When he finally got everything collected. Rawlins began to see the humor in his situation. Where once he had only been tired, he was now cold, wet. and dirty, along with still being tired.
“Thanks, boys,” he said. “I think I'll survive, which is more than I can say about that clodhopper who knocked me down if I ever see him again.”
The soldiers laughed and went their way. Rawlins headed towards the telegraph office. None of them noticed the piece of paper that had been ground into the mud.
Rosemarie DeLisle was an intelligent woman, which was one of the traits that John Knollys found irresistible. In comparison with the vapid and shallow ladies who were the usual occupants of his social station, her intelligence was a tonic. This meant that she could see through the charades being played by the Confederate government.
The Richmond newspapers had proclaimed the completion of the campaign into Pennsylvania as a great triumph. “The Heroes Return” had been one headline, and “North Lacks Will to Fight” had been another, while “Grant and Lincoln Turn Tail” had been a third.
Rosemarie recalled her conversations with John Knollys and understood full well that the enterprise had failed. The Union army was as strong as it had been, if not stronger, while the Confederate and British forces were weaker. She could see that reflected in the number of wounded who had been shipped back to hospitals in Richmond, and the fact that precious few reinforcements had departed northward. The garrison of Richmond was almost entirely composed of the lame, the halt, the very young, and the too old.
It was not lost on her that Union patrols operating out of Baltimore were making no attempt to interrupt the columns of ambulances as they wound their way south with Confederate wounded. The wounded would be a burden on the South's diminishing resources, rather than on the North. It was a heartless trick, but one Rosemarie appreciated.
Rosemarie had spent a good deal of her spare time helping wounded Confederate and British officers convalesce. From the British she heard their disgust that no major battle had been fought and that they were retreating. From them, she also got information regarding John Knollys, including a letter sent courtesy of a young captain who'd lost a leg in a nameless skirmish.
While most of the British were pessimists, many of the wounded Confederate officers were exultant and confident in victory, and Brigadier General Wade Hampton was one of those. Hampton was the highest-ranking officer seriously enough wounded to require a return to Richmond. He was also an acquaintance of long standing, and he was delighted to have Rosemarie visit him.
Rosemarie found him in his hotel room and seated by the bed in an overstuffed chair. His robust constitution was speeding his recovery, and he was alert and angry.
“Of course we won.” he roared. “Anybody who says otherwise is a coward, madam, a coward. We marched through Pennsylvania virtually unimpeded. Where we met them we whipped them. just as in that cavalry battle in which I so foolishly tried to catch a rifle ball with my shoulder. My only regret is that I was wounded and will miss out on the final stages of the triumph. However, I will shortly return to General Stuart and will be ready for the next battle.”
'Tm glad to hear you say that, General, one picks up on so many rumors in this city.”
He softened and chuckled. “Actually. Mrs. DeLisle. I do have another regret. As a result of my move here. I seem to have lost a number of my papers, including some very important ones.”
“Fortunes of war,” Rosemarie teased as she got up to leave. “If that's the worst thing that happens to you, you are far better off than most. Papers can be replaced, lives cannot.”
Hampton acknowledged his agreement with a smile and Rosemarie departed. During the carriage ride back to her house, she took in the sounds and smells of Richmond. Women were still queued up outside bakeries despite signs in the windows saying they had no bread, and in front of butcher shops proclaiming they had no meat. It occurred to her that the women were already lined up for tomorrow's food, if there would be any.
She shuddered. Would there be any more food when Lee's army returned? Of course not. Ships from England had brought some, but nowhere near enough to feed the city. The land was fruitful enough, but few were working it. and so much was focused on both cotton and tobacco. Certainly the farmers had food for themselves, but they weren't making that much in excess. Of course, even if they did, it would have to be paid for with worthless Confederate money. Who could blame the farmers for not sacrificing themselves, although she did wonder about the large land-holders who could afford to provide sustenance for the city and chose not to. She did not regret having disposed of her landholdings.
Despite General Hamptons doubtlessly sincere feelings, she confronted the reality that the Confederacy was a losing proposition. The war could not continue as it was. Hampton and others were simply denying reality. They could not accept that all their sufferings might be for naught. The South would simply starve. When her British lover returned, it would be time for a long, frank discussion about their futures,
Idly, she wondered just what papers General Hampton had lost and why they were so important.
Wrapped in dark blankets to hide the white facings of their red uniforms, the three-hundred-man Forlorn Hope crept through the night towards the low, shadowy bulk of Fort Stephens.
Behind them lay a brigade of Confederates from Longstreet's Corps. If the British thrust succeeded, the Confederates would rush forward to secure it while others came forward to exploit it. The bulk of the army lay in the distance, with the rest of Longstreet’s Corps being the closest. Again, this was to lull the garrison into thinking that there would be no attack against Washington. The all-seeing balloons had been permitted to observe the main Confederate force several miles away from the trenches of Washington, and apparently moving southward.
All of Lees army, however, was primed for a fast move to Washington. The Union balloons were now all down. There were too many clouds for clear observations, and there was the threat of lightning that could easily destroy them.
As the British assault forces under Wolsey were just about within rifle shot of the Union fort, the low, gray skies opened up with a drenching storm that turned them all into cold, soaking wretches. Worse, it further softened the damp ground and turned it into mud. Still, they moved forward, only at a much slower pace.
“This is bloody marvelous,” Wolsey exulted as he urged the men on. There was a huge grin on his rain-streaked face.
Knollys shook water from his cap and grimaced. “If this is your idea of a good turn of events, I'd hate to see a bad one.”
Wolsey clapped him on the shoulder. “Knollys, you dunce, this means they can't see us. I'd even bet that their sentries have run for cover and will wait out this storm.”
“I hope you're right,” Knollys muttered. It was widely understood that the garrison of forts like Stephens were not combat-experienced regulars. Maybe they would duck for dry places and wait until the storm passed.
The British soldiers inched, crawled, and stumbled through the mud. When they reached the first line of barricades, thechevaux-de-frise, they crawled up to and through the interlocking barricades. There was no rifle fire from the trenches.
Maybe he's right, Knollys thought with growing hope. A select handful of British soldiers slithered over the lip of the trench and disappeared from sight. Still no sound. A head peeked over and waved them onward.
“Migawd.” someone muttered. “Were bloody fucking in.”
By this time, most of the assault force had made it through thechevaux-de-frise and were awaiting the signal to rush the trench. Knollys gave the command and they hurled themselves forward and into the earthen pit. A dead Union soldier lay facedown in the water at their feet.