The Battle of the Crater: A Novel

by Gingrich, Newt

  Russell stood with field glasses raised, trained on the Rebel fort eight hundred yards away. Garland, shading his eyes, leaned against the parapet of this, the main Union defensive line.

  The ground before him sloped down rather sharply. Before war had come, this had most likely been pasture land. There had been a few stands of trees, all of which had been cut away within a matter of days for fuel, for the building of parapets, and to clear fields of fire. At the bottom of the open valley a stream meandered, with footbridges crossing it every hundred yards or so. There was also a railroad line, or what was left of it. It had once been one of the four main lines that came into Petersburg, but it had been seized and cut in the opening days of the battle and rails and ties had been torn out by the men to use for building positions.

  The ground then sloped up sharply until, about two thirds of the way up the slope, there was a raw jagged line of red earth and sand, the forward Union trench. At regular intervals, zigzagging “covered ways”—communications trenches covered over with boards, logs, and planks, which in turn were mounded over with dirt—linked the main line to the forward trench. The covered way directly in front of where they stood had been widened out over the last month so that men marching four abreast could quickly move its entire length up to the front line.

  What now held the focus of Garland’s attention, though, 130 yards beyond their forward trench, directly on the crest of the opposition ridge, was the Rebel line. In a straight line directly across from them was Fort Pegram, a high, earthen-walled compound 40 yards or so wide and half as deep, a full battery of guns within and garrisoned by an entire regiment. That one fort alone could hold off an entire division. A line of well-built entrenchments and parapets jutted from either flank of the fort, running along the crest of the hill. In front was a jumbled maze of the ubiquitous abatis, chevaux-de-frise, and trip holes. Even to Garland’s unpracticed eye, it looked as if not just a division but an entire corps could be slaughtered trying to take those heights.

  “I call your attention to the road beyond the fort,” Burnside announced, gesturing back toward the Rebel lines. “It is six hundred yards beyond the fort. That is the Jerusalem Plank Road. To our left, that road is the only link to Lee’s forces holding the line further to the west. Cut it and they are cut off. To our right, going northeast and then north, the road leads straight into Petersburg, little more than a mile away. Its strategic worth is obvious and that shall be your goal. That is what you have drilled for.”

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  “And, sir, you think charging at night with our men will achieve that?”

  It was the commander of the 32nd, and his voice was filled with doubt.

  “I think it is time to tell you the rest of the plan, gentlemen, the ace up my sleeve,” and he smiled at what he felt was a little joke, but no one chuckled.

  “A tunnel has been dug under Fort Pegram. It is being finished today. Starting tomorrow ten tons of powder will be packed into its galleries, which fan out underneath that fort. Three days from now, at three-thirty in the morning, just at first twilight, that charge will be detonated, the largest explosion ever witnessed on this continent. Fort Pegram is doomed; all that will be left is a gaping crater nearly two hundred yards across.”

  The doubts and dread of but a few minutes before were now replaced with excited chatter. Burnside grinned at them as if having just presented a coveted gift.

  “That is what you have been drilling for in secret,” Burnside announced. “That is why there was a fort between your two columns, but you were not allowed to step near it. Rather than a fort there will be a smoking crater thirty to forty feet deep. I think, men, that thirty seconds after that explosion, the Rebels for a quarter mile to either flank will be fleeing in terror, and many of them will be in need of changing their britches.”

  Now there was some laughter.

  “It is during those moments of panic that you will charge. I think the chances are high that you will hit trenches and parapets devoid of a single living Reb.”

  He gestured down to the open valley below them and between the two lines.

  “Four hours before the assault is to begin, your regiments will be positioned down there, in the open, on the far side of the creek closest to the Rebel lines.

  “Your positions will be staked out, guides assigned to get your men into place. Backpacks, blanket rolls, tin cups to be left behind. Full cartridge boxes with forty additional rounds in pockets. Canteens are to be topped off full and strapped under your belt before departing. Bayonets will be sheathed, and every weapon inspected to ensure it is not loaded.

  “You must impress upon your men that if but one man coughs, talks, trips, or makes a noise it could very well alert the Rebs and place the whole plan in jeopardy. Do we understand that, gentlemen?”

  There was a chorus of assertions.

  “The moon?” one of them asked.

  “That is one of the reasons it is so urgent to do the attack this week. If we go in on the thirtieth, it will be three days from a new moon. The attack is to begin at three-thirty just as it is starting to rise and it should not pose a threat. We will be into their trenches and past them, and at that moment, the bit of light we get from the moon plays to our advantage.”

  “Still, sir, to deploy that close, out in the open little more than three hundred yards from their lines?”

  “I’ve weighed the risks and benefits,” Burnside said solemnly. “Your men are well trained. They will know to keep absolutely silent, and besides, the field all the way from here down to the creek will be packed with men as well.”

  They were silent, looking over the crest of the parapet. Several dull thumps echoed and three mortar shells rose up from the Rebel line, arcing up, obviously aimed at them. No one spoke, judging the flight of the shells.

  “No loss of dignity, men, if we duck down,” Burnside announced and they needed no encouragement. One of the three shells impacted within a dozen feet of the front of the parapet and detonated, spraying them with dirt.

