Rebel (The Starbuck Chronicles #1)
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When Richmond landowner Washington Faulconer snatches young Nate Starbuck from the grip of a Yankee-hating mob, Nate is both grateful and awed by his idealistic rescuer. To repay his generosity, he enlists in the Faulconer legion to fight against his home, the North, and against his abolitionist father. When the regiment joins up, ready to march into the ferocious battle at Buff Run, the men are prepared to start a war . . . but they aren't ready for how they—and the nation—will be forever changed by the oaths they have sworn for their beloved South.
and all had helped carry a casket into the church or had helped pull a drowned body from the river, but this was different; this was chance death, war’s lottery, and it could just as easily have been themselves lying there all bloody and still. This was something they were not really prepared for, because nothing in their training had convinced them that young men ended up open mouthed, flat on their backs, fly blown, bloodied and dead. “Carry him to the back, lads,” Captain Hinton now said.
army, while in front of Ridley was the tangle of woods and small pastures that was the Confederate right wing and from where General Beauregard hoped to launch his own attack on the unsuspecting northerners. Colonel Washington Faulconer was somewhere in that tangle and Ridley rested his horse while he tried to make some sense of the landscape. He was tense and angry, fidgeting in his saddle, aware of the enormity of the gamble he was taking, but Ridley would take almost any gamble to fulfill his
Billy? Tell him we’re retreating. He must rescue what wounded he can, and leave the rest. I guess the Yankees will treat them right?” “I’m sure they will, sir.” “Be off with you, then.” Starbuck ran back through the woods. A shell cracked off to his left and a heavy branch splintered and tore down through the surrounding trees. Groups of men were flitting back through the trees, not waiting for orders, but just making off toward safety. They were abandoning bowie knives, blankets, haversacks,
were expected to be ready by Friday and promising he would have them sent out to Faulconer County immediately. On that Friday morning Starbuck was sitting down to bring his account books up-to-date when the door to the music room banged open and a tall stranger glowered angrily from the threshold. He was a tall thin man, all bony elbows, long shanks and protruding knees. He looked to be in early middle age, had a black beard streaked with gray, a sharp nose, slanted cheekbones and tousled black
shouting, evidently in reaction to the water’s temperature. “It doesn’t really warm up until July!” he explained. “Maybe I’ll just watch you.” “Don’t be absurd, Nate. I thought you New Englanders were hardy?” “Not foolhardy,” Starbuck quipped, and thought how good it was to be back with Adam. They had been apart for months, yet the very first moment they were back together it seemed as if no time had passed at all. “Come on in, you coward,” Adam called. “Dear God.” Starbuck leaped into the