Gen. Ambrose Powell Hill, CSA
courier came forward at full speed. Hill’s face brightened. His men
were moving into position. The sun was up but the fog was still thick.
Information coming with such urgency must mean that the battle lines
were drawn. It might bring news of the enemy’s approach. In ten minutes
Hill and his men would be ready. He looked at his old friend, Maxcy
Gregg, and smiled brightly. “Bring ‘em on,” he said as the courier pulled
up with a salute.
Hill. A telegram, sir. It’s marked urgent.”
couldn’t wait to read it. He grabbed it from the courier’s hand and
tore it open. For only a moment he continued to smile and then, just
as though he had been shot in the chest, he doubled over in the saddle.
God! Oh, dear God – no.”
tears began pouring down his face. He looked at Gregg, pleading with
him as with God to do something. To make it not so.
could not speak. His bold, commanding voice was now a choked whisper.
tried with all his might to regain his composure, but it was simply
not possible. His firstborn child, his beautiful, wonderful, loved and
loving two year old baby girl was gone. He wiped his face with his sleeve
but it did nothing to stop the flood.
passage is an excerpt
from No Greater Courage, and may not be reproduced or reprinted
without permission in writing from the publisher.
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