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

by Jeff Shaara

  Chamberlain glanced to the men beside him, saw his young sergeant, the man with the flag of the Fifth Corps now, the red Maltese cross. There was another man beside him, another flag bearer with a larger flag, the stars and stripes, the flag of the army, of the Union, and the flag was fluttering in the slight breeze. Chamberlain saw the faces again, the men in the road looking up at the flag, thought, Yes, it is still yours … it has always been yours. Despite all you have done, all of the death and the horror, the anger and the hatred. You have proven you will fight and die for something that you believe in. That is exactly what this flag means, has always meant.

  He saw more faces looking up, drawn by the slow wave of the flag. There were still some angry glances, the fight not yet out of all of them, and Chamberlain thought, Well, that might be a good thing. It will take another kind of fight, a different strength now to pull us together, to mend what this war has done. They still have the strength, the will, and there is great value in that, for all of us, for the country, for the future. We are blessed by that, we are blessed that we can welcome them back, that we are all again under one flag. I salute you … no, we will all salute you.

  The words came into his mind, and he did not hesitate, said in a loud voice, “Carry … arms!”

  Men were looking at him, surprised, small voices, and he looked to the side, stared hard at the officers closest to him, would not repeat the order, knew they had heard it, knew they understood. Now the order echoed all along the line, all down the road.

  They all knew what the order meant, that the killing anger, the hatred, the blind violence of the beast was gone, and the men who stood face-to-face were brothers after all. Now the order was obeyed, and the men in blue held their muskets up to their chests, the quiet salute, the show of respect.

  Gordon was looking at him again, his face changed now, the eyes soft. Slowly, Gordon raised his sword, held it high, then dropped it down, low by his side, the point of the sword to the toe of his boot, the response, the soldier’s salute.

  54. LEE

  APRIL 12, 1865

  Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia

  General Orders: No. 9

  After four years of arduous service marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the brave survivors of so many hard fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to this result from no distrust of them; but feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that could compensate for the loss that must have attended the continuance of the contest, I determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen.

  By the terms of this agreement, officers and men can return to their homes and remain until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed; and I earnestly pray that a Merciful God will extend to you His blessing and protection.

  With an unceasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous consideration for myself, I bid you all an affectionate farewell.

  R. E. Lee, General

  He had stayed in camp until the surrender was complete, could not yet leave until the business of the disposition of his men was concluded.

  He had ridden well beyond what remained of the camp, saw many of his soldiers still scattered about, and many of the men in blue, small groups, larger gatherings, some from simple curiosity, some old friends, veterans of another time, when they had served for the same cause.

  He did not ride with the column, would not be a part of the ceremony, had made the excuse to himself, No, it is not necessary, my own surrender is already past.

  But he knew it was far more than that, that after all, he would have been more of a disruption than support, that the men would have still rallied around him. The emotion of that, of seeing the flags go down, the faces of the men, would have been more than he could have endured. Already now his mind was moving on, as it always had before, to the great bloody fields. It never could be any other way, not for the commander, not for the man who ordered the men to go forward, to march into the guns. The death of the soldiers could not stay with you, haunt you, you could not hold the faces in your mind. The memories of all the horror, of what had happened to each man, each part of his army, all of that had to be put away somewhere, locked into some deep place. It had always been that way, and it would be that way now, leaving this behind, moving on, to the next place, the next duty, the new responsibility. When he moved the horse out onto the road, heading east, toward Richmond, he tried to convince himself this was no different, that he had already moved past all of this, was guided by the hand of God toward another destiny.

  Taylor and Marshall rode with him, and they led a small headquarters wagon, the last of the personal effects. There had been no fanfare, no parting speeches, just the simple text of the General Order that Marshall had penned for him. He hoped to just slip away unnoticed, had absorbed all the overwhelming sadness that he thought possible, the pain of the men, the suffering in their bodies, now, in their hearts. He could not look again at the faces, could not hear the sounds, but he began to see it would not be that simple. All along the road, they began to gather, waiting for him, lining both sides, all out in front of him.

  General Gibbon had sent a squad of blue cavalry, an escort, some measure of security for Lee’s return to the capital, but Lee declined, knew that in this country, riding through this land, there was no threat, no danger, that there was no place on earth where he felt more at ease. But his own men were changing that, and the sounds were all around him now. He tried not to see, to just take himself away from it, but it was not to be. Finally, he began to acknowledge them, a glance, a small nod, a lifting of his hat.

  They were letting it all go, holding nothing back. There was no need for the dignity of the ceremony now, for the decorum of the military. They were all veterans, some showing the effects of the hard march, many marches, but now there were no officers to hold them in line, and as he passed by them, they seemed to just come apart, men collapsing along the road as he passed, whose tears now soaked the ground they had given everything to hold. There were still the wounded, men in bandages who could only reach up with one arm, others who simply stood and stared, whose bodies were used up, their minds a fog of fatigue and hunger.

