Jeff Shaara and Michael Shaara: Three Novels of the Civil War: Gods and Generals, the Killer Angels, the Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Looking around, Lee felt embarrassed now at his anger, saw the door to the smaller office open, his office, asked, “Is Major Thomas here?”

  “No sir, he’s out right now. But if you would like to leave your name, I’ll see he gets your message. You do have a message for him, sir?”

  “Yes, Corporal, you may tell Major Thomas that Colonel Lee has returned. And if you don’t mind, Corporal, you may retrieve my bags from the coach outside, put them in my quarters, and then—”

  “Right . . . Colonel . . . Lee . . .” The man was writing on a corner of the newspaper; Lee’s name meant nothing to him.

  Lee wanted to say more, to put this arrogant little man in his place, remind him he was in the army, but he sensed the futility, felt swallowed up in the heat, abruptly had no energy.

  “Uh, Colonel, you want me to get those bags now?”

  “Now would be helpful, Corporal. If you don’t mind telling me, just when may we expect Major Thomas to return?”

  “Any time now. He’s gone over to find a bite to eat, at the mess. Do you know where the mess is, Colonel?”

  “Yes, I do, Corporal. Thank you for your help.”

  Lee turned and walked back into the sun. He saw a few men moving about now, followed a young lieutenant into a low white building. The man did not see him until they were inside, then said, “Oh, sir,” and saluted.

  Lee saw recognition, a familiar face, tried to think of the man’s name.

  “Welcome back to Fort Mason, Colonel. Please, would you join . . .” The man looked around, tried to find reinforcements, saw one table in the rear with a group of officers and motioned nervously for Lee to follow. “This way, sir. Please, join us.”

  Around the table were four men, faces Lee did not know, except for his old friend and second in command, George Thomas. They were quietly arguing, had not noticed him.

  The lieutenant spoke up. “Gentlemen, please. It’s Colonel Lee.”

  Thomas turned around, surprised, rose suddenly, knocking his chair back, a noisy clatter. “Colonel, forgive me. I didn’t know you had arrived. Good to see you again, sir.”

  “Thank you, Major. Please, sit down. I just came in to let you know I was here.”

  “Have a bite to eat, Colonel. Some bread left, not too hard.”

  He seemed rattled to Lee, but still, it was a friendly face, and Lee suddenly was very glad to see him. “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, but a bit of bread might do, yes.”

  The men spread their chairs, made room for Lee and the young lieutenant, and Thomas made introductions, names Lee did not recall. The men greeted him with formal respect and few smiles.

  Lee said to Thomas, “I was wondering, it seems there are not many troops here. Are they out on patrol, something up?”

  Thomas glanced at the others, looked down at the table. “Colonel, there aren’t many troops here at all. The men have been assigned, scattered out all over Texas, spread pretty thin. Begging your pardon, sir, but since you’ve been gone, the situation here, all over, has gotten a good deal worse.”

  “Worse than before?”

  Thomas nodded. “The army won’t send any more men, they say it’s money, but I’m guessing they just don’t see we’re doing much good out here. We’ve got new outposts clear up . . . well, just about everywhere there’s Indians. We’re spread out so much, even the forts themselves aren’t safe anymore. We lose horses and mules every day. Forgive me, Colonel, but, well, I’m glad to have you back in command, but I’m not sure just what your command is.”

  Across the table a man with a dark, full-bearded face and deep-set, angry eyes, introduced to Lee as Captain Barlow, said, “The reason is pretty clear, Colonel. What George isn’t saying is that Washington has bigger problems than a bunch of wild Indians. We all know what you did to John Brown. What George doesn’t seem to understand, Colonel, is a lot of us folks from up North see that Brown fella as a symbol of what’s wrong, what’s got to change in the South. If it comes down to it, a lot of us . . . the army is willing to do what it takes to straighten things out.”

  Lee was shocked, had no idea anyone outside of Washington knew anything about the Brown raid. He looked at Barlow, saw anger, saw the deep feeling directed at him.

