by Jeff Shaara
Longstreet was partially deaf, and others who did not know him well often mistook it for aloofness or simple rudeness. He was not a man for fluent conversation, did not join in around the campfire, the jovial, drunken revelry that too often surrounded the headquarters. Lee had learned to respect him as a commander, knew Joe Johnston had relied on him often. He had not known Longstreet long, had not known him at all before the war.
Longstreet came home from Mexico with a wound that hadn’t healed for a long time. He settled into a career as a paymaster in the old army, had spent most of the peacetime years out West, in El Paso and Albuquerque, and never had shown the ambition to press further. At the start of the war he was a major, and had come back to the South expecting nothing more, volunteering for a job as paymaster again. But President Davis knew him from Mexico, knew that Longstreet had led infantry, the great assault on the big fortress of Chapultepec, knew of his training at West Point and his abilities to command, and so Longstreet was surprised to be commissioned a brigadier general. Only a few weeks after his arrival in Virginia, he was leading troops at Manassas.
But Lee knew something had changed, there was a new darkness in Longstreet’s eyes, in his moods, and Lee tried to understand it. The cause seemed obvious at first. During the previous winter, while his family was staying in Richmond, all four of Longstreet’s children had contracted a fever. Within a few days three of them died. All of Richmond was shaken by this news, and no one expected that he would return to duty so quickly, resume command of that part of the army that would play such a large part in turning McClellan away.
Lee had heard the earlier stories, the poker playing, the long nights of drinking and bawdy storytelling, and he could not believe any of that, did not see those things in this big, dark man. There was a hollowness, a deep opening in the man’s soul, and Lee had wanted to talk about that, to be of some . . . comfort. He didn’t know if Longstreet was particularly devout, had never heard him mention God, thought, If he knew that God is with him, that all of this . . . his tragedies, are part of a Plan . . . But there was never the right moment; the two men did not share that kind of close conversation. To Lee, that sort of closeness had never been easy, but he’d grown very fond of Longstreet, was not even sure why, and so wanted to do . . . something. They often were together now. Longstreet seemed to gravitate toward Lee’s headquarters, but the conversations were brief and military, strategy and planning, and Lee sensed an edge, as though Longstreet held himself in some tightly bound, angry place. Longstreet seemed to know it himself, and Lee began to hear more caution in his planning, more need to avoid the big risks.
Jackson was very different. Lee had come to understand that if left alone, Jackson held nothing back, would operate with a fury and an anger that was simple and straightforward. He was given credit for military genius. The newspapers referred to him as the greatest general in either army, though Jackson never seemed to pay attention to that kind of praise. Around Lee he was like a young child, eyes wide, eager to please the fatherly Lee, and so Lee had learned to treat him that way. But he did not see just a child. He saw a very strong and dangerous animal that would do whatever you asked him to do, with complete dedication and frightening efficiency.
Lee did not know how Longstreet and Jackson felt about each other. There had never been a dispute, or any other reason to examine their relationship. Longstreet clearly considered himself the ranking officer, which technically was true: his commission had come first. Jackson had often deferred to that seniority when the two were together, but Longstreet understood Jackson’s value, and if he thought Jackson reckless and headstrong, he did not express it to Lee.
The strength of the forces under the two generals was now nearly equal, due mainly to the transfer of Ambrose Powell Hill’s division from Longstreet’s command to Jackson’s. A. P. Hill was a difficult, moody, and egotistical man, and a dispute had arisen between him and Longstreet after the Seven Days’ battles. A correspondent for the Richmond Examiner had written glowing and exaggerated accounts of Hill’s role in the army’s confrontations against McClellan, indicating that Hill’s division was responsible for most, if not all, of their successes. Longstreet responded angrily by authorizing his chief of staff, Major Moxley Sorrel, to write a letter to a rival newspaper, the Whig, setting the record straight. After heated and nasty correspondence between Hill and his commander, Longstreet finally had Hill arrested, which so inflamed Hill that he challenged Longstreet to a duel. By this time Lee had no choice but to intervene. The solution was simple, and served a useful purpose. Hill’s division was moved, increasing Jackson’s strength, and Longstreet was relieved of a headache.
