Battle Flag

'I undertook to be back in my pulpit by month's end. If I believed the capture of Richmond was imminent, then I would beg my congregation's indulgence and stay with the army, but I can no longer believe any such thing. I had hoped your horsemen might inspire the army. I recall some talk of making raids on Richmond?' This accusation was accompanied by a scowl from the preacher. 'We shillyshally, Major. We linger. We tremble at the slightest sign of the enemy. We leave the Lord's work undone, preferring timidity to boldness. It grieves me, Major, it truly grieves me. But I am making notes, and I shall report my findings to the Northern people!'

Major Galloway tried to reassure the preacher that Pope's retreat was merely a temporary precaution intended to give the North time to build its army into an irresistible force, but the Reverend Starbuck would have none of such reasoning. He had learned from one of Pope's aides that the retreat behind the Rappahannock had been calculated to take advantage of the defensive capability of the river's steep northern bank. 'We have gone on the defensive!' the Reverend Starbuck exclaimed in a disgusted voice. 'Would there have been an Israel if Joshua had merely defended the river Jordan? Or a United States if George Washington had done nothing but dig ditches behind the Delaware? The Lord's work, Major, is not done by digging and tarrying, but by smiting the enemy! 'And it shall be, when thou shalt hear a sound of going in the tops of the mulberry trees, then shalt thou go out to battle: for God is gone forth before thee to smite the host of the Philistines.' Does not the First Book of Chronicles promise us as much? Then why are we not hearkening to the mulberries and going forth!' The Reverend Starbuck asked the question magisterially.

'I'm certain we shall be advancing soon,' Galloway said, wondering what mulberries had to do with the prosecution of war.

'Then, alas, I must read about your advance in the Journal rather than witness it for myself. If, indeed, I ever reach Boston again.' This last sentence was uttered in savage reproof of the chaos in Bealeton's small depot. The Reverend Starbuck had been waiting a full day to leave for Manassas Junction, but his train was trapped in the town by three supply trains that were being unloaded. No one knew how long that unloading would take, nor even if the offloaded supplies might not need to be reloaded in preparation for a further retreat. 'Still, we are not without our comforts,' the preacher said sarcastically, 'so follow me,' and he led the two cavalrymen to the end of the depot, where volunteer ladies from the Christian Sanitary Commission were serving reconstituted lemonade, buckwheat bread, and ginger cakes. The Reverend Starbuck wiped the sweat from his face with an enormous handkerchief, then used his cane to force a way to the trestle table, where he demanded three servings of the refreshments. One of the ladies timidly pointed to a hand-lettered sign proclaiming that the comestibles were for the consumption of uniformed men only, but one ferocious glance from the preacher quelled her small protest.

Once the ginger cakes and lemonade were secured and a suitable spot found for their consumption, Major Galloway gave the Reverend Starbuck the splendid news. John Pope's army might be retreating, but Galloway's Horse had stung the enemy. The Major forgivably exaggerated the damage his raiders had inflicted on the rebels, multiplying the wagons and ammunition destroyed at least fourfold, and while admitting to his own casualties, he claimed his men must have killed at least two score of rebels. 'We left their camp smoking with fire, sir,' Galloway said, 'and reeking of blood.'

The Reverend Starbuck put down his mug of lemonade so he could join his hands in a prayerful clasp. ''Bless the Lord,'' he said, ''who smote great nations and slew mighty kings!''

'The news is better still, sir,' Adam said, for while Kemp had been under the doctor's knife, Adam had found paper and string and made a parcel addressed to the Reverend Elial Starbuck on Walnut Street in Boston. He had been planning to send the parcel from the depot, but now he could deliver the prize personally.

It was obvious from the consistency of the package that it contained cloth, and the Reverend Starbuck, prodding with his finger, was scarce able to believe what he suspected. 'It isn't. . .' he began, then without waiting to finish his question he tore the paper and string greedily away to reveal a bundle of folded scarlet silk slashed with white and blue. The preacher sighed as he held up a golden fringe of the rebel battle flag. 'God bless you, my dear boy,' he told Adam, 'God bless you.'

