by Jeff Shaara
The gun crews were dropping quickly now, the officers manning the pieces, the firing beginning to slow, the efficiency dropping with the loss of the men. He saw a break in the smoke, saw across the field, the road still swarming with the blue mass. He closed his eyes, said quietly, "Thy will be done... " Behind him there were new shouts, and Taylor was yelling, manic, waving his hat. Lee turned, looked back along the road, saw the battered and beaten soldiers moving aside, lining the edge of the woods, and beyond he could see the flags, horses, a heavy column of soldiers, moving forward at a trot, the double quick. Now the men were beside him, moving past, a steady rush toward the thick smoke. He tried to see them, an officer, see who they were, what unit, and suddenly he felt Traveller jerk to the side. He looked down, saw an older man, a sergeant, and the man was pulling Traveller to the side. Lee felt an explosion of anger, yelled at the man, "Stop! What are you doing?"
Now there were more men around him, and the old sergeant looked at him, a hard grim face, said, "General Lee to the rear!"
He was still angry, thought, Who are you to suggest... and now all around him the men began to shout, "Lee to the rear! Lee to the rear!"
He glanced around, and the men had formed a tight arc around him.
no order would sway these men. He raised his hand, waved them away, saw now these were not Hill's men, did not carry the black grime of the fight. He yelled to the sergeant, "What is your unit?"
The man still pulled the horse, moved to the side of the road, said, "We're from Texas, Sir. General Hood's division. Now, you just make yourself at home right here, and let us do the work. And I don't want to see you out that-aways again, you understand? I'll be back, and I expect you to be a-settin' right here."
Lee felt a sudden jolt, turned, looked away, down the road, thought, Texans... No, these are not Hill's men.
There were flags now, moving with the fast rush of more troops, fresh troops, and one man rode tall alongside the advance, the wide shoulders, the brim of the hat low across his face. Longstreet had arrived.
13. LONGSTREET
MID-MORNING, MAY 6, 1864 THEY HAD MARCHED THIRTY MILES IN LESS THAN TWO
DAYS, and when Lee's final order came, they began the last leg at one o'clock that morning. The plan had been for them to come up from the southwest, reaching the Brock Road below Hancock"@ defenses, pushing northward to contain Grant in the Wilderness. But Grant had chosen the fight, had contained himself, and with Hill's corps badly outnumbered, Lee had changed Longstreet's advance, moved him up through the woods, to come in behind Hill on the Plank Road.
The men did not need to be told what lay in front of them. From first light they had heard the assault as Lee had heard it, a rolling tide of musket fire, and so their step had quickened. Now, with the smoke hanging low over the road in front of them, they began to move faster yet, the officers keeping them together. Hill's men were moving back still, and the heavy columns let the worn and beaten soldiers pass through, and there were jeers and insults, but no one believed that Hill's men were not good soldiers. If Hill was badly beaten, it meant the fight in front of them would be a test many of them had never experienced.
Longstreet reached the clearing, could see Lee now, close behind Poague's guns. The guns were still firing, the heavy thunder shaking the ground. Through brief clearings in the smoke Longstreet could see the flashes of musket fire across the field, the strong lines of the enemy, partially hidden, firing from behind the cover of the brush. Down below the road, deep into the woods, he could hear more firing, the enemy pushing forward on the flank.
He had not fought on this ground before, was staring out into the horror of the thick brush for the first time. He had not been here when they fought around the small intersection to the east, the crossroads at the Chancellor mansion, had not been here when Jackson had gone down. Lee had sent him south, to southern Virginia, a mission to send much needed supplies to the army, and at the same time Longstreet had hoped to rid the coast there of Federal troops. All that spring he had punched and struck in futile assaults on the Federal stronghold at Suffolk, and nothing had come of it but more casualties they could not afford. Lee had finally ordered him back, but the rails had been slow, and he did not arrive in time to help win the fight at Chancellorsville. Lee had prevailed with a weakened army, but the enemy then had been Joe Hooker. Now it was Longstreet's old friend, and Longstreet knew that Lee would need every piece of his strength at hand if Grant was ever to be pushed away.
His mind began to work, there was very little time. His men were advancing now close behind the big guns, the officers spreading them out into thick battle lines, and Longstreet turned, shouted to his staff, to Morley Sorrel, said, "Major, we must not move into those woods in heavy lines. This is not the place."
Sorrel nodded, but did not understand, and Longstreet looked past him, saw Joe Kershaw, waving his sword in a high arc, spreading his men out into the woods.
Longstreet spurred the horse, moved close to Kershaw, said, "General, advance your men in a strong skirmish line, let them find their own way."
Kershaw seemed puzzled, said, "Sir, a skirmish line? The enemy will pick them apart piecemeal. Are you sure, Sir?"
It was not like Kershaw to question orders, and Longstreet glared at him, had no patience, there was no time for discussion.
"General, advance your men in a strong skirmish line. Follow them up with more of the same. Send them in slowly, let them make their own way. Tell them to fight on their own, not to worry about straight lines. Use the ground, the cover. The enemy will not pick them off if they cannot see them! Look at this place!"