The columns were closing up behind them, and still Longstreet stared ahead, not moving. He spurred his horse then and moved slowly forward, starting down through the gap. Lee followed, and Longstreet stopped again, and now Lee heard it. There was a rumble, straight ahead, the rolling thunder of cannon, and Lee knew it was Jackson.
They began to move again, and behind them the column of soldiers reacted to the distant sounds, the men quickening their steps with a new flow of energy. Lee strained toward the horizon, looked for smoke, and then from below he saw riders, the gray hat and the tall plume: Stuart.
The horses reined up, and a cloud of hot dust followed, enveloping the group of men. Lee closed his eyes, waited, and Stuart said, “General Lee, General Jackson is engaged, in a line facing to the southeast. He is deployed along an unfinished railroad cut and is in a position of some strength. I suggest, sir, that you direct this column to his right flank. There is a small town, Gainesville, where you may turn to the left, taking the Warrenton Turnpike toward Groveton. You will find General Jackson’s right flank anchored there.”
Stuart was breathing heavily, and Lee waited for the flood of words to pass, then said, “General Stuart, my compliments. We will proceed as you have suggested. Can you advise us as to the concentration of General Pope’s army?”
“Sir, General Jackson is facing a heavy concentration of troops. We have located three corps, with at least three more corps approaching the field.”
Longstreet rubbed his nose, said quietly, “That’s near seventy thousand men. Jackson has twenty-two thousand. I hope that railroad cut is a deep one.”
Lee turned to Longstreet, said, “General, I have confidence that General Jackson will not engage the enemy unless he is confident of holding his lines. It is up to us now. We still have an opportunity. Let us move forward.”
Longstreet saluted, turned his horse around, saw the approach of Hood, who was hurrying toward the group of commanders.
Longstreet said, “General Hood, your men will lead the column, and speed is a priority. We will proceed to Gainesville, turning left and filing out in a line away from General Jackson’s right flank.”
Instantly Hood was away, riding back to his officers with the instructions, and now Lee said to Stuart, “General, take your men out to the right, to the northeast, see if you can determine if more troops are close to joining Pope’s forces. McClellan’s army is out there somewhere, and if they are moving this way, we need to know. Be mindful that your position will also serve to protect General Longstreet’s right flank.”
Stuart smiled, nodded. “Sir, I have a squadron out that way now.”
“Good, General. You will keep me informed?”
Stuart removed the hat, made a sweeping motion. “I serve only you, mon Général.”
Salutes were exchanged and Stuart rode back down, away from the column. Lee turned, saw the men pressing forward, motioned to his staff, the waiting couriers. He could feel the movement from behind, the pressure of the column, unstoppable, and he spurred his horse, leading them forward. Down the hill he saw the lines of sharpshooters, watching, waiting for him to begin moving again, and now they continued forward, down through the thinning trees.
Longstreet rode alongside, still stared out ahead, toward the low sound of the guns, which was now constant. He pointed, but Le
e had already seen a flat cloud of smoke beginning to rise over far trees.
Lee said, “General Stuart has proven himself valuable again.”
Longstreet said nothing, and Lee knew he did not approve of Stuart’s style, the flair for the dramatic.
Lee waited, then said, “He is of great value to us, General.”
Longstreet nodded, said, “I do wish . . . begging your pardon, General, but he needs to be kept on a shorter leash. He has a great love of headlines. It may cause some problems.”
“General Stuart has his ways . . . certainly different from our ways, you and me. But he is young, and he inspires the men. And if the newspapers love him, then he can inspire the people as well. There is no harm in that.”
Longstreet said nothing, and Lee focused again to the front, could see small buildings now, a few houses, and he motioned behind him. A staff officer rode up, the young Major Marshall, and Lee said, “Major, ride forward into that town, make certain there is an intersection, and determine that a left turn will lead us toward that fighting.”
