Battle Flag

THE NATHANIEL STARBUCK CHRONICLES

BOOK THREE

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The right of Bernard Cornwell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

BATTLE FLAG. Copyright © 2006 by Bernard Cornwell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition © JULY 2009 ISBN: 9780007339495

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Version: 2017-05-08

“The most entertaining military historical novels…. Always based on fact, always interesting…always entertaining.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“[A] wonderful series…believable, three-dimensional characters…. A rollicking treat for Cornwell’s many fans.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Highly successful.”

—The Times (London)

“Fast-paced and exciting…. Cornwell—and Starbuck—don’t disappoint.”

—Birmingham News

“A top-class read by a master of historical drama. Nate Starbuck is on the march, and on his way to fame.”

—Irish Press

Battle Flag is for my father, with love

COVER PAGE

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

PRAISE

DEDICATION

MAP

PART ONE

CAPTAIN NATHANIEL STARBUCK FIRST SAW HIS NEW

THE YANKEE CAVALRY PATROL REACHED GENERAL

IT’S GOD’S WILL, BANKS! GOD’S WILL!” THE REVEREND

SATURDAY MORNING, THE DAY AFTER BATTLE, AGAIN

PART TWO

JACKSON, LIKE A SNAKE THAT HAD STRUCK, HURT, BUT

THERE WERE TIMES WHEN GENERAL WASHINGTON

THE YANKEES’ SPRING OFFENSIVE MIGHT HAVE FAILED,

GENERAL STUART’S AIDE REACHED LEE’S HEADQUARTERS

THEY MARCHED LIKE THEY HAD NEVER MARCHED IN

THE LEGION MARCHED INTO BRISTOE JUST AS THE TRAIN

ALL DAY THE YANKEES TRIED TO MAKE SENSE OF

AT MANASSAS, ON FRIDAY AUGUST 29, 1862, THE

THE LAST NORTHERN ATTACK OF THE DAY WAS BY FAR

THE FIRST ATTACK OF THE SATURDAY MORNING WAS AN

HISTORICAL NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY BERNARD CORNWELL

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

CAPTAIN NATHANIEL STARBUCK FIRST SAW HIS NEW commanding general when the Faulconer Legion forded the Rapidan. Thomas Jackson was on the river’s northern bank, where he appeared to be in a trance, for he was motionless in his saddle with his left hand held high in the air while his eyes, blue and resentful, stared into the river’s vacant and murky depths. His glum stillness was so uncanny that the marching column edged to the far margin of the ford rather than pass near a man whose stance so presaged death. The General’s physical appearance was equally disturbing. Jackson had a ragged beard, a plain coat, and a dirty cap, while his horse looked as if it should have been taken to a slaughterhouse long before. It was hard to credit that this was the South’s most controversial general, the man who gave the North sleepless nights and nervous days, but Lieutenant Franklin Coffman, sixteen years old and newly arrived in the Faulconer Legion, asserted that the odd-looking figure was indeed the famous Stonewall Jackson. Coffman had once been taught by Professor Thomas Jackson. “Mind you,” Lieutenant Coffman confided in Starbuck, “I don’t believe generals make any real difference to battles.”

“Such wisdom in one so young,” said Starbuck, who was twenty-two years old.

“It’s the men who win battles, not generals,” Coffman said, ignoring his Captain’s sarcasm. Lieutenant Coffman had received one year’s schooling at the Virginia Military Institute, where Thomas Jackson had ineffectively lectured him in artillery drill and Natural Philosophy. Now Coffman looked at the rigid figure sitting motionless in the shabby saddle. “I can’t imagine old Square Box as a general,” Coffman said scornfully. “He couldn’t keep a schoolroom in order, let alone an army.”

“Square Box?” Starbuck asked. General Jackson had many nicknames. The newspapers called him Stonewall, his soldiers called him Old Jack or even Old Mad Jack, while many of Old Jack’s former students liked to refer to him as Tom Fool Jack, but Square Box was a name new to Starbuck.

“He’s got the biggest feet in the world,” Coffman explained. “Really huge! And the only shoes that ever fitted him were like boxes.”

“What a fount of useful information you are, Lieutenant,” Starbuck said casually. The Legion was still too far from the river for Starbuck to see the General’s feet, but he made a mental note to look at these prodigies when he did finally reach the Rapidan. The Legion was presently not moving at all, its progress halted by the reluctance of the men ahead to march straight through the ford without first removing their tattered boots. Mad Jack Stonewall Square Box Jackson was reputed to detest such delays, but he seemed oblivious to this holdup. Instead he just sat, hand in the air and eyes on the river, while right in front of him the column bunched and halted. The men behind the obstruction were grateful for the enforced halt, for the day was blistering hot, the air motionless, and the heat as damp as steam. “You were remarking, Coffman, on the ineffectiveness of generals?” Starbuck prompted his new junior officer.