Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [79]
THERE WAS a deathly silence. Lee stood at his window, above the empty street, felt amazingly alone. The city seemed abandoned. He had spent the day in feeble attempts at work, could not sit, went to the window every few minutes, and when there was nothing to see, would return to his desk and try again to attack the papers.
He stood back from the window, went, again, to the map, considered the lines, his lines, the defensive design he had put into place, now being commanded by others, others who would receive the credit if the positions were good, if he had chosen the right ground. No, he would not think of that. It does not matter who does the duty, he thought, if the duty is done. I am here because God wants me here, I will serve in other ways. He repeated that, had repeated it all day, trying to ease his feelings, the sense that he was out of place.
The long day began to dim, and he watched the sunset all the way to the darkness, and still there had been no news. He realized for the first time that there were people still, downstairs, in some of the other offices, but no one brought him any information. They probably did not know he was there. Hungry, he decided to go back to the Spottswood, pondered the long walk, heard a long low whistle, and from the north saw a distant flicker of light. The train moved closer, into the station beyond the buildings. Lee stared, listened, heard more whistles now, and then he saw a rider in a furious gallop. The man rode up close to Lee’s building, dismounted and yelled something Lee could not understand, then was gone, into the offices below. Lee started for his door, waited, heard more noise, another rider, several horses now. People began to come out, to fill the street. He went back to the window, was surprised to see so many, had assumed most of them were gone. There were cheers, wild cries, and he could not stand it anymore, left his office and went down to the dark, lamplit street.
Spotting a uniform, a young bearded man covered in dirt, he asked, “Soldier, do you bring news of the battle?”
The man looked exhausted, regarded Lee with wild joy. “We whipped ’em, we whipped ’em good. They’s a-runnin’ back to Washington, hee hee.”
Lee put his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Please, can you be more detailed?”
Lee felt the man squirm, itching to get away, to join the growing celebration in the street around them, but he stilled under Lee’s grasp.
“Yes, sir. It was General Jackson. Saved the day, he did. Drove them bluebellies all the way back to Washington! They’s sayin’ he stood his men up like a stone wall!” The man slipped away, a quick turn and Lee could not hold him. He let the man go, but he could not celebrate, had to know more than rumors.
He left the street, went back up to his office. Through the window he could see wagons now, crowds of people returning from the battle. He heard another train whistle, knew this would go on all night, and he would have to wait till tomorrow to find out the details. He sat back in his chair, stared at a dark ceiling, thought of the lone soldier, his only piece of news, and kept hearing the words: General Jackson saved the day.
THE FEDERAL forces had fled from the first major battle of the war in a complete panic. The troops under Beauregard and Johnston did not pursue, ordered into inactivity by generals who did not understand how completely they had won the day. The lack of action now spread over the armies like a thick blanket. Thousands of spectators had lined the edges of the battlefield at Manassas, only to view incredible horrors that none had anticipated. After the battle both sides seemed infected with a gloom, a sense that this was now very real, the abstract political rhetoric replaced with the clear, sickening knowledge that many men were going to die.
16. HANCOCK
September 1861
THE CARRIAGE brought them to the front steps of the Willard Hotel, a white brick building that stood over a wide square. Mira was helped from the carriage by the firm