Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [149]
Lee nodded, looked back across the river, raised his eyes and looked into the dull gray sky. He gave a prayer then: Thank You for this place, for this ground. He lowered his gaze, stared at the blue mass across the river, covering the distant hillside, the patchwork of white tents and black guns, thought, You had your chance, General. Now we are ready.
28. JACKSON
December 1862
IT HAD been a good day, the men had kept the columns tight, moving with good speed. There was no dust, the roads crusted each morning with a thin frost, a light cover of snow. He had sat on his horse, watching them pass, had seen the bare feet, the bloody impressions, and he felt a deep pain, a sadness. He did not talk about it, did not show what he was thinking, and his staff had learned to keep their distance; that when he moved away from the column, sat alone like this, watching the men, there would be no orders, no messages; that he would stay in one spot for a long while, just watching. The troops would often cheer him, recognized him now, knew the worn and ragged coat he wore, the same major’s jacket he had worn at VMI, the small crumpled cadet hat he pulled tightly down on his head, shading his eyes.
Today he sat off to the side of the road in the shadows of a tall pine tree, and they did not know he had cried, talking quietly to God. He sat upright in the saddle, stiff, feeling the sharp burning in his side, knowing it was sent there by God, a lesson in the pain of his men. He had pleaded, Please, make it stop, yes I understand, I see them. They are all good men, and I have so little to give them. But the pain had not stopped, had been with him all day, and now, after the march, the cold night covered them all. Finally, as he sat alone in his tent, the pain had gone away.
As they rested in the comfort of the Shenandoah, his army had grown. If there was one success from the Maryland invasion, it had been to rid northern Virginia of Federal troops, and the farms had prospered, the harvest had been a good one, and so the army had been fed, had grown much healthier, and new recruits and veterans with healing wounds had added to the numbers.
He did not want to go to Fredericksburg. From his position in the valley he was still a threat to Washington, and he had tried to convince Lee that this was the greater value. But Lee had finally been firm, had ordered him to march, and so he moved his men with the same energy they had come to expect. He did not understand the importance of Fredericksburg. There was no way to pursue a beaten enemy back across the Rappahannock. He had favored a line farther south, along the South Anna River, and Lee had agreed, but now Burnside had taken that option away. The fight was to be at Fredericksburg, and so he did not question, began to see it now in his mind, his guns and his troops flowing forward to strike the enemy again with all the fire and deadly energy God would provide.
Outside the tent, his staff gathered around a sack of mail, dropped by a weary courier. There was a light snowfall, and the air was quiet and cold. They would not disturb him when he was in his tent, had learned that he would often pray for long periods, but now there were nods, and it was his chief of staff, Sandie Pendleton, who moved toward the tent.
He stopped, stood at attention by the canvas wall, said, “Sir? Forgive me, General. . . .”
Jackson sat inside on a small wooden stool, had been staring at the back of the tent, staring at the glow from a small oil lamp. He turned toward the voice from outside, did not speak, and Pendleton waited. After a moment Jackson focused and his mind returned to the tent, absorbed the young man’s words. He said, “You may enter, Captain.”
Pendleton lifted the flaps, leaned into the warmth of the dull light, said, “There is a letter for you, General. It’s a bit late, but the courier was slow today. I thought you would want to see it, sir.”
Jackson reached out, took the letter from Pendleton’s outstretched hand and glanced at the envelope. It was a woman’s