Gods and Generals

by Jeff Shaara

troops stationed here, all good men, good Indian fighters. Just come

He

There was much of his own history here, and he felt a strong sense

I have orders from General Johnston to give this to you personally, and in the presence of Major Armistead.” Hancock took the bags, looked at Armistead, the smile gone. “Thank you, Captain. Is this . . . all?” “Yes, sir. This concludes my mission. If you will excuse me, I will escort my men to a convenient campsite, and we will return to Benicia in the morning.” “Captain,” Armistead said, “two companies of the Sixth Regiment are camped about a quarter mile from here, at the supply depot, just down the main road you were on. Please take your men there, they can have a decent meal and a tent. See Lieutenant Moore, tall, thin fellow, tell them I said to fix you up.” Billings saluted, nodded. “That is most kind, Major. Thank you.” He backed toward the door, took a last glance at the bags hanging over Hancock’s arm, and left. Hancock felt the weight of the bags, smelled the old leather, the gray dust rubbing off on the sleeve of his white shirt. “Well, Lewis, shall we have a look?” Armistead had often come to dinner, had made it a habit years before, in Fort Myers, Florida, on the edge of the Everglades, when the Sixth Infantry had been sent to the worst place any of them had ever seen—suffocating heat, bugs and snakes, quiet diseases—to pursue and contain the Seminoles. Mira had been the only woman on the post, and the officers took turns for the wonderful opportunity to share the Hancocks’ dining table, but it was Armistead who always seemed to have his place set, and the fri...

A newspaper slipped out and fell on the floor, the front page with

history . . . I knew this man when we were

wanted to burn your lovely

round wall, a wide trench. Then he saw more trenches, spreading out in several directions, and he climbed

would convince himself he was still in tight control, while Lee did his job in his own way. In Washington, the administration had heard enough of McClellan’s strange logic, and the general’s paranoia about those who conspired against him became reality. He was relieved of command, and the Army of the Potomac was given to General John Pope. 21. CHAMBERLAIN July 1862 THE UNIFORMS were fresh and blue and sharply creased, and most seemed to fit their wearers well, but occasionally the taller boys or the shorter would self-consciously glance at their too-short pants legs or the sleeves that rode down over their hands. They marched down the main street, and people came out from the shops to watch and admire. There had been no great patriotic fever in Brunswick, no loud breathers of fire, abolitionist orators, radical Unionists screaming out from soapboxes, but these boys, this new company of clean-faced boys, the sons of the shopkeepers and bankers and longshoremen, the boys who had responded to the calls for volunteers, stirred something in them, brought them together in a new way, and so they watched quietly as the slightly uneven lines paraded by. Chamberlain had come into town to see the tailor. He now carried his package, a bundle of new shirts, all crisp and white and neatly folded, encased in a tight wrapping of brown paper. He tossed the parcel up onto the seat of the small carriage, began to pull himself up, and heard a drumbeat, a rhythmic pounding that surprised him. ...

This was not, after all, an army of boys. There were tents lined up in neat rows at the

Hancock knew the faces, men mostly around his age, many with long careers, and now some tough experience, and he did not

reached for the low ceiling with his