Is Any One Else Losing Their Animals In Roundtop Ny

CHAPTER ONE

The Terminal Full Measure
A Novel

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By JEFFREY 1000. SHAARA
Ballantine Books

INTRODUCTION

Past July 1863 the Ceremonious State of war has been fought over the farmlands and seacoasts of the S for amend than two years, and is already one of the bloodiest wars in human history. It is a state of war that most believed would be decided by i quick fight, ane swell show of strength past the power of the North. The first major battle, called Bull Run in the North, Manassas in the S, is witnessed by a carefree audience of Washington'south elite. Their brightly decorated carriages carry men in fine suits and society matrons in colorful dresses. They perch on a hillside, enjoying their picnics, anticipating a great show with bands playing merrily while the young men in blue march in glorious parade and sweep aside the ragged ring of rebels. What they see is the first great horror, the stunning reality that this is in fact a war, and that men will die. What they however cannot empathize is how far this will become, and how many men will dice.

In the North, President Lincoln maintains a delicate grip on forces pulling the government in all directions. On one extreme is the pacifist movement, those who believe that the South has made its point, and so, to avert mortality, Washington must but let them go, that nothing so inconsequential equally the Constitution is as important as the loss of life. On the other extreme are the radical abolitionists, who demand the Due south be brought down entirely, punished for its mode of life, its culture, and that anyone who supports the southern cause should be purged from the land. There is also a great eye ground, men of reason and intellect, who now empathise that there is more to this war than the inflammatory result of slavery, or the statement over the sovereign rights of the individual states. As men continue to volunteer, larger and larger numbers of troops take to the fields, and other causes sally, each homo fighting for his own reason. Some fight for accolade and duty, some for money and glory, merely nearly all are driven by an amazing backbone, and will comport their muskets across the mortiferous space considering they feel it is the right matter to do.

From the North come farmers and fishermen, lumberjacks and shopkeepers, old veterans and young idealists. Some are barely Americans at all, expatriates and immigrants from Europe, led past officers who do not speak English. Some are freedmen, Negroes who volunteer to fight for the preservation of the limited freedoms they have been given, and to spread that freedom into the S.

In the South they are also farmers and fishermen, likewise as ranchers, laborers, aristocrats, and immature men seeking adventure. They are inspired first past the political rhetoric, the burn-breathing oratory of the radical secessionists. They are told that Lincoln is in league with the devil, and that his election ensures that the South will be held downwards, oppressed by the powerful interests in the North, that their very way of life is nether siege. When the sound of the big guns echo across Charleston harbor, when the first flashes of smoke and burn swallow Fort Sumter, Lincoln orders an army to go due south, to put down the rebellion by force. With the invasion comes a new inspiration, and in the South, even men of reason are fatigued into the fight, men who were non seduced by mindless rhetoric, who have shunned the cocky-serving motives of the politicians. There is outrage, and no matter the problems or the politics, many have upwards artillery in response to what they meet equally the threat to their homes. Even the men who empathize and promote the inevitable failure of slavery cannot stand by while their land is invaded. The issue is non to be decided after all by talk or rhetoric, but past the gun.

On both sides are the career soldiers, West Pointers, men with experience from the Mexican War, or the Indian wars of the 1850s. In the Due north the officers are infected and abused by the disease of politics, and promotion is not e'er granted past performance or ability. The Federal armies suffer a parade of inept or unlucky commanders who cannot fight the rebels until they first principal the fight with Washington. Few succeed.

In the Due south, Jefferson Davis maintains an iron mitt, decision-making even the smallest details of governing the Confederacy. Information technology is non an constructive arrangement, and equally in the Due north, men of political influence are awarded positions of groovy authorization, men who have no business leading soldiers into combat. In mid-1862, through an human action of fate, or equally he would interpret it, an human action of God, Robert Edward Lee is given command of the Ground forces of Northern Virginia. What follows in the East is a articulate pattern, a series of peachy and bloody fights in which the South prevails and the North is beaten back. If the blueprint continues, the state of war will end and the Confederacy will triumph. Many of the fights are won by Lee, or by his generals--the Shenandoah Valley, 2nd Manassas. Many of the fights are just lost past the blunders of Federal commanders, the most horrifying instance at Fredericksburg. Most, like the catastrophic Federal defeat at Chancellorsville or the tactical stalemate at Antietam, are a combination of both.

By 1863 two monumental events provide an insight into what lies ahead. The showtime is the success of the Federal occludent of southern seaports, which prevents the S from receiving critical supplies from allies abroad, and also prevents the export of raw materials, notably cotton and tobacco, which provide the currency necessary to pay for the war effort. The consequence is understood on both sides. Without outside assist, the Confederacy will slowly starve.

