“Gently, Major. We’ll want fresh men for the work. They must rest an hour or two.”
It was not till after midnight that Longstreet gave the order to go on. The road through the forest was dim and overgrown. The moon was almost at the full, but among the trees lay darkness, and horses and men felt their way, guiding by the ruts under their feet and by the beaten trough between the ruts where years of occasional use had marked a shallow trail. When the trees thinned, the road became difficult to follow; but in this more open ground it was no longer necessary to move in single columns, so they came on more quickly and on a broader front.
At first daylight they heard raging musketry ahead and hurried their pace. When they reached the plank road, the two divisions in a doubled column filled it, eight men abreast. McLaws’s division, now under Kershaw, was on the right-hand side; Hood’s under Field on the left. They drove forward so briskly that some of the smaller men were forced to an occasional jog trot to keep their places.
The sun, obscured by smoke rising from the joined battle, rose red above the trees. They saw where a field hospital had been the day before, saw the dead bodies of men whom the surgeons had been unable to help. An aide on some urgent errand galloped across their front, and they saw more mounted men, couriers or officers. Ambulances met them, and there were stragglers in the scrub fields on either side, and litter-bearers left the road to let them pass.
Upon the head of their advancing column broke the rout of two divisions. The enemy attack, begun before sunrise, had shattered the Confederate right. The first men they met were single fugitives, and Trav recognized among them Lonn Tyler, and he shouted:
“Where you going, Lonn?”
Tyler waved his hand. “Home, b‘God! I’ll be there tonight, if my stren’th holds out.” He darted into the trees. The fugitives became more numerous; and behind their straggling lines came a solid mass of men as orderly as a marching column, yet in full and hard retreat. The head of Longstreet’s column was a rock on which they split, pouring into the woods and fields on either side, harangued by their desperate officers and pursued by the jeers of Longstreet’s men, but stubbornly intent on making their way to safety.
Trav and the others riding in advance came to the crest of a gentle rise beyond which the ground sloped gradually downward. For two or three hundred yards there were old fields grown to brush head-high; and beyond that lay the tangled wood from which the song of battle came. Behind them, the doubled column of the First Corps halted; and Longstreet after one glance at the scene ahead deployed the men, throwing out three brigades on each side of the road. He rode along the forming lines, speaking in reassuring tones.
“Time enough, men. Do no firing till you’ve formed. Break your ranks to let these others through. They’ll rally behind you. Time enough. Be easy. Dress your lines.”
Trav had to repeat that admonition to himself. Time enough! Time enough! But it was hard to wait; to see emerging from the woods ahead gray-clad men in broken retreat, to see blue uniforms as the Yankees pressed them hard. He could see individual puffs of smoke as single muskets fired; he heard the thud of balls striking trees and men about him here.
General Lee joined Longstreet, and Trav had never seen the commanding general so obviously excited. Beside him, Longstreet seemed a monument of calm. Trav could not hear, over the steady drumming of musketry, what they said; but he heard Lee’s voice shake as though the man were near tears. Then Lee rode to where the Texans under General Bragg were forming, while Trav followed Longstreet to the south side of the plank road. There Colonel Venable of Lee’s staff came hurriedly to them.
“Sir,” he said, “General Lee is over there insisting he will lead the Texans forward. He refuses to go to the rear.”
Longstreet grunted. “Give General Lee my compliments, Colonel. Tell him if he will permit me to handle the affair, we will restore the situation in an hour.” Colonel Venable hesitated; and Longstreet added dryly: “Say to him that if I am not needed, I ask permission to withdraw to some place of greater safety. It’s not comfortable here.”
Venable smiled and turned his horse, and Longstreet spoke to Trav. “Currain, tell General Field to advance his men as soon as they are formed. Tell him to use heavy skirmish lines with close support in strength.” And as Trav whirled he added in a jocular tone: “And Major, you come back to me. Don’t let that big horse of yours get his head. I want you in hand.”
