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

by Jeff Shaara

  Armistead saw pain in the man’s eyes, a deep hurt, and he realized that he had taken something away from the man, from all of them. He had not felt before how much they had respected him, he just took it for granted they followed him because of the uniform he wore, the rank he carried. Now he saw it was much more, and he had pulled it away. He could not look at the man’s face anymore, said slowly, in a quiet voice, “Lieutenant, release Mr. Garrett. There will be no punishment for these men. Clean them up, let’s get the day started, shall we?”

  He turned, looked toward his tent, and the men parted, let him pass. He heard small comments, did not listen, knew what they were feeling now. Reaching the front of his tent, he lifted a flap, and heard a rider, men calling out, and saw a man dismount and men pointing toward him, directing the man his way. The soldier moved with the official step of a staff officer, clean uniform, and Armistead saw a young face covered in freckles.

  The man said, “Major Armistead, sir, you are requested to report to the home of Captain Hancock. General Johnston has arrived.”

  HANCOCK STOOD at his front window, looked out at the wagon in his yard, the covered carriage that had brought Johnston and his staff to Los Angeles. He turned to a room full of blue coats, Johnston’s staff, who milled around, not used to having nothing to do.

  “Captain, your hospitality is most gracious, indeed. My compliments to Mrs. Hancock as well.”

  “Thank you, General. I would have made better preparations. We were not informed you were coming.”

  “Please, Captain. We will not intrude on your privacy for very long. I have instructed the men to begin the search for a house.”

  “A house, you mean, a residence? Are you moving here, General?”

  “Gentlemen, please sit down! Good Lord, you’re like a hive of bees!” Johnston’s voice boomed through the small house, and from the back he heard Mira, trying to quiet the baby’s cries. The aides sat around the room, some in chairs, some on the floor. For a brief moment the room was completely quiet, and Hancock heard a horse, looked out and saw Armistead, who rode up beside the carriage, peeked curiously inside, then came to the front door and made a formal knock.

  Hancock said, “That would be Major Armistead, sir. Excuse me.” He went to the door, pulled it open and saw a look on Armistead’s face, a question: Why? Hancock gave a slight shrug, knew only that Johnston had simply arrived.

  “Ah, Major, good to see you again!” Johnston stood, held out a hand, and Armistead took it, smiled weakly, looked around the room at the assembled staff.

  “General. Welcome.”

  Johnston went back to his chair, sat heavily on the creaking frame, said, “I was just telling Mr. Hancock about my search for a house. I am moving here. Heard a great many things about the area, better climate than the bay, warmer.”

  Hancock moved back to his window, stepped over the legs of the seated men.

  “Excuse me, General, but are you moving your headquarters . . . down here?”

  Johnston stood up again, tried to move around the room, stepped on a young lieutenant’s foot, stumbled, said angrily, “All right, enough. Out of here, all of you! Outside! This is the man’s home, not a damned staff room.”

  The officers jumped up, filed quickly out the front door, and Hancock smiled. He looked at Armistead, who watched Johnston, followed him with his eyes back to the chair.

  Armistead said, “You have been replaced.”

  Johnston looked up, did not acknowledge Armistead’s words. “They’re like damned children,” he said. “No, not true. Children will go off and do what they damned well please. They’re more like pets. Won’t move a bit until you tell ’em to.”

  There was a quiet pause. Johnston leaned back, rested his hands on his thighs, looked at the floor.

  “They’re good men. A good staff. Finest in the army. Wish I knew what to do with ’em. They’re too damned loyal. Gave up their careers to stay with me. Not very smart, but to a man, not one of them would listen. They all resigned.”

  Armistead sat in one of the vacant chairs, said again, “You’ve been replaced.”

  “Yes, Major, I have been replaced. No, no, make that I have been removed. A quick, clean operation. They were afraid, I guess.” He stared down again, sagged into the chair, and Hancock saw now a growing sadness.

  “Excuse me, General, but they were afraid of . . . what?”