Adam intended to keep the Faulconer standard for himself, just as he intended to use his father's saber and revolver, but the battle flag, the red silk flag with the eleven white stars on the blue Saint Andrew's cross, was a gift for the Reverend Elial Starbuck: a trophy dragged from the filthy heart of secession that the preacher could use to show his subscribers that their donations were not being wasted. 'I'm not sure if you want to know this, sir,' Adam continued diffidently as the preacher gazed entranced at the beautiful silk, 'but that flag comes from Nate's battalion.'

But the mention of his son's name only enhanced the preacher's pleasure. 'You took Nate's tawdry rag away, did you? Well done!'

'You'll take it to Boston, sir?' Major Galloway asked.

'I surely will. We shall put it on display, Major. We shall hang it for all to see, and maybe we shall invite people to throw mud at it on payment of a small sum toward the war effort. Then we shall burn it next July fourth.' He gazed at the rich red silk, and a shudder mixed of lust and loathing racked his body. ''And your altars shall be desolate,'' he said in his marvelous voice, ''and your images shall be broken: and I will cast down your slain men before your idols. He that is far off shall die of the pestilence; and he that is near shall fall by the sword, and he that remaineth and is besieged shall die by the famine: thus will I accomplish my fury upon them. Then shall ye know that I am the Lord.'' There were a few seconds of awed silence from the dozens of people who had turned to listen to the preacher, who now, to show that his peroration was done, picked up his mug of lemonade. 'The prophet Ezekiel,' he added helpfully.

'Amen,' Major Galloway said weakly. 'Amen.'

'So what becomes of you now, Major?' the Reverend Starbuck asked as he bundled the flag together. He had ripped the wrapping paper into useless shreds, but he managed to salvage enough string to tie the big silk folds into an approximation of neatness.

'We'll look to do some work here, sir. Hurt the enemy again, I hope.'

'It's the Lord's work you're engaged in,' the preacher said, 'so do it well! Lay their land waste, Major, strike them down! And God give your arm the strength of ten while you do it. You'll write a full account of your raid? So I might publish it to our subscribers?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Then on to victory! On to victory!' The Reverend Doctor Starbuck thrust his empty lemonade mug into Adam's hand, and then, carrying the rebel flag as proudly as though he had captured it himself, went back to wait in his car.

Galloway sighed, shook his head in marvel at such energy, then went to find someone, anyone, who might have orders for his cavalry.

Colonel Swynyard and a nervous Captain Starbuck waited all afternoon to see General Thomas Jackson, and they were still waiting as dusk fell and as one of the General's aides brought a pair of lanterns out to the veranda of the house where Jackson had his headquarters. 'Not that he sleeps in the house,' the aide said, stopping to gossip. 'He prefers the open air.'

'Even when it's raining?' Starbuck forced himself to make conversation. He did not feel like socializing, not when he was facing an unpleasant interview, but the aide seemed friendly enough.

'Just so long as it ain't storming.' The aide clearly relished retailing stories of his master's eccentricities. 'And he's up every morning at six to take a cold dip. Jaybird naked and shoulders under. Out here he uses that old horse trough and on a summer morning that might be pleasant enough, but in winter I've seen Old Jack skim the ice off a tub before baptizing himself.' The aide smiled, then turned as a black man appeared around the side of the house. 'Jim!' he called. 'Tell these gentlemen what the General likes to eat.'

'He don't like to eat nothing!' the black man grumbled. 'He eats worse than a heathen. It's like cooking for a fighting cock.'

'Mr. Lewis is the General's servant,' the aide said. 'Not his slave, his servant.'

'And he's a great man.' Jim Lewis's admiration for the eccentric Jackson was every bit as heartfelt as the uniformed aide's. 'There ain't more than a dozen men like the General in all the world, and that's a straight fact, and there ain't any man in the wide world like the General for the whippin' of Yankees, and that's a straighter fact, but he still eats worse than a goat.' 'Nothing but stale bread, dirt-plain meat, egg yolk, and buttermilk,' the aide said, 'and fruit in the morning, but only in the morning. He reckons that fruit ingested in the afternoon is bad for the blood, you see.'