  “Captain, John Brown was just . . . it was a group of rioters. There was no uprising, no slaves.”

  “Colonel, John Brown was hanged because he tried to educate the slaves, tried to unite them in a cause of justice. Read the papers! I’m from New Jersey. I get the Trenton papers every week, and there’s a lot of people, Colonel, who want the South to own up to its responsibilities.”

  Lee felt shaken. Surely, he thought, this man does not speak for many. He looked at the big man, tried to sort through the hostility.

  “The South? You are referring to the slave states as one . . . community? Captain, I am from Virginia, as is Major Thomas. I do not consider Virginia . . . to be united in some way with any other states, whether Alabama or New Jersey, except by the Constitution.”

  Thomas saw the look on Lee’s face, knew Lee did not understand the man’s anger. “Colonel, have you not heard the news, about the elections?”

  Lee realized he hadn’t been reading much. He had received some Virginia papers from his son, but could not recall any mention of John Brown.

  “I’m sorry, I have not paid much attention. I have been rather . . . my duties in San Antonio kept me rather involved . . . the Mexicans, mainly, the bandits. I have spent a great deal of time in the field.”

  Another man spoke, older, gray-haired, a lieutenant, and Lee heard the distinct drawl of the southern accent. “Colonel, the Republicans are going with Abraham Lincoln as their candidate. Many in the South see Lincoln as nothing short of a threat to this nation.”

  Lee said, “I have always assumed Mr. Breckenridge . . . I always felt he was the popular choice and would be elected without . . . controversy.”

  “Controversy?” Barlow laughed. “Colonel, since Harper’s Ferry there is nothing but controversy. The abolitionists and the moderates have united, the way is clear. Mr. Lincoln will be elected, and the talk of secession will grow.”

  Lee had heard the word before, secession.

  “I am not very political, Captain. God would not allow . . . I always had the faith that this country would elect those who knew best, who could follow the best course through any situation. I certainly never thought what happened at Harper’s Ferry would be seen as such a political—”

  Thomas interrupted, “The problem, Colonel, is that the army is becoming divided as well. What Mr. Barlow is saying is that we may be asked to take action where we may find it difficult. I have talked to men from South Carolina. . . . There is much talk that if the Republicans are elected, South Carolina will withdraw from the Union, will secede. If that happens, what would you expect the officers from South Carolina to do? What would we do if it were Virginia?”

  Lee was becoming overwhelmed. “Surely you gentlemen are overstating the situation. I cannot believe that one state would withdraw from the Union just because a Republican is elected President. And, Virginia . . . Gentlemen, I have heard nothing of this kind of talk. Virginia is certainly not a part of this destructive talk, talk that does nothing but stir emotions. No, gentlemen, I believe you are wrong, I believe reasonable men will find a reasonable path and that all this talk of secession is just talk. What of Texas, what of right here?”

  The older man spoke again, in a quiet tone. “Colonel, there is no support for Mr. Lincoln in Texas. We consider him to be quite the enemy. And that, sir, is the point.”

  “The President of the United States is your commander, Lieutenant!” Barlow had stood, and his voice boomed.

  Lee looked at the man, then rose, moved his chair away from the table, said, “Gentlemen, please. I am a soldier in the United States Army, as are all of you. I cannot believe that any of us will be called on to fire upon any state. I would never allow myself to bring violence upon my home of Vi
rginia, and I believe there are enough men of reason in this country who feel the same way.”

  Barlow glared at Lee and leaned forward, his palms down on the table. “With all due respect, Colonel, I am not sure I understand your blind loyalty to your home, but my home is the United States of America, and I believe that what is going on in the South is a threat to our country, and I will do everything I can to preserve the integrity of the Union. If there is a rebellion against a legally elected President, whether he be Lincoln or Breckenridge or my aunt Mary, then I will serve my country by putting down that rebellion!”

