by Jeff Shaara
There were no orders. Many of the men had already found the bodies of the officers who led them, and many other officers crouched low beside these men who had done the fighting. Word had come when the shooting had stopped, passed slowly to the men who could be found: "We held the ground, we are done, and in the morning, they will pull us out." For now they were to stay put, stay in place, and if there was no order to dig in, to throw up a heavy defense, it would not matter because they would be replaced.
The commanders did not share the tired confidence of the men. Heth had gone to Hill, had told him the lines were in no shape for a new fight, there was no organization, but Hill was deep into the illness, sent Heth back to his camp with a sharp reminder that it was Lee himself who had told them that by dawn Longstreet would be there, and Heth's men would not have to fight. As much as Heth worried about his defenses, he understood what kind of fight his men had given this day, and so, if his commanders were confident, he would let his men rest where they were.
In front of the scattered groups of men, brush fires had begun to spread, small flickers set off by the flashes of so many muskets, and then, pushed by a small breeze, the rising crackle of the flames. Some men called it the Devil's laughter, but worse than the sounds came the thick black smoke, carrying the smells, wet cloth and burning bodies.
It had been like this before, a year ago, almost to the day, that horrible day Jackson went down. The brush and leaves had caught fire then too, and many of these men could still hear the terrible cries of the wounded, the men trapped out front, where there could be no help.
The darkness was lit now by the fires rolling through the brush in front of them, and many did not sleep, had seen this before and so could not keep their eyes away. The veterans did not fear death from the quick deadly stab of the lead ball as much as what they now saw.
They prayed they would not be caught watching the slow hand, the fiery beast moving toward them, clawing along the floor of this awful ground until it swept past, burning the breath out of the men whose wounds would not let them escape.
Down the lines, one man saw motion, the shape of a head, heard the cry, crept out behind his small piece of cover, crawled slowly down a low rise, could see the boy clearly now, the face familiar, maybe a friend. Beyond the low wall of flame there was a sharp crack, but the enemy's aim was poor, the man heard the ball strike beside him, a dull punch in the soft dirt. He pulled himself around quickly, slid back to his shelter. He peeked over the rise, cursed the enemy he could not see, but the boy's face was looking back at him, and the face was reflecting the hard light of the fire, the eyes staring wildly at him, filled with the terror. The man tried not to see, lowered his head, knew it would not take long, soon would come the last sound, the boy's scream. He tried to Put himself far away, think of other days, then the boy's name came to him, a sudden nightmare of memories, of marching and fighting, sharing the bad food, and now he could not look away. He eased his head up over the cover, and the boy was still looking at him, the eyes saying all he could say. There were more shots, thudding against the small mound in front of him, one ball whizzing close to his ear. He dropped down, his face in the dirt, then slowly eased his head up again, saw now the flames were jumping ahead, began to reach the boy's clothes, and the man stared with horror, could see the wounds now, the blood on the boy's pant leg. Suddenly the boy waved, yelled something. His eyes were darting around, a madness lit by the flames now beginning to swallow him, and once more he looked back at the man, begged him one last time. The man slowly slid his musket forward, lowered the barrel, sighted the small metal bead to the eyes of the boy. The boy closed his eyes, waited, and the man steadied a shaking hand, blinked away a hard tear, and pulled the trigger.
EARLY MORNING, MAY 6, 1864 LEE HAD NOT BEEN TOLD ABOUT THE CONDITION OF
HILL'S Defenses. Heth and Wilcox both knew that if Longstreet did not come, that if the morning broke over these woods, Hancock was stronger yet, and there would be no way to hold back another strong assault. But Hill would not allow them to adjust the lines, sort through the tangle of units, the confusion of command. He was insistent that these men not be disturbed, that there would be no fight for them in the morning. Frustrated, Wilcox had even gone to Lee directly, but Lee had put him at ease, shown him the latest message from Anderson, Longstreet)s first division already very close now, and the rest of the corps was not far behind. Lee's confidence was contagious, and Wilcox had not pressed the point of the sad condition of their defenses, had gone back to his camp to finally get some sleep of his own.
LEE WAS AWAKE EARLY, LAY ON THE SMALL COT AND TRIED TO hear the sounds, and there was only the quiet. He sat up, put his feet out on the floor of the tent, felt the sharp Jab in his knee, the stiffness of the day before. He stood, pushed his shoulders back, took a deep breath, felt his chest, put his hand on the slow rhythmic thump. The pains had not come back, not since the weather had warmed, and he was grateful for that, said a short prayer, One more day... thank You... He buttoned his coat, moved out into soft mist. There was a small fire, a coffeepot, and he was surprised to see Stuart, standing alone, staring down into the fire. Lee smiled, moved closer to the fire, and Stuart did not see him, still stared into the flames. Lee glanced around, saw no one moving, looked toward the staff tents, knew Taylor would be up soon, was always up early. Lee said quietly, "Good morning, General."