Kershaw nodded.
"Yes, Sir. I will order the lines... regiment strength."
Longstreet looked back at Sorrel, shouted above the sounds of the guns, "Where is General Field? I want him to do the same thing, press the enemy slowly. There will be no massed charge! We must press slowly, steadily. The enemy is far outside his own defenses. Do you understand, Major?"
Sorrel saluted, stared at him, began to nod, said, "Yes... yes, Sir. I understand."
Sorrel moved away, and Longstreet pounded a fist against his saddle. Good, he sees it too. We cannot just go by the manual here. If the enemy is firing blind, a massed assault just gives him targets. If we move carefully, move up where we can see him, then we will not be firing blind... and we can make them very uncomfortable.
Longstreet spurred the horse, moved closer to the big guns, looked down the road, empty now -of the blue troops. The fire from Poague's guns had cleared them away from the deadly open space, but the musket fire was still heavy on both sides of the road. To the right, below the road, a bugle sounded, and Longstreet could see his men moving forward, a single line disappearing into the thickets. There was still heavy firing, still some of Hill's men, the ones who did not run, still holding a shaky front below the road.
Behind Longstreet more troops were coming up, and now he saw Micah Jenkins at the front of his brigade, the young man from South Carolina, pointing his sword toward the enemy. Longstreet watched him, nodded, saw the troops moving with speed, no hesitation. Longstreet shouted, "General, over that way, follow those men into line below the road!"
Jenkins saluted, tipped his hat, moved past him. Longstreet had always thought Jenkins would rise quickly, knew he was brilliant, had led a brigade in nearly every fight Longstreet had been in. He had not been to West Point, knew only what he had experienced on the bloody fields, and Longstreet knew it was simply a matter of time before Jenkins commanded a division, or even a corps.
In the open ground above the road the rest of Field's division had begun to spread out in front of Poague's guns, and the big guns had slowed their fire. Poague would not fire over the heads of the men so close to his front. The roar of the fight came only from the muskets, and the gray line began to move forward. Longstreet could hear the deadly sounds of the minie' balls all around him, and now he could see Lee again, beside the road, not far from Poague's guns.
/> He spurred the horse forward. The guns began to fire again, slowly, down the line, the gray troops far out in the field, Poague sending the shot and shell safely over their heads. Lee was standing up in the stirrups, and Longstreet reined up beside him, watched him, saw a look he had never seen. Lee was wide-eyed, his hair blown and wild, and now Lee reached over, put a hand on Longstreet's shoulder, gripped the gray cloth, and Longstreet saw the damp reflection in Lee's eyes. They did not speak. The sounds of the big guns rolled over them, the horses began to move about, and Lee let the hand drop, looked at Longstreet, said, "I thought... it was my time. I was ready to lead them, to take them across myself."
Longstreet said, "No, General, these men know what to do. They will not likely permit you to take them into this fight."
Lee smiled, put the hat back on, adjusted it slowly.
"No, they were rather insistent. I believe, actually, I am under arrest. Some fellow from Texas ordered me... to stay back. He was... persuasive."
Longstreet laughed, looked across the field, saw the Texas flag reaching the far woods.
"John Gregg's brigade... Hood would be proud of them. They're leading the attack."
The musket fire began to slow in front of them, the gray lines had reached the far trees. Below the road there was new firing, scattered out, but farther away, to the east.
Lee said, "The flank... we held the flank. We're pushing them back...." He looked at Longstreet, and Longstreet nodded, knew that Lee would not say more, that it would come out later, in the reports, formal and specific.
Longstreet knew there had been disappointments before, that Lee would rarely say anything, the reproaches would be subtle, that the commanders who knew Lee well knew he would find a way to tell them silently: You did not perform... you will do better next time.
With Longstreet, Lee had been more patient than with many of the others. Longstreet was important to Lee in ways that even Longstreet did not understand. Lee almost always stayed near him, on the field, in camp.
But at Gettysburg something changed in their relationship, the closeness strained. Of Longstreet's division commanders, Lee had always been closest to John Bell Hood, their friendship dating back to the old army, in Texas, the cavalry. But Pickett had been Longstreet's favorite, there was always humor, the good-natured insults of the man who had been last in his class at West Point. George Pickett had been Longstreet's friend since Mexico, and now Pickett was a shattered man, would never get over that horrible day, the disastrous assault that would forever carry his name. Pickett knew, as they all knew, that it was Lee's order that sent so many men across that bloody open ground, so many men who did not come back. Pickett was in Richmond now, in command of the Home Guard, and he was an angry, bitter man, who blamed Lee. Longstreet knew that somewhere inside himself, there was a small angry voice that told him Pickett was right.
Longstreet had received the reports of the fight yesterday, the couriers bringing him Lee's information, that it was Hancock again, through these woods, the same Hancock who had held the heights at Gettysburg, the strong center of the line where Pickett's division had been crushed. Pickett should be here, he thought, there would be justice in that.
