In this fast-paced and engaging novel for young adults, Barrett Dowell captures the drama of the pivotal Second Battle of Manassas from the point of view of a Virginia youth who travels from his home outside Warrenton with an important message for General Robert E. Lee. Chadwick Curtis is not a soldier, and he has yet to make up his mind on what it means for a state to secede from the Union. Like many members of plantation families, he values his way of life and resists the Union's impulse to change it. But he also grapples with moral questions: Slavery, his father said on his deathbed, is wrong; freeing the family slaves is the moral thing to do. War, Chadwick comes to believe, is also wrong, for the costs are to grave and the spoils to hard won. In the week it takes him to ride north in search of the famed general, Chadwick is witness to the brutality of war, to the courage of those who fight it, and the growth of his own character and that of his companion, his eleven -year- old brother Brett. Carole Sargent

SEARCHING FOR GENERAL LEE

A Civil War NovelBy Barrett Dowell

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Barrett Dowell
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-2429-8

Chapter One

DAY 1: SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1862

1 p.m.

Chadwick was tall for sixteen. He had a slender, muscular body that revealed a manliness that made him appear older than his years. Since boyhood, his magnetism had attracted many admirers, and with these friends he explored and mapped out all the landmarks, passes, and streams for miles around his farm. "You must be brave," his grandfather had counseled him. And he was. With boundless energy he crawled, unafraid, inside caves, his friend clambering behind him. He climbed hills more quickly, jumped a horse higher, and swam faster and farther than any of his peers. Yet now, cantering alone across a stone bridge, he felt unsure. Today was one of those days when he wished his papa were here to talk to.

Each morning when Chadwick awoke, his first thought was of Woodsedge. He leaped up, dressed, and rode out on Small Package into the peace and tranquility of the woods. Nothing meant as much to him as the fresh new morning smells or a bird's call from the hills or the hammering of a woodpecker. These sounds multiplied the marvel of nature going to work on a new day, which made his heart glad, for that meant to him that all was right with his special world at Woodsedge. He often rode beside the dry-stacked that outlined the farm's boundaries. His mind recalled the twenty-four Negroes who hauled creaking wooden carts filled with stones from the quarry on the other side of the woods, assembling the wall stone by stone. "Every stone has character," his papa explained as they watched, "and you fit it individually. Those old fellows can choose the right stone while it's still in the cart." The craftsmen fascinated Chadwick, who would study one particular Negro as he rubbed and turned a stone, looking for its best placement. The wall had no mortar, so it relied on the stones' position in the wall to hold it securely. Somewhere in the dense gray-green of that meandering wall, his father had stashed a tin box that contained a copy of the deed for Woodsedge, a miniature oil painting of Ma and Papa, a luck piece his grandpa had always carried, and the names of all his family and the Negroes who had lived at Woodsedge. Chadwick felt secure knowing it was there, as though the land bore his family's signature and was truly a part of them.

Each morning, Chadwick's plantation rounds had taken on just about the same route his papa once rode, a ritual he cherished. "That horse and Master Chadwick, they is always together," Big John would say, wagging his finger at Small Package and his master. And it was so, because the two would often be gone until sunset, having spent the day together sharpening their senses and skills within the wooded surroundings. They were hardly ever at home.

As Small Package trotted across a field, Chadwick's drifting thoughts rode with him. He gave Package a pat on the neck as he said aloud, "I don't ever want to leave Woodsedge." Like generations of Curtises before him, Woodsedge was the only home he had ever known. That was true for Big John and his forefathers, too, and it was Chadwick's perception that Big John loved Woodsedge as much as he did.

Big John did a little bit of everything around Woodsedge. He had been born a slave on the Curtis plantation just as his father and grandfather had. Chadwick knew countless stories about Big John and Papa and how they'd virtually grown up together, but he knew little about Big John's own boyhood, except that he was left an orphan when he was four years old. He was now well into his sixties, and even with his salt-and-pepper hair and beard, his tall, strong body and unlined deep brown skin belied his age.

As he rode along, Chadwick reflected on the stories his papa used to tell about Big John. Almost all of Big John's life his work had been to be alongside Papa. He was not quite ten years old that first day on the job when he taught Papa how to walk. Papa would say, "Every time I fell, Big John put me back on my feet." Chadwick knew the two grew up fond of each other, in truth, as best friends.

Big John was the one who really taught Chadwick all he knew about horses: how to break them, to care for their hooves, to shoe them, to let them graze without foundering, and to exercise them and to cool them down with a walk. "Like this," Big John would say as he showed Chadwick how to currycomb the dirt from Small Packages' coat with a dry corncob, or thin out his bushy mane. "You learn quick," he often said, "like your Papa."

Papa was eager for his young son to be well grounded in handling all types of horses. "But don't neglect your schooling. Figures mean a lot to me. And to you, too," he said. Chadwick had a head for business. Now that Papa was dead he continued to keep records for Woodsedge, carefully documenting income and outlay in the heavy ledgers Papa had set up. With careful calculation he discovered wastefulness and vowed to end it. "But not yet," he said one day to Ma. "For now it's better to have too much than too little."

Ma often said, "Chadwick, I want you to go back to school." But Chadwick didn't want to go, not just now; he felt he must help Ma. His plan was to stay and care for everyone on the plantation until this war was over.

'It couldn't last much longer," he told Ma. "Papa said it wouldn't last long."

2 p.m.

The horseman trotting far ahead was not distinguishable in the blinding sunlight. More curious than frightened by the unexpected traveler, Chadwick urged Package to a gallop. The rider must have heard the hoofbeats, since he stopped and waited for Chadwick to ride to him. Chadwick reined in beside the man. He thought the soldier was about to say something, so he hesitated for a moment, training his eyes hard on the cavalryman. He's a Confederate and something is amiss, Chadwick surmised. He gave the soldier a smile and very deliberately placed his reins on his horse's neck. Then he met the soldier's eyes. "May I help you?"

The cavalryman frowned. "Are you speaking for your father?"

"I am speaking for myself. My papa is dead."

"I'm sorry," the cavalryman said.

Chadwick waited, for the cavalryman to speak further. He watched the Confederate silently sweep his eyes over fields of tobacco, wheat and corn. "I am sorry about your Pa," he said again. "One can see you have a big responsibility here."

Chadwick smiled contentedly. "This is Woodsedge."

"I remember passing apple and peach trees, grape trellises, and livestock as I rode by the spring. Is it all part of your papa's plantation?"

"Yes. This place is more than Papa. It's four generations of Curtises. I'm the fourth Chadwick Curtis. The first, Great Grandpa, bought land north of here, thousands of acres in Jeffersonton.

The Curtis farm was situated on gently sloping land. Much of it was cleared for farming, allowing the breeze to bring the sweetest smell of olive blossoms. Laurel covered every hill in bright blooms. The crops were planted, whenever possible in the valleys, where the rains washed down the enriched topsoil and promoted vigorous growth. At any given season, many fields were resting: growing clover to fertilize the ground and to be turned under at year's end, when planting could begin again. The property was well conceived and thought out: all the Curtises took pride in the foresight, which had enabled each of the Chadwick Curtises to improve the estate's crop yield. Of course, once he took over the control of the farm, each Chadwick...