Other editions of book Cease firing

The acclaimed sequel to The Long Roll vividly dramatizes the final years of the Civil War A Confederate artilleryman from Virginia, Richard Cleave was in Chancellorsville when Stonewall Jackson lost an arm—and eventually his life—to a bullet fired by one of his own men. Now, Cleave is on hand for the long and devastating siege of Vicksburg, a major turning point in the war. When Lee loses his confrontation with Grant at Gettysburg and the Army of Northern Virginia begins its tortuous retreat south, all appears lost for the Confederacy. But there is still fighting and dying in store for the men on the road to Appomattox: The bloody fields of Chickamauga, the Wilderness, and Spotsylvania await Cleave and his compatriots in gray. Based in part on actual Civil War memoirs and transcripts, including those of the author’s illustrious cousin, Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston, Cease Firing endures as one of the most realistic and moving novels ever written about the War Between the States. This ebook has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.

"Mary Johnston's THE LONG ROLL and CEASE FIRING are quite possibly the best Civil War novels ever written..." Cease Firing picks up where Mary Johnston’s previous book, The Long Roll leaves off. We rejoin Richard Cleave, the Confederate artillery officer, as he fights to regain his reputation and his honor. In the process, he experiences the battles of Vicksburg, Gettysburg, Chickamauga, the Wilderness, Kennesaw Mountain and others. Cleave can sense that the war is being lost; and he is torn between that knowledge and his sense of duty and honor. Through it all, Johnston’s attention to historical detail never falters as we are realistically propelled into Cleave’s fascinating world. Prominently featured also is Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston, from whom Mary Johnston is descended. “Romances of the Civil War we have ad nauseum; but the war was no romance. In Cease Firing... we have the raw war itself.” The New York TimesSunday Review of Books

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The river ran several thousand miles, from a land of snow and fir trees and brief summers to a land of long, long summers, cane and orange. The river was wide. It dealt in loops and a tortuous course, and for the most part it was yellow and turbid and strong of current. There were sandbars in the river, there were jewelled islands; there were parallel swamps, lakes, and bayous. From the border of these, and out of the water, rose tall trees, starred over, in their season, with satiny cups or disks, flowers of their own or vast flowering vines, networks of languid bloom. The Spanish moss, too, swayed from the trees, and about their knees shivered the canebrakes. Of a remarkable personality throughout, in its last thousand miles the river grew unique. Now it ran between bluffs of coloured clay, and now it flowed above the level of the surrounding country. You did not go down to the river: you went up to the river, the river caged like a tiger behind the levees. Time of flood was the tiger’s time. Down went the levee—widened in an instant the ragged crevasse—out came the beast!—December, along the stretch of the Mississippi under consideration, was of a weather nearly like a Virginian late autumn. In the river towns and in the plantation gardens roses yet bloomed. In the fields the cotton should have been gathered, carried—all the silver stuff—in wagons, or in baskets on the heads of negroes, to the gin-houses. This December it was not so. It was the December of 1862. Life, as it used to be, had disintegrated. Life, as it was, left the fields untended and the harvest ungathered. Why pick cotton when there was nowhere to send it? The fields stayed white.

The river ran several thousand miles, from a land of snow and fir trees and brief summers to a land of long, long summers, cane and orange. The river was wide. It dealt in loops and a tortuous course, and for the most part it was yellow and turbid and strong of current. There were sandbars in the river, there were jewelled islands; there were parallel swamps, lakes, and bayous. From the border of these, and out of the water, rose tall trees, starred over, in their season, with satiny cups or disks, flowers of their own or vast flowering vines, networks of languid bloom. The Spanish moss, too, swayed from the trees, and about their knees shivered the canebrakes. Of a remarkable personality throughout, in its last thousand miles the river grew unique. Now it ran between bluffs of coloured clay, and now it flowed above the level of the surrounding country. You did not go down to the river: you went up to the river, the river caged like a tiger behind the levees. Time of flood was the tiger’s time. Down went the levee—widened in an instant the ragged crevasse—out came the beast!—December, along the stretch of the Mississippi under consideration, was of a weather nearly like a Virginian late autumn. In the river towns and in the plantation gardens roses yet bloomed. In the fields the cotton should have been gathered, carried—all the silver stuff—in wagons, or in baskets on the heads of negroes, to the gin-houses. This December it was not so. It was the December of 1862. Life, as it used to be, had disintegrated. Life, as it was, left the fields untended and the harvest ungathered. Why pick cotton when there was nowhere to send it? The fields stayed white.

"On the eighteenth, the Federal forces appeared on the Jackson and Grapevine road, east of the town. The two following days were spent by the blue in making their lines of circumvallation. The grey and the blue lines were about eight hundred yards apart. On the twenty-second, the ironclads came up the river from Grand Gulf. When they opened fire on the town and its defenses, which they did almost immediately, the siege of Vicksburg was formally begun"--from Cease Firing Beginning with the Battle of Vicksburg and concluding at Appomattox, Mary Johnston's Cease Firing picks up where The Long Roll leaves off. Another of the great Civil War novels eclipsed by Gone with the Wind, Cease Firing features Richard Cleave of Virginia, Confederate artillery commander and hero of Johnston's previous novel. Johnston leads us with a sure and expert hand through the battles of Gettysburg, Chichamauga, the Wilderness, and Spotsylvania, and we feel the emotional weight as the tide of victory turns against the Confederacy. Featured prominently as the confederate commander is General Joseph E. Johnston, the author's own grandfather.

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The river ran several thousand miles, from a land of snow and fir trees and brief summers to a land of long, long summers, cane and orange. The river was wide. It dealt in loops and a tortuous course, and for the most part it was yellow and turbid and strong of current. There were sandbars in the river, there were jewelled islands; there were parallel swamps, lakes, and bayous. From the border of these, and out of the water, rose tall trees, starred over, in their season, with satiny cups or disks, flowers of their own or vast flowering vines, networks of languid bloom. The Spanish moss, too, swayed from the trees, and about their knees shivered the canebrakes. Of a remarkable personality throughout, in its last thousand miles the river grew unique. Now it ran between bluffs of coloured clay, and now it flowed above the level of the surrounding country. You did not go down to the river: you went up to the river, the river caged like a tiger behind the levees. Time of flood was the tiger’s time. Down went the levee—widened in an instant the ragged crevasse—out came the beast!—