The second is the great bloody fight at Gettysburg. While a tragic defeat for Lee's regular army, in that location is a greater significance to the way that defeat occurs. Until now, the state of war has been fought more often than not from the old traditions, the Napoleonic method, the massed frontal set on against fortified positions. It has been apparent from the start of the state of war that the new weaponry has made such attacks dangerous and costly, only former ways die slowly, and commanders on both sides have been reluctant to modify. Later on Gettysburg, the changes get a matter of survival. If the commanders exercise not yet sympathize, the men in the field practise, and the use of the shovels becomes as of import as the utilise of muskets. The new methods--potent fortifications, trench warfare--are clear signs to all that the war has inverse, that in that location will exist no quick and decisive fight to cease all fights.

Every bit the Civil War enters its tertiary year, the bloody reports go along to make full the newspapers, and the bodies of young men continue to fill up the cemeteries. To the eager patriots, the idealists and adventurers who joined the fight at the get-go, there is a new reality, in which honor and celebrity are condign hollow words. The great causes are slowly pushed aside, and men now fight with the grim determination to take this fight to its cease; after and then much destruction and horrible loss, the senses are dulled, the unspeakable sights no longer shock. All the free energy is frontwards, toward those men across that mortiferous infinite who accept only become the enemy.

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Robert Edward Lee

Born in 1807, he graduates West Bespeak in 1829, second in his class. Though he is the son of "Low-cal-Equus caballus" Harry Lee, a great hero of the American Revolution, late in his male parent's life Lee must suffer the burden of his father'due south business and personal failures more than the aura of heroism. Lee is devoutly religious, believing with absolute clarity that the events of his life are determined by the will of God. On his render from Westward Bespeak, his mother dies in his artillery. The haunting sadness of her expiry stays hard within him for the balance of his life, and places him more firmly than ever into the hands of his God.

He marries the aristocratic Mary Anne Randolph Custis, whose begetter is the grandson of Martha Washington, and whose home is the thousand mansion of Arlington, overlooking the Potomac River. The Lees have 7 children, and Lee suffers the guilt of a career that rarely brings him home to watch his children grow, a source of great regret for him, and simmering bitterness in his wife Mary.

Lee is a brilliant engineer, and his regular army career moves him to a multifariousness of posts where his expertise and skill contribute much to the construction of the military installations and forts along the Atlantic coast. He goes to St. Louis and confronts a crisis for the port there by rerouting the flow of the Mississippi River. In 1846 he is sent to United mexican states,and his reputation lands him on the staff of General-in-Chief Winfield Scott. Lee performs with efficiency and heroism, both as an engineer, a sentry, and a staff officer, and leaves Mexico a lieutenant colonel.

He accepts command of the buck corps at West Point in 1851, considered by many as the smashing reward for good service, the respectable job in which to spend the fall of his career. But though his family is now close, he misses the action of Mexico, finds himself stifled past administrative duties. In 1855 he stuns all who know him by seizing an opportunity to return to the field, volunteering to go to Texas, to control a new regiment of cavalry. Only even that command is mundane and frustrating, and there is for him nothing in the duty that recalls the vitality and adventure of the fighting in Mexico. Throughout the 1850s Lee settles into a deep gloom, resigns himself that no duty will be as fulfilling as life under burn and that his career volition deport him into old age in bored obscurity.

Equally the conflict over Lincoln's election boils over in the South, his command in Texas begins to collapse, and he is recalled to Washington in early on 1861, where he receives the startling asking to control Lincoln'south new volunteer army, with a promotion to Major General. He shocks Washington and deeply disappoints Winfield Scott by declining the appointment. Lee chooses the only course left to an officer and a man of honor and resigns from his thirty-year career. He believes that even though Virginia has not yet joined the secessionist states, past organizing an army to invade the S, Lincoln has united his opponents and the southern states, which must eventually include Virginia. Lee will not take upwards arms against his home.

In belatedly April 1861 he accepts the governor's invitation to command the Virginia Militia, a defensive force assembled to defend the state. When Jefferson Davis moves the Amalgamated government to Richmond, the Virginia forces, as well every bit those of the other ten secessionist states, are absorbed into the Confederate army. Lee is invited to serve equally military machine consultant to Davis, another stifling job with little actual authorisation. In July 1861, during the first smashing battle of the war, Lee sits lonely in his office, while nigh of official Richmond travels to Manassas, to the excitement of the forepart lines.

In June 1862, while accompanied by Davis near the fighting on the Virginia peninsula, commander Joe Johnston is wounded in activeness and Davis offers command of the Army of Northern Virginia to Lee. Lee accepts, understands that he is, afterwards all, a soldier, and justifies the conclusion with the fact that his theater of war is still Virginia. Defending his home takes on a more poignant significance when Lee'due south grand estate at Arlington is occupied and ransacked by Federal troops.

Lee reorganizes the regular army, removes many of the inept political generals, and begins to sympathize the enormous value of his ii all-time commanders, James Longstreet and Thomas Jackson, who at Manassas was given the nickname "Stonewall." Using the greatest talents of both men, Lee leads the Army of Northern Virginia through a series of momentous victories against a Federal army that is weighed down past its ain failures, and by its continuing struggle to find an effective commander. Much of Lee'south war is fought in northern Virginia, and the state is suffering under the strain of feeding the regular army. The burden of war and of the Federal blockade spreads through the entire Confederacy and inspires Lee and Davis to consider a bold and decisive strategy.