  “Captain, let’s get one thing straight right here and now. I am no longer ‘General.’ I am Mister Albert Sidney Johnston, private citizen. Your new commander is old Bull Sumner himself. They sent that old man out here to boot me out of my office. No formal notice, no notice at all, he just . . . arrives. Comes busting into my office . . .”

  Hancock said nothing, thought, Of course, they were thinking of Twiggs, the surrender of Texas, and had to act quickly so that Johnston would not do the same. But Johnston was not Davy Twiggs.

  “Damn them. Damn them all. I kept my honor, gentlemen. I did my duty, just like I said I would. I had no mind to leave until I was replaced, even offered to stay around awhile, help the new people get settled in. They snuck up on me. I thought . . . hell, I thought for a while they were going to arrest me! Hell of a way to end a career.”

  They sat without speaking, a long pause until Armistead said, “You’re going to stay here? What about Texas . . . your home?”

  “My home is gone, Major. Burnt down. Got a letter from my cousin. Local militia most likely, thought I was staying loyal to the army. Might go back there yet, but thought this might work out, might be a nice place to live.”

  “What about the rebel . . . the Confederate Army? I saw a newspaper, your name on a list, possible commanders.”

  Johnston looked at Hancock, and Hancock suddenly realized this conversation could be dangerous, that Johnston’s plans could be information he might have to report. And Johnston knew it.

  “Tell me, Captain, are you planning on joining Mr. Lincoln’s war?”

  “If you mean, am I planning to leave California? I hope so. I have requested a new assignment. Forgive me, General, but I sent the request directly to the War Department, and to General Scott. I thought there might be a greater delay if I sent it through your office.”

  “Don’t explain, Mr. Hancock. We’re all looking out for our own best interests these days. And what about you, Major? I did receive your resignation.”

  Armistead shifted in his chair, and Hancock knew he felt uncomfortable. It had been unspoken, until now. Hancock knew the papers had gone north, but they had not discussed it, would not argue.

  “I will be leaving in two weeks. There’s a ship stopping here, on the way to the Isthmus.” He looked at Hancock. “I’m sorry, Win. I just learned of the ship yesterday. It seems like the best opportunity.”

  Hancock stared at him, had known Armistead’s decision was made the instant the news of Virginia reached them, had gone through all the feelings, the anger, the sadness, the gut-wrenching frustration that this was all complete and utter madness.

  Armistead looked at him, then away. “What else am I to do? Tell me, Win.”

  Hancock glanced out the window, to the cluster of blue coats sitting around Johnston’s wagon, the show of perfect loyalty to their commander. He looked back, across the small room, saw both men looking at him, felt the weight of the gaze, as though it was him, he was the one not doing the right thing.

  “Gentlemen, I offer you no advice. I will fight for my country, my whole country. I do not believe we are a collection of independent states, but one nation, and my duty is to preserve that nation. I do not sympathize with your pain, or the torment of your decision. Your conscience must guide you, and in the end only you will know if your decision was the right one.”

  Johnston stood, went slowly to the door, pulled it open, turned to Hancock and said, “Captain, we are all men of honor. Remember that. God will judge our choices.”

  Hancock moved to an empty chair and stood behind it, resting a hand on the back. He
rubbed the smooth dark wood, looked up and into the face of his former commander. “Sir,” he said, “it is not God who will assemble us on the battlefield, nor position our troops, nor place the cannon, and it is not God who will aim the musket.”

  13. LEE

  May 1861

  IN THE days that followed Lee’s official appointment, he presided over an extraordinary effort at organizing a defensive line across northern Virginia. Governor Letcher had provided him with a long list of volunteer officers, with many names from the old army. He began the delicate balancing act of placing good men in key positions, while tolerating the political appointments given to “distinguished citizens,” whose grasp of military service was usually limited to their ability to look good on a horse, wearing a dashing new uniform.