  There were some nervous chuckles as they stood back up, brushing the dirt off their uniforms.

  “Someone’s taking an interest in us,” one of them announced.

  “As I was saying,” Burnside continued, studiously ignoring the occasional musket round that zipped nearby. “The other three divisions of the Ninth Corps will deploy directly behind you. Even before you reach the Jerusalem Plank Road, those three divisions will follow. The next in column will push through to reinforce those of you holding the road and together push on to seize the high ground of Blandford Church Cemetery, while the next division will widen the breach at the point of breakthrough. The last of the four divisions will move forward as our active reserve.”

  He hesitated, but then smiled.

  “There has been some debate, but it is all but certain that following us will be two additional corps. But gentlemen, you will be in the lead. Do you know what that means?”

  Some nodded, all were silent.

  “Your signal to go will be the instant the mine detonates. And believe me, it is something you can’t miss and you will tell your great-grandchildren about. The instant the Rebel fort begins to lift into the air, your men are to be up and going forward.”

  “That does seem mighty close,” one of the colonels offered. “Shouldn’t we wait till the explosion settles down?”

  “My engineers tell me that it could be a minute or more and debris might be thrown several hundred yards or more. Frankly, there is some concern it just might panic some of our own men, as well, so make sure you carefully brief your men that this is going to be one hell of an explosion. But it will also clear the way for them. They must leap forward instantly and with élan. This is going to be one hell of an explosion, the biggest any of us have seen or will ever see. I’ve decided we don’t wait, we will be up and going in.”

  He paused.

  “And, yes, I do expect some casualties in our own ranks from debris ra
ining down, but I believe they will be fewer than what we will take from enemy fire if we wait. Besides, the sight of the explosion going off and your two columns emerging out of the smoke and confusion will only add to the Rebel panic.

  “Those of you in the column to the right will be in the vanguard of the breakthrough. You will lead the way. Gentlemen, it will be your troops who will seize Blandford Hill and from there be the first to storm into Petersburg.”

  He smiled expansively.

  “And it will be you of the Fourth Division of the Ninth Corps who will go down in history as the ones who led the charge that took Petersburg, and then on to Richmond. With Richmond gone, this war will be over. That is an honor you and the men of your command, the men who were once slaves or the descendents of slaves, will carry with pride to their dying day.”

  Another shell winged in, and they ducked. One of Burnside’s staff suggested it was time to get back into the bunkers and no one objected.

  Garland saw that his colonel was not yet ready to leave, though. He was leaning against the parapet, gazing out across the valley and to the fort beyond. Garland went up and stood respectfully to one side.

  Russell seemed lost in thought and Garland remained silent until finally his colonel stirred, looked sideways at him, and tried to smile.

  “Sergeant Major, what do you think?”

  “Sir, the 28th is ready. We will be in the lead, sir, and think of it—” He could not contain his enthusiasm. “Sir, we will be in the lead clear into Petersburg. It will be the 28th that does it. I say, by the great Jehovah, we can do it if any men can.”

  Russell turned to face him.

  “Sergeant Major White, I have been in this war since the beginning, and I’ve heard such things said too many times…”

  He looked at Garland, drew closer, and put his hand on the sergeant major’s shoulder.

  “Never mind, Garland. This evening you tell the men the plan and let’s pray it goes as planned.”

  “Sergeant Major White?”

  Garland turned and saw the artist, James Reilly, approaching, extending a hand.

  Garland took it warmly and then introduced him to Colonel Russell.

  “I noticed you hanging around, watching the training and such,” Russell said, and there was a touch of wariness in his voice.

  James smiled, and, as he explained he was an artist for Harper’s Weekly, drew out his sketchpad and handed it over. Russell thumbed through and, after looking at a dozen or so pages, relaxed slightly.

  “Well done, and most respectful of my men,” Russell finally offered.

  “So you heard the briefing?” Russell asked.

  “He had a separate one for several of us correspondents just before you came, but not as detailed. So, yes, I know the plan.”

  “Trustful of him,” Russell said.

  “I’m on the same side for this, sir,” Reilly said forcefully, “and will not release anything until after the battle.”

  He forced a smile.

  “Besides, I guess you haven’t heard. General Grant, starting this morning, forbade transport for any correspondent on the packets and any man who tries to send a dispatch by some other source will be drummed from the camp.”

  “Sir, I’d like to ask a favor of you, if you will indulge me.”

  “And that is?”

  “Do you mind if I camp with your regiment until after the battle? I’d like to do some more sketches of them, before and after this fight.”

  Russell looked back down at the sketchpad, thumbing back through it and then turning at last to an earlier one. James looked over his shoulder. It was the one of the men of the 1st Maine. Russell was silent, just staring at it, and then closed the pad.

  “Merciful God,” he whispered, then looked back at James, closing the pad before Garland could see it.

  “Yes, you can stay until after it is over.”