In September 1862, Lee moves his army north, hoping to assemble support and new recruits from the neutral state of Maryland. The advance results in the battle of Sharpsburg--known as Antietam in the N--and though Lee does not admit defeat, the outrageous carnage and loss of life force him to order a retreat back into Virginia. Only his army is not pursued past the Federal forces, and with new commanders at present confronting him, Lee begins a great tactical chess game, and accomplishes the greatest victories of the war.

In December 1862, at Fredericksburg, Virginia, his army maintains the defensive and completely crushes poorly planned Federal assaults. In May 1863, at Chancellorsville, Lee is outnumbered about three to ane, and but by the utter brazenness of Stonewall Jackson does the huge Federal ground forces retire from the field with great loss. Just the battle is costly for Lee as well. Jackson is accidentally shot by his own men, and dies after a weeklong struggle with pneumonia.

Lee and Davis go on to believe that a move northward is essential, that with weakened conviction and inept commanders, the Federal army need only be pushed into i not bad boxing that will likely end the war. In June 1863, Lee's army marches into Pennsylvania. He believes that a slap-up fight might non even be necessary, that just the threat of spilling blood on northern soil volition put great pressure on Washington, and the war might be brought to an cease by the voice of the northern people. The invasion of the N will serve another purpose: to take the fight into fertile farmlands where Lee might feed his increasingly desperate ground forces.

Some in Lee's army question the strategy, raising the moral question of how to justify an invasion versus defending their homes. Others question the military judgment of moving into unfamiliar territory, confronting an enemy that has never been inspired by fighting on its own footing. There are other factors that Lee must confront. Though he is personally devastated past the death of Jackson, Jackson's loss means more than to his ground forces than Lee fully understands.

As the invasion moves northward, Lee is left blind by his cavalry, nether the flamboyant command of Jeb Stuart. Stuart fails to provide Lee with critical data almost the enemy and is cutting off from Lee across the march of the Federal army, an army that is moving to confront Lee with uncharacteristic speed. The Federal Army of the Potomac has however another new commander, George Gordon Meade, and if Lee knows Meade to be a conscientious homo, cautious in his new command, he besides knows that there are many other Federal officers now rising to the top, men who are not political pawns simply in fact difficult and effective fighters.

The ii armies collide at a small crossroads chosen Gettysburg, a fight for which Lee is not even so prepared, and the fight becomes the 3 bloodiest days in American history. As costly equally information technology is to both armies, it is a clear defeat for Lee. He had believed his army could not be stopped, and begins at present to understand what Jackson's loss might hateful--that as the fight goes on, and the adept men continue to autumn abroad, the state of war will settle heavily on his ain shoulders.

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Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain

Born in 1828 near Brewer, Maine, he is the oldest of five children. He graduates Bowdoin Higher in 1852, and impresses all who know him with his intellect, his gift for words and talent for languages. He is raised by a deeply religious mother, whose greatest wish is that he become a man of the cloth, and for a brusque while Chamberlain attends the Bangor Theological Seminary, but it is not a commitment he can make. His male parent's ancestry is military. Chamberlain's cracking-grandad fought in the Revolution, his granddaddy in the War of 1812. His father serves during peacetime years in the Maine Militia and never sees gainsay. It is family unit tradition that his son volition follow the military path, and he pressures Chamberlain to apply to Westward Point. When Chamberlain returns to the academic customs, a career for which his begetter has trivial respect, the thwarting becomes a difficult barrier between them.

He marries Frances Caroline (Fannie) Adams, and they have four children, two of whom survive infancy. Fannie pushes him toward the career in academics, and his love for her is so complete and consuming that he likely would have pursued any path she had chosen.

Considered the rise star in the academic community, Chamberlain accepts a prestigious Chair at Bowdoin, formerly held by the renowned Calvin Stowe, husband of Harriet Beecher Stowe. Her controversial book, Uncle Tom'southward Cabin, inspires Chamberlain, and the issues that explode in the South, and so far removed from the classrooms in Maine, achieve him deeply. He begins to feel a calling of a different kind.

As the war begins in earnest, and Chamberlain's distraction is evi-dent to the school administration, he is offered a go out of absenteeism--a trip to Europe, to take him abroad from the growing turmoil. Chamberlain uses the opportunity in a way that astounds and distresses everyone. He goes to the governor of Maine without telling anyone, including Fannie, and volunteers for service in the newly forming Maine regiments. Though he has no war machine experience, his intellect and zeal for the chore open the door, and he is appointed Lieutenant Colonel, 2d-in-control of the Twentieth Maine Regiment of Volunteers.

After a difficult cheerio to his family, Chamberlain and his regiment join the Army of the Potomac in Washington, and in September 1862 they march toward western Maryland, to confront Lee'due south army at Antietam Creek. The Twentieth Maine does not come across activeness, but Chamberlain observes the carnage of the fight and, for the first time, experiences what the state of war might mean for the men around him. Three months later he leads his men into the guns at Fredericksburg and witnesses immediate what the war has become. He spends an astonishing night on the battlefield, yards from the lines of the enemy, and protects himself with the corpses of his own men.

