No Spot of Ground Read Free Page B

he could do about it.
    Poe looked at the map. Now that Ewell and most of Anderson’s people had pulled out, he was holding half the Confederate line with his single division.
    “It’ll probably work to the good,” Sorrel said. “Your division came up to hold the right for us, and that will allow us to put more soldiers into the attack. With your division and Bushrod Johnson’s, which came up a few days ago, we’ve managed to replace all the men we’ve lost in this campaign so far.”
    Had the Yankees? Poe wondered.
    “When you hear the battle start,” Sorrel said, “you might consider making a demonstration against Hancock. Keep him interested in what’s happening on his front.”
    Poe looked up sharply. “One division,” he said, “against the Yankee Second Corps? Didn’t we have enough of that at Gettysburg?”
    “A demonstration, General, not a battle.” Politely. “General Anderson has also put under your command the two brigades that are holding the center, should you require them.”
    “Whose?”
    “Gregg’s Brigade, and Law’s Alabamans.”
    Poe’s mind worked through this. “Are Gregg and Law aware they are under my orders?”
    “I presume so.”
    “Presume,” Poe echoed. There was too much presuming in this war. He took off his spectacles and put them in his pocket. “Colonel Sorrel,” he said, “would you do me the inestimable favor of riding to Gregg and Law tonight and telling them of this? I fear the staff work may not have caught up with General Anderson’s good intent.”
    Sorrel paused, then gave a resigned shrug. “Very well, General. If you desire it.”
    “Thank you, Colonel.” His small triumph made Poe genial. “I believe I have been remiss. I remember promising you cider.”
    “Yes. A glass would be delightful, thank you.”
    They sat at the folding table, and Poe called for Sextus to serve. He opened a tin box and offered it to Sorrel. “I have some of Dr. Graham’s dietary biscuits, if you desire.”
    “Thank you, sir. If I may put some in my pockets for later?”
    “Make free of them, sir.”
    Sorrel, possessing by now an old soldier’s reflexes, loaded his pockets with biscuits and then took a hearty swallow of the cider. Sextus refilled his glass.
    “General Pickett’s campaign south of the James,” Sorrel said, “has been much appreciated here.”
    “The form of appreciation preferable to us would have been reinforcements from General Lee.”
    “We were, ah, tangled up with Grant at the time, sir.”
    “Still, for several days we had two brigades against two entire corps. Two corps , sir!” Indignation flared in Poe. His fists knotted in his lap.
    “The glory of your victory was all the greater.” The Georgian’s tone was cautious, his eyes alert.
    Condescending, Poe thought. A black anger settled on him like a shroud. These southern gentlemen were always condescending. Poe knew what Sorrel was thinking. It’s just Poe, hysterical Code-breaker Poe. Poe always thinks he’s fighting the whole Yankee army by himself. Poe is always sending off messages screaming for help and telling other people what to do.
    What? Another message from Poe? It’s just the fellow’s nerves again. Ignore it.
    “I’ve always been proved right!” Poe snapped. “I was right during the Seven Days when I said Porter was dug in behind Boatswain Swamp! I was right about the Yankee signal codes, I was right about the charge at Gettysburg, and I was right again when I said Butler had come ashore at Bermuda Hundred with two whole Yankee corps! If my superiors would have given me a little credit−”
    “Your advice has always been appreciated,” said Sorrel.
    “My God!” Poe said. “Poor General Pickett is broken down because of this! It may be months before his nerves recover! Pickett—— if he could stand what Lee did to the Division at Gettysburg, one might think he could stand anything! But this —— this broke him! Great heavens, if Butler had committed more