Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [100]
The cannon fire continued in uneven bursts, and the daylight began to fade until the trees became a solid gray wall. Lee knew it would not go on much longer. Davis was speaking to the troops, a crowd had begun to gather around them, and then the wounded began to appear, carried out of the woods, and the sounds of battle were replaced with the cries of the men.
There was nothing left for them to do. Soon they would see the commanders and there would be answers to the confusion. Through the soldiers that crowded the road came a horseman, yelling, waving his hat, an officer Lee had just seen, one of Johnston’s men. The foot soldiers cleared a path, and he rode closer.
“Sirs, General Johnston is wounded,” he shouted. “They are bringing him . . . there.” The man pointed across the open field, where the smoke was beginning to clear.
Johnston was carried by two of his staff, who laid him down under a tree as Davis and Lee rode up. Davis jumped down, kneeled, put his hands on Johnston’s shoulders, and Lee stayed back, watched from behind. There were shells still falling, mostly in the distance, and Lee could not hear the men speaking, but he saw Johnston’s face, saw he was awake.
Davis turned and glanced at Lee, said something to Johnston, then mounted his horse. “We must find General Smith. He is in command now.”
They began to move back toward the farmhouse, would wait for the officers to come together, out of the dark.
Gustavus Smith was already at the house when they arrived and went inside. Smith was pacing, a manic display. “There was no . . . communication. I had no idea what we were . . . Longstreet was not on the road. . . .”
Davis did not speak, and Lee stepped forward, said to Smith, “What was General Johnston’s plan?”
Smith stopped moving, looked at Lee, glanced past to Davis, said, “General, I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
Smith began to pace again, looked at Davis, then Lee. “Where are my men? What do we do now?” He turned to Lee, and Lee saw a wildness in his eyes, a man not in control. “What do we do now? The men are all over. The Federals are right . . . out there!”
Lee backed away and followed Davis outside. Davis mounted his horse, motioned to him.
“General, would you please ride with me?”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
They rode slowly through the dark. The sounds of the wounded filled the woods, and small flickers of light were moving about. Lee could smell the mud, the rain, knew the weather was again turning wet. Good, he thought. It would slow down the troops, swell the rivers. There would be time to regroup, to make new plans.
They moved farther from the troops, toward the west, closer now to the city, and the signs of battle were gone. The only sounds were those of horses stepping through the thick mud.
Davis had his head down. Lee thought he was sleeping. Abruptly, Davis sat up straight, leaned toward Lee and said, “General Johnston is not mortally wounded. He will survive.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, sir. He is a valuable man.”
“Maybe. He is a good soldier. I am not sure he is a good commander.”
Lee didn’t answer. They rode in silence again, and Lee began to think back, to drift away, Johnston in Mexico, at West Point, the fiery temper, which would give way to a quick joke, a big laugh.
“General, I am placing you in command of the army.”
Lee was jolted from his thoughts. “Sir?”
“This army needs the right man to lead it. These men . . . they want to fight. I have no doubt you are the man to give the commands . . . make the decisions.”
Lee felt his heart pound, looked at Davis through the dark, tried to see, to be sure. Davis said nothing else, and Lee took a long, deep breath, said, “Sir, I will do my best.”
They rode on, toward the dark shapes of Richmond, the horses moving in a slow rhythm. Lee stared at the flickering lights, distant lamps and streetlights. His mind was turning, moving beyond the night to the days ahead. It began to rain then, a steady, cool mist, but he did not notice, was deep into thought, and feeling