In June 1863 he is promoted to total colonel, and at present commands the regiment. He marches north with the army in pursuit of Lee'due south invasion. Past run a risk, his regiment is the lead unit of the 5th Corps, and when they reach the growing sounds of the fight at Gettysburg, the Twentieth Maine marches to the left flank, climbing a long ascent to the far face of a rocky hill known later every bit Niggling Round Height. His is now the last unit, the far left flank of the Federal line, and he is ordered to hold the position at all cost. The regiment fights off a desperate series of attacks from Longstreet's corps, which, if successful, would likely plough the entire Federal flank, exposing the supply train and the rear of the rest of the regular army. Low on ammunition, his line weakening from the loss of so many men, he impulsively orders his men to chargethe advancing rebels with bayonets, surprising the weary attackers and then completely that they retreat in disorder or are captured en masse. The attacks finish and the flank is secured.

During the fight, he is struck by a modest piece of shrapnel, and carries a small but painful wound in his foot. As the ground forces marches in slow pursuit of Lee'southward retreat, the foul weather condition and Chamberlain'south own exhaustion take their toll, and he begins to suffer symptoms of malaria.

Though he is unknown exterior of his immediate command, this higher professor turned soldier now attracts the attention of the commanders above him, and information technology becomes credible that his is a name that will be heard again.

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Ulysses Simpson Grant

Born in 1822 in Point Pleasant, Ohio, he graduates West Point in 1843. Minor, undistinguished as a buck, information technology is his initials which first attract attention. The U.Due south. becomes a nickname, "Uncle Sam," and soon he is known by his friends as but "Sam." He achieves one other notable reputation at the Point, that of a master horseman, seemingly able to tame and ride any creature.

His first duty is well-nigh St. Louis, and he maintains a strong friendship with many of the former cadets, including "Pete" Longstreet. Grant meets and falls madly in love with Julia Dent, whose father's inflated notion of his own aristocratic standing produces strong objection to his daughter's relationship with a soldier. Longstreet suffers a similar fate, and in 1846, when the orders come to march to Mexico, both men leave behind young girls with wounded hearts.

Grant is assigned to the Fourth Infantry and serves under Zachary Taylor during the beginning conflicts in due south Texas. He makes the great march inland with Winfield Scott and arrives at the gates of Mexico Urban center to lead his men into the costly fighting that eventually breaks downwards the defenses of the metropolis and gives Scott'south ground forces the victory. Grant leads his infantry with dandy skill, and is recognized for heroism, but is non impressed with the straight-ahead tactics used by Scott. He believes that much loss of life could have been avoided by ameliorate strategy.

He returns home with a strong sense of despair for the condition of the Mexican peasantry, which he sees as victims of both the state of war and their own ruling grade. It is an experience that helps strengthen his ain feelings about the abominable inhumanity of slavery.

Returning to St. Louis, Grant receives reluctant consent to marry Julia, and eventually they have 4 children. He receives a pleasant assignment to Detroit, but in 1852 he is ordered to the coast of California, an expensive and hazardous post, and so he must leave his family behind. The following two years are the worst in his life, and despite a brief and enjoyable tour at Fort Vancouver, he succumbs both to the outrageous temptations of gold-rush San Francisco and the drastic loneliness of life without his young family unit. Shy and withdrawn, he does not enjoy the raucous social circles of many of his friends, and the painful isolation leads him to a dependency on alcohol. His bouts of drunkenness are severe enough to interfere with his duty, and his behavior warrants disciplinary action. Because of the generosity of his commanding officer, Grant is afforded the opportunity to resign rather than face a court-martial. He leaves the ground forces in May 1854 and believes his career in the war machine is at a painful conclusion.

He returns to his family unit unemployed and penniless, and attempts to farm a slice of state given him by Julia's begetter. With no money to provide the beginnings of a crop, Grant attempts the lumber business organization, cut trees from the land himself. He eventually builds his ain house, which he calls, accordingly, "Hardscrabble."

He is generous to a fault, oft loaning money to those who volition never repay the debts, and despite a constant struggle financially, he is always willing to help anyone who confronts him in need.

In 1859 he is offered a position as a collection agent for a real estate firm in St. Louis, and trades the small-scale farm for a modest dwelling in the metropolis, just the concern is not profitable. Though he is qualified for positions that go available in the local authorities, the political turmoil that spreads through the Midwest requires great skill at intrigue and political connections, and Grant has neither. He finally accepts an offering from his own father, moves to Galena, Illinois, in 1860, and clerks in a leather and tanned appurtenances store with his brothers, who empathise that Grant'south military machine feel and West Signal training in mathematics will make for both a trustworthy and useful employee. Only the politics of the solar day begin to impact even those who endeavour to avert the great discussions and town meetings, and Grant meets John Rawlins and Elihu Washburne, whose political influence begins to pave the way for an opportunity Grant would never have sought on his own.