Stuart turned his head, nodded, said nothing. Lee waited, expected something more, the enthusiasm, the bright greeting. Lee was suddenly concerned, said, "General Stuart, are you well)" Stuart seemed to focus, suddenly came alive, abruptly saluted, said, "Oh, General Lee, yes, quite well, Sir. Forgive me... I was... sleeping. The fire... there is something in the fire...." He paused, looking back down into the low flames.
"Something peaceful, as though God is holding something open to you, some small bit of Himself. It is comforting."
Lee nodded, did not know what to say. He had heard that Stuart could sleep anywhere, anyplace at all, but had not thought it possible to sleep standing up.
"Yes, General, the Almighty is all around us. In everything that touches us. -."
Stuart shook his head.
"No... well, yes, of course, Sir. But lately I have had the feeling that something has changed. It is difficult to explain."
Lee nodded, said, "Perhaps, General, since Gettysburg... I have seen it in some of the men, I have seen it in myself. We must not expect God to win our fight for us. This is not His struggle. He will comfort us as long as we do what is right. And everything we do cannot be right. We must remember that."
Stuart looked at him, and Lee saw something in the eyes he had never seen, a dark concern. Stuart nodded, did not seem to hear what he'd said. Stuart looked out into the deep darkness, then up at the clear sky, flecked with stars.
"They have gotten better." He looked at Lee again.
"The horsemen, the enemy is getting better. There was never any doubt. We were superior, we had better riders, better commanders. If we met them head on, there was no doubt we would take the field. Something has changed."
Lee saw motion from the staff tents, the aides beginning to emerge. He leaned closer to Stuart, said, "General, you are still the finest He paused, was beginning to feel embarrassed.
"You have grown better as well. You are of great service to this army, and will continue to be. Did you not confront those people yesterday, and did they not leave you the ground?"
Stuart nodded, a small smile, said, "Yes, it was tough for a while.
Wilson's division. I heard Sheridan himself was there for a while. I hear he's quite a horseman."
Taylor moved up behind Lee, and Lee turned, saw coffee cups, and Taylor hesitated, would not interrupt. Lee waved him forward, was feeling awake now, cheerful, said, "Good morning, Colonel. We're all up a little early this morning."
Taylor saluted Lee, then Stuart, and said, "Yes, good morning, Sir. Allow me to pour some coffee, Sir."
Lee moved aside and Tayl
or leaned toward the coffeepot. Stuart moved away from the fire, stared out into the dark again, said, "General Lee, if you will excuse me, I should get my men into the saddle. They may try our flank again."
Taylor held a cup of coffee out to Lee, and Lee said, "General Stuart, some coffee before you go)" Stuart moved to his horse, climbed up, said, "Thank you, but no, Sir. I suspect General Sheridan is waiting for us somewhere out there." He grinned now, suddenly reached for the gray hat, swept it down in a low bow.
"Mon general," and he spurred the horse, made a quick yelp, and moved away toward the road. Lee watched him until he disappeared in the dark, could still hear the hoofbeats on the hard road, fading away.
Taylor still held the cup, and Lee took it, held the steam up to his face, breathed it in.
"Colonel Taylor, we should be hearing from General Longstreet soon. Send someone out on the road, to guide him into position. I wish us to be ready when those people make their move."
Taylor moved away, and Lee walked out into the tall grass, stared out over the open field, looked up at the great mass of stars, the small blinking eyes of God. It will be a good day, he thought. He turned, could see the dark shapes of the row of big guns, Poague's batteries, their crews beginning to gather, one man wiping at a brass barrel with a rag, sweeping away the wet mist. Lee walked toward the road, could hear more sounds, the army stirring in the woods around him. Riders were beginning to move quickly now, the first dispatches of the day.
He reached the road, looked off to the west, the black space in the woods, pictured it, the sounds, the beat of the horses, the sharp flutter of the flags, maybe a band, drums, the cheerful sound of the great advance of his strong army, and in front, the big man, the wide shoulders, and the grim expression that said only, "We are here for a fight." Lee stepped into the road, the first glow of the dawn behind him, and he could see a bit farther down the road, expected to see it even now, the great scene as he pictured it in his mind. But there was nothing there, the road still yawned wide and empty through the trees. Behind him, far into the dense woods, Hill's men lay quietly, still filled with the sleepy exhaustion of their good fight. The stars were beginning to fade away, the first glow of daylight spread out above the trees, and now there was a sound. Lee turned, felt a cold thump in his chest, and the sound grew, a great wave of shouts and cheers. It was not the sound he was used to hearing, the high scream of the rebel yell. He stared at the gray light, thought, No, they cannot come... not yet.
Around him men began to shout. The rest of the gun crews ran UP, moving around the cannon with quick motion. He stared at the sounds, heard someone calling to him, saw Taylor, the staff, Traveller. He climbed the horse, pushed forward, moved down the road toward the sound. Now the sounds changed, a rising wave of muskets, and the hail of lead began to fly around him. He felt the horse move, pulled off the road, saw Taylor, Marshall, their faces watching him. He stood now, looked for Hill, for the commanders, and the wave of musket fire grew, volleys blending together. There were new shouts, the voices of his own men, and they were coming out of the woods, moving back, away from the great blue wave that was flowing through the thick woods. He could see more troops now, on both sides of the road, no order, no lines, men running back toward him, pouring into the open field. They began to run past him, and he saw the faces, the animal fear, the unstoppable panic.
