Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [188]
His feet were cold. They were always cold. He walked among the huts, could hear the squishing sound of his boots now, the ground softening, the weather warming slightly. He looked up to the sun, thought, So, what now? An early spring? The weather over Christmas had been brutal, a heavy, wet cold that even the men from Maine found miserable. Now he felt a slight warmth, looked into the bright glare above him. Damned strange. He thought of Maine, the dependability of the winter. By November it was there, without doubt, and the snow would come, and it was consistent and definite, and you worked around it, understood it was simply part of life. It would stay there often until April, and then you began to think once more of spring. He thought of the simplicity, the four seasons. It was a good system. But in Virginia there was no system. The cold gave way, a day or two of warm air, and the snow would melt, turning the ground to soft glue, and then without warning it would snow again, sometimes a foot or more, or a hard freeze would catch them by surprise, torturing the men, who had begun to lighten their load, letting down their guard. And so they would prepare for the worst again, scramble into the huts, and then it would warm up again. Chamberlain thought, I will not miss this.
They were nearly three weeks into the new year, and did not believe anything serious would happen until an honest spring came upon them, but now there were orders, and most of the huge army was stirring around them, new activity. Ames had come around early, told Chamberlain to bring the men together. They were to begin a new march.
There were no announcements, no send-off, and even the bands were quiet. All they knew was that Burnside had a new plan, and they were to move back up the river, to cross the Rappahannock where many had insisted they cross two months before, the shallow fords above Fredericksburg.
Again Burnside assumed he would outsmart Lee, would make a bold and quick assault from the north, catch Lee by surprise, coming at him from behind. Burnside waited until the roads were firm, the weather fair, and now he would lead his men to the victory they had no chance of finding in December.
Chamberlain did not ride, led his men on foot, and they filed into place on the wide road that would lead them along the river. He heard little talking; there was no sense of adventure now, the energy drained away. He saw Ames, on his horse, sitting beside the road ahead. Ames was talking to another officer, a man missing an arm. Chamberlain walked toward them, stepped down off the surface of the road, and his feet slid suddenly away, slipped sideways into the depression that ran beside the road. He caught himself, one hand landing hard in the wetness, and Ames saw him. The other man said something, laughing, then rode away.
“Are you all right, Colonel?”
Chamberlain straightened, shook his hand, looked for something to wipe the mud away, and behind him, a voice: Tom.
“Lawrence, you hurt? Here . . .” Tom had a handkerchief, held it out, and Chamberlain took it, grateful, and wiped his hand.
Chamberlain looked at Ames, said, “Just a clumsy fall, Colonel. These roads are a bit of a mess.”
“No, they are not, Colonel. I have just been told—that officer was Colonel Markey, of General Griffin’s staff—these roads are now ideal for a new and glorious advance of this army. That is, in so many words, part of General Burnside’s orders. So, Colonel, you see, you did not slip in the mud. There is no mud.”
Chamberlain stared at Ames, heard the bitterness, something new, looked at his hand again, the handkerchief. “No, sir. No mud here.”
Ames abruptly turned his horse, rode away along the edge of the wet road.
Tom said, “He’s in a fine spirit today, eh, Lawrence?”
Chamberlain handed the cloth back to his brother, realized Tom was wearing a new uniform. “So . . . it’s official.”
“Ain’t it grand, Lawrence? Got it this morning. Look . . .” He pointed to the shoulder, the gold bar of the lieutenant. “Lawrence, I tell you . . . it’s real different.