Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [226]
Now the heavy roar of the cannon filled the woods around him. Suddenly, there was a ripping pain in his legs. His knees gave way and he rolled forward, made a sharp cry. His men were quickly down, holding him, and he tried to feel the wound, touched the backs of his legs, felt the blood, nothing deep. He looked up at the faces, said, “No, it’s all right . . . just my legs, it’s all right.” They tried to lift him up, and his legs would not hold him, he could not stand, and he fell back down, fell forward onto his hands, stared into the dark, thought, I am in command . . . I must . . . I am in command. . . .
He tried to stand again, and there was no feeling in his legs. He rolled to the side, sat, thought, So, God is with Stonewall after all. If he cannot command, then it is not to be me. He looked at the faces around him, said, “The command of the Second Corps should pass now to General Rodes. But General Lee would not place him in that position, he does not have the experience. Captain Adams . . .”
The man bent over, said, “Yes, sir, what can I do, sir?”
“Take a message to General Stuart, he is up at Ely’s Ford, I believe. Tell him of our situation, and request that he ride here as quickly as possible. He must take command of the corps. And send a message to General Lee, for his approval. I do not see what other choice we have, but General Lee might disagree.”
“Sir . . . right away!”
There was a flurry of motion, and horses began to move away.
He put his hands around the wounds on his legs, tried to feel. . . . He reached into his pocket, held up a gold watch, tried to catch the moonlight, saw . . . nearly three A.M.
“Well, we will soon learn if Joe Hooker is still running.”
DR. MCGUIRE was talking to him. “We’ll get this tightened up first.” And he felt a tugging in his shoulder. McGuire looked at him, saw the sharp blue eyes. “Well, General, welcome back. Can you hear me? How are you feeling?”
Jackson tried to see the shoulder, and a sharp pain stopped him. He opened his mouth, made a sound, “Ummghh.” His tongue felt like cotton.
McGuire reached out, brought a cup up to his mouth. “Here, this may help. . . .”
It was cool and wonderful, and he tried to swallow, felt his throat harden into a knot, and the water spilled down the sides of his face. McGuire lifted the cup, and Jackson shook his head, tried to lift up.
McGuire said, “All right, here, try again.”
This time he swallowed, just a bit, then more, and now he laid his head back, moved his tongue, said, “I . . . am I not dead?”
McGuire laughed. “Certainly not! I may take offense at that, General. You are in my hands now.”
Jackson tried to smile, then saw other faces, more men, and the faces were dark and serious. He suddenly realized he was on a bed. “Where am I, Doctor?”
“Field hospital. For tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, we’ll move you away from the . . . fighting.”
McGuire was not smiling now, knew the word would have an effect. Jackson suddenly tried to sit, to pull himself up. He reached for the edge of the bed, saw his right hand was bandaged.
“What . . . I’m shot. . . .”
“General, the hand is minor. The ball lodged under the skin. It is the other wounds. . . .” He paused, looked up at the other men, and Jackson heard the sound of a table being moved, saw the faces closer now. “General, you were wounded twice in your left arm. The artery in your upper arm has been severed, the bone is broken. You were very fortunate you