The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (33 page)

Their waiting ended at four o’clock when the Federals fought forward in a series of assaults.  Robert groaned as he saw the wave of blue coats teeming toward them.  He knew even before the fight began that his men didn’t stand a chance.  He raised his rifle and began to fire, but - in less than an hour - he heard the call to retreat as men dropped all around him. 

“Retreat!” Robert yelled, knowing he would have to run a long way to escape the Union fury.

“Don’t you think it’s time for us to get out of here?” Peter asked, staring up at the small hole above them.  He had carefully selected footholds and handholds that would allow them to climb the twenty feet they had fallen.

“I don’t know,” Matthew said nervously.  “Let’s wait until dark.  We don’t know what’s going on up there.” He had become quite fond of the small cave they had fallen into.

Peter licked his lips.  “No, we don’t, but I know what is going on down here.  We’re about to die from thirst!”

“Better than going back to prison,” Matthew muttered and then flushed when Peter’s eyes softened with compassion. 

He realized Peter couldn’t possibly understand.  All the prisoners at Libby Prison had suffered, but only Matthew had been relegated to Rat Hole for months.  Nightmares continued to haunt him.  His terror of going back there had stolen any former strength and courage he’d once had.

“Let’s wait just a while longer,” he finally said.

Peter nodded quietly and sat back down.  “Okay.  It’s not like I have any idea what we’ll do once we get out of here,” he admitted.  “If we’re behind Rebel lines, I don’t know how we’ll escape.”

His voice broke off as booms of cannon fire exploded in the distance.  Another full-scale assault was under way, but they had no way of knowing which direction it came from.  Were the Rebels finishing the job, or had Sheridan returned from Washington to rally Union troops?

Steady firing and booming of cannons thundered for over an hour.  Then suddenly Matthew and Peter heard voices.

“Get out of here!”

“Retreat!”

“The Yankees turned the tables!” another jeered.  “Run!”

Matthew and Peter cheered, knowing their voices couldn’t be heard amid the chaos, and confident that Rebels in retreat wouldn’t stop to capture prisoners.  They settled back to wait; soon it would be safe to leave their unexpected refuge.

Within one hour of Sheridan’s assault, every Confederate force nearby had been routed.  The same chaos that had existed earlier in the day for the Union, now all belonged to the Rebels as they fled for their lives; giving up all they had gained and losing much of their artillery.

By the end of the day, Early’s army had fallen all the way back to New Market and was no longer a fighting force in the Shenadoah. 

The battle for the Shenandoah Valley was over.

Robert stared around at the remnants of his men huddled around a fire. 

“We’re finished now, ain’t we, Captain?” Alex asked hoarsely, his eyes red with exhaustion.

Robert nodded.  “We’re finished,” he admitted.  “I imagine we’ll be called back to Richmond, but the Shenandoah Valley is gone.”

Heaviness and defeat settled over Robert as he lay down and pulled a new Union blanket over him.  It provided no warmth as the cold reality sank into his bones. 

The Valley was lost… Oak Meadows was lost…

Never had Robert felt so lost or alone. He tried to pull the vision of Carrie’s shining eyes into his heart, but all he felt was emptiness.

Chapter Eighteen

Matthew was more than ready to go home; actually, he was ready to go
anywhere
other than where he was.  He didn’t think he could stand one more minute in the Shenandoah Valley.  He stared off at the plumes of smoke clouding the horizon for as far as he could see; overhead those black and white pillars of burning buildings and fields pointed down to heartache. 

Peter rode up next to him.  “You wouldn’t think there was anything left to burn,” he said heavily.

“You said you believed it would take total destruction,” Matthew said bitterly.  “I believe it has been accomplished.”

“Not this,” Peter protested.  “I don’t think I understood what it meant… I know it’s necessary to destroy the food supply for the Confederate army, but not whole farms… not homes…”  He lapsed into brooding silence.  After a long moment he added, “The haunted eyes of those women and children will be with me as long as I live.”

“You mean you don’t think thousands of women and children should be left without a home or any food for the winter?”  Matthew snapped sarcastically, and then turned to his friend.  “I’m sorry,” he said contritely.  “I know it bothers you as much as it bothers me.” 

“I feel sickened every day I ride out to cover it,” Peter said wearily.  “How many ways can I describe the massive devastation of what used to be one of the most beautiful, lush valleys in the United States?”

