Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

by The Killer Angels(Lit)

  He swung to Heth. "General, you may attack."

  To Pender he said the same. He gave no further directions. The generals would know what to do now. With that word it was out of his hands. It had never really been in his hands at all. And yet his was the responsibility.

  He rode forward to the rise ahead, across the small creek.

  Now he had a clearer view. Pender's Division was on the move; he heard the great scream of the massed Rebel yells.

  Now batteries were in position behind him, beginning to open up on the woods near the cupola. Lee ducked his head as the shot whickered over him. He did not like to stand in front of artillery. Some of the artillery was moving forward.

  Rifle fire was breaking out. The wind shifted; he was enveloped in smoke. Marshall's face appeared, an incoherent message. Lee tried to find some place to watch the assault. Pender's whole force was streaming forward across the fields, into the woods. Lee saw flags floating through white smoke, disembodied, like walking sticks. Shell bursts were appearing in the air, white flakes, round puffs. One blossomed near. There was Marshall again. Lee heard fragments split the air near him. He moved into a grove of trees: oak, chestnut. There was a white house nearby, a white rail fence, a dead horse lying in a black mound in the sun.

  He waited in the grove, listening to the enormous sound of war. Eventually he sat, resting himself against the bole of a tree. It was dark and cool back in here out of the sun. Men were dying up ahead. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, felt his life beating in his chest. The fight went on. Lee thought for the first time that day of his son.

  Rooney, wounded, lying not far from here. He closed his eyes, prayed for his boy, for all of them. He put his hand down on black dirt, was reminded: Pennsylvania. I am the invader.

  Once more the Rebel yell-inhuman screaming of the onrushing dead. Another unit was going. He rose and went forward, trying to see, but no point in that. There was too much smoke. Yet it might help if he was seen. He moved up out of the grove of trees, onto the road. The road ahead was crowded with wounded. There were men lying under wagons, out of the sun, most of them semi-naked, covered with bandages, blood. He saw another dead horse, a splintered wagon; the severed forefoot of a horse lay near him in gray dust. Smoke was pouring down the road as from a great furnace. He moved forward; his staff followed him.

  Here was A. P. Hill.

  Hill said, white-faced, "Very hard going. Heth is down."

  Lee looked at him, waiting.

  "Wounded in the head. I don't know how serious. But the Division is moving. Pender is on the flank. But the Yankees are fighting well. I don't recall them fighting this well before."

  Hill seemed peculiarly calm, vacant, as if he was not wholly present. He was a handsome man who had a great deal of money but was not "society" and was overly aware of it and very touchy about it.

  Lee said, "Let me know General Heth's condition as soon as possible."

  Lee sat down against a rail fence. A band came by, playing an incoherent song, fifes and bugles. The sky was overcast with blowing white smoke, the smell of hot guns, of blasted earth, the sweet smell of splintery trees. Lee was in the way, in the road; men were gathering around him, calling to him. He saw a house, an empty front porch. He moved toward that way and stared down toward the smoke.

  Firing was intense. He sent couriers to Early and Rodes to advise them of his new headquarters and to ask for progress.

  He had no idea of the whereabouts of Ewell, who was supposed to be in command over there and who probably knew less of what was happening than Lee did. Longstreet was right: command was too loose. But no time for that now.

  A courier from Early: The enemy was falling back. Lee could hear an officer near him erupt in a high scream.

  "They're runnin'. Great God Amighty, they're runnin'!"

  Lee looked down the smoky street, saw a man helping another man along the road, saw masses of men moving vaguely through a field, saw flashes of artillery. The fire seemed to be slowing down. There were many men yelling.

  A lieutenant came down the road, pointing back toward the smoke, yelling wildly that someone was hurt.

  A. P. Hill said, at Lee's elbow, "General Heth's surgeon has examined him, sir. He says he ought to be all right, but he will be out of action for a while."

  "Where is he?"

  "In a house over this way." Hill pointed.

  "You will take good care of him, of course. And, General, see to yourself. You can do no more good now. I want you to rest."

  Hill said softly, calmly, vacantly, "I'm fine. General, just fine."

  But he looked as if he were about to faint. Lee was thinking: if Longstreet were only here. How many in the Union Army? If the First Corps is here and the Eleventh, the rest must not be far behind. He heard more men yelling. In the street he saw officers waving their hats, grinning enormous grins. Victory? A rider came up, from Pender. A young man with a marvelous wide mustache said, "General Pender begs to report the enemy is falling back." Officers threw hats in the air. Lee smiled, could not be heard. One man touched him, another patted his back. He raised his glasses and looked to the clearing smoke.

  He turned to Marshall. "I'll go forward."

  Traveler was at the rail outside. Lee mounted and rode.

  Men were cheering him now, touching the horse as he went by. He tried to control his face. The wounded were everywhere. Some of them were Union boys, looking at him insensibly as he went by. A courier from Early: a rout on the left flank. The Union Eleventh Corps was running. More cheers. Lee closed his eyes once briefly. God's will. My trust in Thee. Oh Lord, bless You and thank You.

