Darkness at Chancellorsville_A Novel of Stonewall Jackson's Triumph and Tragedy by Ralph Peters

Darkness at Chancellorsville_A Novel of Stonewall Jackson's Triumph and Tragedy by Ralph Peters

Author:Ralph Peters [Peters, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, General, War & Military
ISBN: 9780765381736
Google: fsdrDwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 41555920
Publisher: Forge
Published: 2019-05-21T00:00:00+00:00


* * *

“Nothing,” Pickens said in disgust.

“Same thing over here,” Joe Grigg responded, dropping another Yankee haversack. “Just ain’t right.”

“Seek justice not upon this earth,” Doc Cowin told them. But his voice, too, was fraught with hunger and weariness. “Something for you, though, Sam. Nice pair of stockings.”

“That’s a kindness, Doc,” Pickens said. But it only reminded him of his suffering feet.

In their belated efforts to sift through the wealth abandoned by fleeing Yankees, they’d met with grave disappointment. The men who had followed them in the attack had picked this portion of the battlefield clean. The moonlight, a force unto itself, revealed only looted packs, strewn letters, and, once, a pack of vile pictures of women that made Pickens sick to puking, confirming the infinite virtues of bachelorhood.

He still smelled that bacon, he swore he could smell it. The bacon he never even got a look at.

More Yankee artillery joined the fireworks show. Mad as hornets, the blue-bellies were. Ashamed of themselves, most like. Hadn’t they been turned upside down and spanked? Hadn’t they just? They had so many guns in action now that they must have been lined up wheel to wheel ahead, just to say, We ain’t done, Johnny, don’t you go thinking we’re finished.

Hill’s men were taking over up there, waiting to advance. Well, more power to them. The 5th Alabama had done its part and Pickens was glad to be out of it—those batteries didn’t sound welcoming. No, the Greensboro Guards had done their share. And the wondrous thing was that only five men in the company had been wounded, none gravely, and none had been killed. Fumbling reunions had triggered an hour of handshakes.

Those damned Yankee guns just would not quit, but rare was the shell that landed sufficiently rearward to be a bother. Still, the feel of a terrible anger awakened made Pickens think: What would the morning bring?

“Best get back to the regiment,” Ed Hutchinson, the voice of authority, told them. He was still riled over that poison ivy patch. “Be calling roll again.”

And back they traipsed. What bodies they passed or kicked up against were almost exclusively Yankees, clustered where they’d tried to make their stands. Didn’t stink yet, not of decay. Just the usual reek of filth and shot-open guts. Nothing to spoil an appetite.

Lieutenant Borden surprised them in the darkness. He’d come to gather in the foraging parties.

“Ill met by moonlight,” Doc Cowin said.

Borden had heard rumors of Yankee cavalry moving behind their lines. There’d already been a clash, according to some reports. He told them everyone needed to watch out.

“Horse jockey wanted to ketch me,” Charlie Hefner said, “he’d have to see me first. And I reckon I’d hear him long before he did.”

“Worry not, ye faithless!” Doc Cowin declared. “Old Ned’s Ironsides shall be opposed by our very own Prince Rupert.”

Sometimes a body just had no idea what Doc was talking about.

The Yankee barrage on the front line grew heavier still. Sounded like they’d called up every last gun from every state in the unlamented Union.



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