  Now the gray-haired lieutenant stood, said to Barlow, “Captain, there will be a rebellion against a government that illegally inserts itself into the private, constitutionally protected affairs of the states. . . . The Federal government has no right—”

  The two men faced each other, and Lee raised his hand, looked into Barlow’s black eyes, felt helpless, saw a deep chasm between him and these men who carried such passion. “Gentlemen, we are all officers here.”

  They looked at him, stared, waited. He wanted to say more, to end this, but there was nothing else he could say. He had calmed them, however, their tempers softened. As he turned and moved toward the door, the men sat down again, watched him leave, then resumed their discussion.

  ON NOVEMBER 6, 1860, Abraham Lincoln was elected President. Within a few weeks the state of South Carolina had called a convention, to vote on withdrawing from the Union.

  The governor of Texas, Sam Houston, was in San Antonio to confer with the army. Lee had been summoned to the meeting, and made the dusty trip back from Fort Mason once more.

  General Twiggs sat behind his huge desk, reached out and with a flourish of motion straightened an imposing stack of official papers. When Houston wired him of the need for a meeting, Twiggs insisted it be here, in his office. So, the three men sat, with Twiggs clearly in control.

  Lee had great admiration for Houston, the great hero of Texas’s fight for independence from Mexico, and the first to defeat Santa Anna’s army, ten years before Scott. In person, Lee could see that Houston fit all the legends, all the great tales. He was a large, handsome man whose presence dominated a room. Of course, Twiggs would not allow himself to be dominated.

  “Colonel Lee,” Houston said. “I’m glad you could be here. I have wanted to meet you for some time.”

  “Thank you, Governor.”

  Twiggs sniffed, brought the meeting back to the subject at hand. “Governor, the army has learned that it is likely the state of Texas will secede very soon. This office is concerned that the transition proceed smoothly and that violence is minimized. I would like to hear your thoughts on how this might best be accomplished.”

  Houston shifted in his chair, glanced at Lee and said, “General, there will be a vote on this issue within a few days, and I am reasonably certain that despite my strong desire for Texas to remain a part of the Union, there is a great deal of strength on the part of those who would pull us apart.”

  It was a politician’s words, Lee thought, but he also saw a painful look on Houston’s rugged face.

  Twiggs said, “Well then, let’s make this a simple matter. The army is prepared to vacate the forts and turn over all equipment at your request.”

  Lee was stunned. Twiggs was offering the surrender of the army’s property and territory, when secession had not even been called to a vote. He felt words boiling up, could not stay quiet.

  “General, forgive me, sir, but has General Scott approved this transfer?”

  Twiggs glared at him. “Colonel Lee, General Scott is busy in Washington sitting on the right hand of God. He does not know the situation here, he is not in a position to make the best decisions.”

  “General, have you notified anyone in Washington of your offer to the governor?”

  Twiggs stood and leaned out over his desk, toward Lee. “Colonel, I do not need any instructions from you on how to perform my duties. You are in attendance here today because you command a regiment that will be involved in the transfer. There is nothing else for you to say.”

  Lee clearly remembered Mexico. There was always the deep rift between Scott and Twiggs, the jealousy that Twiggs had for command, for the popularity of the troops. Twiggs was making a last grand show now, Lee thought, displaying an independence in his command that would never be tolerated in Washington. He was an old man, had voiced his opinions for weeks that the Union would be dissolved, and Lee realized that if the pressure came down on him, he would simply leave, retire, and return to his home state of Georgia. By complying peacefully with the Texas secessionists, he would be able to return to Georgia in a positive light, a friend of the South. It was all very neat, very convenient, and Lee felt a fire crawl up the back of his neck. He gripped the arms of his chair. Twiggs was right, there was nothing else he could say.

  Houston sat without speaking, watched Lee. He was a good soldier as well as a politician, and he also understood what Twiggs was doing.

  “General,” he said, “I believe we should meet again, once the convention vote is taken. It is perhaps premature to plan any specifics.”

