Tuesday, May 19
The shade of the great oak kept the interior of the wall tent tolerable. But out in the sun Armistead Long had felt the heat of the day coming. By noon they would be sweating, inside or out.
General Lee sat studying the map spread on his field table. Yesterday Lee had returned from Richmond, where he had proposed an invasion of the North to Davis and his cabinet. They had approved the plan.
The General had not looked good when he rode into camp yesterday. This morning there was still some gray in his face. Long feared he might be relapsing.
In late March Lee had suffered a severe attack of rheumatism. For several days his chest, back and left arm were racked with sharp pain, and he was confined to bed until mid April. Treatment with quinine left him fatigued and confused.
During the recent battle the General had revived. Vitality returned to his face. His orders were crisp, and his strategy bold. He had functioned at a high level despite little sleep—and the crushing loss of General Jackson.
“Colonel, we will send Early first.” A forefinger traced over the map. The finger moved west to Culpeper, then into the Shenandoah Valley. The finger advanced north towards Winchester.
“The rest of Ewell’s Corps will follow. If Ewell is quick enough, he may trap Milroy.”
Long licked his lips at prospect of that. Bagging Milroy would bring joy throughout the South. Milroy had treated the populace of Winchester even more harshly than had Ben Butler the people of New Orleans.
“I hope you will hang him, General.”
“We will see. He certainly has much to answer for.”
The forefinger crossed the Potomac at Williamsport.
“With Winchester cleared, the door will be wide open.” The finger moved up the Cumberland Valley to Hagerstown.
Then Lee turned his head and smiled. Long followed the General’s gaze. At the open tent flap stood that infernal hen.
“Come in, Betsy,” said Lee.
Chickens were just as dumb as turkeys, but this one was the exception. Long swore a human possessed its body.
The hen looked scornfully at Long, then retreated.
Lee laughed. “Betsy likes to lay her eggs in privacy, Colonel.”
It was said the hen laid an egg each day, here in the General’s tent under his cot. Good thing she did or she’d been dinner long ago.
“Are you taking her north with us, sir?”
“Certainly.”
The hen had traveled with the General during the last two campaigns. Riding atop his personal wagon. What had civilians watching the army pass thought of that?
Lee returned to the map. His finger stopped at Chambersburg in the Cumberland Valley. Then he sighed.
“You know, General Jackson and I had talked of taking the entire army across the Susquehanna. To destroy as many coal miles as possible. That would have staggered the north, halting production of anthracite coal.”
This was the first Long had heard of that.
“We would have also wrecked the Pennsylvania Railroad far as we could get. Then when the Army of the Potomac crossed the river to stop us, we would slip back and race to take Baltimore and Washington.”
Long refrained from whistling. A bold plan indeed. Reckless, many might say. The entire army could be lost. No wonder the two generals had kept that plan to themselves.
He was aware that the two had long yearned to invade Pennsylvania. But he thought they more modestly planned a big raid through the Cumberland. That valley was the most bountiful in the country. The army could “requisition” enough horses, wagons, cattle, crops, and other supplies to last a year. In addition Virginia would escape the campaigning that had wasted countryside from the Potomac to the Rappahannock.
“Without him, we cannot now be so adventuresome.” Then Lee sagged. He looked older than ever. “Why did God have to take him from us? I cannot understand.”
“Nor can I, sir.”
The loss of Stonewall was still a shock. And shot by his own men. Why could not have those North Carolinians held fire until certain of their target?
Long had not been particularly fond of that strange man. But over the past year Jackson and Lee had proved an unbeatable combination. Each was a military genius. Each trusted the other completely, and together they could pull off maneuvers that were lunacy for anyone else to attempt.
Long bent over the map. “What did you have in mind, sir?”
“I will use Ewell’s corps as bait. Early will go this way.”
The finger slid from Chambersburg through the Cashtown Gap to the other side of the South Mountain range. The finger continued eastward across Pennsylvania, through the crossroads town of Gettysburg and stopped thirty miles further at York.
The finger returned to Chambersburg.
“Johnson and Rodes will march down the Valley to Carlisle,” said Lee. “The rest of the army will remain at Chambersburg, hidden from the enemy.”
Long wasn’t sure this was the right course. Ewell’s people would be far from support. A rapid march by the Army of the Potomac could cut them off. Again, though it amounted almost to sacrilege, he wondered if the General had permanently lost some of his acumen.
“You are frowning, Colonel.”
