Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [217]
They looked up at him. Most were smiling, and he did not notice the hollow eyes, a toll from the warm day and the lack of food. There had been few rations for the march, and those men who had not eaten early that morning had likely not eaten since the morning before. Despite Jackson’s enthusiasm, and the constant pressure from the officers, the march was taking far longer than he had expected.
He pushed through the line of troops and moved up beside Rodes. Raleigh Colston came quickly along the road, followed by a small staff, and Jackson waited. When Colston reined up, Jackson said, “Very soon now. General Rodes, you will begin to deploy your men on either side of the turnpike, brigade front. General Colston, how soon will your men be up?”
“We’re right behind, General.”
Jackson nodded, was now seeing beyond the men, out past the thick tangle of woods, already watching what was yet to come.
Colston and Rodes had both been instructors at VMI, and both were well acquainted with Jackson’s manner and his moods. Neither man spoke, and they glanced at each other as Jackson stared quietly beyond the road. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pencil, a rough piece of crumpled paper, held the paper flat against his saddle and wrote a brief message.
“. . . I hope as soon as practicable to attack. I trust that an ever kind Providence will bless us with great success . . .” He concluded the note, stared at it, and behind him Pendleton moved closer, anticipated the order. Jackson started writing again, a small postscript. Pendleton had motioned for a courier, and the man was up quickly, held out his hand when Jackson turned with the note. Jackson stared at him, thought he should know the man’s name. He had forgotten it, stared for a long minute, tried to recall. The man glanced at Pendleton, uncomfortable, and Jackson abruptly handed him the paper, said, “Take this to General Lee.”
Pendleton said something to the man, precautionary instructions that Jackson did not hear, and then the courier was quickly moving, leading the horse back along the edge of the road.
There were more horses now, Fitz Lee’s squadron of cavalry moving past, alongside the road, and Jackson turned and watched them. Lee slowed, waved the men on, and Jackson looked at him from under the cap, said, “Take your men up past the turnpike. You must observe the roads that go to the river, protect our flank.”
Lee saluted, smiled. “Already on our way, General.”
Jackson watched the cavalry move away, sat back in his saddle and smiled. He looked at the two men, said, “The Virginia Military Institute will be heard from today!”
Rodes smiled, glanced at Colston. Both men had wondered often if Jackson even recalled their former relationship.
The column reached the turnpike, and Rodes quickly led a line of skirmishers out, down the turnpike to the east, toward the farthest point of the Federal position. The men filed out into the brush, began to feel their way through. Jackson sat high in the middle of the road and watched. Now he could hear the guns, from far out in front of him, a roll of low thunder. He gauged the distance, knew it was Anderson, McLaws, and Lee on the far side of the Federal position, and he nodded, thought, Good, they are still engaged, still in place. He felt the thrill again, the excitement of knowing the entire Federal Army was right in front of him, between him and Lee, right there. Others were beside him now, his own staff, and now Rodes was back, and his division was filling the road, spreading out in thick battle lines into the woods.
Jackson began to rock in the saddle, a small rhythm, back and forth, pushing the men into position. With each forward movement he said to himself, Go, move forward. The men were having some difficulty, it was slow going, and he wanted to yell, tell them to