  Houston rose, made a slight bow to Twiggs, then turned to Lee, who caught a glance, a meaning in the look. Houston walked to the heavy oak door, paused, turned back to Lee and said, “Colonel, please, if the general will permit, will you accompany me?”

  Twiggs had not expected the meeting to be this brief, had not finished basking in his own importance, and he tried to speak, to rescue the situation. “Governor, we have much to . . . there are many details—”

  “Yes, General, I will call on you when the matter is more clear. Thank you for meeting with me. Do you mind if Colonel Lee is excused?”

  Twiggs glanced at Lee, then looked back at Houston, said nothing, but nodded dumbly. Lee stood then, and in an awkward moment saluted Twiggs before moving toward the door.

  In the outer office, he waited for Houston, curious. Twiggs’s aides stood as Houston came out, and the two men walked through the outer door, where Houston’s aides were waiting, three men in identical gray suits. They rose in unison from their chairs.

  “Gentlemen, please remain here for a few moments,” Houston said. “I would like to speak to Colonel Lee.”

  The men sat back down, expressionless, and Houston led the way outside, down the stone steps, into the cool December air.

  From a distance, Lee saw people stop, staring. There were waves and greetings. Houston was the most beloved Texan of his day, and Lee could see it in the faces.

  “We may draw a crowd, Governor.”

  “They’ll keep their distance, they usually do. I never get tired of hearing the calls, though, the warmth. I just wish these people would understand . . . they are on a reckless course.”

  Lee did not speak, knew there was a reason for this, felt very comfortable speaking with the big man.

  “I take it you and General Twiggs do not often confide.”

  Lee nodded. “No, I believe he sees me as General Scott’s spy.”

  “Are you?”

  Lee smiled. “Certainly not. I rarely see the commanding general these days. General Scott is a good man, Governor. It is a shame to see him grow old.”

  “We are all growing old, Colonel. The important thing is to grow old doing the right thing. Forgive me for saying so, Colonel, but I do not believe your commander here is doing the right thing.”

  “General Twiggs? I do not pass judgment on my superiors, Governor.”

  Houston laughed. “Well put, Mr. Lee.”

  They walked around a corner, and Lee glanced up, knew Twiggs’s office window was just above them.

  “Tell me, Colonel. As a Virginian, are you sympathetic to the Southern cause?”

  “Governor, forgive me, but I have learned that with events, emotions, as they are now, it is best for a military commander to keep his opinions to himself. It seems there is a lot of hostility in the air. An army that is swayed by politics and rumors stops b
eing much of an army.”

  “Colonel, I regret to say that these days we are all swayed by politics, whether we choose to be or not. And it is not a rumor . . . your army is falling apart around you. Your commander is about to jump ship and throw his command to the wolves. And I believe the new President is about to send troops to stop a rebellion . . . maybe right here.”

  Lee stopped walking and said, “Do you really see that . . . do you think this lack of reason will prevail?”

  “Colonel, you heard what I said up there. The state of Texas is about to vote to withdraw from the Union. I have spoken with the governors of four other states, all of whom support secession, and all of whom expect their states to follow South Carolina.”

  This was all new to Lee. He suddenly felt very small. “Governor, will God allow this to happen?” Lee knew it was a question Houston could not answer.

  “Colonel, I know of your duty in Mexico, your duty here. I know you to be a good soldier, and I believe you are a decent man. I must admit to feeling a good bit isolated these days. I am wondering if I am the only one around here who believes that there is a bountiful surplus of stupidity in all this.”

  Lee glanced up, toward Twiggs’s office, thought of the harsh talk from his officers, the rising anger, the feeling that the world was falling out of control.

  “Governor, allow me to say you have a gift for words.”

  8. HANCOCK

  December 1860

  “COME IN, Captain, thank you for coming. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Hancock felt wary, moved into the small office slowly, and the man said again, pleasantly, with a warmth Hancock did not expect and did not trust, “Come in, please.”

  “I received your invitation, Mr. Hamilton. The note said you had a message for me.”