“A six-week scratch, sir, that’s all.” Faulconer knew how to sound suitably modest, though in truth he was desperately readjusting himself to the wonderful realization that General Johnston was not full of recrimination. Washington Faulconer was no fool, and he knew that he had behaved badly or, at the very least, that it might be imputed that he had behaved unwisely by leaving his Legion and thus not being in place to save them from Starbuck’s treachery and Bird’s impetuosity, but if Johnston’s friendliness was any guide then maybe no one had noticed that dereliction of duty?

“If it hadn’t have been for your sacrifice,” Johnston said, pouring the balm of Gilead onto Faulconer’s self-esteem and making the Colonel’s happiness complete, “the battle would have been lost two hours back. Thank God you were with Evans, that’s all I can say.”

Faulconer opened his mouth to respond, found nothing whatever to say, so closed it.

“The federals had Beauregard completely bamboozled,” Johnston went on blithely. “He thought the thing would be decided on the right flank, and all the time the rascals were planning to hit us here. But you fellows got it right, and thank God you did, for you’ve saved the Confederacy.” Johnston was a pernickety, fussy man and a professional soldier of long experience who seemed genuinely moved by the tribute he was paying. “Evans told me of your bravery, Faulconer, and it’s an honor to salute you!” In fact Shanks Evans had paid a tribute to the bravery of the Faulconer Legion and had not mentioned Colonel Washington Faulconer’s name at all, but it was a simple enough misunderstanding and not one that Washington Faulconer thought needed to be corrected at this moment.

“We merely did our best, sir,” Faulconer managed to say, while in his mind he was already rewriting the whole story of the day—how he had, in fact, known all along that the rebel left lay dangerously exposed. Had he not reconnoitered toward the Sudley Fords at daybreak? And had he not left his regiment well placed to meet the enemy’s thrust? And had he not been wounded in the subsequent fighting? “I’m just glad we could have been of some small service, sir,” he added modestly.

Johnston liked Faulconer’s humility. “You’re a brave fellow, Faulconer, and I’ll make it my business to let Richmond know who are the real heroes of Manassas.”

“My men are the real heroes, sir.” Just ten minutes ago the Colonel had been cursing his men, especially the bandsmen who had jettisoned two expensive sax-horn tubas, a trumpet and three drums in their desperate efforts to escape the northern pursuit. “They’re all good Virginians, sir,” he added, knowing that Joseph Johnston was himself from the old dominion.

“I salute you all!” Johnston said, though touching his hat specifically to Faulconer before urging his horse on.