“Sir!” and Marshall was quickly gone.
Longstreet looked over at Lee, smiled slightly. Lee stared straight ahead, said, “I have great confidence in General Stuart. But, General, there is no harm in being certain.”
AS LONGSTREET’S men reached the field, Jackson absorbed a daylong pounding from Pope’s forces. Waves of Federal troops poured against Jackson’s lines, were beaten back, and then replaced by fresh troops. As Jackson held to his precarious position, Longstreet’s troops spread out to the right, at a slight angle forward, so that by the next morning, Lee’s army lay in the shape of a V, with Jackson on the left and Longstreet on the right. The bulk of Pope’s army lay just outside the mouth of the V.
That night, Lee called the commanders together. He had set his headquarters up just behind the junction of the V, and his staff had secured an old cabin for him to sleep in. Jackson, Longstreet, and Stuart all arrived at eight o’clock, as requested. Lee rarely issued orders for his meetings, made the more cordial suggestion of when they should attend, but there was no confusion in the minds of his generals. Now, they had all gathered, their staffs at a respectful distance, and Lee emerged from the cabin, paused, stared up into the dark sky. It was a warm and humid night, and he welcomed the relative cool of the old log house. Stuart was the last to arrive, had just dismounted, and Jackson and Longstreet had made themselves crude seats from a pile of cut firewood.
Lee stood at the door of the cabin, adjusted his uniform, saw the three men outside watching him, lit by the bright glow from the nearby fire. Taylor stood to the side, waiting. Lee asked, “Coffee, gentlemen?”
Stuart said, “Thank you, yes, if it’s all right, sir.” Taylor moved quickly away. Lee looked at the other two.
Longstreet shook his head silently, and Jackson rose, said, “Thank you, General, I do not partake.”
“Of course, General, no matter, please, be seated.” He walked out among them, found his own seat, a thick-cut log propped upright on the bare ground. Taylor appeared, handed Stuart a tin cup and then moved back, behind Lee, and sat on the ground, his back against the side of the cabin.
Lee spoke first, always spoke first. “General Jackson, your troops performed an admirable service today. How are they faring?”
Jackson rose, stood stiffly, said, “General, I have pulled most of the units back, into the cover of the thick trees. They are somewhat battered, but they will hold their lines.”
“Back . . . into the trees? You pulled them away from the railroad cut?”
Jackson glanced at the others, then looked back at Lee. “Yes, sir. It should be better for their . . . relief. They will be ready tomorrow.”
“General, what do you suppose will happen if General Pope discovers the railroad cut has been abandoned?”
“I did consider that, sir. It can only be to our advantage. My troops can move out of the trees quickly if he attempts an advance.”
“Yes, I know. This is not a criticism, General. It might be a good plan. Our best advantage lies in the ground we now hold. It is up to General Pope to advance against that ground.”
Jackson sat, and Longstreet stared down, scratched at the ground with a stick, said slowly, “General Lee, I do not believe General Pope knows our disposition. Our deployment on the right was barely contested. He does not seem to have made any serious move to confront our lines.”
Lee stared at him, could not see his face for the wide floppy hat. All that afternoon, Longstreet had been in position to advance into the battle, could have possibly relieved the great mass of pressure on Jackson, but had not done so, had told Lee that it was not a good time, that there were too many uncertainties about the ground, about the location of Pope’s other units, those not pressing Jackson. Lee had been frustrated by the lack of action, but now it was done, and he could do nothing but look ahead. Lee knew, if Longstreet was right, if Pope did not realize the strength that lay behind the trees to his left, he might be inclined to make a very serious mistake.
“General Longstreet, are you prepared to advance your troops in the morning?”
Longstreet knew there was something implied in the words, let it go. He did not share Jackson’s raw lust for plunging ahead, had not been comfortable in an area where rolling hills and thick lines of trees made visibility difficult.
“General, we are prepared to meet the assault.”
“General Stuart, have you observed any additional forces coming our way?”