“I am, sir?”
“I know Ewell will be exposed. But he should force Hooker to spread his forces. Hooker must cover Baltimore and Washington. I will then rapidly concentrate our army.” The finger moved back to the town that had ten roads and a train line running to it. “Hooker will have to respond in kind. We can attack his scattered units as they hurry toward us. We can defeat his entire army in detail.”
A thrill went through Long. By God, the plan did make sense. String them out, then hit them one at a time as they desperately tried to close up. He was ashamed he had thought this master of war slipping.
But—
“Sir, do you think Lincoln will leave Hooker in command?” The victory in early May was due to Hooker’s incompetence as much as Lee and Jackson’s brilliance.
“Let us pray so, Colonel.”
Lincoln might keep Hooker on. He had stuck with McClellan far longer than merited.
But no, they couldn’t stay that lucky. McClellan had never sunk to the depths of Hooker. In the face of invasion Lincoln would sack the laughably misnamed Fighting Joe.
Which begged the question, who would Lincoln choose as replacement? Long hoped it would not be Reynolds.
Lee rapped the map. “This will give us decisive victory on Northern soil. Their people are weary of this war. They will demand peace.”
The people might, but Long didn’t think Lincoln would yield. The man—the Original Gorilla—was a fanatic. He loved the darkie and hated the South. He still had twenty-one months remaining in office. He would use each of them to prosecute unrelenting war.
They became aware of someone standing outside the tent entrance. It was Sandie Pendleton, assistant adjutant to Jackson’s corps. The young man shifted on his feet.
Dick Ewell would be taking over Jackson’s command, and hopefully he would keep on Pendleton as an adjutant. It should be an easy decision. Despite his youth, early twenties, Sandie was considered one of the best staff officers in the army.
“Major Pendleton,” called Lee. “Please come in.”
Pendleton saluted. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, sir. I will gladly wait. I do have a letter from Mrs. Jackson to give you.”
“Come in. Colonel Long, we will continue with this later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Long shook hands with Pendleton, and once again expressed his sympathies. Pendleton and Jackson had been very close. They had served together since the first days of the war.
The young, bare face was drawn. Pendleton had been at Jackson’s bedside when he died. Afterward he had accompanied the casket to Richmond, where Jackson lay in state in the capitol building. Then onto Lexington for the funeral. Each step m
ust have been wrenching.
Long stepped from the tent. His eyes swept the encampment. White tents stood in every direction amid the trees of Hamilton’s Crossing. Officers and soldiers strolled and sat at leisure. Songs and laughter filtered through the woods.
Let them relax. For soon they would be put to their greatest test. General Lee was more right than he knew, these men must win a decisive battle this summer. Vicksburg appeared doomed.
They were the greatest soldiers in the world. One to one, even two to three, they could not be defeated. When they attacked with tactical advantage, they routed the Yankees every time. So let it be again in Pennsylvania.
He was about to walk on when he heard a muffled cry. From the General’s tent. He scurried to the tent flap.
Lee sat bent over the table. His face was flushed and his eyes were screwed shut. Pendleton stooped at his side.
God help them if he was having another attack.
“Sir, shall I get Dr. Breckenridge?”
“No, no, I am all right.” Lee spoke with strangled voice.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes. Please leave us, Colonel.”
Long now saw the sheet of paper in Lee’s hand. An envelope lay on the desk. No doubt the letter from Jackson’s wife. Its contents had obviously struck the general hard.
He wondered if Mrs. Jackson had castigated Lee. Blamed him for the loss of her husband. It would not be the first time that a woman in her grief had done so. How very unfair.
“Please leave us,” Lee repeated. The flush was fading. Yet great emotion still stirred on that noble face.
The letter of course may have carried an entirely different message. Mrs. Jackson may have told of her, and her husband’s, great admiration for Lee. She may have commiserated in their terrible loss. Gracious words would likely pain Lee more than censure, as they would tear off the scab of healing grief.
This time Long walked far from Lee’s tent. A lump formed in his throat. Loved or feared, Old Jack was gone. This army would not, could not, be the same. The man’s battlefield skill was worth two extra divisions. The inspiration he provided was worth several more.
Long tried not to despair. Yet how could he not? With Stonewall gone and Lee impaired, the army would be greatly handicapped during the coming campaign.
Yes, the men would fight as ferociously as ever. But valor alone did not guarantee victory. Energetic, capable leadership was also required. The travails of the Army of the Potomac proved that.