  Some were calling out in anger, and he had expected that, and it burned into him worst of all, the men who still wanted to fight, who would blame him for giving in, for taking that away. They will understand, he thought, they will have to. He wanted to speak to them. If there had been one speech, something to leave them with, it would not have been some inflammatory call to the Cause, that they should keep the fire blazing for what they had fought for, as though, maybe, one day, they could do it all again. No, he thought, I can never say that, it is not in me to do that, not anymore. He had tried to move beyond the sadness of that, fought it with every sound he heard, every voice calling out to him. They need more than I can give them, they need more than words. There must be a healing, to move them forward, as I must try to move forward. You must put all of this … emotion, all this energy, toward home, to rebuild your lives, go back to the families that so desperately need you, the towns and states that need your strength. You must understand … there can be no other way, the Message is so very clear. It is the will of God that we bring ourselves back peacefully into one country.

  As he moved farther from the camps, there were fewer men, and the cheers and crying began to fade. He kept his mind busy with memories, not the grim painful ones, but strategy, things that might have been done differently. But he had little energy for that. It was the sadness that came back, that would not leave him be. He tried to remember the beginning, the enthusiasm, his own doubts about what a war would do, how long it could last. But his mind was drifting, and he could not thin
k of four years, of how long that was, what had been taken from him, from them, from the ones who had survived. The dead were in that wonderful place, and he thought of that, how many times God had nearly taken him, the sounds of the guns, the musket balls so close. But He did not take me, He left me for … this. He left me to take all of this home … and perhaps that is my destiny … my punishment. Perhaps I am to atone for this, that the memories must continue, the horrific numbers, the faces of all the souls who are now at rest. So many of us are with Him now, so many died for something they believed in, an honorable death, and after all, is that not what God rewards?

  The thoughts began to run together, the weariness of the last few days now complete. There will be time for this, he thought, time for reflection. But … not now, I cannot do this now.

  He moved through a stand of trees, could see a farmhouse beyond, an orchard, thought, This year, there will be a bounty, there will not be an army to feed. The land will heal, will become fertile again, God will give us that. The plague is past.

  He knew Mary was in Richmond now, a modest house provided by the generosity of friends. He did not know if they would stay there long, if there would be some life for them in the city. He knew that many of the troops would gather there, men who had nowhere else to go, whose homes had been destroyed, whose businesses were gone. I can help them, I suppose. I can do little else. They have given so much to me.

  He still had not heard from Davis, knew he was somewhere south, Danville, or maybe farther down. Sherman’s army was still looking for a fight with Johnston, and Lee knew there would not be much of a fight now. Johnston understands what all good soldiers understand, he thought. There must come the time when you simply stop the killing. They do not teach that at West Point, it is something a commander feels inside of him. Death is necessary, it is a part of war, of anything worth fighting for. But to butcher your army just so they can fight again tomorrow …

  He had seen Grant briefly again, a small conversation, polite, cordial. Grant understands as well, he thought, what must happen now, what this country must begin to do. He had been surprised at first, Grant’s sincerity, nothing of the madness, the cold anger that many in Lee’s army had believed. No, he is no demon, he has been simply and utterly efficient. Once the war became the great horror, what so few had ever understood would happen, once these two great armies brought all the power and passion to the field, there could be no other way to resolve it. The foolishness of the politicians, the fat men with their fiery oratory, their hot words, igniting the people into believing this was the only way … once that happened, the die was cast. How few understood that, especially in the beginning. But Grant did understand.

  He did not know where Grant was now, thought, Probably on his way to Washington. He deserves all they can give him, all the recognition, the cheers, the celebration. To the victor go the spoils.…

  He thought of Lincoln too, as he had before. There is only one President now, only one country. To some, that will never be, the wounds will not heal quickly. But Lincoln will do much … he will try. It is in the man, in everything he has said. He wants this to be behind us … with malice toward none … We can hope for nothing else. As long as he keeps control, keeps the angry voices at bay, those who would seek any excuse to punish, to bring down revenge on us, then the wounds can heal.

  The sun was setting behind him now, the gray sky opening a bit, the clouds now bright with color. He did not look back, let Traveller carry him at his own pace. He stared ahead, his mind drifting away, moving far beyond the desolate land around him. He closed his eyes, rocked gently with the motion of the big horse. Yes, there is still time. His mind began to fill with the soft smells and joyous sounds, of lush fields and cool green hills, the voices of children, the memories of all he had missed, all that he had left behind. He was going home.

  55. GRANT

  APRIL 14, 1865

  HE HAD BEEN IN WASHINGTON FOR TWO DAYS, MOSTLY THE OFFIcial business of the army, but much of the detail could be handled by the various commands, the men in the white buildings. He’d been offered a chance to pass through Richmond, to see the last remnants of the great prize the army had been told so much about. It meant little to him when he took command, and it meant little to him now, and so he felt no need to parade through the destruction, felt no sense of pride or accomplishment that a city lay in ruins.