He began to shout, yelling at them to stop, saw an officer, a man on a horse, and the man looked at him, stunned. Lee yelled out, "Halt these men! Turn them around! What unit is this?"
The man hesitated, then was suddenly gone, carried in the wave of panic. There were more men on horses, more officers, and Lee saw them waving swords, some striking hard on the men who ran by them, yelling at them to stop, to fight. Lee saw a familiar face, rode forward onto the road, saw Sam McGowan, from South Carolina, older, a man Lee had always liked. McGowan was waving to the side of the road, yelling something Lee could not hear. But the men were not slowing, there was no fight in them. Lee began to feel sick, his stomach twisting.
Taylor still held the bridle, was pulling Lee off the road again, but Lee )erked the reins, and Taylor released the horse, followed Lee closely as he moved out toward McGowan.
McGowan saw him now, was red-faced, angry. Lee felt the sickness wanted to scream at the men to halt, could only see McGowan, wanted to reach out, grab the man hard, they were his men, he should have them under control. The breath slowly drained out of him, and Lee said, "General, is this splendid brigade of yours running like... a flock of geese?"
McGowan glanced around, still angry, raised his sword, said, "General, we're just looking for a place to form a line! These men will fight as well as they ever did!"
McGowan moved away, followed his men back into the trees behind Poague's guns. The gunners were standing ready, a man behind each gun, the lanyards held tightly, and he saw that the guns would fire right past him, and knew it was time to move. He spurred the horse, saw Poague now, shouting to his men.
Poague was watching Lee as well, waited. Lee moved his way. Poague shouted out, "General Lee, should we withdraw? What are we facing? We can't lose these guns!"
Lee turned, looked across the open ground, the trees now heavy with smoke, a thick cloud flowing forward. Lee turned to Poague, said, "Colonel, you must hold this ground! We will form behind you, move the men back up in support. You must not let those people come across that field!"
Poague looked out at the open ground, said, "We're ready for 'em sir. Sixteen guns. Double canister. We'll be here when the sun goes down, Sir!"
Lee watched the far trees, and more volleys ripped through the air, the deadly sounds flying close to him. He heard the sharp crack of lead hitting a brass cannon, saw men beginning to fall along the guns, and then he heard shouting down the line, saw Poague pointing, could see down the road now, a thick mass of blue crowding out of the woods.
Suddenly, the guns opened up, one massive line of fire. The horse jumped, and Lee felt his heart leap in his chest. The smoke washed over him, and Taylor had the bridle again, steadied the big horse, pulled him back. Now Lee was out of the smoke, behind the guns. Across the field, all across the road, the woods came alive with the shattering impact of the hot metal. Trees flew into pieces, and now he could see the men on the road, and the great blue wave was a mass of twisted men, the wave halted, but now there were new sounds in the woods, more men coming forward, and Lee could see them on the road as well, pushing forward, over their own dead, another solid line. The guns exploded again, and again the smoke covered the field. He spurred the horse, moved farther back, saw his men gathering, a weary, ragged army, some attempt at a line, men picking up muskets dropped by the men who were far to the rear now.
Lee rode along the thin line, called out, "Form here, move up to the guns! Form here!"
The officers were gathering as well, and Lee heard the orders coming fast and clear, the orders he would have given, and now the voices were strong, the men were beginning to listen. He rode farther back, past small groups, men still dazed, breathless, men trying to find the soldier inside themselves, recovering from the shock of the massive blue wave. He saw the numbers, thought, We do not have the strength.
"If Hancock has sent in his entire corps... Poague cannot hold them back... we will lose the guns.
The men around him began to move back toward the fight, but the crushing wave of blue troops was closer still, the sharp sounds of lead still flew past him, men were falling all around.
Taylor yelled out, "General, please! This is not the place for you. Lee waved his hand toward Taylor, said nothing was watching the guns again, the crews working with efficient speed, firing steadily, Poague moving in and out of the smoke, directing the fire. More soldiers were coming up from the rear. Another thin line formed behind him, began to move forward, but Lee saw the first line coming back again, men still going down, and he wanted to yell again, no, do not run, but they could not stand up before the tide rolling toward them.
He saw an officer, riding hard from below the road, and the man saw him, moved quickly up, said, "General, we are being flanked... below the road! The enemy is extending below our right. General Wilcox is ordering the men to withdraw, but there is no order, Sir. I cannot find General Heth. We don't know where his flanks are!" The man was out of breath, lowered his head, and Lee heard a slap, a dull crack of bone, and the man slumped, slid slowly off the horse. There was blood on the man's shirt, and Lee looked at it, saw the red stain spreading, the man's face looking at him, past him, the eyes not seeing.
Lee looked out past the guns again, closed his eyes, a short prayer, Bless this man, thought, I do not know his name. He heard Taylor again, calling to him, but thought, No, I will not move, we will fight it out right here, we have chosen the ground, God has given us this ground... if it must end, it will end on this ground.
