Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [145]
Couch was eating breakfast, a pile of steaming hotcakes, and Hancock caught the smell, the butter, felt a hungry turn in his stomach. Couch watched him approach, saw the look, said, “Ah, General, news travels fast I see. A gift, from a local farmer . . . white flour and butter, and even a few eggs. No need to hurry, there’s plenty. Join me, please.”
Hancock stopped at the table, was out of breath, said, “No, oh no, sir . . . that’s not why . . . sir, we can cross the river. Upstream, a quarter mile. It’s shallow enough to ford.”
Couch stuffed a forkful of hotcakes into his mouth, syrup dripping down his chin. He stared at Hancock, swallowed hard, said, “Ford the river? It’s a long way across, General, and it’s damned cold. You sure it’s shallow?”
“Sir, I just watched a herd of cattle cross the entire way, no more than three feet deep. We can have the whole corps across by tonight.”
Couch stood, glanced down at the hotcakes, looked over to a waiting aide and said, “Enjoy these, Captain,” and the man leapt forward, picked up the fork and attacked the plate without sitting down.
Hancock followed Couch away from the table and the smells, and they walked quickly toward the grand house, the stately home overlooking the river that had once belonged to the family of George Washington. It was Sumner’s headquarters.
Guards saluted as they passed, and Hancock glanced around the yard, saw vast gardens, vine-covered walkways, brown stems peeking out through the snow. They entered the house, and Hancock caught the strong smell of cigar smoke. Standing in the middle of the main living room, among a cluster of clean blue coats, was General Burnside.
Burnside was the only one wearing a hat, tall black felt with a wide brim, and from underneath, his thick whiskers washed down the sides of his round face. He turned toward the opening door, smiling, and Couch said, “Excuse us, General, we did not know you were here. We came to see General Sumner. General Hancock has some information you may find useful.”
Burnside looked at Hancock, held out his hand, said, “Yes, General Hancock, a pleasure. Please, gentlemen, let’s go this way. . . . I just left General Sumner in his office.”
They moved away from the larger crowd, and Hancock saw civilians now, men with pads of paper: reporters. They passed into a smaller sitting room, were alone now, and Burnside peered around the corner of what had been a bedroom, said, “General Sumner? We have visitors.”
Sumner stood, seemed annoyed at the interruption, and they crowded into the small room. It was dark, because Sumner had closed the curtains, and there was only one other chair, which Burnside offered to Couch.
“No, General, please, you are in command here.”
Burnside nodded, smiling, said, “Quite right, quite right,” and sat in the chair.
Sumner looked up at the other two, said, “What is it, Couch?”
“Sir, General Hancock reports that it is possible to ford the river, upstream a short distance. The crossing appears to be a fairly simple one. With your permission, we could begin moving the men right away.”
Sumner stared at Couch with no expression, and Burnside chuckled quietly, said, “General Hancock, I certainly appreciate your efforts at reconnaissance, but that possibility has been considered and rejected. The pontoons will be here at any time, and then we will be able to not only send the men across, but the wagons and supplies as well. It would be foolhardy to send the men without the wagons.”
There was a silent pause, and Hancock said, “Excuse me, General, but am I correct in my observation that there is little force opposing us across the river?”
“Yes, General, you are correct. As I have planned, we have