Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [228]
“The Eighteenth North Carolina . . .” Stuart felt sick, took a long, deep breath. “They will carry this with them for the rest of their lives.”
Heth looked up with sad, tired eyes. “We all will, sir.”
Colston cleared his throat, said, “General, we have all been praying for General Jackson. The whole army . . . word has spread, it could not be helped. I suppose that even the Yankees know by now. We may be in serious trouble.”
Stuart did not know Colston well, knew only that he was new to command and had risen through the ranks of Jackson’s own men, the division that Jackson himself organized two years earlier: the heartbeat of the entire corps, the Stonewall Brigade.
“General Colston, the sun will rise very soon on a field where the enemy has been beaten badly and is of a mind to withdraw. The advantages are all ours.”
Colston seemed unsure, looked at Rodes, and Rodes said, “General Stuart, we welcome your authority to command this corps. We will do what you order us to do, sir. But these men . . . my division is scattered all over these woods, sir. I don’t even know how many men I can put into line. General Colston has the same situation. The only fresh troops we have, men who have even had something to eat . . . are Hill’s . . . General Heth’s division. The Federals are digging in, building heavy defensive lines. They are expecting us to advance against them at daylight. I’m not sure we have much to send against them.”
Stuart looked at Heth, said, “General, is your division in place? Can you press forward an organized attack?”
“Yes, sir. The men were not heavily engaged yesterday. They will be strong.”
“Good. Then they will lead the attack. Gentlemen, I do not believe General Jackson would have had us sitting here moaning about our problems. He would have one word, for all of us: attack. That is what we must do. Once we can see . . . once we can determine what the enemy has done to prepare for us . . . then we will find his weaknesses, and move against him.”
There were nods, and he stood, led them back out of the tent. Riders were coming into the camp. He looked at faces, and saw his own men, reports of the success at Ely’s, and then he saw Sandie Pendleton, Jackson’s chief of staff. Pendleton climbed from the horse slowly, and Stuart watched him, was suddenly very afraid, waited.
Pendleton said, “General Stuart, I come from General Jackson’s bedside. I reached the general just after he awoke from surgery. Dr. McGuire has amputated his left arm. . . .” He paused, choked on the words.
Behind Stuart, Colston said in a soft whisper, “Good God.”
Stuart stepped forward, raised a hand, some comfort, and Pendleton straightened, felt the hand on his shoulder, continued.
“Sir, General Jackson has been informed of General Hill’s wounds, and of your taking command, sir. The general has every confidence in your abilities.”
“Can you tell me, Major . . . does the general have any orders?”
“He said only for you to do what you think is best, General. It is your command.”
Stuart turned to the others, and they waited. He thought, No, Stonewall is still in command, they will do it for him, they will do what he would want. I must remember that.
“Gentlemen, this has been a difficult . . . a long day. I suggest we tend to our troops, try to get them fed, and find some breakfast for ourselves.”
They looked past him now, to another rider. He turned and saw Jed Hotchkiss, Jackson’s mapmaker. Hotchkiss limped from the horse, moved tenderly, held out a paper, said, “General Stuart, I have a message for you, sir, from General Lee. Please forgive me....” He slumped, fell to one knee, and Pendleton was down beside him.
“All right, Hotchkiss, all right. Does Lee know . . . ?”
“Yes, yes, he had been informed by Wilbourn when I got there. I had to ride down a long way.” He stood, steadied himself on Pendleton’s arm, and Stuart unfolded the paper, read quietly, then turned to the others, read