Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [7]
Sitting on the rough stone, Lee looked away, down a long clear hill to a row of far trees and beyond, to the wide river, the Potomac, and the buildings of Washington. He thought of General Scott, so much like his own father had once been. Scott was the finest soldier of his day, a man you could trust absolutely, who would fight for his cause and his men, and a man who had little use for the double-talk of politics. But in the peacetime army there was no other place for Scott to be than across the wide river, in those white buildings, surrounded by men who saw him as an outdated annoyance. He was still in command of the army, however, and Lee knew Scott was his friend. And he would only need a few months. . . .
He looked again, closer, at the near fields, and thought, What would it be like to be a farmer?
2. JACKSON
September 1859
MAJOR JACKSON stood with a solemn stiffness, facing the seated rows of cadets. The classroom was small, with white walls, a solid oak floor, and one tall window, toward which the cadets would occasionally gaze, though not for long. He had completed today’s lesson, a thorough explanation of the practical applications of geometry on the trajectory of artillery. He had recited the lesson exactly as he’d memorized it the night before.
“So, gentlemen, you will see that with a proper grasp of the principles I have laid before you today, you may eventually apply these principles with great effectiveness in your own field experiences, and indeed, these principles may be applied to a great many other practices as well.”
Eyes were fixed on him in a daze, and there was no sound. The room was a small tomb, and he led the class with a somber intensity that invited no comment from his students.
“Sir?” A hesitating voice rose from one side of the room, from the sharp glare of the window.
Jackson stopped, tried to see the boy’s face, obstructed by the sunlight. “Did someone speak?”
“Yes, sir. I am a bit confused, sir, about your principle of application. Do you mean that we may apply mathematical principles to the pursuit of, say, romance, sir? Or perhaps the appreciation of a beautiful girl can be explained by one of these formulas, sir?”
Jackson stared in the direction of the question. There were a few stifled giggles, and Jackson knew this boy, knew the reputation as a clown, and had no use for it.
“Cadet, have you found yourself in a position to pursue romance?”
There was more stifled laughter, all heads turned toward the boy. Jackson could see him now, his eyes had pierced the glare. The young man looked at his professor with a slight sneer, the cockiness of the aristocrat.
“Well, sir, of course, some of us are fortunate in the pursuit of the fairer sex.” He smiled, glanced around at his audience.
Jackson stared at the boy, felt his neck turn red, looked back toward the class. Faces turned back to him, and he said, “Gentlemen, if you are going to succeed at this institution, you have one common goal—to learn your lessons. If you are placing your energies elsewhere, you will not succeed, either with me or with your careers as military officers.”
The laughter had stopped, the joke was over, and the young cadet by the window made a low comment, which Jackson could not clearly hear.
“Does Mr. Walker have another valuable thought to share with us today about the usefulness of the principles of geometry?” The question held no sarcasm. Jackson did not play the game, had only one purpose in this room, to impart the lesson.
“No sir, I have nothing further. Um, except, sir, I am confused