The Civil War Trilogy: Gods and Generals / the Killer Angels / the Last Full Measure

by Michael Shaara

  Lee felt his heart thump, the cold chill of the moment. “Yes, tell General Longstreet to advance with all speed. Major Douglas, return to General Jackson, tell him General Longstreet is advancing in force on his right.”

  Both staff officers were quickly gone, and Lee looked at Taylor, saw the young man moving around with jumpy, nervous energy, and Lee said, “Major, this could be a glorious day!”

  THE EFFECT of Longstreet’s sudden push into Pope’s flank caused an immediate collapse of the Federal lines. While small pockets of blue troops fought stubbornly, the tide of the battle had turned for good, and now Jackson’s weakened lines pushed forward as well. Within a couple of hours Pope’s army was in a panicked retreat toward the Potomac.

  Lee rode Traveller out through the line of trees, followed close behind Longstreet’s advancing infantry. Smoke filled the air, and he could not see the Federal troops, only the backs of his own lines. They continued the rapid advance, and the solid roar of musketry deafened him. Behind him, Taylor raced to keep up, yelling out, trying to convince Lee this was not the place to be.

  He climbed up a long ridge, reached the top, and his men were moving ahead down the other side, pursuing the Federals down a long hill. Now he could see across to another ridge. A steady stream of blue flowed over the hill, men in a dead run, moving away without firing. He stopped, sat high on Traveller and watched the scene. The sunlight was starting to fade, heavy clouds darkening the fields. His mind was racing, filled with thoughts and pictures.

  He thought of Pope, where he might be. Was he watching this as well, or was he caught in the flow, pulled away by the tide of a beaten army? He thought of Longstreet, who had delayed yesterday, would not attack until the time was right, and now it did not matter because the time was right today. He knew Jackson would be out with his troops, pushing them forward. He turned back, looked to the row of trees where the artillery was, saw the gunners standing along the ridge, waving, cheering, and then he thought of the lone soldier, the man who had come back into Richmond after the first battle, the man he had tried to talk to, who spoke only of Jackson’s great success, and he wondered if he was here, today, a year later, and had seen it all again.

  Taylor was beside him now, and Lee looked at the young man, said, “Remember this, Major. There are not too many days like this . . . when you have swept your enemy from the field and you can watch him run. You don’t need official reports or newspapers or the gossip of stragglers . . . you don’t need anyone to tell you what has happened.”

  Taylor nodded, staring wide-eyed at the frantic withdrawal of Pope’s army.

  Lee pulled on the reins, turned the horse around, said, “We had best get back . . . they will be looking for us.” Then he paused, looked out one last time, saw his own troops now, moving over the far ridge, still in pursuit, a deadly chase that would last until it was too dark to see.

  IT RAINED all night and all the next day. Longstreet’s fresher troops were assigned the dismal task of burying the dead, and the men dug their way through the soft ground of the farmlands, now turned to vast seas of thick mud. The pursuit of Pope’s army had been bogged down by the rain and by the arrival of more of McClellan’s troops, which Pope now used as a rear guard as he limped his way slowly back toward Washington.

  Lee’s staff gathered at the edge of a stand of trees. They had just come across Bull Run Creek, following the slow advance of the army, pressing closer to the Federal troops. Out in front, the advance lines had confronted the Federal skirmishers, who did not run, and so both armies moved sluggishly in the rain, staring at each other like two tired animals, one slowly backing away.

  Lee stood beside Traveller, holding the reins, and around him the rest of his staff waited for further news of Pope’s movement. Taylor stood near Lee; the others mostly sat on their horses. There was no dry place, and the thick black rubber of their raincoats wrapped each man like a glistening shroud. Lee focused, tried to hear, caught the occasional dull pop of musket fire from the distant skirmish lines, but it was infrequent and had no meaning. There will be no fight today, he thought, and even with McClellan’s reinforcements, Pope would not make a stand. He would go back to Washington and tell of a great battle where he was lucky to rescue his troops, could only back away because his troops were sadly underprepared or overmatched, and he would inflate the enemy’s strength and claim he fought the good fight against tall odds, because that was the kind of man he was. He will not tell his President that he stumbled blindly into a disaster, Lee thought. That observation would be made by others.

