Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [191]
He tried not to look at the faces, saw the army instead, saw the filthy rags most were using for clothes, the small pieces of cloth many had wrapped around their feet, but not all—there were many bare feet, red and hard on the snow. He saw now the thin frames of men who did not eat because there was little to go around. The soft sadness gave way now, replaced by anger, toward the Federals, toward this war. And toward Davis, who would not come out here, who did not see these men in their rough and cold camps, and so did not take seriously his urgent requests, and those of others, to provide better for these men, soldiers who spent their time now in basic survival, a glorious fighting force that was slowly starving to death.
HE WAS in his tent, holding a gift from a local merchant in the town, an old man, a candlemaker, who had brought his family back to their home and found their whole lives reduced to the litter of war, scattered into the streets of Fredericksburg. The man had crossed the canal, climbed the hill, looking for Lee, asking, following the sad directions of weak soldiers, and finally had found him. He had come only to give him the one piece of his family’s history that he had found intact, their Bible. The old man looked at Lee with eyes that unsettled him, eyes that dug deep inside, a man whose faith was now firmly with this army, and so he accepted the gift without protest. Now, he sat alone and read the inside cover, crude handwriting, the old man’s simple message: “To General Robert E. Lee, May God bless you, and the good work you do.”
Work. He did not think of what he did as work, not as a job. When he had been back in Richmond, in the drab office with the piles of paper, that had been work. Leading these men . . . he shook his head, thought, Maybe that is what we need now: work. These men do not need generals now, they need someone who can supply them, feed them, the work of the people who stare at piles of paper. And those people have not done a very good job.
He rose, put the Bible down on his cot, pushed out through the flaps of the tent and looked for Taylor, who was standing over two men, trying to keep a small fire lit.
“Major, if you please.” Taylor turned toward him, began to move, and Lee said, “Major, please send my respects to General Longstreet, and request that he meet with me as soon as he is able.”
Taylor nodded, began to move again, and Lee said, “And . . . please request that the general bring along two of his best . . . no . . . that is vague. Request that the general be accompanied by General Pickett and General Hood.”
Taylor absorbed the message, nodded again, and Lee went back to the warmth of the tent, began again to read the old man’s Bible.
IT WAS late in the afternoon, and more clouds were moving in, more thick gray, and Lee knew there would be snow yet again. He heard them first, a dull rumble, then saw the horses coming up the rise from the direction of the larger hill, Marye’s Heights. Longstreet wore the wide floppy hat, held the reins with a new pair of white leather gloves, and Lee smiled, thought, It has to be a gift, he would not wash the old ones.
Behind Longstreet the other men were a marked contrast. Lee knew the bulky form of Hood, a bigger man than even Longstreet, and beside him Pickett, the small, thin frame topped by rolls of curling hair bouncing below his small cap. They reined up, dismounted heavily, and Lee stood, hands on his hips, stretched his back, then felt a tightness in his chest.
He pushed his arms out wide, said, “Gentlemen, it is a pleasure. Please, let us go inside, it’s a bit warmer.”
Lee backed into the tent, and Taylor held open the large flaps for the others. Longstreet bent, moved inside, and Lee pointed to a small stool. Longstreet did not speak, sat down with a small groan. Hood moved inside, quickly found a place on the ground, and now Pickett, and suddenly the tent was filled with a smell, and Lee felt his face contract, bombarded by the peculiar odor.
“My goodness . . . what is that . . . ?”
Longstreet laughed,