Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [90]
The army was finally put into motion, moving several miles inland, through the abandoned positions of Joe Johnston’s retreating army. As they advanced to Williamsburg, they met the troops of the Confederate rear guard, a strong solid line that had been placed before them by General Longstreet.
Hancock’s men were well back in line, and he knew little of what was in front of him, except for the scattered sounds of skirmishes. He rode beside the lines of his men, spoke with each commander as they passed, answering the same questions with a simple, “I have not been informed.”
The roads were sandy and soft, and he watched a small squad of men helping push a wagon through a bog. He looked at the sky, thought, No rain today, thank God. They had sat in the mush of a campground, softened by days of rain, a hard, soaking spring storm that had drowned the fires and dampened the enthusiasm of the whole army.
Up the line in front of him, his men were stalled again by some obstruction he could not see, and he spurred the horse, rode forward feeling a boiling wrath. He moved the horse along the edge of the road. The men moved aside, the waves and shouts muted now; the men had an instinct for the mood of their commander. Along with Hancock, they all were wondering if this army had any idea where it was going.
He heard a shout behind him, turned the horse and saw a courier, a man covered in mud. The troops watched the man pass, began to laugh, called out, mocking the man’s obvious distress.
“General Hancock, sir. I have a message, from General Smith.” The man paused, took some air, and Hancock saw a stream of brown water flowing from the man’s boots, the blue pants smeared with shiny brown sludge, saw eyes looking at him through a wet paste of brown goo. He began to smile, felt himself let go, a tightness in his chest loosen, and now he laughed, and around him his men took the cue, laughed as well.
The courier glanced at the men, then back at Hancock, who saw the man’s embarrassment growing and said, “Are you all right, Captain?”
“Sir, I had an accident. My horse doesn’t seem to care for this sand, and he threw me. Forgive my appearance, sir.”
“At least wipe off your face,” Hancock said, laughing.
The man felt his face with his hand, saw the mud on his fingers, said, “Oh,” and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped painfully at the drying crust.
“Sir, if I may . . . General Smith is at the rear of this column, and he requests your presence as soon as possible. He has orders deploying your men, sir.”
Hancock stopped laughing, turned away from the stalled troops, who were continuing to gather, and motioned to the man to follow. They rode off the road, through a small gap in the brush, and Hancock turned back, spotted a lieutenant leaning back in his saddle, allowing the men to break their lines. He shouted at the man, “You there! Lieutenant! Get these men back into line. Prepare to move them forward. We are on the march, not in camp.”
The man jumped up straight in his saddle, began to shout at the men, who were already moving back in place, straightening their lines on the road.
Hancock looked at the courier, could now see his face, said, “Captain, in the future you will impart your messages to me out of earshot of the troops, do you understand?”
“Sir? Yes, sir. I didn’t see any need—”
“Captain, we are in the enemy’s country. Have you ever heard of spies?”
The man stiffened, glanced around, said in a whisper, “Spies? Do you really think there are spies?”
Hancock stared at the man, felt the rage beginning to build again. “Captain, we are at war. . . .” Then he thought, No, let it go. He took a long breath. The man leaned closer to him, whispered again, “Sorry, sir. I will pay more attention next time. General Smith requests your presence. He is in the rear of this column, with General Sumner, sir.”
Hancock turned his horse, climbed back to the road, began to move toward the rear. He did not see where the courier went, and did not care. He