As the presidential ballot draws closer, Grant awakens to the political passions around him, involves himself with the problems andthe candidates, and finally decides to support the candidate Abraham Lincoln. When Lincoln is elected, Grant tells his friend John Rawlins that with passions igniting effectually the state, "the Due south will fight."

Persuaded past Washburne, Grant organizes a regiment of troops from Galena and petitions the governor of Illinois for a Colonel's commission, which he receives. After seven years of struggle as a civilian, Grant reenters the army.

Serving first nether Henry Halleck, he somewhen commands troops through fights on the Mississippi River at Forts Henry and Donelson, each fight growing in importance equally the war spreads. Promoted eventually to Major General, Grant is named commander of the Federal Army of Tennessee, but nevertheless must suffer Halleck's frail ego and disagreeable hostility. On the Tennessee River at a identify called Shiloh, facing a powerful enemy nether the command of Albert Sidney Johnston, Grant wins one of the bloodiest fights of the war, in which Johnston himself is killed. Here, Grant's command includes an onetime acquaintance from his days in California, William Tecumseh Sherman.

In July 1862, when Halleck is promoted to General-in-Chief of the regular army and leaves for Washington, the army of the western theater is a dislocated mishmash of commands nether Grant, Don Carlos Buell, and William Rosecrans. While the focus of the nation is on the nifty battles in Virginia, Grant gradually establishes himself every bit the most consistent and reliable commander in the Westward. He finally unites much of the Federal forces for an attack and eventually a long siege on the disquisitional river port of Vicksburg, Mississippi. In July 1863, the same week Lee'southward ground forces confronts the peachy Federal forces at Gettysburg, Grant succeeds in capturing both Vicksburg and the Amalgamated force that had occupied information technology.

Now, Lincoln begins to focus not just on the groovy turmoil of Virginia, just toward the West as well, and it is Grant's name that rises through the jumble of poor commanders and the political gloom of Washington. Afterwards the disasters of leadership that accept plagued the army, Lincoln's patience for the politics of command is at an terminate. He begins to speak of this quiet and unassuming man out Due west, a general who seems to know how to win.

Affiliate 1

ane. Lee

July 13, 1863

It was a high bluff, overlooking the dark violence of the swollen river. He saturday lone, watched equally the men savage into line and the columns began moving slowly through the steady rain. He felt the coolness run down his neck, the water soaking every part of him, his chapeau, his clothes. A vast sea of mud surrounded them all. The Potomac was rising once more, was well beyond their ability to ford, as they might have done before the rains. Now, it was angry and swirling. In the darkness, the move was accented by the small fires that lined the riverbank, a flickering protest to the misery of the weather condition, the only guiding calorie-free the men would have to reach the crossing.

Lee straightened his back, stretched, pulled at the miserable wetness in his wearing apparel. He reached downwards, patted Traveller gently, said quietly to the horse, "He has given united states of america one more night ... he has not come."

He was thinking at present of George Meade, the commander of the vast Federal army he knew was encamped out there, somewhere, deep in the thick darkness. He had expected them to come up at him well before now. It had been 10 days, and Lee'southward regular army had been strung out for miles, moving southwest away from Gettysburg. The army had begun the march away from the bloody fields in a terrible downpour, led away by the wagons of the wounded, and Meade had not pursued. But they reached the Potomac to find the river swollen near out of its banks, their one expert bridge swept away, and so they would have to endeavor to build another, or look longer for the river to drop.

When Meade had finally moved, he pushed his army in a more than roundabout fashion, to come at them from downriver. Only at that place was besides much time, Lee'southward men had fortified into a potent defensive line, and and so Meade waited again. Lee had known the take a chance was enormous, and he feared the attack at any time. There was some skirmishing, small outbreaks of musket burn down, the feeling out of 2 great armies shut together. The simply real assaults had been with cavalry, all along the march, the Federal horsemen thrusting and jabbing, while Stuart held them away from the main lines. When the skies finally cleared and the roads began to dry, Meade moved his army close, and Lee was backed hard confronting the high water. Now they had dug in, the quick work of men with shovels, because fifty-fifty the foot soldiers knew that they were trapped and a stiff push from a salubrious enemy could beat them. But Meade did not come up.

It was Major Harman, the foul-tempered and foul-mouthed quarter-primary of Jackson'southward old Second Corps, who saved the day. Lee smiled now, remembered Jackson'south embarrassment as Harman would ride by, screaming profanities at a line of slow moving wagons. Jackson would glance at Lee like a small-scale male child expecting an aroused response from a stern parent, and Lee would expect away, would make no issue of it, knew well that Jackson would tolerate the human being's harsh outbursts because he was very proficient at his job. At present Harman was serving new commanders, and notwithstanding did his job. He'd scouted the countryside, found the abased houses and barns, the people far abroad from this invading army. Harman ordered the houses dismantled and the wood planking thrown into the river, swept downstream to where the engineers waited. The wood was collected and strung together into a snaking mass of ragged timber. They had laid tree branches across the planks, muffling the sounds of the wagons' wheels, and now the ambulances and the guns and the weary soldiers were finally crossing the river.

