Jeff Shaara and Michael Shaara: Three Novels of the Civil War: Gods and Generals, the Killer Angels, the Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Hancock watched them, the tight formation, the smooth movements. He had spent the long Washington winter training these men, and he knew that regardless of McClellan’s fear of the enemy’s superior preparations, his brigade was ready to fight.

  Gradually, all four of his regiments were formed and began to march away from the wharf, creating space for more troops. He pulled his horse toward the colors of the Fifth Wisconsin, the first regiment to move out, rode up beside Colonel Amasa Cobb, a distinguished political leader before the war who had learned the art of drill only under Hancock’s direction.

  “Colonel, it’s a fine morning, is it not?”

  “General Hancock, sir, this unit is prepared. You shall be proud of us, sir.”

  Hancock looked back over the neat lines, the steady marching, officers on horseback riding beside the lines of fresh troops, men who now felt like soldiers. He pulled his horse out of the line, sat alongside the moving men, thought, Let them see me, let them feel the pride. He sat tall in his saddle, gave them each a look, and the men responded with waves and some cheering. The company commanders, young captains and smooth-faced lieutenants, saluted him crisply as they rode by, made a show of tightening the lines of their small commands. Hancock thought, These men will not run. It’s in their eyes, their step. General “Baldy” Smith had come through the camps throughout the winter, had given the customary speech, the rousing call to the flag, the great honor in duty, and the men were always enthusiastic, always responded. Smith, and the others, men who tried to inject some great spark of patriotism into the troops, would ride away satisfied that they had done their bit to train the men, to prepare them for the bloody war. Hancock stood at the front, always listened with respect, and watched his men, knew that this was not what made them soldiers, that if the fight were not in them already, no great speech about loving the flag would change that. He did not understand why the generals did not see, would not accept, that those other fellows, those boys in the ragged uniforms who wanted to burn your lovely flag, had already shown they could hurt you, would stand up to your patriotism and put the bayonet through your beloved uniform. But still the words came, and Hancock began to understand. It was all they knew how to do: make speeches. Very few of them had ever led troops under fire, had ever led troops at all. And when the time came, many of them would fail, and many men would die because they did not have leaders.

  His head began to feel heavy—he’d had little sleep since they boarded the steamer—and he slumped in the saddle, looked down at the ground, the short grass his horse was now exploring . . . the ground a smooth, shining carpet of red, soaked in the blood of the army, a man was screaming, then more, many more, thick gray smoke and burning powder, and the sounds of artillery shells exploding and the stench of death—

  Hancock jerked awake, sat up straight, felt his heart pounding. He looked around, saw his troops in line, forming again in a wide field, and felt foolish for the small, terrifying daydream. Then he thought, No, it is foolish if you lead these men into the face of the enemy and are not prepared for them to die.

  Across the field he saw Cobb again, directing his men, and the order was given to make camp. The men began to spread out, unloading the wagons. Hancock saw a flag moving quickly up the road that came from the walls of the fort, saw General Smith and a group of aides, and they spotted him and rode in his direction. Hancock met the general with a salute.

  Smith said, “General Hancock, greetings to you, sir. Your men are positioned well, yes. This field will be filling up over the next few days, we hope to have the entire corps here by Wednesday.”

  “Corps, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hancock, have you not heard? We have been placed under the command of General Sumner. General McClellan has organized the army into corps. Better use of the chain of command and all that. I suppose I should have told you.”

  Hancock thought, Yes, that’s your job: chain of command. He thought of Sumner. Edwin “Bull” Sumner, the man who had gone to California to remove Albert Sidney Johnston—interesting coincidence.

  “Sir, my men are ready for orders, at your discretion.”

  “Very good, General. Our next move is up to General McClellan. Once the army is all here, I expect we will begin some real action, probably sweep on into Richmond.”

  Hancock wondered if they all believed that, that the rebel army would simply be brushed aside like so many bugs. He nodded, polite, said only, “We’re ready for a fight, General.”

  “Good, good. Well, I’ll keep you informed. Got to check on my other commanders, General. Good day to you.”

