Gods and Generals: A Novel of the Civil War (Civil War Trilogy)
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The New York Times bestselling prequel to the Pulitzer Prize–winning classic The Killer Angels
In this brilliantly written epic novel, Jeff Shaara traces the lives, passions, and careers of the great military leaders from the first gathering clouds of the Civil War. Here is Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, a hopelessly by-the-book military instructor and devout Christian who becomes the greatest commander of the Civil War; Winfield Scott Hancock, a captain of quartermasters who quickly establishes himself as one of the finest leaders of the Union army; Joshua Chamberlain, who gives up his promising academic career and goes on to become one of the most heroic soldiers in American history; and Robert E. Lee, never believing until too late that a civil war would ever truly come to pass. Profound in its insights into the minds and hearts of those who fought in the war, Gods and Generals creates a vivid portrait of the soldiers, the battlefields, and the tumultuous times that forever shaped the nation.
back. Stuart said, “The whole town . . . barbarism . . . everything is destroyed! He has to do something about this!” Longstreet watched Lee mount the horse, said, “He will, General, he will.” 38. HANCOCK December 15, 1862 THE SNOW was nearly gone on the heights, the warmer rain washing much of it away into the river, and the hillside was slick and muddy. All day the troops had moved up the hill, forming camps behind the long rise, spreading out behind the guns. What was left of his
not feeling well today. There seems to be some illness in this house. All the children have come down with a fever. Please, come in.” He followed her into the house, he felt the heavy layer of quiet, and lightened his steps, self-conscious of his boots on the hard floor. She led him into a small parlor, and he saw Mrs. Corbin, Jane’s mother, bending over a small blanket. She turned, looked at him, smiled weakly, and he went to the little girl, saw the blond hair spread over a small white pillow.
men, soldiers, bayonets, and the snake would not die, kept twisting . . . and then he knew he was awake, because now the snake was gone, was just a long, thin crack in the plaster. The hospital had been a dangerous place. The shifting flow of the battle had put it close to the shelling, and McGuire and Smith had made arrangements for him to be moved. Jed Hotchkiss and the engineers had led the way, cleared the small road of the refuse of the fighting, shattered trees and sharp holes, and the
dark. He went back inside, pulled the doors together, could see the moonlight coming in between them, through an opening a half-inch wide. He felt his belt, the pistols, felt a little foolish, thought, You must look like some kind of buccaneer. He sat down on the box, adjusting the pistols, a one-man army. He leaned back against the hard wall, maybe would try a nap, but he was wide-awake, began to listen to the silence. He looked away from the doors, from the small sliver of moonlight, tried to
“Return . . . ?” “Yes, sir. He was in Mexico, left the army as a major.” Lee let out a light breath. At least this brother-in-law had some experience. “What is his name, Major?” “Daniel Harvey Hill, sir.” Lee nodded, the name was familiar to him. He looked down the list on his desk, turned a page, then another. Jackson stood stiffly, watched, curious about what Lee was doing. “Ah, yes, right here. Major, this army thanks you for your efforts on Mr. Hill’s behalf, but it is not necessary. He