The Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Meade had come up close, but there was only scattered fighting, no great attack. A freezing rain had soaked them all, and for several days the two armies crouched low in the brush. Then word came from Stuart that Meade's flank was exposed, vulnerable. So it was Lee who made the decisive move, pushed his army quietly around Meade's flank. But in the dawn, when the orders came to advance, Lee's troops swept forward and found no one waiting. Meade had pulled away again, a long head start for the protection of the big river, and Lee knew he'd let Meade escape, that Mine Run had been another lost opportunity.

  With Meade safely away, Jefferson Davis asked him to come to Richmond, and Lee agreed. He did not like to leave his troops in the field, but there would be no more fighting now; the winter had come hard into Virginia, and the men began to build the huts and shelters that would be their winter quarters. There was another reason Lee agreed to make the trip. Mary was there, the family had rented a small house, and Lee hoped there would be an opportunity to share the Christmas holidays with at least part of his family.

  He could see the church spires, the tops of the taller houses, and the train lurched around a curve, rattled on worn tracks. The railroads were in ragged condition, overused, and there was little time or manpower to make repairs. He felt the train slow, saw more buildings and more people. Sitting back, he lay his head against the seat, thought of Mary, of the children, of the tall Christmas trees, those times long ago when he could leave his post and share the warmth of the celebration, of the church services and fireplaces, snowfalls and great feasts. He closed his eyes, felt a hard weariness come over him, and the images began to fade. But he wouldn't let them go, not yet, still tried to feel the warmth, the soft love of home.

  Lee LOOKED AT THE EMPTY WHEELCHAIR, PUSHED INTO THE corner of the room, facing the wall. Mary would not use it, would still try to get around the small house with the crutch, and he knew not to argue. The arthritis had gotten worse, a slow deterioration that the doctors could not stop, one arm now curled and useless.

  Hearing voices, he moved into the small parlor, saw his son Custis helping Mary slowly down onto the couch. Custis glanced up at him, smiled, said, "There now, here's Father... perhaps you would prefer if he read to you."

  "No, Custis, please. I love the sound of your voice." She smiled at the young man, and Lee saw the two of them as one, so much of her in his face, the gentleness.

  Lee said, "I see you are in good hands. I thought... maybe some tea." She looked at him now, and he waited, could not predict how she would respond to him, what her mood would be.

  "That would be fine, Robert. Is there anyone else home this morning?"

  "No, it's just us. A bit peaceful this morning."

  Custis said, "Father, sit here on the couch. I'll get the tea." Mary began to protest, raised her hand, but Custis was quickly out of the room, and Lee smiled, knew what his son had done. He moved to the couch, said, "Might I sit? We have not had much time alone."

  She nodded, smiled now, said, "Sit down, Robert. You treat me like I'm your schoolmistress. Is this how you act around your generals?"

  There was humor in her voice, something he had not heard in a long time. He sat, gently, stayed apart from her, was always careful about hurting her, knew how frail she'd become, how often the pains came. She turned to face him, and he saw the effort, leaned forward to help, put a hand on her arm.

  "Thank you, Robert. It's all right."

  She looked at him closely, the white hair, the lines around his eyes. He understood the changes, the absence, that when so much time had passed, the effects of the war would show in his face, and it had depressed her. He'd always held the image of her from those times when she was the Belle of Arlington, cared for by her father, spoiled certainly, and it was the memories of youth, before her pain Lee carried with him.

  He was the same with the children, saw them as small, scurrying about the old mansion with noisy glee. He had to make himself see them, each of them as they were now, and it was difficult. Annie had died over a year ago, suddenly and without warning, and Lee had never recovered from the shock of that, of the impact of disease. It was a reminder that God was still watching over them, that no matter how much death was brought by the hands of men, the tools of war, God would decide when each would be called away.

  His son Rooney was in a Federal prison, captured while recuperating from wounds, hauled away by blue soldiers while his pleading wife looked helplessly on. Robert Jr. was still on the line, manning an artillery battery. The girls would stay away in school or with friends over the holidays, and Lee was sad to hear they would not be home, but he did not speak of it, could not complain of his children's absence when for most of their lives his own absence had been felt so deeply. Lee heard Custis in the kitchen, heard the rattle of teacups, spoons.

  Mary looked away, was gazing toward the small window that faced the street, said, "He is... wonderful to me. It is good that he can be here."

  "I am grateful for that. We are fortunate his position... his duty is here."

  She looked at him, and he knew what was coming.

  "Have you heard from Rooney? Is there any word?"

  He shook his head.

  "No... they won't release him. I have tried... it is a difficult situation. He is considered a... prize." of course. He is a Lee."

  "I will keep at it. There might still be some negotiating, we do have several important prisoners. Perhaps there will be a trade."

  "Charlotte is not taking it well. She is very ill. Even the baths, the springs, have done her no good. To watch him carried off like that... the cruelty. I am worried about her."

  Lee looked down, did not want to think of his son that way; saw the beaming face, the huge young man, always a bright smile. His eyes followed the dark pattern in the rug, the deep purple of a rose.

