sit down a moment, Mister-?" "Kent Lieutenant Gideon Kent First Virginia Cavalry." "Stuart's cavalry, you said. Ours-was "Yes, ma'am." He retrieved the shotgun, leaned it against the wall, then sat down on the stool. He felt exhausted; and soiled, somehow. He had no desire to bellow a patriotic song to celebrate the death of the bearded man. He was surprised and a little guilty over his lack of enthusiasm. "I suppose I should have been better prepared for visitors," the woman said with weary humor. "I've seen Yanks all over the county roads for days." "I can't imagine they're all as mean as those two." "I wonder. Oh-my name's Cullen. Mrs. Ida Cul- len." He judged her to be about thirty. Her face had a certain pale prettiness; an echo of prettiness, rather. Hard labor had wasted her figure and carved hollows in her cheeks. Her full mouth and hazel eyes were her most attractive features. As Mrs. Cullen moved toward a crudely built cabinet beyond the hearth, he said: "It's a pity your husband wasn't here when the Yanks showed up." The Titansbledhg She opened the cabinet. "I've some gooseberry wine left. It's not very good. But it might warm you up." "Thank you, I'll have some." Each word was an effort. He was chilled to the bone. He rubbed his cheeks but it didn't help. Mrs. Cullen set an earthenware jar and a cracked cup in front of him. He poured half a cup of wine. As she'd predicted, it was thin and sour. But it helped ease his chill. "Is Mr. Cullen serving with the army?" She shook her head. She pulled a shawl from a peg, draped it around her shoulders and took some kindling from a box. She scraped a match. It fouled the air with sulphur fumes. With her back turned, she lit the kindling. "I buried my husband in February. His heart just quit one night when he sat down for supper. He was sixteen years older than I am. He did too much hard work in bad weather. He owned thirty acres of this timber. Cutting and hauling it to Shepherdstown was too big a chore for a man his age." Gideon set the cup on the table. "You shouldn't be staying here alone. You said it yourself-there are Yank patrols all over the place." "But I don't have anyplace to go, Lieutenant." She found another cup for herself; poured. "My kin are all dead. My husband was my only-well, you understand." She drank. The rain drummed on the shake roof. There was a leak above the antique cookstove. A drop of water plopped on the iron every few seconds. "Then if I might make a suggestion-was The hazel eyes met his over the rim of her cup. "Yes?" "You'd be safer in Winchester or further down the Valley. I could take you with me when I go." "Behind the lines?" 4888The Ball Is Open" He nodded, adding silently, Wherever they are at the moment. There was no point in telling her that even as they sat talking, an advance from Martinsburg could be in progress, cutting them off. "I should be on my way soon," he went on. "I need to find my company." "Not tonighjt!" "Yes, I was planning-was "You're soaked clear through. You ought to rest for a little. Let me hang your jacket up to dry." "I don't know, Mrs. Cullen. I really should move along-was "Please," she said, leaning across the table. The hazel eyes pleaded. She didn't want to be left alone in a place that had suddenly become full of poisonous memories. "Well-I wouldn't mind half an hour's sleep-was He felt like a traitor to Stuart for admitting it. "Take the bed. I'll curl up by the fire. First get out of your coat." He was too tired to refuse. He took off the sodden jacket. Mrs. Cullen held it up by the torn choker collar: "My, your unit must look elegant. This is handsome." "It was before the fighting started," he grinned. He helped himself to more wine. Mrs. Cullen's eyes darted to the hard muscles of his chest. Then, pivoting, she drew a chair close to the hearth and draped the jacket over the back. "It really has started, hasn't it?" she said softly. "Yes, ma'am. In Colonel Stuart's words-the ball is open." "People in the neighborhood have seen Colonel Stuart. They say he's a fine-looking man." "That he is." "A singer. A dancer-was Her eyes met his for a second. "Fond of the ladies." The Titansbledhi "Oh, yes, he's cordial to them. But he has a wife and children." "Do you?" "No." He approached the fire; stood a while absorbing the warmth. Then he went to the bed, so weary it didn't bother him that a man had died there only a short time before. He dropped his saber and sash on the floor. His teeth were chattering again. Mrs. Cullen brought him a fresh comforter. He bid her good night and turned his face to the wall, asleep a moment after his eyes closed. m "Glorious. Glorious." He thrashed from side to side, trying to hide from the yellow grin; the wasted face pursuing him, disembodied. "Glorious, my boy. GLORIOUS!" He heard screams. Mrs. Cullen's. The Union soldier's. The screaming multiplied: Two voices. Ten. A hundred- "Lieutenant?" "Get away from me backslash was he shrieked, sitting straight up in bed. Sweat slicked his face. He was trembling violently. "I said get- He stopped when he saw the woman kneeling on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyesockets with his palms while Mrs. Cullen watched him with a worried expression. She'd put on a cotton gown and wrapped herself in another blanket. Her breath smelled of the wine they'd been drinking. 