Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03

by Newt Gingrich; William R Forstchen

  He continued to pray and at last the words came to him and he looked back up.

  "The One Hundred Forty-third Psalm, gentlemen." "Sir?" Jeb asked.

  " 'Teach me to do thy will, for thou art my God.'" No one responded.

  "I was just meditating on that psalm before you gentlemen came to visit. When I first started to pray in this church my heart was drawn to the last stanza of that psalm, 'And of thy mercy cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul for I am thy servant.'"

  Jeb nodded as Lee spoke.

  "Did you see that Union boy being operated on when you came in?"

  No one spoke.

  "Is that my enemy?" he asked.

  "He fights for our enemies," Jeb replied.

  "No, sir," Lee said and now his voice was forceful. "That boy is not my enemy anymore. If we have an enemy now, it is this war itself. It has swept us up into its dark soul. It has killed and crippled thousands like that boy out in the chapel who is being cut apart even as we speak. We have spent more than two years at this, tearing each other's hearts and souls out."

  He lowered his head for a moment and then raised it again.

  "We're all sorry about that, sir," Longstreet replied.

  "Of course we are. We always say we are sorry. Generals have been saying 'I'm sorry' since war began.

  "All right, General Stuart. Let us say I do follow the suggestion you gentlemen have put before me. We shall break camp tonight, pass the word to our officers to tell our men to disband and head for the river. We shall destroy the artillery we have left and abandon our medical supplies and every man will make a run for it."

  Jeb looked at him hopefully, as if he were about to change his mind.

  "Then what?" Lee continued.

  "Sir, like I said," Jeb pressed. "We tell the men to head west once they're across the Potomac, up into the Blue Ridge, set some rally points, and there carry on the fight."

  "With what and how? All organization will be gone. Individual men will be hunted down, cornered, or killed. No officers in control, our men reduced to brigands and thieves in order to survive as they head cross-country. Those that make it. What then? They will be outlaws, not an army. It will be bushwhacking, murder, and reprisals on both sides for months, maybe for years to come."

  He paused.

  "Maybe forever."

  He stood up and went to the window, the men parting before him.

  "If I were Grant and presented with such a situation I would hunt us down without mercy. I would be forced to. There would be no honor in it, no rules of war, just a merciless hunt. Those of you who served out west saw it at times, the brutality of raids and reprisals against the natives, the executions, the torture."

  He turned and looked at his men.

  "You have been with me for over a year and a half, my friends." Now his voice was softer. "We have served our country with honor, and we have one more service to render to her."

  He lowered his head.

  "We must serve her with honor to the end." He smiled sadly. "Is not the will of God evident to us this night? We have placed our trust in him. We have sought his guidance and strength. We have prayed and always our prayers ended with 'Thy will be done.'"

  He stared intently at the gathering.

  "Do we not now see his will in this?

  "Things have turned against us and in that I see his will. I have sought God's guidance every day of my life and I sought it again tonight. Yes, I contemplated the same thing you gentlemen suggested, but then the psalm was my answer. I must do his will, and it is clear to me now, gentlemen, that his will is that we shall continue with honor, and then, if need be, submit with honor.

  "If we do not break through Grant's lines tomorrow, if we do not win and are forced to surrender, then I expect each and every one of us will do so with honor, and then together we shall rebuild this shattered land. I think in doing that we will answer my prayer and fulfill God's wishes for us. To do anything else, gentlemen..."

  He raised his head and looked each of them in the eyes.

  'To do anything else would be a sin and turn God against us, and our country, forever. The South will be reduced to an occupied land, marauding bands fighting like thieves in the night, our families displaced, farmlands destroyed, everything turned to wreckage and ruin and a hatred burned into all hearts that will never die, a curse passed on to our children's children."

  No one dared to speak, heads were lowered. Finally, it was Judah who stepped forward.

  "Sir, may I shake your hand," Judah whispered.

  Lee looked at him with surprise and took it.

  Judah turned and left the room without comment. One by one the others followed. Walter hesitated to leave, but Lee looked up at him and smiled, nodding for him to go as well.

