Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [163]
There were few trees on his hill, and the light began to find the ground. He could see movement, men walking about in the dull gray of the morning. He turned, looked for Taylor, saw the fire and walked over. Taylor was quickly there, chewing on something. He tried to swallow too quickly, and Lee raised his hand as if to say no, it’s all right, please continue eating. But he knew Taylor, was thankful for his pure devotion, and Taylor cleared his throat, was red-faced, embarrassed, caught his breath.
“Sorry, General . . . I was just—”
“Major, please, go and finish your breakfast. We have little to attend to until the others arrive.”
Taylor saluted, still rubbed his throat, moved away to the wagon where the other staff had gathered. Lee thought, A biscuit would be good, maybe one more for his pocket, and he followed behind Taylor. Down the hill, from the south, came a horse, the first loud sound of the morning, the true beginning of the day. Lee watched, saw the figure approach in the fog, the wide black-plumed hat, the grand entrance of Stuart.
Lee raised a hand, a quiet acknowledgment, moved quickly to the breakfast wagon and grabbed a pair of biscuits. Stuart waited close to the fire, warming gloved hands. Lee climbed back up the rise, said, “General Stuart, are you well this morning?”
“Quite well, General, quite.” The voice was high, excited. “Sir, we are extending the far right flank of General Jackson’s line. I have scouted forward, determined that the Federal position rests along the river, then out toward General Jackson to a point near the Richmond Road. The way is open for the enemy to attempt to flank—”
Lee held up his hand, said, “Wait for your report, please, General. I would like the others to be here, to hear what you have learned. It will be just a few minutes, I am certain.”
Stuart stopped, began to look past Lee toward the food, the smell of coffee. “General, if you will permit? It was a rather chilly ride up this way.”
“General, help yourself to some breakfast.”
Stuart moved quickly toward the table, passed Taylor, who came up beside Lee, to the fire.
“General Stuart is full of energy this morning. His cavalry will serve us well today.”
Taylor tried to speak, his mouth distressingly full again, and he made a small grunt. Lee hid his smile as behind them another horse approached, at a slow deliberate trot, from the opposite direction. Lee knew without turning it was Longstreet.
Longstreet dismounted, moved to the warmth, and now Lee could see the face clearly, the fog had a bright glow, and Longstreet saluted, removed the floppy-brimmed hat, was smoking a short cigar.
“Any movement to your front, General?” Lee asked.
“Nothing. Can’t see anything . . . just like up here . . . but there’s some sounds. The picket line sends back regular reports . . . they’re eating breakfast, most likely. Won’t do much until the fog clears. Nothing to shoot at yet.”
Lee stared down at the fire, said, “They are all so . . . cautious. I often wonder if God has done that . . . made them slow. It evens up the fight a bit. They have the numbers . . . the guns.”
Longstreet stared at Lee, put the hat back on, moved the cigar in his mouth. “Could be,” he said. “Could be they just don’t have the heart for this fight. The generals, I mean. The troops . . . they’re the same boys we served with before. I’ve talked to some of the prisoners. Not much different from these boys up here. They go where they’re told, shoot when they’re told to shoot. But they don’t have much respect for the officers. And the officers don’t have much respect for the generals. It’s not very . . . healthy.”
Lee watched the fire, thought of the troops, said, “No, General, they are not the same. These men . . . our men are fighting for something that means more to them than obeying their orders. I feel sometimes like God is with us . . . God is protecting these men. He knows