  Lee put his hand on Traveller’s neck, felt his uniform pull at him, soaked by the wetness, the hot and stifling humidity, held hard against him by the dripping raincoat. He patted the horse’s thick, wet hair, and the horse turned slightly, cocked his head. From behind, a man came through the trees, said in a quick yell, “Yankees!” and a shot rang out, the ball whistling over Lee’s head.

  Traveller jumped, lunged forward, and Lee’s hands were still holding the reins, were tangled in the tight leather straps. He was suddenly pulled, snatched ahead by the motion of the horse. His knees dragged the ground, and he tried to release the reins but could not, and then quickly the horse was stopped, grabbed by Taylor.

  “There, boy, whoa . . . calm down.” And now Taylor looked toward the soldier, saw others moving up with him, muskets raised, yelled out in an angry burst, “You damned fool, this is General Lee!”

  The men put their guns down, saw now that the horsemen in the black raincoats were not Yankees. A sergeant emerged from the men, came closer, saw Lee and said, “Oh, my God . . . oh, my God.”

  They helped the general up, and he found his feet, his hands loosening from the straps. The officers were quickly around him and he was held under the arms, carried to the trunk of a fallen tree, sat down on soggy wood. Now he looked at his hands, felt the pain twisting through his hands and arms like fire. He heard someone call out, and from the woods men began to gather. He heard someone yell for a surgeon, and he stared at his hands, thought, this is bad . . . and it is very very painful.

  A man was pushed through the crowd of soldiers, and Taylor brought the man forward, said, “General, this is a doctor.”

  Lee looked at the man, saw an older face, gray beard, felt some comfort in that, and the man said, “Dear me, General, what have you done to yourself?”

  Lee rested his elbows on his legs, and the doctor put his hand under the elbow, lifted it gently.

  “You have a broken bone in your hand, General,” the doctor said. “I can set that . . . and the other one. . . .” He lifted the other arm, bent down, looking it over. “Nothing broken, it seems, but quite a sprain.” He looked at Lee’s face, and Lee was staring down, was trying not to look at his hands. The doctor said, “General, you are in a great deal of pain. Let me get you something—”

  “No,” Lee said, shaking his head. “You cannot drug me, Doctor. Not now. I will be all right.”

  “Whatever you say, General. But I do have to set that bone. You will feel better if you at least drink something. I have some whiskey, here, always carry it. Just a small swig—”

  “Thank you, Doctor, no. Just do what you can.”

  The doctor handled the arms carefully, and Lee stared ahead, past the men, who were now being scattered, sent away by his staff. The pain in the right hand, the hand with the broken bone, was not nearly as bad as the other, and he wondered at that: bending is worse than breaking, he mused, I would not have thought that . . . but . . . either way . . .

  He tried to focus on other things, Pope, the battle, but the pain was enormous, and he felt as if the one arm was on fire. Now there were bandages and splints, the doctor working quickly. Taylor stood behind, looking over the doctor’s shoulder, and said, “It’s all right . . . it’s all right,” and Lee knew Taylor was convincing himself.

  He turned, tried to see the young face, said, “Yes, Major, I will be fine.” But his voice shook, betraying the effect of the pain,
and he thought, Of course, this is punishment . . . God’s way of saying every victory has a price. Yesterday was . . . too easy. It must never be too easy.

  The doctor finished his work, and the staff lifted him up, helped him to a wagon, an ambulance that had been brought up. He was helped aboard, sat on a thin mattress, and the driver saw his face, recognized him, snatched his hat from his head and held it against his chest as he began to cry, “Oh Lord, what has happened to General Lee?”

  There was an embarrassed pause, and Lee looked at the man, surprised at the outburst. “Soldier,” he said calmly, “I have been inconvenienced, that’s all. It is a small price for the inconvenience we have given General Pope.”