  Smith rode away, the aides trailing behind, and Hancock prodded the horse, which protested mildly, then moved toward the spreading troops and the fresh campfires. The afternoon was wearing on, and he looked out to the west, beyond the field, to great thickets of trees, miles of nothing, except . . . out there, somewhere, men waited with bayonets.

  HANCOCK’S BRIGADE was encamped in the wide field for nearly a month. McClellan made it plain, both to his commanders and to Washington, that he believed his army to be greatly outnumbered, and that a rapid, forceful move up the peninsula would result in certain disaster. As the army formed in front of Yorktown, McClellan’s force of over ninety thousand men faced the Confederate general Magruder’s command of fifteen thousand. Rather than assault this force, McClellan decided to lay siege to the city, and sent a continuous stream of requests to Washington for more men and more guns. When on May 4 he finally reported to the President that Yorktown was in his possession, he did not mention that it was a Confederate withdrawal that had handed it to him.

  The army was finally put into motion, moving several miles inland, through the abandoned positions of Joe Johnston’s retreating army. As they advanced to Williamsburg, they met the troops of the Confederate rear guard, a strong solid line that had been placed before them by General Longstreet.

  Hancock’s men were well back in line, and he knew little of what was in front of him, except for the scattered sounds of skirmishes. He rode beside the lines of his men, spoke with each commander as they passed, answering the same questions with a simple, “I have not been informed.”

  The roads were sandy and soft, and he watched a small squad of men helping push a wagon through a bog. He looked at the sky, thought, No rain today, thank God. They had sat in the mush of a campground, softened by days of rain, a hard, soaking spring storm that had drowned the fires and dampened the enthusiasm of the whole army.

  Up the line in front of him, his men were stalled again by some obstruction he could not see, and he spurred the horse, rode forward feeling a boiling wrath. He moved the horse along the edge of the road. The men moved aside, the waves and shouts muted now; the men had an instinct for the mood of their commander. Along with Hancock, they all were wondering if this army had any idea where it was going.

  He heard a shout behind him, turned the horse and saw a courier, a man covered in mud. The troops watched the man pass, began to laugh, called out, mocking the man’s obvious distress.

  “General Hancock, sir. I have a message, from General Smith.” The man paused, took some air, and Hancock saw a stream of brown water flowing from the man’s boots, the blue pants smeared with shiny brown sludge, saw eyes looking at him through a wet paste of brown goo. He began to smile, felt himself let go, a tightness in his chest loosen, and now he laughed, and around him his men took the cue, laughed as well.

  The courier glanced at the men, then back at Hancock, who saw the man’s embarrassment growing and said, “Are you all right, Captain?”

  “Sir, I had an accident. My horse doesn’t seem to care for this sand, and he threw me. Forgive my appearance, sir.”

  “At least wipe off your face,” Hancock said, laughing.

  The man felt his face with his hand, saw the mud on his fingers, said, “Oh,” and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped painfully at the drying crust.

  “Sir, if I may . . . General Smith is at the rear of
this column, and he requests your presence as soon as possible. He has orders deploying your men, sir.”

  Hancock stopped laughing, turned away from the stalled troops, who were continuing to gather, and motioned to the man to follow. They rode off the road, through a small gap in the brush, and Hancock turned back, spotted a lieutenant leaning back in his saddle, allowing the men to break their lines. He shouted at the man, “You there! Lieutenant! Get these men back into line. Prepare to move them forward. We are on the march, not in camp.”

  The man jumped up straight in his saddle, began to shout at the men, who were already moving back in place, straightening their lines on the road.

  Hancock looked at the courier, could now see his face, said, “Captain, in the future you will impart your messages to me out of earshot of the troops, do you understand?”

  “Sir? Yes, sir. I didn’t see any need—”

  “Captain, we are in the enemy’s country. Have you ever heard of spies?”

  The man stiffened, glanced around, said in a whisper, “Spies? Do you really think there are spies?”