4908The Ball Is Open" Wood popped in the fireplace. The rain dripped on the stove. She touched his face. "Are you all right?" "Yes." "You were having a nightmare. Repeating someone's name." "Whose?" "Well, not a name, exactly. You kept talking about the sergeant." It was slipping away so fast, he could barely remember. All of it was dissolving like smoke in the wind- God, he felt awful His teeth rattled. He chafed his arms but couldn't warm them. Mrs. Cullen rushed for the earthenware jar. She sat down beside him, handing him a cup. Then she slid the blanket from her shoulders and draped it over his. Inadvertently, she pressed against him. He felt her small, hard breast through her nightgown. She drew back-quickly. He drank the wine. It didn't help either. The darkness outside, the forlorn sound of the rain, the killing he'd done-all combined to leave him troubled and full of doubt about his fitness for the war. "The jug's empty," she said. "I've more put away, though. I'll get it-was "Don't bother." "But you're still cold as ice." "The blanket helps." It had slipped. He groped for it with his left hand. Simultaneously, she reached out. Their hands touched. He should have pulled his hand away immediately. He didn't. Without thinking, he closed his fingers around hers. With a tired sigh-more exhaustion than passion- she leaned against him. Her gray-streaked yellow hair felt soft against his neck. The cottage was dark except for embers on the The Titansbledia hearth. He shifted away from her just a little. Lifted his right hand toward her chin, his body astonishingly warm all at once- Suddenly he went rigid, the tips of his fingers an inch from her face. Some of the pain seemed to drain from her eyes. She tugged his hand until it was touching her skin. She smiled. "It's all right, Lieutenant. I'm cold too." He was frightened. He'd never been intimate with a woman before. But they seemed to communicate without words, she from her loneliness and a need to eradicate the memory of the Union soldiers; he from exhaustion and a feeling of being lost on a dark night that might last till eternity. His first kiss was almost chaste, their lips barely meeting. Her palm rested gently against his cheek. What a damn fool he was! Having been married, she'd know right off that he'd nearer had a woman. But his fears didn't stop him. She was patient during his first clumsy tugs at her gown. Then she helped him pull it up over her head. He couldn't help gazing at the small, dark-tipped breasts before they burrowed under the covers together. They lay facing one another, kissing. He put his arms around her, drawing comwarmth from her body; the thin, hard legs; the torso so undernourished he could feel her ribs. But her mouth was pliant and giving, opening against his. If she realized he was inexperienced, she still said nothing. She drew him to her. Strange new sensations made him forget his anxiety. He lowered himself, feeling the 4928The Ball Is Open" rough brush of hair. An awkward union quickly became a mutual striving for heat; affection; tenderness in a world no longer tender- When he uttered a long gasp and collapsed on her shoulder, wondrously relieved, she bore his whole weight without complaint. From time to time she stroked the back of his head, or kissed his cheek. They slept in each other's arms the rest of the night. At first light, she left the bed. He was awakened by the delicious aroma of fatback frying. She set out a heaping plate-practically the last food she had, she told him. The small sum of money left when her husband died was almost gone. He ate every morsel, then drank thick, bitter coffee while she packed some clothing and a few personal possessions in a worn valise. He dressed, collected his saber and shotgun, and went out to saddle Dancer. It was a beautiful morning. Droplets of moisture glistened on ferns and the pink and blue blossoms of honeysuckle and lupine. The woods steamed after the night's rain. The sun promised intense heat. She emerged from the cottage just as he mounted. She'd pinned her shawl around her bosom and put on a bonnet. She handed him the valise, smiling:" "There are a lot of things I forgot to ask you, Gideon," "For instance?" He felt in much better spirits. But he was impatient to be off. "Where are you from?" "Lexington, way down the Valley." "You said you aren't married-was The Titansbledic "No." "Do you have a young woman you're courting?" A moment's silence. "I did." "I don't suppose I'll see you again-was "Oh, you never can tell. We might run into each other in Winchester." It was a lie and they both knew it. The ball was open. The patterns of the red dance were shifting too swiftly. "I hope so," she said. "But if we don't, I want to wish you well. I'll pray you come through the war safely." A cocky shrug. A little of his old assertiveness had returned; at least outwardly: "I imagine I will. The war shouldn't last longer than two or three more months. Here-was He extended his hand. "Come on up." "In a minute. There's one more thing I have to do." She walked back into the cottage. He heard a loud clang-the stove door opening?-followed by a series of soft thumps. When she emerged into the sunlight, he saw her image upside down in a pool of standing water. He smelled smoke; heard a crackling. A quizzical look in his eyes, he moved his gaze from the water to her face. "That's right," she said. "I scattered the coals from the stove. It's the only home I have. But I'll be damned if any Yank will ever make himself comfortable in it. Now may I have your hand, please?" She clambered up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist. He gigged Dancer. The stallion fairly leaped toward the road. The smell of smoke thickened. He felt her look back once as they took the rutted track through the steaming woods. His last remark about the war had been a lie, too. He was beginning to doubt whether it would be short after all. If the dead Yank was typical of the roughnecks the 4948The Ball Is Open North was sending to do its fighting, the Confederacy could be in for a hard run. Maybe Old Bory's warning about beauty and booty wasn't so far wrong, either. He felt himself caught in a whirl of change. Not only was the war changing day by day; so was he. I killed a man. Loved a woman. The same night. And dreamed of Margaret's father, too. He didn't like the dark tenor of his thoughts. He broke into a chorus of "Lorena" as they jogged along. But the stench of the burning cottage filled the forest. Yes indeed, the ball was surely open. And even as he sang, he knew he was no longer the same light-hearted dancer who'd waited impatiently in Richmond for the first martial measures. CHAPTER VH Ride Jo Glory "GIDEON? Bring that goddamn torch over here!" Gideon slopped through the creek shallows, the rags on the end of the branch trailing smoke and flame. The fire reflected in water nearly as black as the night sky. The creek was about five miles southeast of the ford where they'd crossed the Shenandoah on their way to Manassas this warm Friday, the nineteenth of July. Bearded and filthy, Jack Harris squatted among the reeds. He watched the water directly in front of him, moving his Bowie knife slowly back