Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [88]
Randolph looked at Lee, said, “We don’t know where our troops are. How can you be sure we are capable of making a stand?”
“There are lines of defense . . . every river, every stream—not only can we make a stand in that country, Mr. Secretary, but I believe that General McClellan can be pushed back, driven off the peninsula altogether. We have some good commanders leading good troops. We must persuade General Johnston of that fact.”
Randolph turned back to Davis, shook his head. “I don’t see how we can persuade General Johnston to do much of anything. We can’t even get him to respond to our inquiries.”
Lee looked at the faces of the two men, saw Davis staring blankly away. A sense of defeat hung in the air like a dark mist, and Lee could not sit still.
“If you will permit, sirs, I must return to my office.”
Davis did not speak, continued his stare, and Randolph raised one hand slightly, a weak gesture, said only, “Good, General.”
Lee walked across a darkening street, knew this day was over, nothing more would happen. He climbed up to his office and saw that his staff had already gone. He went to his window and looked out, past the government buildings. In the street below came a small group of soldiers, men who carried the dirt of the Virginia swamps, men who had left their army but had not walked far.
18. HANCOCK
April 1862
HE SAT on his new horse, a grouchy mare he called Annie. His men filed from the steamer, marched gladly down the long ramp, happy to leave the cramped ship. They formed in companies on the wharf, in front of the walls of Fort Monroe. They had come down the Potomac, had reached the mouth of the James, and now the pieces of McClellan’s army would wait for the rest, until it was all assembled and the commander would begin his invasion up the peninsula.
Hancock watched them, the tight formation, the smooth movements. He had spent the long Washington winter training these men, and he knew that regardless of McClellan’s fear of the enemy’s superior preparations, his brigade was ready to fight.
Gradually, all four of his regiments were formed and began to march away from the wharf, creating space for more troops. He pulled his horse toward the colors of the Fifth Wisconsin, the first regiment to move out, rode up beside Colonel Amasa Cobb, a distinguished political leader before the war who had learned the art of drill only under Hancock’s direction.
“Colonel, it’s a fine morning, is it not?”
“General Hancock, sir, this unit is prepared. You shall be proud of us, sir.”
Hancock looked back over the neat lines, the steady marching, officers on horseback riding beside the lines of fresh troops, men who now felt like soldiers. He pulled his horse out of the line, sat alongside the moving men, thought, Let them see me, let them feel the pride. He sat tall in his saddle, gave them each a look, and the men responded with waves and some cheering. The company commanders, young captains and smooth-faced lieutenants, saluted him crisply as they rode by, made a show of tightening the lines of their small commands. Hancock thought, These men will not run. It’s in their eyes, their step. General “Baldy” Smith had come through the camps throughout the winter, had given the customary speech, the rousing call to the flag, the great honor in duty, and the men were always enthusiastic, always responded. Smith, and the others, men who tried to inject some great spark of patriotism into the troops, would ride away satisfied that they had done their bit to train the men, to prepare them