Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [161]
He put the glasses down, rested his eyes, thought, Are they waiting for dark? But he knew the Yankees did not like to march in the dark. He shook his head, it made no sense. Upriver, to his left, the heavy shelling in the town had long stopped, and now the street fighting slowed. There was no mass crossing there either, he thought. Barksdale’s muskets held them up. So, it would be tomorrow.
He looked to the right, down his own lines, saw movement on the long narrow road through the darkening trees, wagons and guns and new flags. It was Early’s men, and they were spreading out, deploying into the woods. Jackson smiled, nodded silently, thought, We are stronger still.
Behind him Sandie Pendleton was directing the couriers, the men returning from the distant units, placing them at a discreet distance from Jackson, telling them to wait for further orders. There was a commotion in the trees, riders moving through the troops, and Pendleton saw the flag of D. H. Hill’s division, and Hill himself, leading a small staff.
Pendleton called out, “General Jackson, sir, General Hill . . . Daniel Hill . . . is approaching.”
Jackson turned, smiled, saw the small frame of his brother-in-law moving up the rise toward him. Hill threw up a formal salute, which Jackson acknowledged.
“General Hill, it is a pleasure to see you. Ride with me, if you please.”
The two men moved away from the staffs, rode forward, out of the woods, down into patches of snow and tall brown grass and a fading glimpse of sunshine in the cold blue sky.
Jackson turned to look at Hill, saw the hair more gray, the forehead taller, the bright professor’s eyes a bit more weary, and he said, “How are you, Daniel? How is Isabella?”
Hill was surprised at Jackson’s personal question, concern for his wife, nodded. “Very well, thank you. Allow me to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter.”
Jackson turned abruptly, glanced over his shoulder, still had told no one. He wondered how Hill knew, and Hill saw his surprise.
“Isabella wrote me, the letter came this morning.” He was puzzled by Jackson’s glare, and then Jackson returned to the smile, nodded. “Of course. Anna’s sister . . . Isabella. Women must reveal all, I suppose.”
“Is it a secret, General? Be assured, I will tell no one.” Hill turned away, hiding a smile, looked across the clean white of the field, knew Jackson well enough to understand that there need be no explanation for Jackson’s secrecy.
“Daniel, it is best if we keep good news . . . happy news . . . to ourselves. If we spend our energy spreading these . . . things . . . God is liable to take them away. I would rather use my good feelings thanking Him for the gift.” He turned toward the river, spoke, thinking out loud. “I must tell Anna. Do not put our precious daughter at risk. We must not be too happy. Thank God, thank Him.”
Hill lifted his field glasses, was watching the river. “They’re on this side,” he said. “They’re coming across.”
“No, not yet. Too few of them, maybe a skirmish line. They will cross tomorrow.”
Hill put down the glasses, looked at Jackson, said, “Do you think it’s a feint? Maybe they’re still going to move downriver. We have pulled out of Port Royal. I could turn the men around. . . .”
“No. Once they began building the bridges it was settled. How could they go anywhere else? It is too easy here, they control the open ground with their guns. We cannot even slow them down from back here. How soon will your men be up, be ready to deploy?”
“By morning, first light.”
“Good. It will happen tomorrow. They will do nothing more tonight.”
Jackson pulled at his horse, and Hill followed. They rode back up toward the trees, quietly, and Jackson thought of Lexington, of Hill the professor, and he turned, smiled at Hill. Hill did not understand, and did not ask, and saw Jackson pull something yellow from his pocket.
33. LEE
December 13, 1862. Dawn.
IT DID not happen as Jackson had hoped. A full day