  Hancock stared at the man, felt the rage beginning to build again. “Captain, we are at war. . . .” Then he thought, No, let it go. He took a long breath. The man leaned closer to him, whispered again, “Sorry, sir. I will pay more attention next time. General Smith requests your presence. He is in the rear of this column, with General Sumner, sir.”

  Hancock turned his horse, climbed back to the road, began to move toward the rear. He did not see where the courier went, and did not care. He thought, Maybe, finally, something will happen.

  May 4, 1862

  HE HAD met General Sumner several times, had served under him briefly in St. Louis, had even seen him in California, but he did not expect the man to have aged so badly.

  “General Hancock, do come in, thank you.” Sumner was an old man, and Hancock saw now that he might be too old. His headquarters was a large tent, and he sat alone at a small table. Behind him was a map, hung between two thin sticks, small trees that had been cut and pushed into the soft ground. General Smith stood beside Hancock, nervous, clasping and unclasping his hands. He greeted Hancock only with a small nod.

  Sumner turned in his chair, motioned to an aide, who handed him a pointer, and he held it up to the map, waved it unsteadily.

  “Gentlemen, this map is all wrong. It’s the only map we have, but it’s all wrong. Turns out, the roads we’ve been using don’t go where they’re supposed to go. Damned nuisance.” He stopped, coughed, turned back to the men in front of him.

  “We’ve got the enemy in front of us, dug in, ready for a fight. General McClellan is not here. He is . . . God knows . . . back there, somewhere, trading complaints with Washington. So, I am in command of the field. This is not my choice, but it is the circumstance. General Smith?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “General, you must deploy your division across the roads in front of you. Then push out through the woods to the right. General Hancock, I would like that to be your job. Take five regiments, yours and some from . . . from whoever General Smith designates. Move north, out on our right flank. There’s supposed to be some fortifications out there, part of what they call Fort Magruder. You know John Magruder? Artillery man, hell of a fighter. Did some fine work in Mexico.”

  Hancock nodded, said, “Yes, sir. I am familiar with him.”

  “Well, that place could be a threat to our position. The enemy is dug in heavily around their so-called fort. General Hooker is in contact with the direct center of the fortifications. He probably has his hands full. General Hancock, I want you to take this man here.”

  He raised a thin arm, and Hancock looked toward a cavalry officer, standing to one side, who stepped forward.

  “I’d like him to go with you, be my observer. He has scouted the woods already, may be of some help.”

  Hancock looked at the young man, saw blond hair falling in loose curls, a red scarf tied loosely around the man’s neck, a long feather sprouting from the band in the man’s hat. The man saluted, said, “It will be an honor to serve with you, General.”

  Sumner coughed again, and Hancock stared at the strange cavalry officer a moment longer. Then Sumner said, “General Smith, are you yet engaged?”

  “Sir, we have forces in our front, and . . . well, yes, we have been moving against them. Not fully, though. Shall I give the order to advance, sir?”

  Sumner stared up at Smith, leaned back in his small chair, paused for a long moment and said, “General, have you heard fighting on your left?”

  “Yes, sir. About an hour ago. Seems to be somewhat heavy.”

  “Well, General, that fighting involves two divisions, Hooker and Couch. I imagine they are expecting you to move up in support. Does that seem like a reasonable plan to you?”

  Smith felt the sarcasm, glanced at Hancock self-consciously, said, “Yes, sir. Right away. If you will excuse me, sir. I will move my units up in support and engage the enemy.”

  Smith hurried out of the tent, and Hancock saluted Sumner, followed Smith outside. Smith climbed up on his horse, turned around unsteadily, said, “General . . . best of luck. This day may make heroes of us all.”

  Hancock wondered if he was serious, said nothing. He looked over to the young cavalryman, who pulled his horse up beside Hancock’s. “Do you have a name, soldier?” he asked.

  “Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer, at your service, sir.”

  “Well, Lieutenant Custer, shall we get started?”

  FOR OVER a mile they slid between huge live oaks, pushed through the thickets of scrub pine. Behind them, off to their left, they could hear the sounds of a growing battle, the deep rumble of artillery and the high chatter of musket fire.