Men were still coming forward, from the road behind them, and Longstreet could see the signs of men who had already been in a fight. They were Hill's men, moving back to the fight they had escaped from that morning. There were officers, leading men they had never seen. Some of the men had found familiar faces, their own units, and pieces of regiments were coming into line. They were moving past, looking now at Lee and Longstreet, and they began to cheer, exhausted and hoarse, but the muskets were held high, the hats rose up, and they moved forward to the fight.
Lee began to move his horse, rode alongside the men, and they cheered louder. Longstreet pushed the horse ahead, said, "General, if you would like to place these men, I believe I will retire to some safer place."
Lee looked at him, the eyes dark, the fury of the battle had filled him again, but he softened, absorbed what Longstreet had said.
"Yes, General, this is your fight now."
Longstreet saluted, said, "General, with your permission.. Lee returned the salute, and Longstreet spurred the horse, moved across the road, the staff following him down into the deadly brush.
HANCOCK'S FORWARD THRUST HAD BEEN BOGGED DOWN NOT just by Poague's guns, or the thin defense of Hill's unprepared men, but by the ground, by the men's own motion. As the lines went forward, they lost their connection to units beside them, there was little they could do but fire their muskets at what they believed to be the enemy in front of them. Some were able to advance faster than others, some ground was better, some had to climb down and wade through muddy swamps, and others moved around the small fires that still swept through the brush.
By the time Longstreet's men picked their way forward, Hancock's momentum had been lost. But there was no time for the Federal lines to re-form, for the officers to pull their men together. Longstreet's riflemen began to punch small holes in the confused blue masses, the riflemen fighting on their own, one at a time, slipping carefully through the blindness to find the thick mass of blue targets. As more of Longstreet's troops found their targets, Hancock's lines began to pull back, finding their own cover, picking out targets as well. Longstreet's troops began to mass together, and the blind thickets and uncertain ground to their front slowed them as well. As the mid-day. sun warmed the ground around them, both sides slowed their fire, dug in and kept a careful watch on the woods to their front, satisfied now to wait for something to shoot at.
IS NAME WAS MARTIN LUTHER SMITH, AND LONGSTREET remembered him well from West Point. They had graduated the same year, 1842, but Smith had ranked far ahead in the class, and so while Longstreet had little to say about his choice of assignments, the men at the head of the class could choose the more prestigious posts. Smith had gone on to become a fine engineer, had eventually designed the great works around Vicksburg, the works that had kept Grant's army away for so long.
Lee had spent most of his career in the old army as an engineer as well, had performed in that role as well as anyone ever had, both in peacetime and in Mexico. There, it was Winfield Scott who had recognized the value of Lee's skills and brought him to the general staff. It was a lesson Lee remembered, and so, as Smith's reputation grew, Lee would understand his value as well, and bring this man close to him.
Smith's horse was small and dark, and Smith slumped in the saddle. Longstreet rode beside him, towered above him. The men moved aside, some began to cheer, but Longstreet did not notice. He was focused on the small man beside him.
"Right through there, General. There..." Smith said.
Longstreet moved forward, saw the ground suddenly drop away, clearing in both directions. He moved the horse carefully, dropped down into the cut, saw out in both directions.
Smith stayed up above, said, "There you are, General. This runs all the way... well I expect they intended eventually to run it all the way to Fredericksburg. For our purposes, it runs east far enough."
There was no boast in Smith's voice, and Longstreet stared east, down the long straight ditch, an unfinished railroad cut. He moved the horse back up the rise, and his staff was watching him, knew the look, waited for what would come. He looked at Morley Sorrel, said, "Major, you see what we have here? This is an opportunity... a bloody fine opportunity. Send word... pull the three closest brigades. We will move through this railroad cut until we are directly south of the enemy's flank. Then.. He paused, rubbed his beard, looked hard at Sorrel.
"Then, Major, you will lead them. When they are in place, you will advance them out of the cut and attack the flank."
Sorrel's eyes were wide.
"Me? You want me... ?" He smiled now, a wide beaming smile, looked around, saw the stunned faces of the others, looked back at Longstreet, who did not smile.
Longstreet said, "You have earned this, Major. Now, speed is critical. Move!"
Sorrel pointed
to two of -the couriers, and with a quick shout was gone into the brush.
Longstreet looked at Smith, said, "General Lee would say this is a gift from God. I would never disagree with the commanding general." He looked back toward the cut, shook his head, looked again at Smith, said, "Allow me, Sir... to thank you."
The three brigades, under Wofford, Mahone, and Tige Anderson, had slipped along the cut exactly as Longstreet had foreseen. The firing along the front lines was scattered, neither side making a serious push toward the other. Longstreet waited in the woods below the Plank Road, slapped one hand against the saddle, a slow nervous rhythm. The woods around him were mostly quiet, a few sharp cracks of musket fire echoing far in front. He began to move the horse forward, slowly stepping through a thick tangle of vines, then farther, across a thick carpet of small trees, cut down by the fight that had roared through these woods. He looked up at the sun, now nearly overhead, thought, We have the time, we have plenty of time. But he was not patient, did not know what was happening, if Sorrel was close, if they had been found out. He listened hard, thought, No, the enemy does not know, there would be firing, we would hear it.