  Wherever he went in the capital, crowds had gathered. There was nothing secret about his return to the city. Since the word of Lee’s surrender reached Washington, Lincoln himself had spent much of his time waving to the great flocks that spread into the streets beyond the White House, and now, knowing that Grant had arrived, the crowds were even more enthusiastic. Grant had to move with an escort, could not hope to travel anywhere in the city without a large mass of blue clearing the way. They all wanted to give him something, if only their absolute attention to anything he might want to say, any small speech. When he could ignore them no longer, when the voices swelled loudly enough that he had to wave, even a brief nod, a tip of the hat, there would be a loud cheer.

  Now, in the sudden quiet of the White House, the first quiet moment all day, he felt the relief, safety behind thick walls. He waited in a small sitting room to see the man who’d given him so much, the patience and faith that had allowed him to press the fight to its conclusion. He remembered his first visit, the hesitation, the embarrassment, the grand portraits, the artifacts, the history of his country symbolized so deeply in that one place.

  He could hear voices behind the great door, laughter, then the door opened and two men in fine wool suits came out of Lincoln’s office, filling the quiet space in the small room. Grant stood out of polite instinct, and now they saw him, one man staring as if paralyzed by his good fortune.

  “You’re … General Grant! My word, sir, it is a pleasure! Have you seen the crowd? Have you, sir? You must go to the window, say a few words! The President has been speaking to them all day, I’m sure they would be thoroughly excited! Indeed!”

  Grant waited for the rush of words to pass, had no idea who the man was, tried to smile, thought, Yes, this is Washington. “Thank you,” he said. “Perhaps I will address the crowd later.”

  “Ah, well then, I am certain they will wait for you! No one in this town can draw the audience you can, sir! You, sir, are the topic of every conversation!”

  Grant nodded politely, said, “Thank you, you’re very kind.” He looked beyond the man’s beaming, bobbing face, saw Lincoln standing in the doorway with a weary smile.

  Lincoln said, “Mr. Grant, if you please?”

  Grant moved forward, gently pried himself past the two men, said, “Excuse me … the President …”

  The men watched him go, the other man now reaching out, grabbing Grant by the shoulder, a hard grip, said, “Good show! The stuff of Presidents!”

  The other man slapped his friend’s back, said, “Yes! Absolutely fine idea! Washington has a way of finding the best men!”

  Lincoln waited for Grant to move by him, closed the door, the voices of the two men still echoing their enthusiasm. Lincoln moved around behind his desk, sat down heavily, shook his head, said, “Please, have a seat, Mr. Grant. Forgive the show of … hero worship, if I dare call it that. They’re quite right, you know.”

  Grant sat, saw past Lincoln, an open window, could now hear the sounds of a crowd. He absorbed Lincoln’s words, said, “Right … about what?”

  “Presidential, Mr. Grant. We love our heroes. Generals have a way of getting out the vote: right from the beginning, Washington, Andrew Jackson, Zachary Taylor. I have no doubt, if you were to make it known, you could walk right in here and take up shop!”

  Grant was suddenly uncomfortable, said, “Why? I mean, sir, excuse me, but my place is in the army. This place, this city, has never appealed.”

  Lincoln sat back, smiled, “Ah, but that’s why it would work. You’re not a Washington man, you’re a hero! Here, look outside …”

 
Lincoln turned in the chair, motioned Grant toward the window. Grant stood, thought, I don’t really want to make a speech, moved reluctantly behind Lincoln, took a small peek over his shoulder, and now the sounds outside exploded, loud cheers, calls of “Grant! Grant!” Lincoln stood, backed away, and Grant was fully in view now, saw a sea of faces spread all across the White House grounds, all down the street. He stared, amazed, thought, This cannot be, not for … me? He raised his hand, a small self-conscious wave, and the noise exploded again, louder still. He backed away, stared toward the window, said, “This is … strange.”

  Lincoln, in his chair again, laughed. “Nothing strange about it. They even cheer me. Haven’t heard that in a while. I admit I can’t help but say a few words, the instincts of a politician, I suppose. These are happy days, Mr. Grant. We have been through the most dreadful time in our history. And we have survived. The rule of law, the Constitution, has prevailed. And that’s not just from a politician. Look at those people, look at the newspapers. This is one big celebration!”

  Grant sat again, said, “I’m not sure about that. There’s some rebels still holding out, Richard Taylor’s people, Kirby Smith. May take some time yet.”

  “Those are details, Mr. Grant. If I may, allow me to pass along a secret. Several of the states are already in contact with us, trying to work out the transition back into the Union. That will spread. Once the southern politicians understand that it can be a simple matter, that there is no restitution, that this is not about punishment, that we in fact welcome all the states with open arms, there will be no long-term problems … the Union will become one again.”