  Hancock stayed on foot, led the column through the woods, Custer his guide. The battle sounds were solid now, no wavering, no gaps. If it goes badly, Hancock thought, if they push the rest of Smith’s division back, if Hooker doesn’t hold his ground, we are out here by ourselves, cut off.

  The woods began to thin, and he saw an opening, the trees spreading far apart now. The woods ended suddenly, giving way to a wide-open plain more than a mile long. He put his glasses to his eyes, heard Custer say, “There it is,” then saw their objective across the long, undulating field: the small dam. Behind him the regimental commanders had been assembled, and Hancock turned, saw the troops stretched out in ragged lines, disappearing back through the thick trees.

  “Gentlemen, we have to cross this field and reach that dam. I don’t see any sign of the enemy, but the field has some elevation, some depressions, they could be waiting for us anywhere. Once we reach the dam, it’s a tight line over the top, only a few feet wide, and from what Lieutenant Custer tells me, the enemy’s entrenchments are on the other side. We will form battle lines here at the edge of the woods, then move across the field as quickly as we can. Keep the noise to a minimum, and no firing.”

  He scanned the faces, saw an aide, Hughes, with small round glasses on a long point of a nose. “Lieutenant, send word to Colonel Wheeler: I want his batteries brought forward to the edge of these trees, focused on that dam. If we can’t get across it, we’ll blow it to hell, maybe drive ’em out with a flood of water. Any questions?”

  There were no questions. He looked at the faces, the commanders he had trained, knew they were ready. He focused the field glasses out across the open field, and the men went back to their units, began moving them up.

  Custer stepped out of the trees, walked out into the open, then turned and said, “Give me a squad, General, a picket line maybe. Let me ease across and draw their fire. I can’t see anybody, but those far trees could be full of artillery.”

  Hancock thought, Yes, good, it could work. Tempt some nervous gunner, a sweating hand holding a tight lanyard, and they could start a reckless fire that would reveal the entire position of the enemy. He nodded, waved back to another aide, said “Give Lieutenant Custer fifty men, tell them to keep low, move fast, cr
oss that field.”

  The man ran back, and men quickly came forward, men who had not yet seen the enemy, who would be the first.

  They moved out into the open. Custer spread them into a thin line, spaced a few feet apart. Then, with a quiet wave of his arm, they were moving away through the field. Behind them the regiments poured neatly out of the trees, began to form in lines three deep, then moved forward, made room for the units behind. Hancock climbed on his horse, rode out to Custer, watching, looking ahead for the small puff of smoke coming well before the sound, the first telltale sign of an impatient gunner, the high screech of the shell that would rip the air as it tumbled toward them. But there was nothing.

  “Proceed, Lieutenant. With speed.”

  Custer saluted, waved to the line of men, and they began to move in a quicker step, jogging through the thick green grass, moving up a slight incline. Hancock braced, waited for the volley, but it did not come. The men were now out of sight and he was watching an empty field, then they came up again on a far rise, still in line, still with the quick step. Now the regiments began to move, the slow, steady march, and Hancock rode along the front, watched the officers spread the formations. He prodded the horse, moved quickly down the lines, and the men waved hats. There were some careless cheers, quickly silenced by the officers.

  He rode out now to the top of the first rise, could not see Custer’s men, and so rode farther, dropped down, then climbed the gentle slope to the next rise, and then they were there, very close to the dam now, a small dirt ridge blocking an unseen creek. He looked behind him, saw the troops coming up over the first rise, then studied Custer through the glasses again, saw them reach the dam. He held his breath, felt the pounding in his chest, careful, careful, but there was still no sound, and now he saw Custer, saw the ridiculous hat held high in the air, waving, and now the small line of men were on the dam and moving across.

  He rode forward again, down the slight hill to the long flat plain, could see the dam plainly now, and behind him the men were up the second rise, spread out in a beautiful wave of blue. He saw movement on the dam, held up his glasses and saw Custer standing in the middle of the dam, waving crazily, both arms, and he understood, knew what they had done.