to ten thousand. Some of those were on picket duty at the Rappahannock fords, but most were being allowed time to prepare for Stuart's grand review for invited guests on Saturday. Many women would be coming by rail and carriage from Richmond, as well as from the nearer towns. Charles wished he'd had time to invite Gus.
The review was certainly typical of Stuart, but it struck Charles as inappropriate when mass movement of the army was under way, and that army was not in the best of condition. These days he saw many sore, swollen backs among the horses; sixteen or seventeen hours a day was too long for an animal to be saddled. In Robertson's brigade he had seen horses frantically chewing each other's manes and tails — starving even in the season of growth. In the brigade of Old Grumble Jones, the slovenly general whose liking for blue jeans and hickory shirts earned him the dubious honor of being called the Zach Taylor of the Confederacy, Charles had only yesterday spied half a dozen men riding mules. The best replacements they could find, he supposed.
Sweet clover scented the June night. The fires shone along the whole southern horizon. In camp, a few men were resting, writing letters, or playing cards with decks in which the court cards were portraits of generals and politicians. Mr. Davis, popular in the first year of the war, was seldom seen in the newer decks.
Most of the troopers had no time for recreation, however. They were sewing and polishing because Stuart had ordered every man to find or fix up a good uniform for the review. Much as Charles disliked the whole idea, he intended to look as presentable as possible and even unpack the Solingen sword. If Jeb wanted a show, he would do his best to contribute.
Brandy Station had been named for an old stagecoach stop famous for apple brandy served to travelers; the apples grew in orchards close by. Now the Orange & Alexandria line served the place. On Saturday the special trains started rolling in early, the cars packed with politicians and gaily dressed ladies, most of whom would attend both the review and General Stuart's ball at Culpeper that night.
In open meadows near long and relatively flat Fleetwood Hill, just above the village crossroads, Stuart's cavalry performed for the visitors. Columns of horse charged with drawn sabers. Artillery batteries raced, wheeled, loaded, and fired demonstration rounds. Flags and music and the warm smell of summer moved in the breeze that brushed over vistas of tasseled corn and flourishing wheat. Charles and the rest of Hampton's scouts took their turn galloping past the guests and reviewing officers gathered along the rail line. Speeding by, Charles saw the black plume on Stuart's hat dip and flutter; the general had bobbed his head when he recognized his old West Point acquaintance.
After the long and tiring review, Charles returned to his encampment, anticipating a good meal and a sound sleep. Tomorrow he had to scout the river near Kelly's Ford. He was putting up Sport when an orderly appeared.
'Captain Main? General Fitzhugh Lee presents his compliments and requests the captain's company at his headquarters tent this evening. Supper will be served before the ball, which the general may not attend.'
'Why not?'
'The general has been sick, sir. Do you know the location of his headquarters?'
'Oak Shade Church?'
'That's correct, sir. May General Lee expect you?'
'I don't plan to go to the ball either. Tell Fitz — the general I accept with pleasure.'
That's a damn lie, he thought as the orderly left. Everyone knew Fitz was Stuart's favorite and still jealous of Hampton outranking him because of seniority of appointment. Hampton's partisans, in turn, sneered at Fitz, saying he had risen rapidly solely because he was Old Bob's nephew. Might be something to it. Two of the five brigades of horse were led by Lees — Fitz and the general's son, Rooney.
Uncomfortable about the invitation, Charles spent the next couple of hours cleaning his uniform. At least he had the gift sword to smarten his appearance. Presently he mounted Sport and rode down a lane flanked by fields where bees hummed in the white clover blossoms. The sun was sinking. Northward, the I heights of Fleetwood swam in blue haze.
'Glad you accepted the invitation, Bison. I've been feeling I poorly of late. Rheumatism. I need some good company.'
Fitz did indeed look pale and unhealthy. His beard was big and bushy as ever, his uniform immaculate, but he lacked his customary vigor; he talked and moved lethargically.
He expressed surprise that his old friend didn't intend to enjoy the company of the ladies gathering at Culpeper. To which Charles replied, 'I have a lady of my own now. I'd have invited her, but I couldn't get a message to her soon enough.'
'Is it a serious affair of the heart? Going to settle down when this muss is over?'
'Could be, General. I've been thinking about it.'
'Let's dispense with general and captain for one evening,' Fitz said. He gestured his friend to a camp chair. 'The old names will do.'
Charles smiled and relaxed. 'All right.'
The fireball of the sun rested on the low hills in the west. The open tent was breezy and comfortable. One of Fitz's officers joined them for whiskey served by a Negro body servant. Colonel Tom Rosser, a handsome young Texan, had been ready to graduate in the class of May '61 when he resigned to fight for the South. The three cavalrymen chatted easily for fifteen minutes. Rosser twice mentioned a cadet in the later, June, class of '61 who was with the Union.
'Name's George Custer. He's a lieutenant. Aide to Pleasonton. I used to consider him a friend, but I reckon I can't any longer.'
Thinking of friendships and Hampton, Charles cast an oblique glance at the general. Why had Fitz invited him? For the reason he gave — company? Or another?
On the subject of Custer, Fitz said, 'I hear they call him Crazy Curly.'
'Why's that?' Charles asked.
Rosser laughed. 'You'd know if you saw him. In fact, you'd recognize him instantly. Hair down to here —' He tapped his shoulder. 'Wears a big scarlet scarf around his neck — looks like a damn circus rider gone mad.' Softly, more reflectively, he added, 'He doesn't lack courage, though.'
'I've also heard he doesn't lack for ambition,' Fitz remarked. 'On the peninsula they called him Pleasonton's Pet.'
In the universal fashion of cavalrymen, the three officers fell to discussing the strong and weak points of other opponents. Pleasonton got poor marks, but Fitz and Rosser were impressed by the exploits of a heretofore unknown colonel, Grierson, of Illinois. In late April, to divert attention from Grant at Vicksburg, Grierson had led seventeen hundred horse on a daring ride from LaGrange, Tennessee, to Baton Rouge, tearing up railroad tracks and killing and imprisoning Confederate soldiers along the way.
'Six hundred miles in slightly more than two weeks,' Rosser grumbled. 'I'd say they've been reading our book.'
As the evening went on, Charles found himself growing depressed. He said little and watched his friend Fitz with a feeling amounting to envy. For a young man, Fitz had indeed come a long way — and not solely because of family connections. He had a reputation as a good officer, and he had certainly changed his style since Academy days, when he delighted in thumbing his nose at the rules.
Presently Rosser stood up, putting on his dress hat. 'I must go. Pleasure to meet you, Captain Main. Heard good things about you. Hope we'll see you again.'
Rosser's final remark seemed to pass some coded message to Fitz. As the general's Negro put tin plates of beef and spoon bread before them, Fitz said, 'You're wasting your time with old Hampton, you know. I lost a colonel to gangrene a week ago. His regiment's yours if you want it.'
Caught short, Charles stammered, 'Fitz, that — well, that's very flattering.'
'The devil with that. There are too many problems in this war, right down to and including my rheumatism, for me to squander a minute on flattery. You're a fine cavalryman, an able leader, and if I may say so, you're serving with a commander who is not all he should be — now wait. Don't bristle.'
'But I've been with General Hampton for two years. I signed on with him when he raised his legion in
