Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [118]
“General Stuart has his ways . . . certainly different from our ways, you and me. But he is young, and he inspires the men. And if the newspapers love him, then he can inspire the people as well. There is no harm in that.”
Longstreet said nothing, and Lee focused again to the front, could see small buildings now, a few houses, and he motioned behind him. A staff officer rode up, the young Major Marshall, and Lee said, “Major, ride forward into that town, make certain there is an intersection, and determine that a left turn will lead us toward that fighting.”
“Sir!” and Marshall was quickly gone.
Longstreet looked over at Lee, smiled slightly. Lee stared straight ahead, said, “I have great confidence in General Stuart. But, General, there is no harm in being certain.”
AS LONGSTREET’S men reached the field, Jackson absorbed a daylong pounding from Pope’s forces. Waves of Federal troops poured against Jackson’s lines, were beaten back, and then replaced by fresh troops. As Jackson held to his precarious position, Longstreet’s troops spread out to the right, at a slight angle forward, so that by the next morning, Lee’s army lay in the shape of a V, with Jackson on the left and Longstreet on the right. The bulk of Pope’s army lay just outside the mouth of the V.
That night, Lee called the commanders together. He had set his headquarters up just behind the junction of the V, and his staff had secured an old cabin for him to sleep in. Jackson, Longstreet, and Stuart all arrived at eight o’clock, as requested. Lee rarely issued orders for his meetings, made the more cordial suggestion of when they should attend, but there was no confusion in the minds of his generals. Now, they had all gathered, their staffs at a respectful distance, and Lee emerged from the cabin, paused, stared up into the dark sky. It was a warm and humid night, and he welcomed the relative cool of the old log house. Stuart was the last to arrive, had just dismounted, and Jackson and Longstreet had made themselves crude seats from a pile of cut firewood.
Lee stood at the door of the cabin, adjusted his uniform, saw the three men outside watching him, lit by the bright glow from the nearby fire. Taylor stood to the side, waiting. Lee asked, “Coffee, gentlemen?”
Stuart said, “Thank you, yes, if it’s all right, sir.” Taylor moved quickly away. Lee looked at the other two.
Longstreet shook his head silently, and Jackson rose, said, “Thank you, General, I do not partake.”
“Of course, General, no matter, please, be seated.” He walked out among them, found his own seat, a thick-cut log propped upright on the bare ground. Taylor appeared, handed Stuart a tin cup and then moved back, behind Lee, and sat on the ground, his back against the side of the cabin.
Lee spoke first, always spoke first. “General Jackson, your troops performed an admirable service today. How are they faring?”
Jackson rose, stood stiffly, said, “General, I have pulled most of the units back, into the cover of the thick trees. They are somewhat battered, but they will hold their lines.”
“Back . . . into the trees? You pulled them away from the railroad cut?”
Jackson glanced at the others, then looked back at Lee. “Yes, sir. It should be better for their . . . relief. They will be ready tomorrow.”
“General, what do you suppose will happen if General Pope discovers the railroad cut has been abandoned?”
“I did consider that, sir. It can only be to our advantage. My troops can move out of the trees quickly if he attempts an advance.”
“Yes, I know. This is not a criticism, General. It might be a good plan. Our best advantage lies in the ground we now hold. It is up to General Pope to advance against that ground.”
Jackson sat, and Longstreet stared down, scratched at the ground with a stick, said slowly, “General Lee, I do not believe General Pope knows our disposition. Our deployment on the right was barely contested. He does not seem to have made