  He was alone in his new office, across the street from the governor’s offices, pondering the most recent list, the names from which he would organize an army. His finger slid down the pages, stopping at names he recognized, and he thought, Good, good, yes, this is very good indeed.

  It was not surprising to Lee that most of the Virginians who had served in the old army would rally to their state’s defense, and his confidence began to build as he saw the names, the experienced officers: A. P. Hill, Dick Ewell, George Pickett; men who had been in Mexico. He searched for some names in particular, and was surprised at their absence—his friend George Thomas from Fort Mason—and Lee thought, Well, there is still time.

  The offices around Lee’s were buzzing with a mild chaos, and Lee knew his next priority would be the formation of some sort of staff. The paperwork on his desk began to pile ominously, the requests for appointments, local dignitaries from smaller towns, who had organized their own units with themselves at the top, letters of recommendation for friends and relatives from those with political pull. The experienced officers did not make the requests—they would wait for their assignments.

  Lee made notes on a separate page, checked a map that hung on the wall to his side, and saw a man standing in his doorway, stiff, silent. The face was familiar. Lee said, “Yes, hello, may I be of assistance?”

  The man stepped into the office. He was tall, lean, and sturdy, wearing a dark blue coat, knee-high cavalry boots, and a small billed cap, which Lee could now see carried the insignia of the Virginia Military Institute.

  “I believe I know you. . . .” Then Lee remembered Scott’s grand review in Mexico City, the great victory celebration in the center of the capital.

  Scott had wanted them all together, would shake the hands of the officers, and so the army had lined up in formation, the troops spread out down the streets to the square, and this one man, this young artillery officer, had stopped the procession, had received a loud and personal congratulations from Scott. It was recognition of more than just duty, but of an officer who had taken his small guns up close, to the face of the enemy, had led his men out in front of the slow advance of the infantry and moved the enemy back on his own, pushed away the Mexican guns that stood in their way. Lee remembered clearly now, had sat on the podium behind Scott, watching the embarrassed face of this rigid soldier. The young man had been promoted three times, began as a second lieutenant fresh from the Point, and left Mexico as a major.

  Lee smiled at the sharp face, the deep blue eyes watching him carefully, and he nodded quietly at the face of a hero. “Yes, you are Thomas Jackson.”

  “Sir.” Jackson gave a crisp salute, which Lee returned, and Lee pointed to a chair, heaped in papers. “Major, please, sit down. Excuse the mess. Things are a bit hectic.”

  Jackson went to the chair, set the papers on the floor, sat down, straight, did not touch the back of the chair.

  “General, I am reporting with the Corps of Cadets from VMI. The young men are prepared to assist in the training of the new volunteers, sir. I, however . . . I have received orders of a different nature. Please allow me, General . . .”

  Lee saw a look on Jackson’s face, discomfort, urgency.

  “What is it, Major? Is there a problem?”

  “General, the concerns of one officer do not have priority where duty is concerned, however, I feel I may have been . . . I seem to have been made a Major of Engineers. General, I am not an engineer.”

  “Who made you an engineer?” Lee was puzzled.

  “The Executive War Council, sir. However, I have received a letter from Governor Letcher.” He reached into his pocket, drew out an envelope, handed it to Lee.

  Lee felt a small anger at these people who were throwing commissions around the state like prizes at a county fair, with little understanding of the value of experience. He read the letter. “... recommend that General Lee appeal the appointment, and place Major Jackson in field command, at the rank of colonel . . .” At the bottom, he saw the now-familiar signature of John Letcher, Governor.

  “This should not be a problem, Major. The council has been somewhat hasty with many of their appointments. In fact . . .” Lee turned and looked at the map on the wall, lines of red X’s marking those places requiring the most troop concentration. “You are familiar with the area around Harper’s Ferry, Major?”

  “Yes, sir, quite familiar. My home . . . my family is from the valley area.”

  Lee thought, Of course, this is ideal. “Major, you will soon be commissioned colonel in the Virginia Provisional Army, and as such I am placing you here.” He reached out to the map, placed a finger on Harper’s Ferry.