  POPE CONTINUED to pull back, and his troops filed now into the massive fortifications near Washington. Lee did not pursue, there was too much strength. McClellan’s army was united with Pope’s, and for now they were safe. Lee knew there would be no fighting for a while, that it would take a fresh start of some kind, a new Federal commander, new bluster and new pressure from Lincoln. For now, he began to look toward his own troops and the serious problems confronting his own army. A majority of the men had no shoes at all, or wore pieces of cloth wrapped around their feet. Clothing was becoming an embarrassment—many of the men were covered only partially by rags that were barely strung together. The only uniforms visible were on the officers, and those had become so worn that most showed rips at the knee and frayed cuffs and sleeves. But it was not their clothing that affected the men’s ability to fight—it was food. The farms of Virginia had been assaulted not only by the needs of the army, but by the pillaging of Pope’s army as well, and what crops and livestock were available were barely able to support the needs of the civilians.

  Lee rode everywhere now in the ambulance. He could do nothing with his bound hands without great pain, and so relied completely on his staff. Taylor became ferocious at protecting him from unnecessary visitors. They tried to make him comfortable, made the ambulance a rolling office, and he was thankful there was a lull in the fighting—he knew that if things were hot, he would have to turn the command over to someone else, probably Longstreet.

  The ambulance hit a deep pothole, bouncing him high off the fat cushion that served as his seat. The driver stopped, peered back through the flaps, worried, said, “Begging your pardon, sir. It’s a bit rough since the rain.”

  Lee nodded, said nothing. It had been several days, and the discomfort did not bother him anymore. His hands had stopped hurting with every movement, every small gesture, and now it was just the wait, the healing, and the frustration of not having the freedom to move, to take Traveller out through the tall trees, to ride with dignity among the men. He loved that the men were inspired, cheered when he rode past, and he saw it as a blessing, the good fortune of high morale in these men who knew the joy of victory. Now, they watched him go by with a painful silence, an occasional yell of condolence, good luck. He understood the importance of that intangible spirit the commander carries with him, riding with his staff and the flags, the response that comes from the hearts of men who have no shoes and little to eat. And if there was to be no enemy in front of them, there must be something else, to make the best use of the opportunity. They could not sit on this same trampled ground and wait for another big fight.

  Jackson arrived first, rode up on his little sorrel carrying the dust of many days. Lee watched him from the back of the wagon, his legs dangling. Jackson rode alone, upright in the saddle, stiff, never seemed comfortable on his horse. He still wore the old small-billed cap from VMI, which now sat flat on his head like a crushed tin can. The bill was pulled forward, came down barely over his eyes, and as he rode he cocked his head slightly back, in order to see. Lee smiled, thought, He could ride right past Federal sentries, and they would never know who he was.

  Jackson dismounted, and an orderly took the reins. The general tossed something aside, and Lee smiled, saw it was a lemon, spent, crushed into a flat mass. Jackson walked quickly with long strides, and now Lee saw something in the sharp face, a painful sadness. Jackson reached out a hand, then froze, awkward, wanted to touch Lee’s bandaged hands, could not.

  “General Lee, I pray you are not in pain.”

  “Thank you, General, it is better now. I must keep them wrapped for a while, though. We heal slower with age, an unfortunate fact.”

  There was a voice behind the wagon: Major Marshall. “Sir, General Longstreet is arriving.”

  The horses thundered closer, Longstreet and his staff. Jackson backed away from Lee, saluted toward the sound, and Lee waited, could not see where Longstreet was, then heard the heavy steps, the slow, deep voice.

  “Afternoon, General Jackson.” Then Longstreet was around the back of the wagon, saw Lee. “Well, my word . . . you look a fright, General, begging your pardon. I heard you went at Pope’s rear guard with both fists.” He laughed, a quiet chuckle, and Lee smiled, was surprised, had not seen Longstreet in such a jovial mood for a long time.

  “I will leave the hand-to-hand to the men from now on, General. It is not a pleasant thing for an old man.”

