Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [183]
“Sir, I have been looking for you. A courier is here, from General Jackson.” He turned, looked for the man, and Lee spotted him, the young Pendleton, carrying a plate piled high.
Pendleton saluted with his free hand, cleared away a mouthful of food, said, “Good morning, General. Sorry . . . we have not yet had breakfast in General Jackson’s camp. Sir, General Jackson offers his respects and reports that the enemy is no longer in front of our position, sir. The general made a reconnaissance in force early this morning, hoping to catch the enemy in the fog . . . and they were no longer there, sir.”
Lee looked for a stool, moved over, sat, said, “Are you referring to the forces under General Franklin? Captain, you’re talking about sixty thousand troops. They did not just vanish. Has the general spoken with General Stuart . . . have they scouted downriver?” His voice began to rise and he felt a tightening in his chest.
“General, the enemy has withdrawn back across the river. When our troops found no resistance, they kept going. They reached the edge of the river and they could hear the enemy, on the other side. The sound carries very well in the fog, sir. The pontoon bridges are gone, sir, cut loose from the bank.”
Lee stared up at the young face, thought, It cannot be . . . Longstreet was right. He straightened his back, said to Taylor, “Major, summon General Longstreet. I want to know what is down below us here. I do not wish to wait for the fog to lift to find out. Captain Pendleton, you may return to General Jackson. Please express my appreciation for his diligence. And please remind General Jackson that we do not wish to give the enemy an opportunity by exposing our troops to those guns on the heights. When the fog lifts, your advance will surely receive a concentration of artillery fire.”
Pendleton saluted, nodded. “Yes, sir. General Jackson has already ordered the men back. There is only a line of pickets at the river, sir.”
Lee thought, He has done all this . . . so early? He remembered the joke, passed along by his staff: to Jackson, dawn is one minute after midnight.
“Very well, Captain. You are dismissed.”
Pendleton slid the contents of the plate into his pockets, moved quickly to his horse and disappeared in a flurry of muddy hoofprints. Lee leaned forward, rested his arms on the tops of his thighs, felt another shiver. Longstreet will be here soon, he thought, and I must know. He stood, flexed the stiff, sore hands, moved toward the warmth of the growing fire.
THE MEN at the base of the hill already knew. Many had ventured out, another night of scavenging, taking from the dead what they no longer needed. But this time they found that most were buried, shallow and crude graves, dug with bayonets and shell fragments. It was one thing to strip a dead man, but once he was in the ground, in the earth, it was a line they would not cross, and so they had come back to the safety of the wall with few new prizes.
McLaws had ordered more of them out now, a more organized line, probing, easing slowly along, down the slope of the incline, into the depression. Like Jackson’s men, when they did not find the enemy, when there was no rifle fire, no obstacle, they pressed on, gradually picking up speed, stalking less quietly and with more courage. They had gone all the way to the edge of the town, crossed over the trenches dug the day before, and once they knew there was no one there, they began a party, a feast on the spoils left behind, knapsacks and blankets. Word had gone back to McLaws, then to Longstreet, and Longstreet had come to Lee.
The fog was nearly gone now, and the sky began to clear, cold and blue. Lee and Longstreet reached the edge of the town together. Lee moved Traveller carefully down, across the fresh trench, and Longstreet followed, and in front of them nervous skirmishers began to move out through the streets of Fredericksburg, probing through the remains of the houses,