Valley of the Shadow: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

cavalry’s good for, and I can’t count on Johnson or McCausland or any of them to do even that much proper.”
    Pendleton didn’t offer a comment. Early knew that his chief of staff thought him too hard on the cavalry. But Early could not help himself. He hated the sight of a soldier on a horse—unless it was an officer leading his regiment or a battery commander keeping the saddle for the elevated view.
    Jubal Early understood that he was not considered a fair man. But he differed with common opinion, preferring to view himself as merely honest. He did not exactly revel in making enemies, but found it an inevitable part of war, if a man put winning above parlor politesse . Goddamn South was too goddamned polite for its own goddamned good, that was the thing. Lose the war while stepping aside to let a petticoat pass. No, Jubal Early did not seek popularity, and he distrusted those who courted favor.
    Take Gordon, now. Prancing damned prince, that one. Always so damned sure that he was right. Let Breckinridge enjoy the constant stream of wisdom from John Gordon for a while: Gordon always posing for his men, declaiming like a parson set to pass the plate. Early never could understand why the men did not see through it. Instead, they adored the high-flown sonofabitch and hung on his fancied-up talk.
    The fact that Gordon had been right too often of late didn’t help matters, either. Just puffed him up the more.
    Early strode up the street, heat on his back like a nigger’s bundle, aiming for Ramseur, who knew how to hold his tongue. But his mind was on Gordon now.
    Gordon didn’t understand that soldiers had limits. Push ’em, yes. But don’t kill them for your highfalutin vanity. Gordon was just a damned know-it-all who’d had a streak of luck.
    He rearranged his chaw with a thick forefinger. Near time to spit it on out.
    Ramseur’s last brigade plodded up the incline of the street at Early’s side. The men were too worn down to cheer or jeer, their only noise the tin-cup clank of laden troops and the slap of footsteps. They looked as though they’d been rolled in dirty flour, carrying the dust of a dry month with them.
    Ahead, an aide touched Ramseur on the arm, alerting him to his commander’s approach. The young general saluted.
    “Dod,” Early said, touching his hat.
    “Last of my regiments are closing, sir. Many a straggler, surely, but they’ll be along.”
    Early nodded. “And you figure it helps somehow, you standing out in the sun, dumb as a coon?”
    “I’m fine, sir. The men need to see their officers.”
    “Won’t see much of you, once you’re down with the heatstroke. God almighty, boy, show a lick of sense.”
    “I’m fine, sir. Truly.” Ramseur’s eyes lost their steadiness for a moment, as if he were searching his surroundings for reassuring words to speak to Early. He said, “No place on earth I’d rather be than right here.”
    “Not with that new bride of yours?” Early hacked out a single-syllable laugh. Women had spoiled many a fine officer. Poor, old Ewell. Even Pendleton had grown inclined to reveries.
    “A man … may disassociate certain matters…,” Ramseur tried. “The public and the personal, I mean. They run on different tracks. My place is here.”
    “Maryland, maybe. Not in this damned street. One of your factotums can see to these here boys. You take yourself off now. I’ll be calling for you soon enough.” He looked past Ramseur, who was steady of eye again, to the division commander’s bevy of aides and staff men. “Y’all get those soldiers fixed up proper, water ’em up. Like to be marching again in the early hours.”
    A chorus of yes-sirs. Early spit his done chaw in the dust.
    There were times when he didn’t know how his men did it, marching through such misery. Early didn’t believe he could bear up under it himself, if he had to go afoot. Of course, he’d done his share of traveling hard when he was younger. War was for the young, Lee was