Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [66]
“You plannin’ to fight against this army, Major?”
“Mr. Garrett, I plan to go home, to Virginia, and if necessary, I will defend Virginia. Some of you might be going home looking for a fight. The point is, we must all do what we believe is right.”
“That ain’t a good answer, Major. No disrespect, sir, but it just ain’t. This here farm boy I had a go with, he’s just a dumb soldier like me. But you’re an officer. This army follows you, does what you tell it to do. No sir, I can’t accept your answer, Major. You can put me in the stockade, but I reckon I can’t salute you no more.”
Armistead saw pain in the man’s eyes, a deep hurt, and he realized that he had taken something away from the man, from all of them. He had not felt before how much they had respected him, he just took it for granted they followed him because of the uniform he wore, the rank he carried. Now he saw it was much more, and he had pulled it away. He could not look at the man’s face anymore, said slowly, in a quiet voice, “Lieutenant, release Mr. Garrett. There will be no punishment for these men. Clean them up, let’s get the day started, shall we?”
He turned, looked toward his tent, and the men parted, let him pass. He heard small comments, did not listen, knew what they were feeling now. Reaching the front of his tent, he lifted a flap, and heard a rider, men calling out, and saw a man dismount and men pointing toward him, directing the man his way. The soldier moved with the official step of a staff officer, clean uniform, and Armistead saw a young face covered in freckles.
The man said, “Major Armistead, sir, you are requested to report to the home of Captain Hancock. General Johnston has arrived.”
HANCOCK STOOD at his front window, looked out at the wagon in his yard, the covered carriage that had brought Johnston and his staff to Los Angeles. He turned to a room full of blue coats, Johnston’s staff, who milled around, not used to having nothing to do.
“Captain, your hospitality is most gracious, indeed. My compliments to Mrs. Hancock as well.”
“Thank you, General. I would have made better preparations. We were not informed you were coming.”
“Please, Captain. We will not intrude on your privacy for very long. I have instructed the men to begin the search for a house.”
“A house, you mean, a residence? Are you moving here, General?”
“Gentlemen, please sit down! Good Lord, you’re like a hive of bees!” Johnston’s voice boomed through the small house, and from the back he heard Mira, trying to quiet the baby’s cries. The aides sat around the room, some in chairs, some on the floor. For a brief moment the room was completely quiet, and Hancock heard a horse, looked out and saw Armistead, who rode up beside the carriage, peeked curiously inside, then came to the front door and made a formal knock.
Hancock said, “That would be Major Armistead, sir. Excuse me.” He went to the door, pulled it open and saw a look on Armistead’s face, a question: Why? Hancock gave a slight shrug, knew only that Johnston had simply arrived.
“Ah, Major, good to see you again!” Johnston stood, held out a hand, and Armistead took it, smiled weakly, looked around the room at the assembled staff.
“General. Welcome.”
Johnston went back to his chair, sat heavily on the creaking frame, said, “I was just telling Mr. Hancock about my search for a house. I am moving here. Heard a great many things about the area, better climate than the bay, warmer.”
Hancock moved back to his window, stepped over the legs of the seated men.
“Excuse me, General, but are you moving