  "I will do what I can."

  There was a silence, and Mary said, "So, where are you off to today?"

  "The president... I have been asked to meet with him."

  "The president... " She made a small frown.

  "Well, we must not allow the president to get lonely. He cannot seem to run this country without a Lee beside him. At least he permitted Custis to have this day at home, to spend some time with his mother."

  There was another rattle of china from the hallway, and Custis entered, carefully holding a tray and teacups.

  "So, you are talking about me when I'm not in the room?" He set the tray down on the small table, carefully handed a china teacup to his mother.

  Lee reached down, stirred at his own cup, said, "Your mother is grateful the president has allowed you to spend some time... with your family." He paused, knew those words held great irony for Mary, for all of them.

  Custis moved toward the window, looked out into the dull gray of the morning, shook his head.

  "He is... a complicated man."

  Lee waited for more, knew Custis was careful with his words. Lee said, "He carries the weight of this war, the weight of the country on his shoulders. It may be too much for one man."

  Custis began to pace in the small room, and Lee could see a dark anger in the handsome face.

  "Father, he will not listen... he will not accept any help. He busies himself with trivial details, spends half the day arguing with cabinet people, legislators, even generals, about... personalities. He wants to fill every position, every post, by himself. It is most frustrating. I don't know what my job is, what it is he expects me to do. He says just... be there."

  Lee watched him, nodded, thought, Yes, I know. He recalled the early months of the war, when Virginia first Joined the Confederacy. He had been Davis's first real adviser then, understood that Davis would allow nothing to pass through his offices without his personal inspection. Davis still yearned for the fight, still kept the fond memories of the great adventure in Mexico, memories they all had. He would put himself in command of troops if he did not think it would cripple the government. Lee thought of Davis sitting in his office,
hidden behind piles of papers, and he suddenly remembered, pulled out his pocket watch.

  "I'm sorry... I must leave. The president is expecting me." He stood up, saw Mary turn awkwardly, tilting her head, trying to look up at him, and he reached out his hand, put it softly on her shoulder.

  "I will be home for dinner...

  She nodded stiffly, put her hand on his for a brief moment, said to Custis, "Please help me up, will you. I've changed my mind... I don't feel like a reading right now. Maybe later..."

  Lee stood back, let his son move close, and he helped her stand. She held herself against Custis's arm, looked at Lee, and he saw a coldness in her eyes, the change in her mood. She said, "Tell Mr. Davis... tell him we have lost our home, we have lost children. The longer this goes on, the more we will lose. Tell him there are too many widows... too many mothers missing their sons. There are enough gravestones! Tell him that!"

  Lee stared at her, was shocked, had rarely heard her say anything about the war. She moved toward the hallway, and Custis moved with her. Then she stopped, looked at him again, and he saw the hard anger in her face.

  "Go! Tell him!"

  Lee said nothing, watched her move out of the room, stood alone for a moment. He knew he could not do as she wanted, that there would be more fighting, and more soldiers would die, and he could not think about the widows and the families. He could only carry out his duty and lead his men forward until God had seen enough, until God decided this bloody war would end.

  They CALLED IT THE WHITE HOUSE, AND NO ONE GAVE MUCH thought to the irony of that. This was the home of President Davis and his family, and it did not compare to the grand sweeping mansion in Washington. The name was a simple description of the home.

  Since the beginning of the war, Davis had been prone to illness, some real, some imagined. As his army had absorbed the defeats of the past months, his health had worsened, the illness affecting his mind as well. He became suspicious, protective, more likely to distrust his subordinates. He began to conduct more and more of the business of the government from his own home, converted one room into an office, would often not leave the home for days at a time.

  Lee approached the steps, looked up to the front door, saw it open. There were hushed voices, and three men emerged, talking quietly among themselves. Lee stopped, waited, and the men came down the steps toward him. He noticed the fine suits, silk shirts, gold watch chains, the finery of official visitors. They saw him now, and for a brief moment they stared, recognizing him. He removed his hat, and they seemed to recover their formality, moved down the steps, came past him. He nodded as they passed, and they glanced at him discreetly, but there were no smiles, no one spoke. The men moved to a carriage, and Lee watched them climb inside. There was a slap of leather, and the carriage quickly pulled away. He turned, moved up the steps, thought, Europeans.

  He saw now that the door was still open, a soldier inside standing at attention, waiting for him to enter. Lee moved into the house, and the soldier closed the door, stiff and formal. Lee looked toward the small secretary's office, what had once been a closet, a large square hole cut in the wall so the front door could be seen. He heard commotion, saw movement in the small office, the sound of a chair pushed back, and he waited. A man came out quickly, adjusting his coat, thrust a hand toward him. It was Davis's secretary, Burton Harrison.

  Harrison was a neat, dapper man. He shook Lee's hand warmly, said, "General Lee, how wonderful! How are you, Sir?"

  Lee smiled, had always been amused by the secretary's energy, his manic protection of Davis.