Stuart stood stiffly, held the big hat in his hands, had quickly tossed the cup aside. The presence of Jackson and Longstreet had a subduing effect on him; the brutal seriousness was intimidating. He began slowly. “General, yes, we did observe a column of troops moving down from the northeast . . . at least a corps. By dark, they were still several miles away.”
“Good. I do not expect that General Pope will receive much more assistance on this field, not by tomorrow. These are, after all, General McClellan’s troops marching toward him. They are likely to be somewhat . . . slow to advance.”
Longstreet looked up, and Lee saw his face in the firelight. Longstreet said, “General Pope is not a well-liked man. Even at the Point he had a way of talking too much, saying the wrong thing. If he has even met with his own commanders, it is likely he has very little . . . coordination.”
Lee stared at him. “What do you mean, General?”
Longstreet tossed the stick aside, stood up, stretching his back. “I mean, General, that even if General Pope is seeking the advice of his commanders, he is not likely to listen to it. He does not have confidence in anyone’s ability to lead his forces . . . but his own.”
“If you are correct, General, then he may yet pursue General Jackson’s ‘retreat.’ That will be our opportunity.”
Jackson stood again, following Longstreet’s lead, said, “General Lee, I did observe on my way here . . . there are a large number of
General Longstreet’s batteries digging in on my right flank. These could be very useful if I am attacked.”
Lee smiled. “Yes, General, General Longstreet and I have placed a heavy concentration of guns at the junction of your two lines. There is a slight rise at that point. They may have a clear view of the field, and so far it appears that General Pope is not aware they are there.”
“Then, General Lee, let us hope he provides them with a fine target.”
August 30, 1862
POPE HAD indeed convinced himself that Jackson was in retreat, and despite the observations from Generals Porter and Reynolds, who cautioned against Longstreet’s position, Pope believed that the bulk of Longstreet’s strength had moved back behind Jackson, not alongside him. The next morning, after long hours of conflicting advice and his growing impatience at what he believed was Jackson’s potential escape, he ordered his men forward.
Lee sat on a flat stump, still behind the center of the V. He had simply waited, nervous, praying, hoping that Pope would bring the attack f
orward. It was now past noon, and he stood, began to pace again, as he had done all morning. He knew his location was important, he should stay between the commands, but he could not see anything. In front of him the batteries were spread along a wide ridge, hidden by a thick line of trees, but it was these trees that kept him blind to the field. Suddenly, he heard a loud and distant noise. He had expected guns, an artillery barrage first, but this was not cannon, it was . . . men. Out to the left, in front of Jackson’s waiting troops, heavy lines of Federal infantry had emerged from the far woods, over distant ridges, and were in pursuit of what they believed to be Jackson’s withdrawal.
Lee started forward, began to run up into the trees. Behind him, his staff was moving quickly, grabbing horses, following him. He reached the tree line, and the men on the guns turned, cheered him as he moved past. He did not look at them, focused in front, trying to see. Finally, he stood at the edge of the trees, the ground dropping away in front of him, a long, shallow bowl, and he saw three lines of blue, moving from right to left, toward the railroad cut. Then he heard another sound, one he’d heard before, the sound of Jackson’s men, a high, steady, terrifying chorus. Farther to the left, behind the cut, the gray lines flooded forward, out of the trees. The field filled quickly with smoke, the sound of voices replaced by that of muskets.
“Sir!” Lee turned, saw Taylor and other staff officers. He looked back at the guns, saw the men moving, ready, and he motioned to his staff, started back to the rear. The orders came, and the guns began their deafening fire. Flashes of light and thick smoke filled the tree line. Lee watched from behind, could no longer see the great lines of troops, but knew what was now happening to them.
The Federal forces pushed hard against Jackson’s left, the troops of A. P. Hill. Once the shock of Jackson’s surprise advance had worn off, the reality was that Hill’s forces were outnumbered, and the Federals kept pushing, kept coming. Pope sent more strength into the assault, and Jackson knew that Hill was in trouble, was beginning to waver.