  Walter gently closed the door, and Lee sat back down and looked out the window, watching as the rain came down.

  Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna

  August 31,1863 Dawn

  The storm had finally passed an hour before dawn, leaving a cooling breeze out of the west. Grant stood on the front porch of the small cabin which was now his headquarters and handed up the dispatch to a trooper who saluted and rode off, mud splashing up around him. Phil watched the trooper ride off. "Should you signal your presence thus?" Phil asked. "Yes, I think I should," Grant replied. "How's the headache?" Phil asked.

  Grant looked over at him coldly and felt it had to be discussed.

  "General Sheridan, if you wish to serve with me, there are a couple of rules." "Sir?"

  "No drinking in my presence, and never a mention of my headaches, do we understand each other?" "Yes, sir."

  Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia

  Troops were forming up, skirmishers deploying out, heading north on the road to Frederick. This would be his final gamble. If he could catch Grant in column on the road and push him aside, there would be nothing behind him. It would then be a renewed race. Gain Frederick, take the Catoctin Pass, which was most likely unguarded, hold there while the rest of the army crossed over the South Mountain range, and then seek passage over the ford at Sharpsburg.

  It was a desperate move, but if done with enough push, it could still work. His only wish now was that his men had found at least some sleep during the night, for today they would be expected to fight and march nearly thirty miles.

  "White flag!" someone shouted.

  Lee saw coming toward him a Union officer, about a quarter mile off, holding a white flag aloft, waving it back and forth.

  "Maybe they wish to surrender," someone quipped, but there was no laughter.

  Lee mounted and rode toward him, Longstreet and Walter at his side.

  Skirmishers surrounded the trooper. One of Jeb's men went up to the Yankee, there was a quick exchange of words, and the trooper escorted the Yankee up to Lee. As he approached, the Union captain stiffened and saluted.

  "Sir, I am Capt. Daniel Struble, on the staff of General

  Grant. He asked that I personally present this letter to you and await your reply."

  "Captain Struble," Walter said, "you understand that under the rules of war you cannot report back on anything you see while within our lines."

  "Of course, sir."

  Walter nodded his thanks and returned Struble's salute.

  Lee opened the letter even as his skirmishers pressed forward, in line of battle, some of them Armistead's men, who had shown up miraculously during the night.

  To Gen. Robert E. Lee

  Commander, Army of Northern Virginia

  Sir,

  I believe that the situation now warrants that we meet to discuss terms for the surrender of your forces. You are surrounded on all sides and your line of retreat across the Potomac has been severed. Further resistance can only result in the tragic loss of more lives.

  I await your reply.

  (Signed) U. S. Grant

  Lee folded the letter and stuck it into his breast pocket.

  "
My compliments to General Grant for his thoughtfulness, Captain Struble, but please tell him that I disagree with his assessment of the situation. That will be all."

  Struble hesitated, saluted, and then started to turn away, then looked back.

  "Sir, I doubt that you remember me. I was at the Point while you were superintendent You left the end of my plebe year."

  "I am sorry, Captain," Lee said politely, "but I do not recall you."

  "Sir, a personal appeal. You taught us at the Point to always deal with our fellow officers as comrades and with honor."

  He hesitated.

  "Go on, Captain."

  "Sir, on my word of honor to a fellow officer, you cannot win this day. I have seen both sides now. Honor binds me from saying or revealing more to you, but I do appeal to you to reconsider."

  "Thank you, Captain Struble, but my decision is final."

  "I am sorry, sir."

  Struble turned and, with his Confederate escort, raced back down the road, mud flying up as he passed, a few of the skirmishers offering catcalls once Struble was clear of their lines.

  Lee looked over at Pete.

  "I think we should press forward and see what Grant has prepared," Lee said.

  Struble appeared out of the distant woods, riding hard. Grant raised his field glasses and could tell the answer already. Struble drew up and saluted. "He didn't accept it." "No, sir. He refused."