  THE TUNNEL

  The digging crew sat expectantly at the T junction of the tunnel. Two days ago they had reached the point that Colonel Pleasants declared was directly under the Rebel fort. There had been no need for them to be told that. Every time one of the artillery pieces inside the fort fired, a shower of dust sprinkled down on them. They could clearly hear men moving above them, some even whispering that they could catch snatches of voices, singing, and laughing.

  It was nerve-racking because they had started to hear something else as well … digging.

  At first they had tried to dismiss it as work being done on the fort above them, but the sound was coming closer off to the north side of the tunnel.

  Even now as they waited for Pleasants, who was measuring the length of the gallery dug at a right angle to the main tunnel, Michael and the others would look at each other wide-eyed, nodding when it sounded like a shovel or pick had struck something nearby.

  Long minutes passed and at last Pleasants could be seen, crawling on hands and knees, returning from the west end gallery. He stopped before the waiting diggers and extended his hand.

  “Congratulations,” he whispered. “It’s finished.”

  Of course there was no cheering, or even backslapping, just a quiet shaking of hands.

  “The powder, fuses, and detonators are supposed to arrive back at our encampment this evening. We start packing the tunnel tonight. Moving ten tons of powder, which we’re supposed to receive in twenty-five and forty-pound barrels, is going to be delicate, tricky work. I’ve managed to get a couple of mining lanterns made that are spark-free but that will be our only illumination. I only want you men who worked digging this tunnel to load it up. Others crawling around in here and not familiar with it might trigger an accident. You figure out the best way to move the powder into place. And remember, for God’s sake, absolutely no metal on you. If you have hobnails in your shoes either trade them off or go barefoot. Brass isn’t as dangerous but still could pose a problem, so all uniform jackets and belt plates must be removed as well. You’re all experienced miners; you know how easy it is to trigger an explosion in a confined space.”

  “We were thinking about some sort of relay,” Sergeant Kochanski said. “A barrel is passed in, first man rolls it up to the next man about twenty feet ahead, passes it off, goes back and gets the next one, and so on up the line.”

  Pleasants nodded.

  “Good enough. Just remember you’ll be working in near total darkness, especially once you start packing them into the galleries.

  “I’ve done some calculating. Once the powder is set and the detonating wires and backup fuses laid, the rest of the galleries are to be sandbagged shut. Then back down at least twenty feet of the length of the tunnel as well, otherwise the blast will just blow back out. The tamping has to be at least one and a half times or more the distance to the surface.”

  “That’s a lot of dirt, sir,” Kochanski offered.

  “I’m figuring about forty-five cubic yards or so; something like two thousand or so sandbags will have to be filled, brought up to the mine, then pushed in to block it all off.”

  The men were silent; moving that much powder and dirt without someone banging into a shoring or some other fool mistake was going to be rough. And as they sat in silence they suddenly heard it again. Someone was definitely digging; it wasn’t them, and it was nearby, perhaps only feet away.

  “We should start tonight,” Pleasants whispered. “The sooner we get it done, the better. Now let’s get going.”

  TRAINING CAMP

  “Care for a drink, Sergeant Major?”

  “No thank you, sir, I’m not the drinking kind, but I sure would like to stand up and stretch for a moment.”

  James nodded an assent, putting down his stick of charcoal.

  Garland smiled, stood, and stretched.

  “I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” Garland announced, “but never figured sitting to have my picture made would be one of them.”

  “Some find it relaxing,” James replied, while uncorking his flask to take a sip, “most are a l
ittle bit tense, and some find it downright tedious having to remain still for so long without moving.”

  Garland put his hands against the small of his back and stretched backward until James could hear the bones pop. Garland groaned softly with delight.

  “Ahh, that’s better. If you’ll just excuse me a few minutes, I’d like to walk around and kinda check on things a bit.”

  “Take your time,” James replied. Garland walked off into the shadows to do his unofficial rounds. The camp was nothing less than jubilant tonight. Just before sundown Colonel Russell had paraded the regiment, had them break ranks to gather around, and then explained exactly what he and Garland had seen.

  That announcement had set off a true celebration. Morale had been high throughout the day. Before, the men had detected a sense of uneasiness in the way many of their officers acted, despite the officers’ best efforts to convey confidence. But now the men had begun to celebrate. They had heard the description of the size of the explosion, shared the belief that the trenches without doubt would be empty and the Rebs would be fleeing in panic, and were excited about the prospect of leading the charge into Petersburg,

  Impromptu celebrations reigned in this camp and in all the camps of the division. Where, only the night before, if one listened closely they could hear muttered threats against Malady and his crew, now there was nothing but words of praise, many promising if they saw him after the fight they’d give him a drink from the whiskey they were sure to seize in the Rebel town. And regarding whiskey, more than a few, as soldiers had throughout history, found a way to obtain a bottle, most likely purchased from provost guards at a premium price.

  Reilly smiled, watching in the flickering firelight, as Garland was admonishing one such soldier, holding his hand out firmly, the soldier, head down, handing the bottle over. Garland tossed it into the fire, there was a flaring flash of light as the brew nearly exploded, laughter rippling around the camp as others quickly scrambled to hide their own bottles.

  Garland, smiling, at last returned. James picked up a few more split logs and placed them on the fire, bringing up the light so he could finish his drawing.