  “You will assume command of the volunteer units forming there. Organize them into brigade strength and defend the Arsenal there, until we can remove the equipment to a safer location.”

  Jackson stood, went closer to the map, squinted. “Sir, I am honored. I will hold the position as long as necessary.”

  “Major, I don’t believe you should concern yourself with digging in there. The area is not defensible. The town sits in a low bowl, if you will, surrounded by high hills. But we need the machinery in the Arsenal. If we can maintain some strength there, just long enough to keep the Federal forces hesitating, we will have accomplished a great deal.”

  “I understand, General. I will leave immediately.” Jackson turned, took long noisy steps toward the door, then stopped abruptly, made a neat turn back toward Lee and said, “Excuse me, General. A very good friend of mine, he’s my brother-in-law, actually . . . no, he’s my wife’s brother-in-law. . . .” Jackson stared at the ceiling, spoke to himself, “No . . . well, yes, he’s married to Anna’s sister, so . . .”

  Lee winced, No, not this one too, a good soldier who should know better.

  “He is nearly my brother-in-law. He is a mathematics professor at the University of North Carolina . . . a very intelligent man, not lacking in a sense of duty. I believe if he were to be asked, he would return to the army.”

  “Return . . . ?”

  “Yes, sir. He was in Mexico, left the army as a major.”

  Lee let out a light breath. At least this brother-in-law had some experience. “What is his name, Major?”

  “Daniel Harvey Hill, sir.”

  Lee nodded, the name was familiar to him. He looked down the list on his desk, turned a page, then another. Jackson stood stiffly, watched, curious about what Lee was doing.

  “Ah, yes, right here. Major, this army thanks you for your efforts on Mr. Hill’s behalf, but it is not necessary. He has already volunteered.”

  Jackson nodded, said quietly, “Good . . . he knows his duty,” then he turned again.

  Lee said, “Major, wait.”

  Jackson froze, realized suddenly he had not saluted, spun around with his hand to the bill of his cap.

  “No, Major, I mean . . . I just wanted to say, the state of Virginia is pleased to have your services. You are a valuable asset to her defense.”

  “General, duty has called me, and I can think of nothing that will please the Almighty more than my performing my duty. I will do whatever I must do to defeat my enemies.”

  Lee watched the serious face, saw something ne
w, a grimness he had not seen before, had not seen in the others.

  “Major, the men you will command are signing up for one-year terms. Most here say that is far too long, that this will be a brief affair, that we may be done with this business after one good scrap. It is the consensus among the political leaders here that the Federal forces will not fight, that with our first good show of strength, they will turn and run. I do not share their view, I would not count on that, Major. Nothing would please me more, but I fear this fight will not be brief.”

  “General, I will do everything in my power to make it as brief as possible. If they do not run, then they will die.”

  Lee saw the stern face, staring beyond him, looking at the wall above his head. “Very well, Major. May God be with you.”

  Jackson turned once more, marched from the office, and Lee heard him speaking, heard soft words hidden by the sharp sound of his boots on the oak floor, and Lee could tell only that it was a prayer.

  THE NEW Confederate administration understood the strategic need to defend Virginia. Lee’s decision to occupy the key geographic points, from the western mountains to the vulnerable coastline and river systems, was supported by Davis’s government. Lee had quickly established strong posts at Harper’s Ferry and at the naval yards at Norfolk. The Federal Army had abandoned both positions, had attempted to burn what equipment was left behind, but alert militia units had rescued the materials, which were vital to Lee’s plans for equipping his troops.

  It was only logical that since Virginia was of such general importance to the defense of the rest of the Confederacy, their relationship should be formalized. Lee and Letcher had been able to convince President Davis that Virginia would bear the brunt of the Federal Army’s moves, and thus they had few objections when, after Lee had established effective lines of defense, the rapidly organizing army of the Confederacy began to assume control.