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By Root 1781 0

commander, new bluster and new pressure from Lincoln. For now, he began to look toward his own troops and the serious problems confronting his own army. A majority of the men had no shoes at all, or wore pieces of cloth wrapped around their feet. Clothing was becoming an embarrassment—many of the men were covered only partially by rags that were barely strung together. The only uniforms visible were on the officers, and those had become so worn that most showed rips at the knee and frayed cuffs and sleeves. But it was not their clothing that affected the men’s ability to fight—it was food. The farms of Virginia had been assaulted not only by the needs of the army, but by the pillaging of Pope’s army as well, and what crops and livestock were available were barely able to support the needs of the civilians.

Lee rode everywhere now in the ambulance. He could do nothing with his bound hands without great pain, and so relied completely on his staff. Taylor became ferocious at protecting him from unnecessary visitors. They tried to make him comfortable, made the ambulance a rolling office, and he was thankful there was a lull in the fighting—he knew that if things were hot, he would have to turn the command over to someone else, probably Longstreet.

The ambulance hit a deep pothole, bouncing him high off the fat cushion that served as his seat. The driver stopped, peered back through the flaps, worried, said, “Begging your pardon, sir. It’s a bit rough since the rain.”

Lee nodded, said nothing. It had been several days, and the discomfort did not bother him anymore. His hands had stopped hurting with every movement, every small gesture, and now it was just the wait, the healing, and the frustration of not having the freedom to move, to take Traveller out through the tall trees, to ride with dignity among the men. He loved that the men were inspired, cheered when he rode past, and he saw it as a blessing, the good fortune of high morale in these men who knew the joy of victory. Now, they watched him go by with a painful silence, an occasional yell of condolence, good luck. He understood the importance of that intangible spirit the commander carries with him, riding with his staff and the flags, the response that comes from the hearts of men who have no shoes and little to eat. And if there was to be no enemy in front of them, there must be something else, to make the best use of the opportunity. They could not sit on this same trampled ground and wait for another big fight.

Jackson arrived first, rode up on his little sorrel carrying the dust of many days. Lee watched him from the back of the wagon, his legs dangling. Jackson rode alone, upright in the saddle, stiff, never seemed comfortable on his horse. He still wore the old small-billed cap from VMI, which now sat flat on his head like a crushed tin can. The bill was pulled forward, came down barely over his eyes, and as he rode he cocked his head slightly back, in order to see. Lee smiled, thought, He could ride right past Federal sentries, and they would never know who he was.

Jackson dismounted, and an orderly took the reins. The general tossed something aside, and Lee smiled, saw it was a lemon, spent, crushed into a flat mass. Jackson walked quickly with long strides, and now Lee saw something in the sharp face, a painful sadness. Jackson reached out a hand, then froze, awkward, wanted to touch Lee’s bandaged hands, could not.

“General Lee, I pray you are not in pain.”

“Thank you, General, it is better now. I must keep them wrapped for a while, though. We heal slower with age, an unfortunate fact.”

There was a voice behind the wagon: Major Marshall. “Sir, General Longstreet is arriving.”

The horses thundered closer, Longstreet and his staff. Jackson backed away from Lee, saluted toward the sound, and Lee waited, could not see where Longstreet was, then heard the heavy steps, the slow, deep voice.

“Afternoon, General Jackson.” Then Longstreet was around the back of the wagon, saw Lee. “Well, my word . . . you look a fright, General, begging your pardon. I heard