  "I am quite well, Mr. Harrison." He noticed Harrison glancing around the small space, self-conscious.

  Harrison said, "Forgive... my office, General. The president insists, and so we must make do with what we have. It can be difficult-" He stopped, and Lee saw a pained look, Harrison showing displeasure at his own indiscretion.

  "I... didn't mean to suggest I am not happy here. This is the president's home. We must make do-" There was a high squeal from Davis's office, behind Harrison. The secretary jumped, startled, and the pained look returned.

  "I should tell the president you are here," he said.

  "Excuse me..."

  Lee nodded. There were more squeals, the laughter of children, then he heard an older voice, and the sound of heavy steps. Harrison was gone, had fled back into the small office when the door opened. Lee backed against the wall as two children burst into the hallway, squealing with laughter. Davis was behind them, bent over, the pursuer, growling like some deranged beast.

  The children rushed past Lee, and Davis straightened, looked at Lee with surprise, then smiled and put a hand on Lee's shoulder, supporting himself, breathing heavily.

  "Well, hello General... excuse me.." Lee felt the weight of the hand, was suddenly uncomfortable, as though he'd intruded on something very private. Davis took a deep breath, and the children waited in a far doorway. Davis said, "Not now,youtwo... stay put for a while... the general and I have some work to do." Davis glanced into the small room, said, "Mr. Harrison, please see we are not disturbed."

  Lee looked at Harrison, who nodded nervously, then jumped, startled again by the sudden cries of the children, protesting the interruption of their play. Now a maid appeared, a large round woman with deep black skin. She pulled the children quickly into their room, and Davis looked at Lee, smiled, took a deep breath. Now the smile began to fade, and Lee saw the sadness return, the dark eyes filled with sickness, the weight and gloom of the war coming over him again. Davis turned, moved into his office, said, "Come in, General."

  There was no one else in the office, and Lee was not surprised, knew that by now these meetings were often private, that Davis had become unwilling to let his staff handle the affairs of running the government. Lee moved in, sat in a small wooden chair, and Davis went to the far corner of the room and closed another door, the door to the children's room and their small sweet sounds.

  Davis moved to his own chair, sat behind a small desk, looked at Lee.

  "It's difficult... not spending all day with them. This is perhaps... not the best way to run a government."

  Lee said nothing, could now hear small muffled sounds from the next room.

  Davis said, "All morning long... the meeting lasted for hours, and nothing... no commitment, no encouragement. I am afraid... we cannot expect much help after all."

  Lee sat straight in the chair, said, "The... French?"

  "Yes... you saw them?" Davis leaned forward, rested his hands on the desk.

  "There is no chance now. Not since the summer, since Vicksburg..." He paused, looked down, said, "Since Gettysburg..."

  Lee could see the word was awkward for Davis, but Lee nodded, knew the mention of the place carried no blame.

  Davis looked at Lee now, said, "And there was still a chance, even the English could see that we were still in control, still held on. We Just had to show them... one victory, one real smashing blow. I am certain of it... they would still have come in, would have broken the blockade. But... events have changed that."

  Lee knew that Davis was talking about the enormous and stunning defeat of Braxton Bragg. Bragg had penned the Federals up tightly in Chattanooga, and the official reports as well as northern papers said the Federals were starving, it would be Vicksburg in reverse. It should not have taken much longer; the shroud of winter would force Rosecrans to surrender, and they all knew the pendulum would swing, the momentum lost at Vicksburg would turn their way in the West. But Bragg had grown careless, weakened his army by sending Longstreet's corps up toward Knoxville, to relieve the occupation there by Burnside's forces. And little attention had been paid when Lincoln, weary of Rosecrans, sent a new commander to Chattanooga, a name that was vaguely familiar to Lee, the man known mostly for engineering the strangle of Vicksburg. His name was Ulysses Grant.

  Quickly, Grant punched through Bragg's choke hold, found a way to bring supplies into Chattanooga, and his men were not starving anymore. But Bra
gg was still in control, the Federal army still held tightly inside Chattanooga. Suddenly, and with complete efficiency, Grant surprised Bragg by advancing across the entire front, the blue soldiers climbing straight up the hills, first the invincible position of Lookout Mountain, not invincible after all. Then, incredibly, while Bragg's army looked down from Missionary Ridge, Grant formed his lines in the wide-open fields beside the city. The rebels had admired and applauded the parade ground pageantry, until Grant sent his massed battle lines forward, straight into the hill, the men climbing up rock by rock, protected by the ravines and cracks in the earth. Bragg had the high ground, but never counted on a direct assault, had not put into proper position his men and so when the rebels tried to shoot straight down the hill, they had to expose themselves to the fire from the flat ground below. As Grant's men climbed the hill in greater and greater numbers, most of Bragg's army simply dissolved, pulling away from the crest of the hill. The retreat became an utter panic, a complete disaster. Now, Grant's army was in pursuit, and Bragg was withdrawing into Georgia. Davis had been forced to accept that it was time to replace him, that his friend was, after all, not the man for the job.