Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [184]
Longstreet pointed, said, “Over the river . . . they’re back on the heights. They may begin to shell us . . . the town.”
Lee stopped the horse, stared over to the far hill, said nothing. From the right, toward the far edge of the town, they heard horses, and the foot soldiers dropped down and raised their muskets. Lee saw a flag and a man in a tall, plumed hat. In the street an officer yelled out to hold fire. It was Stuart.
“Good morning, General! General Longstreet. I heard you were riding into town. I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
Lee nodded, said, “Of course, General, you are always welcome.” He saw a broad smile, a man full of victory. “General Stuart, it was risky for you to ride across that plain with your flag. The enemy could certainly see you clearly.”
Stuart bowed. “Thank you for your concern, General. We did not unfurl the flag until we reached the safety of the buildings. Besides, General, my staff and I have a way of escaping the guns of the enemy. Their marksmen are no match for a good horseman.”
Longstreet made a sound, and Lee did not look at him, said, “All the same, General . . . there are too few of us to present the enemy with careless opportunity.”
The smile faded and Stuart nodded solemnly, a scolded child.
Lee moved the horse forward, saw an officer running through the streets toward them, waving, yelling. “General . . . it’s barbarism! The devil himself! You have to see . . . !” The man turned, waved them on, ran back down the street.
They rode ahead, followed the man’s path, rounded a corner and reached the first row of houses, many still partially intact. Lee stared, looked down the street to heaping piles of debris, saw many more piles beyond, shattered furniture. He dismounted and the others followed. He walked toward the homes, felt the cracking of glass under his feet. The street was covered with the contents of the houses. There were mirrors, smashed from their frames, paintings ripped and torn, clothing—dresses, men’s suits, a bridal gown—soaking up muddy water. He turned, walked down a side street, saw more of the same, began to move quicker, to the next main street, saw a huge pile of broken furniture, pieces of porcelain, grand vases and small pitchers, dishes, cups, all shattered into pieces. In front of one house a pile of books lay in the mud of the yard, covers ripped off, bindings split, and finally he stopped, felt the hot anger tighten his chest. He clenched his fists through the soreness, lowered his head.
“God . . . ” He fought the anger, felt the sharp edge of the curse rising inside him, held it hard, pushed it back, away. “God, forgive them for what they have done.”
Longstreet moved up beside him, and Lee still stared down, his eyes closed now, and Longstreet tried to think of something, said, “It’s a real war. This is what war can do.”
Lee did not look up, said, “No, General. This is not the work of soldiers. That man was right . . . it is the devil himself. It is the rape of the innocent.” He raised his head, looked around again, and Longstreet saw tears, red swollen eyes. Lee turned then, walked back through the great piles of destruction. Longstreet heard a voice, Stuart, raw indignation, angry sounds, and he came up beside Longstreet, wanted to say something to Lee. Longstreet held up an arm, held him back.
Stuart said, “The whole town . . . barbarism . . . everything is destroyed! He has to do something about this!”
Longstreet watched Lee mount the horse, said, “He will, General, he will.”
38. HANCOCK
December 15, 1862
THE SNOW was nearly gone on the heights, the warmer rain washing much of it away into the river, and the hillside was slick and muddy. All day the troops had moved up the hill, forming camps behind the long rise, spreading out behind the guns. What was left of his division was now far back in the trees, behind the old mansion.
He had spent most of the morning with the paperwork, his great talent, and this time it was not supplies he counted, but men, the casualties. Word came up, passed