Trav gave Longstreet’s orders to General Field, and he saw the skirmish lines move forward and heard their first careful, steady fire. His ear had learned to interpret battle sounds; he listened, and he began to think the enemy was checked. Then Colonel Venable and another officer rode up to him, and the Colonel said:
“Major, take General Smith to General Longstreet. General Lee thinks he may be useful.”
Trav as he obeyed saw the sun already high, and he felt a familiar wonder at the way time during a battle seemed to speed. Only a moment ago they had been groping through the darkness of the forest; now it must be seven or eight o’clock. Before they crossed the road he heard Longstreet’s great voice, audible even above the steady fire, as he shouted orders. Behind Longstreet’s battle line, the best men from the two divisions which had broken under the Yankee attack were already rallying. They would presently be a fighting force again.
General Smith and Longstreet met like old friends; and Trav saw them talk together for a moment, saw Longstreet point to the right, saw General Smith ride away. Before them in the forest the hard battle rose in pitch, the firing so steady it seemed one continuous sound. The enemy, yielding a little at first, had stiffened and now held his ground. Trav had learned to distinguish between the muffled reports of their own muskets and the sharper note of guns fired in their direction. The volume of Yankee fire was rising; the enemy had been reinforced. If they were further strengthened they would be able to come on.
General Lee came to join Longstreet, and while they were together General Smith returned and made report. Longstreet listened, and spoke, and Trav saw Lee nod as though assenting. General Smith rode rapidly away, and Longstreet turned and called Moxley Sorrel. They met close enough to where Trav waited so that he heard the General’s words.
“Colonel, this is a chance for good work. Their flank’s loose. Collect some of the brigades behind us here in support and take them off to the right through the woods. Thrust your right forward, be sure you’re ready before you strike, then hit their flank and drive them across our front. We’ll move when we hear your guns.”
They rode past Trav, Longstreet still speaking, till Sorrel turned his horse to thread his way at a smart trot through the scrub and brush. Longstreet watched him go and then came back, pausing by Trav. “Sorrel’s gone to strike their flank. That should break them before they can be further reinforced.”
He sat listening to the battle, and Trav stayed beside him, trying to estimate the passing time. What troops would Sorrel use? Anderson’s division was in position as support, and two or three brigades of the First Corps were held on the flank. How long for Sorrel to reach them? How far must they march to strike their blow? How long before they would attack ? The clamor of gunfire in the forest was a steady ringing like a smith’s hammer on his anvil; it came in volume like the robust voices of a massed choir. Trav let his thoughts dwell on figures: so many minutes, so many men, so many fractions of miles that must be marched.
Before he arrived at any answer to the sum he set himself, the rhythm of the battle clamor changed. From the right came the strong staccato of firm fire from well-aimed guns.
That was Sorrel! Those were the guns of his brigades. The pulse beating in Trav’s throat made it hard for him to hear. There was a sudden stir among the officers here around him, and Nig for a moment got his head, till Trav reined him under hard control. As his ears cleared they brought him the story of what was happening on the flank. He heard—he had no need to see—the enemy line waver and stagger, stumble and break. The sudden shrill yells f
rom behind the screening forest were eloquent of victory.
Longstreet rode down toward the plank road, and Trav and the others of the staff came after him, and Longstreet shouted orders. Let Field’s men and Kershaw’s press the shaken enemy, while those three brigades Sorrel had led into position rolled them up from the flank. Longstreet himself crossed the plank road to speak to General Field. As he returned, General Smith came through the woods from the right to report an even greater opportunity: the whole Yankee flank was hanging in the air.
“Very well, sir. Take the force still in reserve and drive that flank in.” There was a strong jubilance in Longstreet’s voice, and as General Smith rode away the big man spoke to Captain Goree.
“Bring General Jenkins up to co-operate with Kershaw.” And when Goree was gone, to Trav and the others while they waited: “Here’s Second Manassas all over again; yes and Chancellorsville. We’ve thrown them in utter rout, and we’ve force in hand to press them. We’ll sweep them clear across our front.”
Colonel Taylor pointed east along the road: “General, the woods are on fire.”