Lee yet watched them, the glow from the fires throwing lite and shadows on the faces, some looking upward toward him, seeing him on the high knoll. But most stared directly ahead, looked silently at the back of the man in forepart, or downwardly at the dull rhythm of bare feet, moving slowly, carefully, and they all knew they were marching south.

He thought of Jackson again, closed his eyes and saw the precipitous confront, the brightness in the clear blue optics. We miss y'all, General. No, do not call back on that. He opened his eyes, looked around to his staff, saw Taylor, sitting with the others, a cluster of blackness raincoats.

"Major, accept we heard from General Ewell?"

Taylor moved up, pushed his horse through the mud close to Lee. "Yep, sir. He reports his men are crossing well. They should be south of the river by daylight."

Lee nodded, wanted to say more, to pause away from the thoughts of Jackson, but the image was nonetheless there, would not go. Lee turned back toward the march of the men, felt the wetness again. Taylor waited, watched Lee, could sense his mood through the darkness, backed his horse abroad.

Below, along the river, a group of horsemen moved out of the woods, and Lee saw the flag of the First Corps. They rode slowly toward the knoll, and then one man moved out in forepart and spurred his horse up the hill, wide thick shoulders slumped against the pelting. The air current all of a sudden began to blow, the rain slicing beyond them, and the big man leaned into it, held his chapeau in place with a gloved paw.

"Full general Longstreet ..."

Longstreet looked upward, peered from under the wide wet hat, nodded, saluted. "General Lee. We're moving pretty quick, considering the conditions. The bridge may not hold. We're watching it pretty close ... both sides of the river."

"It is a approval, General." Lee looked to the water again, the slow march of the troops. "Major Harman may have saved this army."

Longstreet followed Lee's expect, and for a moment the wind stopped and at that place was simply the quiet sound of the rain. All of a sudden, beyond the trees, in that location was a rumble, 1 sharp nail from a large gun. They waited for more, but the silence flowed back around them. Longstreet looked that way, said, "Damned fools ... save your ammunition."

He looked toward Lee, lowered his caput, did not like to swear in front of Lee, merely Lee did non seem to find, was again staring at the marching troops. Longstreet saw now that Lee was counting, nodding to the regimental flags as they caught the brief flickers from the fires.

"We'll make it all right, sir. If Meade hasn't hit us by now, heisn't coming at all. Ewell is making good time down below, andthe First Corps is most all beyond. Loma's corps is right behind us."

Lee nodded, looked now out in the darkness, to the far trees. "He should have hit u.s.a. here. We gave him an opportunity. God ... gave him an opportunity. The rains slowed united states, kept us here. At present, God has taken his opportunity abroad."

Lee paused, and Longstreet waited.

Lee said, "I don't sympathize His ways.... I idea it would never be similar this. The Almighty was with united states of america, the fight was ours ... we should accept won the solar day. Only it was not to exist. I thought ... I understood. Only now, He is allowing united states of america to get back home."

Longstreet looked at Lee for a long moment, said, "I idea Meade would cease it. He is making a mistake letting us escape. I suppose ... there will be another day."

Now at that place was the sharp sound of some other gun, a cursory flash of light in the trees far downriver, then another gun, closer, the respond. Lee watched, sat upwards straight.

Longstreet said, "No musket burn down. They're only playing ... probably firing at the wind. Meade's cavalry is moving around, but no infantry. They're still in place."

Lee shook his head. "He dug trenches. He came right at united states, and so dug trenches."

Longstreet said, "The scouts have been bringing in some numbers.... Discussion is, he's pretty vanquish upwardly. Mayhap worse than us. They lost some skillful people.... John Reynolds is dead, that'due south for certain. I heard Hancock was down, and Dan Sickles. Meade's still new to command, doesn't desire to make any mistakes. He won the fight, he knows it. Permit those folks in Washington absorb that. They haven't had much to cheer most."

Lee looked at Longstreet, ran the names through his mind. "General, he has non lost what nosotros have lost. We cannot supercede what has been taken from u.s.a., and this fight has taken too much. I do non understand why we have been ... punished so. We could accept ended the war, correct over in that location, if we had prevailed on that ground. The pressure on Washington ... nosotros took the fight to them, it was the just way. And we have paid a terrible price." He paused, said quietly, to himself, "I would have thought ... surely God does not want this to go on."

Longstreet watched the troops once again, said, "There were many mistakes."

Lee did not respond, idea again of Jackson, closed his eyes, fought the image. But information technology would not go away. The epitome stared hard at him, and Lee knew that Jackson was there, had seen the great fight, the great bloody disaster. Lee thought, If you had been here ... if yous had led them ... it would have been very unlike.

From down below, one of Longstreet's staff moved up the hill, said, "General, excuse me. The final of the corps is on the span, sir. General Loma'due south column is forming on the road, behind those wood."