  "I'd have done the same," Grant said softly. "How many are coming?" Sheridan asked. Struble looked stiffly down at Sheridan. "Sir, I cannot tell you."

  "Nor should you," Grant interjected. "Captain, please stand by."

  The crackle of skirmish fire erupted ahead, and some mounted skirmishers came out of the woods, pulling back. Tragically, two men down the road dropped from their saddles.

  The field was nearly six hundred yards wide, open pasture land, grass waist high. At the center of the field was a crossroads, a lane coming down from the right leading back up toward Hauling Ferry. Troops from that position had been coming down it during the night and were concealed in the woods to his flank, led by Hancock, who had turned over command of the rear guard to Sykes and was now commanding troops covering the western flank of the net. At the crossroads was a small chapel, apparently abandoned.

  Grant looked behind him. It was not the best of tactical arrangements, but he prayed that what he had deployed would, have the desired effect.

  His skirmishers reached the edge of the woods, this morning seeming to advance with a bit of their old spirit, or was their elan just a final, mad desperation? During the night scouts had reported some campfires just on the other side of the woods. Grant had to be there, the courier had proven that. The question to be answered in the next few minutes was simple enough. Was Grant's army beaten down and worn? Had the pursuit been one of troops exhausted and strung out on the roads, or had he managed to bring up sufficient strength?

  If he is off balance, then we push through and roll him up. Every man had been spoken to by their officers just before daybreak, told of the task ahead. Dry ammunition from the few remaining wagons had been distributed to the advancing lines of Armistead.

  As they advanced, Lee rode just behind the main battle line, his staff around him. He would not let them hold him back this morning, he had already made that clear. Somehow Walter had managed, during the night, to clean his other uniform and presented it to him when he arose. Stains had been sponged out, the brass polished. He felt strange dressed thus, for all his men were ragged, filthy, hollow-eyed from lack of sleep.

  Moving cautiously, the skirmishers advanced a hundred yards out of the woods and into the field. There they halted, officers calling for the men to dress ranks.

  Then he could see them. A heavy line of cavalry on the far side of the field, men mounted, perhaps two or three regiments.

  For a moment his heart swelled. Cavalry, we can push them back.

  "Bring up the guns," Lee said.

  Walter looked back and raised a fist, then pointed forward. A battalion of guns that had been waiting on the far side of the woods turned into the road and started to struggle forward, mud splattering, the first of them reaching the edge of the woods then turning left and right to deploy out.

  In another few minutes it would begin.

  And then the Yankee cavalry men turned about, some riding off to either flank, into the adjoining woods, others heading toward the rear.

  Behind them was a solid line of guns arrayed hub to hub, more than fifty, covering the width of the field. Directly behind the guns battle flags were suddenly raised up, dozens of flags, national colors, state flags, a solid wall of infantry, thousands strong.

  The first gun recoiled, then down the line the others fired nearly in unison. Walter moved in protectively to Lee's side. Several seconds later they heard the shells ... all of them aimed high, arcing up over the trees, all of them solid shot, no explosions, only the sound of their passage as they disappeared to the rear.

  Lee raised his field glasses and scanned the line. The gun crews were at work, this time turning up the elevation screws, lowering the muzzles.

  Grant had just given him a warning. The next salvo would plow straight into the Confederate lines.

  Gunners to either side of him were unlimbering, looking nervously across the field, officers already shouting for case shot with three-second fuses.

  Time seemed to drag out. The last of the Yankee gunners loaded, rammers stepping back, sergeants hooking in lanyards, rolling them out and waiting, facing their commanders, waiting for the order to unleash hell.

  Lee looked over at his men at the edge of the woods. Bayonets had been fixed, men were arrayed, breathing hard, eyes focused across the field. Armistead was nearby, arm in sling, sword drawn, his hat on its tip.

  Some of the men were kneeling, praying, many reciting the Twenty-third Psalm.

  Still the Yankees were waiting. They should have opened the bombardment, fifty guns slashing across the field, trees shattering, guns dismounting, men screaming, his batteries smothered under, Armistead then going forward into the maelstrom.

