Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [35]
An officer dismounted, came through the gate and saluted Hancock, a gesture of greeting, not rank.
“Captain William Lorman, at your service, sir. Second squadron of cavalry, Fort Tejon. Understand you have a bit of a problem here, Captain?” Lorman glanced at the civilians, saw the weapons, and looked back at Hancock, puzzled.
“Captain Lorman, these men are good citizens of Los Angeles, and have provided volunteer service to their country in time of crisis. They are to be commended.”
Lorman looked over the men again, shrugged. “Whatever you say, Captain. They may be excused now. We have been ordered to encamp here, to act as security for your command until the infantry arrives.” He looked again at the line of men, saw the ancient Tennessee rifle held by the rancher, Ben Wilson, said to Hancock in a low voice, “They didn’t have to shoot anybody, did they?”
“No, Captain, all is peaceful here for now. Their presence was a deterrent, I am certain of that. Please have your men set up their camp around the depot, as you see fit. Did you say infantry?”
“Yes, Captain, I am to tell you that a regiment of infantry under the command of a Major Armistead is being sent down from San Francisco.”
“Major Armistead?”
“That’s the message I was given. You know him?”
“I know him as Captain Armistead.” Hancock smiled, shook his head. Chasing bandits around Benicia must have its rewards, he thought. He turned back to his friends, who had eased their stance, were watching the horse soldiers dismount.
“Well, Captain,” Banning said. “Looks like you don’t require our services anymore. My word, it is a good feeling, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“The army . . . the troops. Calms things down a bit, I’d say. Gives me a bit of credibility too. Now, our friend Hamilton will really pay attention when I bring him some news. Could be very useful indeed.” Banning laughed, gave Hancock a crude salute, and the others, smiling now, yawns and more stretches, began to move away in a weary stagger back to their homes.
He watched them leave, then turned to find Lorman again, to offer assistance, when he heard her voice, then saw a bright wave. Mira came to the gate, the soldiers parting with an admiring stare, letting her pass. She didn’t rush to him, knew about decorum, the dignity of officers. Hancock glanced at Lorman, who had moved up to ask for something, and Lorman caught the look and backed discreetly away, then barked something to his men Hancock did not hear. Mira held out her arm, which Hancock hooked into his, and she led him out, through the gate, back toward their home and their waking children.
7. LEE
September 1860
HIS OLDEST son, Custis, had arrived home the night before. Lee had secured a post for the young man in Washington so he could live at Arlington, and continue the good work Lee had started managing his grandfather’s estate.
Lee sat at the breakfast table, a hand on his round stomach, groaned, thought, I should not have eaten that last biscuit. Custis sat at the other end of the table, still eating, reached again toward the plate of biscuits.
Lee looked at the young man, tried to see his own face, but saw so much of Mary. Mary sat at the table as well; the arrival of her son had been an effective tonic, and she had come to breakfast for the first time in weeks.
Custis finally sat back, stretched. “Oh my, how I’ve missed Aunt Becky’s biscuits!”
Rebecca was the old black servant and cook who had been at Arlington since Mary had been a child. Now frail and half blind, she was devoted to Mary, a valuable help to her, as much as Mary would allow.
Custis yawned, stood, raised long arms over his tall frame. “So, Father, when do you report to Texas?”
“I will leave this week, probably on Friday. They want me there as soon as possible, though I can’t . . . well, they need a commander, somebody to fill the office. General Twiggs will be back down there before much longer. The command is his and he won’t stay around Washington for long. I will make the best of it, temporary as it may be.”
Custis smiled. “Well, you