Longstreet turned, nodded. "Give thanks yous, Major. We'll move acrossin a minute." He turned to Lee, paused, saw Lee'due south eyes closed, said quietly, "General Lee? With your permission, sir, I volition take my staff across the river. I expect General Loma should report to you soon. I'm sure he wants to get across this river as much as nosotros do."

Lee looked at him now, and Longstreet suddenly felt foolish, knew it was the incorrect thing to say.

Lee looked into the shadow of Longstreet'south face. He felt a modest tug of anger, but he would not say annihilation of it, would non lay blame on anyone. "General Longstreet, you may accompany your corps."

Longstreet bowed slightly, saluted, pulled the horse abroad. Lee watched him, the staff gathering together, the horses moving in slippery steps down to the bridge head.

Longstreet was right, there were many mistakes. But he would not think on that at present, would not come across the faces, the commanders who had not done the job, would not remember on troop movements and poor cooperation, could not even recollect his own orders, the horrors of what he had seen, what they had all seen in those three days. He had tried to sympathise it, to sort it out, just it was also shortly, and he knew the memories would come up dorsum in time, and the images would be every bit precipitous and painful as so many of the memories he carried from the fights long before.

Even the cracking victories held vast horror, only he could not even recall those, the days when you knew you had beaten those people, had driven them from the field, commanders similar Pope and Hooker, who by their bluster and profane arrogance invited naught less than total defeat. And the incompetence of Burnside, who threw his very good regular army confronting an impossibly strong position, and then sent his own men to a senseless slaughter. Lee tried to remember the feeling, continuing on his hill backside Fredericksburg, hearing the bright yells and joyous shouts from below, his men looking out at the bloody fields in front of them, understanding how utterly complete their victory had been. He tried to remember the chaos at Chancellorsville, the complete devastation of the Federal flank, how Jackson had nearly crushed the Federal regular army in a panic then complete that had the daylight not run out ... it could have ended the war right there. Just Jackson would not be stopped by nightfall, kept moving frontward, even when his men could non, and in a dark and terrifying dark his own men had panicked at the sound of horses, had fired at silhouettes in the moonlight.

Lee saw the confront once more. He had not been to see Jackson subsequently he was wounded, just the reports from the doctors, from the staff, were optimistic, only an arm, he would recover. And then suddenly the bright bluish light was gone, and non from the wounds, but from pneumo-nia. And it was only ... He tried to think. Ii months ago. Or an eternity.

Already now in that location were letters, reports beginning to movement through the army, commanders deflecting the blame they knew was even so to come. There would be the newspapers, of course, and the letters from abode, questioning. Some of the officers had already made protests, angry challenges, hot criticisms of the generals Lee trusted so much, men he had to trust. Simply those men had not performed, and in the maze of faces and names and mistakes, he knew that ultimately no one could be held responsible but him.

Now there was fresh motion on the road, reflections from a new line of troops. It was the Third Corps, A. P. Colina's men. They moved out of the wood, marched down toward the angry water, and again Lee watched, sat quietly on Traveller as his regular army moved silently through the wet misery of the retreat, knowing once over again the state of war would roll on in a encarmine launder of men and machines back into Virginia.

Baronial 1863

He halted the army s of the Rapidan River, near Orangish Court House, and as they slowly gathered together, many of the stragglers and men with light wounds began to render. In the weeks since the start of the retreat, it was the first fourth dimension Lee could see his regular army for what information technology had now become, how desperately the touch of Gettysburg had changed the forcefulness, how deep were the wounds.

The fields around the Rapidan were bare now. No farmers workedthe land, the homes and barns were empty, most of the large trees were gone. The war had long since claimed this function of Virginia, and Lee hardly recognized this countryside. He stood at the edge of a wide field of dried mud, knew that this state, this fertile and beautiful ground, had in one case borne the compensation, the tall corn, the vast green oceans of grain. Now it was gray and barren, railroad vehicle tracks cutting through in all directions, the one-time campsites of both armies, and for now it was his again.

The men were spread out around him, secure in the new campsite, and Lee rode along the hard route, abroad from his own tents, where the staff worked with the papers, sorting out the problems in the regiments, the brigades, the countless fight for supplies.

Taylor had encouraged him to slip abroad, and Lee was grateful, knew this immature man with the boundless energy could handle the business of headquarters, the vast ataxia of details. He rode slowly away, did not look back, did not come across Taylor watching him, peering by the lengthening line of soldiers, officers, men with complaints or "urgent" business concern.

He moved down the hard road, by the troops who now stopped to watch him. There were shouts, calls of greeting, and even now, even with the hard wounds of the great defeat, the men yet rose up and gathered, nonetheless chosen his name. He reined the horse, lifted his hat, a small-scale salute, looked at the faces so beyond, saw the numbers, the wide field spread with the men who were still in that location, however with him. They did not look to him for condolement or pity, and he did not come across pain or defeat. They still made the cheerful calls, faces vivid with the look that says, We are still your ground forces, and we will fight again.

