Portsmouth, under the command of Colonel Godwin. Its members came from the counties of Roanoke, Chesterfield, Isle of White, Nansemond, Lunenburg, Dinwiddie, and Norfolk. They were an enthusiastic bunch of men, but many had turned up bedraggled in well-worn farm clothing, with unsuitable guns and without the cavalry’s most important requirement, a horse.
Jacob and a few other large plantation owners had discussed finances during the first week of training, and all had agreed that it was their duty to purchase horses for the poorer farmers in the regiment, for most of them owned no more than a couple of old beaten mules. The men also had to be outfitted with uniforms, it was declared, as there was a prideful reluctance by the officers to face the Union Army looking like a bunch of badly dressed country boys.
The bulk of the Ninth had no orders to deploy; however, on this June morning, Jacob, along with fifty other cavalrymen, was preparing to leave Portsmouth for Yorktown, which sat on the northern side of the James River. Colonel Godwin, who would accompany them, gave no solid reasons as to why this particular advance party was going, except to say that their comrades up the bay were on the march and that some of the Ninth had been asked to join them.
Mercy patted Jacob’s black horse, Thor, on the nose whilst whispering softly in its ear. She had been dreading this moment. She had seen it in her mind’s eye many times, but now, with her heart filled with poignant farewells, she realised that reality was much more painful than her imaginings could ever be.
She looked at the other horses, well groomed and destined for battle, and wondered how many would fall or be crushed, shot, or stabbed with sabres. Her eyes searched out Jacob in a moment of panic, and they found him some distance away in a light-hearted conversation with a fellow officer. She watched his animated face break into a smile, and her heart filled with love. God was cruel, she thought, for although he had given her and Jacob these past months together, he was once again tearing them apart this morning.
Mercy stood alone and was well aware that the other women present were deliberately shunning her. Mercy had grown accustomed to the Portsmouth ladies and their determination to make her an outcast, yet their cruel jibes about Jacob Stone and his whore never failed to hurt her feelings.
She looked across the street and saw Elizabeth’s mother standing with her husband and a group of matronly women who were in different stages of weeping, hugging, and kissing their sons goodbye. Two of Mrs Coulter’s sons were also leaving, yet their mother seemed more intent on making Mercy feel uncomfortable with blatant hateful stares than in receiving comfort from her sons’ farewell embraces. Mercy lifted her chin in defiance and turned away from the Coulter family. She could put up with Mrs Coulter’s spitefulness, but what Mercy could not abide was having a bad reputation borne out of an old woman’s personal and biased hatred.
As far as Mrs Coulter was concerned, Mercy was the woman who had disappeared for months, only to appear again in the arms of her daughter’s husband. It was rumoured that Mercy was an infamous prostitute who had fled from England under suspicious circumstances. There were also women, starved for excitement, claiming that she was a witch involved in the cults. She had heard all about the utterances and gossip, yet she could not blame the Portsmouth ladies or Mrs Coulter, for they were ignorant of the truth. The fault for all the dreadful words spoken lay at Madam du Pont’s feet, Jacob had insisted, and Mercy had agreed with him.
Upon her arrival in Norfolk, she had learned that she would not remain there but would instead be joining Jacob in Portsmouth until his departure for the front. Madam du Pont, Jacob told her, had spirited Elizabeth away to Richmond and had left even the Coulter’s in the dark concerning their daughter’s
Jacob and a few other large plantation owners had discussed finances during the first week of training, and all had agreed that it was their duty to purchase horses for the poorer farmers in the regiment, for most of them owned no more than a couple of old beaten mules. The men also had to be outfitted with uniforms, it was declared, as there was a prideful reluctance by the officers to face the Union Army looking like a bunch of badly dressed country boys.
The bulk of the Ninth had no orders to deploy; however, on this June morning, Jacob, along with fifty other cavalrymen, was preparing to leave Portsmouth for Yorktown, which sat on the northern side of the James River. Colonel Godwin, who would accompany them, gave no solid reasons as to why this particular advance party was going, except to say that their comrades up the bay were on the march and that some of the Ninth had been asked to join them.
Mercy patted Jacob’s black horse, Thor, on the nose whilst whispering softly in its ear. She had been dreading this moment. She had seen it in her mind’s eye many times, but now, with her heart filled with poignant farewells, she realised that reality was much more painful than her imaginings could ever be.
She looked at the other horses, well groomed and destined for battle, and wondered how many would fall or be crushed, shot, or stabbed with sabres. Her eyes searched out Jacob in a moment of panic, and they found him some distance away in a light-hearted conversation with a fellow officer. She watched his animated face break into a smile, and her heart filled with love. God was cruel, she thought, for although he had given her and Jacob these past months together, he was once again tearing them apart this morning.
Mercy stood alone and was well aware that the other women present were deliberately shunning her. Mercy had grown accustomed to the Portsmouth ladies and their determination to make her an outcast, yet their cruel jibes about Jacob Stone and his whore never failed to hurt her feelings.
She looked across the street and saw Elizabeth’s mother standing with her husband and a group of matronly women who were in different stages of weeping, hugging, and kissing their sons goodbye. Two of Mrs Coulter’s sons were also leaving, yet their mother seemed more intent on making Mercy feel uncomfortable with blatant hateful stares than in receiving comfort from her sons’ farewell embraces. Mercy lifted her chin in defiance and turned away from the Coulter family. She could put up with Mrs Coulter’s spitefulness, but what Mercy could not abide was having a bad reputation borne out of an old woman’s personal and biased hatred.
As far as Mrs Coulter was concerned, Mercy was the woman who had disappeared for months, only to appear again in the arms of her daughter’s husband. It was rumoured that Mercy was an infamous prostitute who had fled from England under suspicious circumstances. There were also women, starved for excitement, claiming that she was a witch involved in the cults. She had heard all about the utterances and gossip, yet she could not blame the Portsmouth ladies or Mrs Coulter, for they were ignorant of the truth. The fault for all the dreadful words spoken lay at Madam du Pont’s feet, Jacob had insisted, and Mercy had agreed with him.
Upon her arrival in Norfolk, she had learned that she would not remain there but would instead be joining Jacob in Portsmouth until his departure for the front. Madam du Pont, Jacob told her, had spirited Elizabeth away to Richmond and had left even the Coulter’s in the dark concerning their daughter’s
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