Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [20]
“Good luck, Colonel. Keep the Secretary posted on events, if you don’t mind. It seems that real information is in short supply.”
“Yes, Mr. President, I will do my best.”
The meeting was over, and as the men left the President’s office, passing through the heavy oak door, Stuart jumped to his feet, his eyes imploring Lee for details, and Floyd stopped, turned to Lee and said, “I don’t have to tell you what this means, Colonel. This could look very bad for us here, very bad for . . . the President. The public is very nervous. All this talk of slave revolts, and now . . . my God.” His voice quieted and he leaned closer to Lee. “You must protect us!”
Lee slid away from Floyd, said, “Will the Secretary provide us a ride to the train station? We will secure a car immediately. And perhaps a courier. I should . . . could you please send word to my family.”
Floyd nodded, excited. “Certainly, Colonel. Right away.”
Lee turned away, moved past the huddle of clerks, past grand portraits on stark white walls, down the wide steps to the lush green lawn, Stuart following close behind. He heard Stuart comment, a low curse, something about politicians. Lee did not answer, let it go by, thought now of Mary, tried to see the soft face, but the image would not come, and so he began to think of his new command.
THE MARINES were up ahead, waiting for their new commander. Lee had wired to the station in Baltimore, told them he was close behind, instructed them to stop at Sandy Hook, just outside Harper’s Ferry. It was long past dark when Lee and Stuart caught up, and as the two men stepped from the train car, a young officer approached, saw only Stuart’s cavalry uniform, saluted him with a puzzled look.
“Sir, are you. . . ? I was told to expect a Colonel Lee.”
“I am Colonel Lee, this is Lieutenant Stuart, my aide. Forgive my appearance, Lieutenant, there was not time for proper dress.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Lieutenant Green at your service. I am to turn command of the marines over to you.”
“Very well, Lieutenant, I assume command.” Lee looked past the young man, saw neat rows of crisp blue, men waiting for orders. “Lieutenant, is there anything you can tell us?”
“Well, yes, sir. The bridge over to Harper’s Ferry is wide open, no resistance that we can see. We’ve heard a few shots, but nothing major.”
Lee was not surprised. A more accurate picture was beginning to form in his mind.
“And over there, Colonel, state militia has been arriving since we’ve been here, several companies. I don’t know who is in command there, sir.”
Out beyond the station platform Lee saw troops gathering in the darkness, a ragged formation of volunteers, numbers swelling by the minute, and he had an uneasy feeling, did not look forward to commanding men who were not used to command. He stepped down off the platform, walked out toward the uneven groups of men, saw someone who appeared to be in charge.
“Excuse me, sir, are you in command of these men?”
The man turned, gave a quick glance to the older man in the dark suit, sniffed with the air of a man of importance.
“Pardon me, sir, but I have no time for interviews. I must organize these men here—”
“That’s good to hear, sir. I am Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee, and by order of the President I am assuming command of your militia.”
The man turned again, looked Lee over doubtfully, said, “I do not know you . . . Colonel. Forgive me if I’m somewhat cautious. We don’t know who the enemy is here. Have you some orders, some documentation?”
From the platform behind him, Lee heard the voice of Stuart, calling out, “Colonel, a wire for you. The infantry is in Baltimore, awaiting your orders. And the marines are ready to move out on your command, sir.”
The militia commander began to respond, puzzled, then realized Stuart had been talking to Lee.
“Well, forgive my suspicions, Colonel. I am Colonel Shriver of the Maryland militia. I suppose . . . my men are