They saw creeping flames running through the carpet of dead leaves along the ground; smoke touched their nostrils, and Trav heard a man scream, and then another. There must be scores of wounded helpless in the path of those little running flames that spread like water over sand. Trav thought of the tide rising over the flats below Great Oak; and in a sudden flashing memory he saw the big house once so familiar, last seen two years ago almost to the day. It too had died in flames, as these wounded men in the forest here would die.
From behind them came General Jenkins at a smart trot; and beyond him the head of the column of his men, coming at the double, filled the road. Longstreet greeted him exultantly; in three swift sentences he explained the situation. “Three or four of our brigades have routed two full corps of Yankees,” he said. “We hit their flank and hustled them across the road ahead of us. We’ve five fresh brigades now to keep them running!”
General Jenkins’s eyes shone. “We’ll throw them back across the river before night!” He turned and shouted so that every man in the column of his men could hear. “The Yanks are broken, boys! We’ll finish them! Three cheers for General Longstreet!”
The full-throated answer ended in a chorus of shrill yipping yells that made Trav’s pulses race. Moxley Sorrel returned to say the flanking troops were already across the road in front of them. With the advancing files of Jenkins’s eager men close upon their heels, they rode on.
Smoke was heavy in the woods and across the road; and the cries of hurt men rang in their ears. Trav left the road and forced Nig through the trees toward the creeping fire. There were wounded scattered all about, most of them helpless; but a man with a shattered leg dragged himself like a snake with a broken back, trying to keep ahead of the spreading flames. Trav saw a file of men ahead, and he called to them: “Carry some of these poor fellows clear of the fire.”
But the man with the broken leg swore at him furiously. “Git the hell away from here! Git them Yanks! Us-uns can crawl! Git on!”
Trav hesitated, abashed by this fierce urgency. A volley sounded close along the road ahead and he heard a desperate cry. “Friends!” There was terror like panic in that cry. He swung Nig back to the road and saw Jenkins’s men dropping in their tracks, hugging the ground. A little way ahead there was confusion among the horsemen of the staff, and cries, and someone shouted for Dr. Cullen.
Then Trav’s heart turned sick with sorrow, for he saw Longstreet’s bulk sway in the saddle, and lean slowly sidewise, and he saw a dozen men run to ease the General to the ground.
He dismounted, passed Nig’s reins to a soldier, pressed to Long street’s side, saw a fountain of blood surging from the big man’s throat. Dr. Cullen was already busy with the wound.
Longstreet’s eyes were open; he weakly blew the blood out of his mouth. “Tell General Field to take command.” He had to spit to clear his mouth again. “Press them!” he whispered.
General Field reached his side, uttering a sorrowing word; but Longstreet made a fierce gesture, laboring to speak. “Press them. Don’t let them rally.”
There was urgency in voice and eyes. General Field stood up to obey; and Longstreet spoke Lee’s name. Moxley Sorrel came to hear his labored words. “Tell—situation. Tell General Lee—we have them!”
Sorrel rode to find the commanding general. After a little, Dr. Cullen staunched the hemorrhage and looked up and met Trav’s eyes. “He can be moved,” he said.
Trav called men; he sent Lieutenant Dunn to bring a stretcher. He heard someone say that General Jenkins was dead from the same volley that had struck Longstreet. Captain Manning came to help him; Trav asked some desperate question, and Manning told him what had happened. In the smoke and the confusion, the men of the Twelfth Virginia were mistaken for Yankees; shots and then a volley were exchanged.
“We rode right into the cross fire,” Manning said. “We barely prevented a second volley.”
General Anderson came to Longstreet’s side, and painfully Longstreet explained to him the waiting opportunity, the position of the battle. “Press them hard,” he urged. “Hard. Quick. No pause.” He choked, his voice failed.
The stretcher was ready. Trav helped lift him on it; he placed the General’s hat over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. They began to carry him to the rear, past Jenkins’s men moving into the action; and a man here and there called a question.
“Is he dead?”
Trav answered them. “No, just wounded.”