  He moved forward to the rise ahead, across a small creek.

  Taylor said, "This must be Willoughby Run." Lee halted at the crest. Now he could see; the land lay before him wreathed in smoky ridges. Half a mile away lay the town, white board buildings, dirt roads. Beyond it was a high hill that rose above a series of ridges running off to the east.

  Blue troops were pouring back through the town, moving up the sides of the hill. The couriers were right: they were retreating. Victory. Lee put his glasses to his eyes, felt his hands tremble, focused, saw: Union artillery forming on the high hill, men digging. The fight was not over. Must not let those men occupy the high ground. Lee turned. To Taylor he said, "Find Hill's chief of artillery, tell him I want fire placed on that hill. I don't want it occupied. What word do you have from Ewell? And send General Hill to me."

  Taylor moved off. Lee was thinking: we must continue the assault. The blue troops are on the move; now we must keep them moving. But Heth is down. He looked for Pender's courier, informed him to tell General Pender to continue the assault. But Early and Rodes were closer, on the left. If they only kept moving. The guns on the high hill were beginning to fire.

  Here was Powell Hill, looking worse. He said, "The men have done all they can do. Heth's division is exhausted.

  Pender says he has had the hardest fighting of the war."

  Lee studied him, looked away, back to the hill above Gettysburg. Hill may be sick but Pender was trustworthy. If Pender had doubts...

  Taylor arrived. "General Ewell is with General Early, sir.

  We are in communication."

  "Good," Lee said. "Deliver this message in person.

  Tell General Ewell the Federal troops are retreating in confusion. It is only necessary to push those people to get possession of those heights. Of course, I do not know his situation, and I do not want him to engage a superior force, but I do want him to take that hill, if he thinks practicable, as soon as possible. Remind him that Longstreet is not yet up."

  Taylor repeated the message, rode off. Beyond that hill Lee could begin to feel the weight of the Union Army, the massive blue force pouring his way. What kind of soldier would Meade turn out to be? We must not give him the high ground. Lee looked southeast, saw two rounded hills. We might swing around that way. They have marched quicker than I expected. Thank the Lord for Lo
ngstreet's spy.

  He heard more cheering, to the rear, looked, saw Longstreet. Moving forward slowly, calmly, like a black rock, grinning hungrily through the black beard. Lee flushed with pleasure. Longstreet dismounted, extended a hand.

  "Congratulations, General. Wish I could have been here."

  Lee took the hand warmly. "Come here, I want you to see this." He waved toward the field ahead, the hill beyond Gettysburg.

  An officer near him said, "General Lee, it's Second Manassas all over again!"

  "Not quite," Lee said cheerily, "not quite." He was delighted to have Longstreet here. Now through the streets Johnson's Division was moving, Longstreet's people could not be far behind. With every step of a soldier, with every tick of the clock, the army was gaining safety, closer to victory, closer to the dream of independence.

  Longstreet studied the field. After a moment he said, "We were lucky."

  "It couldn't have worked better if we had planned it."

  Longstreet nodded. Lee explained the position that Ewell had orders to move to the left and take that hill. Longstreet studied the hill* while Lee spoke. After a moment he said, "Fine. But this is fine. This is almost perfect." He turned to Lee. "They're right where we want them. All we have to do is swing around that way-" he pointed toward Washington-"and get between them and Lincoln and find some good high ground, and they'll have to hit us, they'll have to, and we'll have them. General, we'll have them!"

  His eyes were flashing; he was as excited as Lee had ever seen him. Lee said, amazed, "You mean you want me to disengage?"

  "Of course." Longstreet seemed surprised. "You certainly don't mean-sir, I have been under the impression that it would be our strategy to conduct a defensive campaign, wherever possible, in order to keep this army intact."

  "Granted. But the situation has changed."

  "In what way?"

  "We cannot disengage. We have already pushed them back. How can we move off in the face of the enemy?"

  Longstreet pointed. "Very simply. Around to the right. He will occupy those heights and wait to see what we are going to do. He always has. Meade is new to the command. He will not move quickly."

  Lee put his hand to his face. He looked toward the hill and saw the broken Union corps falling back up the slope.

  He felt only one urge: to press on and get it done. He said nothing, turning away. There was a messenger from General Ewell. Lee recognized the man. Captain James Power Smith, Ewell's aide. The Captain was delighted to see the Commanding General.

  Ewell's message was cautious: "General Ewell says he will direct Early and Rodes to move forward, but he requests support of General Hill on his right. He says that there is a strong Union position south of the town which should be taken at once."

  Lee asked which position Ewell meant. He handed Smith the glasses. Smith said the position was beyond the one in front, at the top of which there was a cemetery.

  Lee looked at his watch. It was almost five o'clock. Still two hours of daylight. He said to Longstreet, "General, how far way is your lead division?"

