Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [51]
Commander of the Regiment. Why me? What did Vincent see?
He turned his mind away from that. Think on it when the time comes. You think too much beforehand and you get too self-conscious and tight and you don't function well. He knew that he was an instinctive man, not a planner, and he did best when he fell back on instinct. Think of music now and singing. Pass the time with a bit of harmony Hum songs, and rest.
But it was very hot.
Could use some Maine cool now.
Home. One place is just like another, really. Maybe not.
But truth is it's just all rock and dirt and people are roughly the same. I was born up there but I'm no stranger here.
Have always felt at home everywhere, even in Virginia, where they hate me.
Everywhere you go there's nothing but the same rock and dirt and houses and people and deer and birds. They give it all names, but I'm at home everywhere.
Odd thing: unpatriotic. I was at home in England. I would be at home in the desert. In Afghanistan or far Typee. All mine, it all belongs to me. My world.
Tom Chamberlain was saying, "You should have seen the last commander. Old Ames. He was the worst, I mean to tell you, the triple-toed half-wound, spotted mule worst."
"Where was you boys at Chancellorsville?"
"Well now." A painful subject. Joshua Chamberlain opened his eyes.
"The fact is," Tom said gloomily, "we was not engaged."
"Well now, a lot of us wa'nt engaged. That there Hooker, I hear he froze right up like a pond in the dark."
"Well, we had us a misfortune." Tom turned eyes sad as a trout. He was a lean, happy, excitable man who had turned out to be calm and serene in combat.
Soldiering was beginning to intrigue him.
"The thing was, damn, we had these here 'noculations.
You ever been 'noculated?"
The man swore earnestly Tom nodded. "Well, then, you a know Only thing was, we wound up sick, half the dang regiment. And come time for the fight at Chancellorsville our Surgeon Major-that's a stumble-fingered man named Wormy Monroe-he up and reported us unfit for combat.
So they went ahead and sent us back to mind the dang telegraph wires. We wasn't allowed to 'sociate with nobody.
Old Lawrence there he went on up and argued, but wouldn't nobody come near us.
It was like he was carrying the plague. Lawrence said hang it, we ought to be the first ones in, we'd probably give the Rebs a disease and be more useful than any other outfit in the whole army. Matter of fact, way things turned, we probably would've been more use than most of them people. Anyway we wasn't in it."
The Maine man was chuckling. Chamberlain thought: would have thought mountain men were tougher than city boys. But mountain men get all the diseases. City boys get immune as they grow up. We were a thousand strong when we left Maine.
Gallant six hundred... Half a league, half a league...
It was quieter now. No one was talking. Sound of troops at route step, shuffle in the dust, dull clink of mess kits, a band in the distance, tinny, forlorn, raw call of a cow in the sunlight. A voice in his ear, a hand on his arm.
"Colonel, sir-" exasperated-"beg the Colonel's pardon, but would the Colonel do us all a favor and get back on the damned horse?"
Colonel opened his eyes into the glare, saw: Tozier. Color Sergeant Tozier. A huge man with a huge nose, sweat bubbling all over his face. "I'll tell you, sir, be a damn site easier handlin' these here new recruits if the officers would act like they got sense, sir."
Chamberlain blinked, wiped at his sweat. Some of the men were watching with that odd soft look on their faces that still surprised Chamberlain. He started to say something, shook his head. Tozier was right. He mounted the horse.
Tozier said, "How are you, sir?"
Chamberlain nodded, grinned weakly.
"We don't need no more new commanding officers," Tozier said. "Here you.
Lieutenant, keep an eye on the Colonel."
Tom said, "Yes, sir." Tozier departed. Chambenain