Someone muttered doubt, and Longstreet seemed to hear, for he lifted his hat from his face and dropped it. “Let them see me alive,” he muttered. The nearest men saw the movement and raised a shout of gladness. Trav, walking behind the stretcher, heard the affection in those shouting voices and his eyes filled with proud tears.
He saw General Lee coming with Moxley Sorrel from the woods on one side, and he spoke to Longstreet. “General Lee’s there! He’ll drive them.” Longstreet’s lips moved contentedly.
Behind him Trav heard Captain Manning, choked with sorrow and with rage, cry: “Shot by our own men! Just like Jackson!”
Colonel Taylor answered him. “And within a few miles of the same spot, and just a year later. And—like Jackson—just when he had the winning hand.”
A soldier touched Trav’s arm. The man led Nig. Trav had forgotten the great horse. He mounted and overtook the others. Colonel Taylor spoke in a low tone: “We’ll take him straight to Meadow Farm. Dr. Cullen says he can stand it.” And he said admiringly, “Did you hear him? No thought for himself; just urging us to press on, drive them.”
They reached the ambulance. Trav dismounted to help lift Longstreet in, and to make the big man more comfortable he took off the General’s boots and his coat. His socks were white. Trav himself had put on fresh socks and underwear while the men rested at midnight last night, and he thought Longstreet must have done the same. Under his coat Longstreet wore only a thin undervest, darkly stained now with blood that had spilled from that wound in his throat. His eyes opened; he saw Trav and smiled faintly under his heavy beard and muttered a request.
“Stay near me, Currain.”
“I will, General,” Trav promised; and when the other had been lifted into the ambulance, he gave Nig to a courier to lead and stood upon the rear step of the vehicle. Longstreet was very pale, his high forehead white as snow. He lay motionless, but once with his hand he lifted the blood-sticky undershirt off the wound for a moment, filled his great lungs, lay still again with eyes not quite closed.
The ambulance moved on, ringed by the cluster of horsemen. Behind them the din of battle began to fade. Trav, listening, thought there was a lull in the staccato of the muskets. Perhaps the Yankees were being driven beyond easy hearing. He wished to go back, to take his part in that fine triumph; but Longstreet had bidden him stay near, so he would not leave the man he loved who lay helpless now.
Near Par
ker’s Store a messenger from General Lee brought word of continued gains, and asked for a report on Longstreet’s wound. Lieutenant Dunn wrote the reply: the surgeons agreed that the hurt was serious but not necessarily fatal. The brief delay had given Longstreet some rest and relief from the torment of the journey; but when they reached Meadow Farm the big man was exhausted. Mrs. Taylor was there to take him in charge.
A night’s rest brought strength back to him; but the news from the battle he had fought so well was disappointing. He had left the enemy broken and in flight, but after he was wounded there had been too much delay in aligning the formations, a long and costly pause. Not till late afternoon were the brigades thrown forward, and by that time the Yankees had rallied and entrenched. They beat back the assaulting troops and held their ground.
By way of compensation, the surgeons said General Longstreet’s wound promised well. The bullet had smashed through his throat and right shoulder, and he had lost much blood; but unless there were complications, he would recover.
In the meantime he must be removed to some place of greater safety, and Longstreet himself suggested Lynchburg. “I’ll go to Mrs. Longstreet’s kinfolks there,” he said. “She’s in Augusta, but she can join me.” It was decided that Trav and Captain Goree would go with him.
Toward dusk, word came that Grant, after two or three days of heavy punishment, now lay inactive; and Colonel Taylor thought he would withdraw across the Rapidan as Hooker had done a year before. But Longstreet shook his heavy head. “Not ’Lys Grant.” He spoke harshly, wincing with pain. “He won’t retreat as long as he has a regiment that he can order forward. He’ll march around our right for Richmond.”
His prediction proved a true one. Next morning when they rode toward Orange Court House to put him aboard the Lynchburg train, they heard far away to the east the guns opening at Spottsylvania.
12
April—September, 1864
House Divided Page 143