  "McLaws. About six miles. He is beyond Johnson's train of wagons."

  Lee shook his head. To Smith he said, "I have no force to attack the hill. General Hill's Corps has had hard fighting.

  Tell General Ewell to take that hill if at all possible. Have you seen Major Taylor?"

  "No, sir."

  "You must just have passed him."

  Lee sent Smith away. He remembered: he had ordered artillery to fire on the hill, but none was firing. He sent to find out why. He began to realize he was really very tired.

  But if a strong Union force was on a hill to the south...

  but without Longstreet's Corps a general assault was impossible. Where was the artillery? Where was Hill? Why had Early and Rodes stopped their attacks? He could see the town below choked with soldiers, horses, but there was no advance.

  He turned, saw Longstreet watching him. He had the look of a man suppressing his thoughts. Lee said, "Say it, General."

  "We shouldn't have attacked here, General. Heth had his orders."

  Lee waved a hand. "I know that. But we have pushed them back."

  "In the morning we will be outnumbered."

  Lee shrugged. Numbers were meaningless. "Had I paid attention to numbers, General..." Lee left the rest unsaid.

  Longstreet said, "If we moved south, toward Washington, we could fight on ground of our choosing."

  "The enemy is here. General. We did not want the fight, but the fight is here. What if I ask this army to retreat?"

  "They will do as you order."

  Lee shook his head again. He was growing weary of this.

  Why didn't Ewell's assault begin? A cautious commander, new to his command. And A.P. Hill is sick. Yet we won.

  The soldiers won. Lee pointed toward the hill.

  "They will probably retreat. Or Ewell will push them off.

  But if Meade is there tomorrow, I will attack him."

  "If Meade is there," Longstreet said implacably, "it is because he wants you to attack him."

  That was enough. Lee thought: docile men do not make good soldiers. He said nothing. Longstreet could see the conversation was at an end. He said, "I'll bring my boys up as soon as I can."

  Lee nodded. As Longstreet was going. Lee said, "General."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Your spy was correct in his reports. Had it not been for that report, this army might have been destroyed in detail. I thank you."

  Longstreet nodded. If the compliment pleased him, he did not show it. He moved off.

  Lee stood alone, troubled. He had had enough of defensive war. The King of Spades. Let us attack, and let it be done. I am extraordinarily tired. You are an old man. And if something happens to you?

  He picked up the glasses, waiting for Ewell's attack. No attack began.

  4. CHAMBERLAIN.

  Chamberlain rode slowly forward, into the western sun. It was soft green country, a land of orchards and good big barns. Here and there along the road people came out to see the troops go by and there were a few cheers, but most of the people were silent and glum, not hostile, apprehensive. The sight was depressing. Some of them were selling food to the troops. One farmer had a stand offering cold milk for sale, at outrageous prices, and after Chamberlain was past there was a scuffle and some of the men requisitioned the milk and told him to charge it to the U.S. Guvmint. Chamberlain heard but did not look back. It was beginning to be very hot, and Chamberlain closed his eyes to let the salt sweat gather in the comer of his eyelids and wiped it away and rode with his eyes closed, himself tucked away back in the dark under his hat. When he opened his eyes again the day was violently bright and very dusty, and so he rode half asleep, eyes partly closed, dreaming.

  At noon they reached the Pennsylvania border. Now there were more people and they were much more friendly and the band behind struck up "Yankee Doodle." Now the farmers began to hand out free food; Chamberlain smelled fresh bread baking. A very pretty young girl with long blond hair rushed up to him and pressed a warm cake into his hand and he was embarrassed. The regiment greeted the girl with cheers. It was good to be first in line. No dust ahead. Chamberlain swiveled in the saddle and looked back down the road, and there down in the dust like a huge blue snake came the whole Fifth Corps along the winding road, some men on horses riding high in black hats, among the tilting flags. More bands were playing. Chamberlain wiped sweat from his eyes.

  It was time to dismount. A good officer rode as little as possible. He got down from the horse and began to march along in the dust, in the heat. Near him he could hear Tom Chamberlain talking to one of the new men from the Second Maine, explaining the ways of this regiment. Tom was proud but not too proud. The Second Maine had seen more action. Chamberlain thought of Tom and his mind wandered back to Maine: young Tom lost, in the dark of the winter, a long search. Mother crying, we never found him, he survived out there and came back himself, a grinning kid with a bright
red nose, never once afraid...

  "One of the things you get to know," Tom Chamberlain was saying, "is that this here brigade has got its own special bugle call. You ever hear tell of Dan Butterfield?"

  "General Butterfield what was with Hooker?"

  "Right. Same man. Well, he used to be our brigade commander."

  "They say he was a pistol. No man like him for having a good time." He gave a lewd wink, suggestion of coarseness.

  "Well, I don't know about that, but he liked to write bugle calls. Trouble with this army is too many bugle calls.