Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [119]
Lee stared at him, could not see his face for the wide floppy hat. All that afternoon, Longstreet had been in position to advance into the battle, could have possibly relieved the great mass of pressure on Jackson, but had not done so, had told Lee that it was not a good time, that there were too many uncertainties about the ground, about the location of Pope’s other units, those not pressing Jackson. Lee had been frustrated by the lack of action, but now it was done, and he could do nothing but look ahead. Lee knew, if Longstreet was right, if Pope did not realize the strength that lay behind the trees to his left, he might be inclined to make a very serious mistake.
“General Longstreet, are you prepared to advance your troops in the morning?”
Longstreet knew there was something implied in the words, let it go. He did not share Jackson’s raw lust for plunging ahead, had not been comfortable in an area where rolling hills and thick lines of trees made visibility difficult.
“General, we are prepared to meet the assault.”
“General Stuart, have you observed any additional forces coming our way?”
Stuart stood stiffly, held the big hat in his hands, had quickly tossed the cup aside. The presence of Jackson and Longstreet had a subduing effect on him; the brutal seriousness was intimidating. He began slowly. “General, yes, we did observe a column of troops moving down from the northeast . . . at least a corps. By dark, they were still several miles away.”
“Good. I do not expect that General Pope will receive much more assistance on this field, not by tomorrow. These are, after all, General McClellan’s troops marching toward him. They are likely to be somewhat . . . slow to advance.”
Longstreet looked up, and Lee saw his face in the firelight. Longstreet said, “General Pope is not a well-liked man. Even at the Point he had a way of talking too much, saying the wrong thing. If he has even met with his own commanders, it is likely he has very little . . . coordination.”
Lee stared at him. “What do you mean, General?”
Longstreet tossed the stick aside, stood up, stretching his back. “I mean, General, that even if General Pope is seeking the advice of his commanders, he is not likely to listen to it. He does not have confidence in anyone’s ability to lead his forces . . . but his own.”
“If you are correct, General, then he may yet pursue General Jackson’s ‘retreat.’ That will be our opportunity.”
Jackson stood again, following Longstreet’s lead, said, “General Lee, I did observe on my way here . . . there are a large number of
General Longstreet’s batteries digging in on my right flank. These could be very useful if I am attacked.”
Lee smiled. “Yes, General, General Longstreet and I have placed a heavy concentration of guns at the junction of your two lines. There is a slight rise at that point. They may have a clear view of the field, and so far it appears that General Pope is not aware they are there.”
“Then, General Lee, let us hope he provides them with a fine target.”
August 30, 1862
POPE HAD indeed convinced himself that Jackson was in retreat, and despite the observations from Generals Porter and Reynolds, who cautioned against Longstreet’s position, Pope believed that the bulk of Longstreet’s strength had moved back behind Jackson, not alongside him. The next morning, after long hours of conflicting advice and his growing impatience at what he believed was Jackson’s potential escape, he ordered his men forward.
Lee sat on a flat stump, still behind the center of the V. He had simply waited, nervous, praying, hoping that Pope would bring the attack forward. It was now past noon, and he stood, began to pace again, as he had done all morning. He knew his location was important, he should stay between the commands, but he could not see anything. In front of him the batteries were spread along a wide ridge, hidden by a thick line of trees, but it was these trees that kept him blind to the field. Suddenly, he heard a loud and distant noise. He had expected guns, an