  Grant waited, not firing.

  "Thy will be done, Lord," Lee said out loud.

  You are not to fire until ordered to do so by me!" Grant kept shouting, as he rode back and forth just behind the gunners, Henry Hunt riding by his side. "Relax, boys, relax," Hunt interjected. "If they come, it'll be Malvern Hill all over again. Just relax, boys, relax."

  Men stood tense, wide-eyed, staring across the field. The rebel skirmish line had stopped a third of the way into the field. Most were kneeling in the high grass. "A flag!" someone shouted. "A white flag!" A staff officer was pointing to a Confederate officer riding forward at a gallop, his saber raised, a dirty white towel or strip of cloth tied to the point. "Struble and Ely!"

  The two left his side, Struble still with his white flag, Ely by his side. The two galloped out and met the officer halfway. They talked but for a moment, then the three turned about, Ely and Struble now galloping back, Ely standing tall in his stirrups, hat off, waving it.

  "It's over!" he screamed, "Lee's surrendering! It's over!"

  Men stood silent for a moment, comrades turning to each other in amazement, and then the cheering began. A wild, triumphal roar.

  "Silence!" Grant screamed, and he rode out in front of the guns, turning to face his men.

  "Silence!"

  The cheering died away.

  "There will be no demonstrations, no cheering," he cried, his voice carrying across the field. "Gunners, stand down, remove primers carefully. Infantry to stack arms and remain at ease!"

  All fell silent and more than one man removed his hat. In an instant the mood was transformed. Some shook hands, as comrades of so many hard-fought campaigns looked at each other. "Looks like we'll live out this day," "My God, we're going home," "It's over, it's really over," rippled up and down the line. Some went to their knees in prayer, some wept, some laughed and began to slap each other on th
e back, others stood silent, heads bowed.

  Ely and Struble came up to Grant.

  "Sir, General Lee wishes to discuss terms."

  Grant said nothing.

  "Sir, I suggested the abandoned chapel in one hour," Struble interjected, pointing to the dilapidated church at the crossroads.

  "That's fine."

  Grant turned about and rode back through his line to his headquarters, where Elihu stood on the front porch. "It's over," Grant said.

  Elihu smiled, then lowered his head and wept.

  Monocacy Church, Maryland 8:00 A.M.

  All were silent as Gen. Robert E. Lee rode through his lines, flanked by Walter, Longstreet, and Judah Benjamin. Men lined the road to either flank, battle flags held aloft, and he read the golden lettering on many of

  them . . . FAIR OAKS, GAINES MILL, MALVERN HILL, CEDAR MOUNTAIN, SECOND MANASSAS, SHARPSBURG, FREDERICKSBURG ... so many of them fields of triumph. Some of Beauregard's men were deployed as well, SHILOH, CORINTH, CHARLESTON ...

  Beauregard was nowhere to be found. Lee had not seen him since the beginning of the retreat.

  The men stood at present arms, but as he passed them, a shudder ran through the lines, men taking their hats off, some holding them silently aloft.

  "God bless you, General," "We're with you, Marse Robert," "Tell us to go back in and we will," an officer cried out.

  Lee paused and looked over at the man.

  "That time has passed," Lee said quietly, and the man lowered his head and stepped back into the ranks.

  They passed Armistead's Brigade, the general standing at the center front, saluting as Lee rode by. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pickett standing behind the men.

  "I thought that man was no longer with this army," Lee whispered, vexed.

  He pushed the anger in his heart aside and continued through the cool damp woods, where yet more men were drawn up, and then back out into the sunlight. The batteries on his side were still deployed, but guns had been unprimed, crews leaning against their pieces, one crew gathered around a smoking fire, trying to cook a meal. All looked up as he passed; all were silent.

  Walter pushed out ahead, again holding aloft the dirty white towel tied to the tip of his sword. He waved it, and from the other side of the field a flag was waved in response, a cavalcade of a half dozen riders setting forth.