  They both were smiling, and Jackson stood stiffly, puzzled, did not share the joke.

  “Come, gentlemen, if I may be assisted . . .” Marshall was there quickly, lifted Lee off the wagon, and he settled on the ground, arched his back, stretched slightly. “This wagon is not for comfort. Let us walk, gentlemen.”

  The three men moved away from the horses and the staffs, walked out into a field, stubs of cornstalks, now pressed into drying mud. It was hot again, and they moved away from the shade trees.

  Longstreet said, “The weather should break soon, cool things off.”

  Lee adjusted his hat, turned now to face away from the sun. “General, do you believe General Pope will attempt another advance before spring?”

  Longstreet kicked at a spot of hard ground, knocked thick mud off his boots. “General, I don’t believe we will see General Pope again, not in the spring, or ever.”

  “You may be correct, General, but his army is still there, and now they are safe and so they will refit and resupply, and Mr. Lincoln will send them out again. The question is not so much who will lead them, but when they will come, and where.”

  Jackson said, “We should have pressed them back to Washington. They were running. God sent the rain, to slow us. He wishes us to fight again, in a better place.”

  “I don’t know if there is a much better place than this one,” Longstreet said. “That army left this field as quickly and as completely as any army ever has.”

  Jackson tilted his head back slightly, looking at Longstreet. “But we did not destroy him. We must still destroy him.”

  Lee nodded, looked at both men. “General Jackson, as much attention as I would like to devote to the Federal Army, we have a closer problem at hand, the condition of this army. I have been thinking . . . it’s about all I have been able to do. Our greatest need is to feed this army, and we can do that in either of two ways. We can withdraw, to the Shenandoah Valley, where the crops are still in good supply. That would expose this part of Virginia to occupation by the Federal Army yet again. While this army could restore its health in friendly country, the damage to the morale of the people could be great. It is also likely that President Davis would not approve of that move.”

  Jackson shifted his feet. “Nor would I, sir. We would lose what we have gained by chasing the Federals back into Washington. You have a second plan, sir?”

  “Yes, General. I propose we advance our army north, into Maryland. The farms there are plentiful and nearly untouched. With the fall harvest, we can feed our troops well. And there is one other consideration. The people of Maryland have expressed neutrality. It is my belief that the constant use of their land by Federal troops is felt as a hostile occupation. It is quite possible that our intervention there will be viewed as a liberation. We might receive a great deal of hospitality, and we might even receive a number of volunteers for service in
the army.”

  “General, if they have proclaimed neutrality,” Longstreet said, and paused, “would we not be seen as an army of occupation as well?”

  “I don’t believe so, General. The invasion of Virginia, of the entire Confederacy, by Federal forces, made clear to any neutral party that the Confederacy is not the aggressor here. We did not bring this war, and we fight now only to free the South of Federal occupation. If Washington will end their side of the fighting, and recall their armies . . . General, this war will be over. And, gentlemen, that is another reason why I believe this plan can succeed. By moving into Maryland and strengthening our forces, we will then be in a position to push into Pennsylvania. If Mr. Lincoln sees that we are threatening to cause destruction against the northern cities, Philadelphia, even New York, there will be a great outcry in the North to stop this. So far, gentlemen, the bloody fields are Southern fields. If we threaten to bring that blood into the North, there will be great pressure on Mr. Lincoln to end this war. We might not even have to fight, just our presence, just the threat, could be sufficient.”

  Longstreet stared down, spoke from under the brim of his hat. “General, we would be cutting ourselves off from our base of supply, from communications. We would be vulnerable from the rear.”

  “General Longstreet, you did march with General Scott, into Mexico, did you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did not General Scott cut himself off from his supplies, from all communication, and by doing so, did he not bring a rapid end to that war? And did he not accomplish all of that in a foreign land? Well, this is not a foreign land, and the citizens will see that we do not come to terrorize, as did General Pope. We come to end the war, quickly and without any need to conquer or subdue anyone. We have proven our superiority on the battlefield. The threat of that superiority may be all we need.”