There had been desertions, many stragglers who were captured or simply disappeared. The muddy roads out of Pennsylvania had swallowed up many who had lost the strength, the free energy, for the fight. The casualties were staggering, over twenty thousand men, nearly a quarter of his ground forces gone. But as much every bit he mourned the loss of the fighting men, it was their commanders, the brigade and regimental officers, who would have to replaced. As the war flowed into its third year, the men who knew how to lead, the capable commanders with an instinct for battle, were becoming more and more scarce.

He thought of the names, saw the faces: Lew Armistead, Jim Barksdale, Pender, Garnett, Pettigrew. They were gone, and there were none better. He thought of young John Bell Hood, the huge blond-haired human being from Texas whom he had known and so well in the old cavalry, the man who loved chasing Comanches all through the misery of the frontier. Lee had always idea Hood was indestructible, but he was down likewise, a severe wound, might withal lose an arm. And former Isaac Trimble, the homo who brought him the news of Ewell's failure to take Cemetery Hill, a catastrophic mistake in a fight with many mistakes. Trimble was a tearing and disagreeable man whom Lee knew he could trust absolutely, but Trimble had been wounded every bit well, had to be left backside, and so was captured.

You could non train new leaders, you lot could not replace what a man had brought with him from the battlefields in Mexico. In that location was no fresh form from West Point or VMI. The new officers were immature, very young, and if a man did not have the gut instinct, could non have his men frontward with absolute command of himself and his state of affairs, there was no time to teach him, to show him his mistakes. At present, when mistakes were made, the men did not come back.

He spurred the horse once more, moved beyond the military camp, saw the road turning through a modest grove of thick trees. It was hot, growing hotter, and he looked to the shade, moved that manner. He heard the audio of water, saw a small stream snaking its way in the dark coolness, flowing close to the route. He reined the horse, watched the thin stream of water rolling over polished rocks, was suddenly very thirsty. He climbed downwards, and Traveller moved to the water with him. Lee aptitude low, cupped his hand and took a deep common cold drink. He stood, wiped at his face with a wet paw, watched the equus caballus now nosing the border of the stream. He could still hear the men, the sounds of the camp carrying beyond the fields, and at that place was even music, a banjo, and he smiled at that, felt a sudden pride. Yes, he thought, they are not beaten. I should take a lesson from that.

He reached into his pocket, felt for the letter of the alphabet, pulled it out. Information technology was the reply, the inevitable response from Jefferson Davis. Lee understood that in this army, in whatsoever ground forces, it was the commander who must comport the responsibility. If he did not dwell on that, the newspapers did, great ponderous prose from the fat men in their clean offices in Richmond, Charleston, Atlanta, the men who had built upwardly the expectations of their nation with the move northward. They gave their readers the first reports of the glorious invasion of the Due north, reported outrageous rumors as fact, the defeat of Meade's army, the imminent capture of Washington.

Lee had not seen the papers until subsequently the battle, then read the absurd reports with deep dread, because he knew that when the truth came out, when the reports of the fighting became real, the affect would be far worse. So with the outset major accounts from Pennsylvania, the papers that had given the people grand headlines of their mythic victory, the victory that would surely finish the state of war, now gave them the story of crushing defeat. The papers had provided the ability backside the myth, and many had come to believe that his army was invincible. Now they had to take that it was non always and then, and many would not have it. Fifty-fifty the reasonable, moderate voices could non temper what many were proverb. Lee had lost the fight. As he absorbed the acrimony, the reckless calls from the papers, the voices of those quick to place arraign, to seek the uncomplicated caption, he responded in the but way he could. In early on Baronial his alphabetic character of resignation had gone to the president.

The alphabetic character had been as much a response to the papers every bit to the president personally, an endeavour to relieve any criticism of the ground forces, the men who had done the fighting. And if Lee accustomed responsibility for the failure, he also began to accept that his health was becoming an consequence, and for the starting time time he had wondered if his heart problems might have overcast his judgment. So, at least he had provided Davis with an excuse, a reason for accepting his resignation, which would preserve his accolade.

Now, as Lee stood beside the big horse in the absurd shade, he held Davis's respond in his hand. He opened the letter, read it once more. If Davis had get fragile, even suspicious and secretive in his dealings with his other commanders, he could all the same show Lee the warmth that many never saw, that Lee had often forgotten. He scanned the page, paused at the words "my dear friend," smiled, then read silently.

To ask me to substitute you by one in my judgment more fit to command, or who could possess more of the confidences of the army, or of the reflecting men of the country, is to demand an impossibility.

He looked back toward the sounds from the field, thought, The confidences of the army. He knew Davis was correct, he had just seen it again in the faces of the men. He put his hand out, touched Traveller'southward neck, said aloud, "Well, if they want me to lead them withal, then I volition atomic number 82 them. After all, my friend, what else can I do?"

He climbed up, considered moving farther abroad, exploring the route deeper into the shade of the copse, but earlier he could tug at the reins, the big grey horse turned its head and began to carry him back to his men.

(C) 1998 Jeff Shaara All rights reserved. ISBN: 0-345-40491-2

Source: https://www.nytimes.com/books/first/s/shaara-last.html

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