“Readers in the North are eating it up,” Matthew sighed.  “It’s just more proof we’re winning the war - that
right
is on our side.”

“You don’t agree?”

“This war quit being about
being right
a long time ago.  Now it’s about nothing more than bull-headed stubbornness.  Why doesn’t President Davis accept that the Confederacy doesn’t stand a chance and stop all the destruction and suffering?”  Matthew gritted his teeth and stared off toward Richmond.

“Does Davis still hope Lincoln will be defeated?” Peter asked with disbelief.  “I believe in hope, but I’m afraid Davis is living in a fantasy land. The election is just a few days away.  There is not a chance McClellan can beat Lincoln.”

“The entire South has been living in the fantasy they may somehow get out of this war as an independent nation.   By hanging on, they guarantee more destruction, dead soldiers, and destroyed lives.”

“They’re also afraid of what comes after,” Peter observed.  “As horrible as this is, at least they feel they know how to fight.  What about when it’s over?  They never considered defeat, so they surely have no idea how to live in it.”

Matthew nodded thoughtfully and then looked up when he heard a call.  “They’re waiting for me,” he said. 

“You’re going with another raiding party?” Peter asked.

“Editor’s orders,” Matthew snapped.  He shook his head.  “I wish I could just quit caring… just become numb to the whole thing.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter replied quietly.  “It’s when you quit caring that you have something to worry about.  It was your passion and carin;, your refusal to give up, that got us out of Libby Prison.”

“And it almost killed me,” Matthew said.

“But it didn’t,” Peter shot back.  “You lived.  You helped many others live.  Look for ways to make a difference, Matthew.  You’ll find them – even here.”

Matthew gazed at his friend for a long minute, took a deep breath, and nodded his head.  “You’re right.  I hate that you’re right… but you’re right.”

Moments later he cantered off on horseback to join a raiding party.

Robert lifted his head when his commanding officer rode up to his campsite. 

“Good morning, Captain Borden.”

“Good morning, Colonel Cartland.”  Robert nodded toward the fire and decided to play the politeness game even though he couldn’t feel one good thing about the day.  “Care for some coffee?”

“No, thank you.  General Early has received word from Richmond.  He is leaving a skeleton force here in the Valley.  The rest of his troops, including you and your men, are to return to Richmond and join Lee’s defenses at Petersburg.”

Robert nodded.  He had been waiting for the order.  “When do we leave?”

“Not for a week.”  The colonel moved a little closer, glancing over at Robert’s men. 

Robert stood and walked over to stand next to the officer’s bay gelding.  “Is there something else, sir?” he asked quietly.

“Not much will happen for the next week.  General Early thought you might have business in the area,” his voice trailed off meaningfully.

Robert scowled, thinking of the empty fields at Oak Meadows.  “I’m afraid I have nothing left to have business
with
,” he snapped.

“There are raiding parties out,” the colonel said slowly.

“And I’m to do something about them?” Robert asked bitterly.

“If it were my home, I would want to know,” Colonel Cartland replied, his eyes saying he understood Robert’s angry frustration.  “Not knowing is sometimes worse than knowing.” 

Robert nodded slowly.  He had watched the plumes of smoke spoiling the horizon all week long.  He’d also thought of his mother constantly, but with Winchester once again in Federal hands there was nothing he could do. 

“Is your place still standing?” Colonel Cartland asked.

“It was a few weeks ago, sir.”

“You might stay lucky, Captain.  There’s only one way to know, though.”

Robert realized the colonel was right.  “I’ll go alone.  I know these woods, and I’ll attract less attention.”

Colonel Cartland nodded and nudged his gelding forward.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.  Good luck to you.”

Matthew was sick at heart when the raiding party he was with turned down yet another tree-lined drive.  Chimneys in the distance said there was another target waiting to be fired. 

“This will be the fourth one today, Captain!” one of the men yelled as he spurred his horse forward.  “We’re showing them Rebels they might as well give up!”

“I’ll take the barn,” another hollered.  “The hay makes them burn hot and fast!”

Matthew gazed after the soldiers as they dashed off, whooping and hollering, but then followed them resolutely, groaning when he saw a tight cluster of people standing on the porch.  As he got closer, he identified a woman that must be the mother to the four young children clutching at her dress and gazing fearfully at the soldiers racing toward their barn.

“What are they gonna do, Mama?” a little boy cried, his blue eyes wide with fright below a mop of red hair.