Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [78]
Lee stared at the young man, who was still trying to catch his breath.
Lee knew the attack made sense, the Manassas Gap Railroad was a key strategic position below the Potomac. McDowell’s Federal forces had stayed to the north far longer than Lee had expected, and he assumed that the same political pressure that the Confederate Army had endured, the wild calls for mindless attack, had been just as loud in Washington, and so McDowell’s forces finally were moving southward.
Joe Johnston had withdrawn out of Harper’s Ferry, south to Winchester, protecting the Shenandoah Valley, but now it was apparent that McDowell had focused closer to Richmond, on Manassas, and so Johnston would be called to move in next to Beauregard.
Lee thought it through, glanced up at the map on his wall, the markings of troop placements. If McDowell’s troops pushed through the Confederate line, there would be little to stop the Federals from marching straight into Richmond. Lee stood, closer to the map, went over the defensive lines again, thought, We are in place, we have the ground. Now we will find out if we have an army.
Taylor watched Lee, knew when to be quiet. Finally, Lee turned to him, said, “I suggest we make our way over to the President’s office.”
“Yes, sir, right behind you, sir.”
Lee led the young man through the hall, down the steps, and immediately there was a sense of action. The street was alive, everyone was in a hurry. He moved quickly, felt the energy, began to run now, a bouncing step up into the administration building. Taylor stayed close behind, marveled at Lee’s enthusiasm, smiled a wide grin, felt, finally, this was what it was about, the real duty of a soldier.
Lee approached the wide doors of Davis’s office, saw couriers, a steady flow of men moving from the office, new orders and fresh legs, and finally made his way through the noise and activity. Davis was standing tall above the others, and Lee waited, thought, Wait for the right moment.
Then Davis saw him, his eyes fierce, flashing, and he shouted above the others, “General Lee, we are in a fight!” Lee moved closer, and the office began to clear out, quieter, and Davis said, “I’m heading up to the front, to Manassas. I can’t just . . . sit here. I have a train leaving immediately.”
Lee waited, felt the intensity, knew Davis shared his anxieties, which most of the others did not feel—that they were an unorganized, untested force, and that one great battle could decide the issue; the entire rebellion could end here.
Lee felt a strange urge, suddenly held out his hand, a warm gesture, affection for a man who did not show affection. Davis took the hand, political reflex, did not look at Lee, passed by him, hurried out. Lee turned to Taylor, saw a puzzled look, and then they both knew what was happening, that Davis was gone.
Lee moved out, past Taylor, into the outer office, and saw the last of Davis’s staff close the broad door.
“Sir, we must . . . we can’t stay here.”
“Lieutenant, it is clear that this is our post. Our duty is in Richmond.”
“But, sir, there is an attack. . . .”
“We have good men in command, Lieutenant. It is their battle now.”
Lee felt the energy drain from his body, the familiar hollowness. Do not focus on this, he thought. This was, after all, not the issue. He walked outside, saw wagons and horses moving, streams of people, all moving toward the trains, all rushing to the great battle.
“Sir, with your permission.”
Lee turned to Taylor, saw the youth, the wounded look, knew he had to go, to be a part. He nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant, you are authorized to join in the fight. Find an infantry unit, give the commander my compliments. They will find a place for you.”
“Sir!” Taylor saluted, made a high yelp, turned and ran toward the depot. Lee watched him, all long legs and wild leaps, and he turned toward his office and walked across the wide