by Jeff Shaara
Sheridan’s plan was straightforward, and as Chamberlain looked at the drawing, the sketches on paper, he could hear his men moving into line, horses moving past, the sound of an army pulling itself into motion. He ran his finger along the road they would march, thought, Yes, this is a very good plan.
The dismounted cavalry would assault on the left, with the three divisions of the Fifth Corps moving up on the right. The focal point of the assault for the infantry would be the right angle in Pickett’s line, with Ayres’s division striking right on the point of the angle. Crawford’s division would lead, and Griffin would follow farther out to the right, moving beyond Pickett’s flank, then wheeling to the left, to strike that part of the rebel works that spread to the north. With the cavalry doing the same on the west end, the sheer strength of the Federal assault should envelop Pickett and Fitz Lee’s entire position, completely cutting them off from the rest of Lee’s army.
They moved forward at four P.M., a quick march on hardening roads. Chamberlain rode again beside the young color bearer, Sergeant Arthur, whose name he would not forget now, had fixed itself in his mind with a strange logic. He could only see it one way, saw it every time he looked at the maps. The sergeant was named after a swamp.
He knew their right flank was vulnerable, that somewhere beyond the low hills, the rest of Lee’s army was probably in motion. Griffin had warned him to keep a sharp lookout, and Chamberlain had positioned a small force out to the right, not enough strength to fend off an attack, but at least a warning. They knew now, Lee was out there himself, the prisoners had brought the news, and Chamberlain felt a pride in that, that he’d taken his brigade across Gravelly Run right at Robert E. Lee. But somewhere, locked away inside, was a small breath of relief that he hadn’t known it at the time.
There were scattered shots to the left, far in the distance. Our cavalry, Chamberlain thought, out there, moving with us. He felt a thrill now, something different from before, from the assaults of the past few days. There was something about Sheridan, about going into a fight with the power, the good plan. Behind him the men felt it as well, and he turned in the saddle, looked back, saw the faces looking up at him. Men began to smile, the weariness of the march now past, the short rest and the light rations all they would need.
The maps had shown that the road they were on would take them straight at the place where Pickett’s line made the turn northward. He could see out to the front now, a wide space of open ground, could see Crawford’s division spread into line, moving straight ahead. There was a small bend in the road, and he was staring ahead, and suddenly there was an intersection. He pushed the horse forward, looked in both directions, a long stretch of open road, no troops, no works.
He turned, motioned to an aide, said, “Keep them moving … follow Crawford. I have to find General Griffin.”
Spurring the horse, he moved to the rear, knew Griffin was close behind. He saw the flags, reined the horse, pulled the map out of his pocket. “Sir,” he said, “it appears … we are crossing the White Oak Road. There’s no sign of the enemy.”
Griffin did not look at the map, said, “Don’t worry about maps, General. Our orders are to follow General Crawford. We’ll find somebody up here. They didn’t just go away.”
There was musket fire up ahead now, off to the right. Chamberlain turned, said, “Yes … there they are!” He listened to the small scattered shots, no sustained volley. Suddenly confused, he said, “But … that means we’re on the left. The cavalry’s on the left, we’re supposed to be on the right.”
Griffin listened, a silent pause, the shooting still scattered, far up to the right. “That’s no fight, just skirmishers. Crawford’s just running into some resistance from the east. Could be Lee, pushing this way. Back to your brigade, General. Keep an eye to the right.”
Chamberlain saluted, saw anger darkening Griffin’s face, thought, Yes, it could be Lee … but where is Pickett? He spurred the horse, moved up into the wide road, watched his troops still following Crawford’s lines. He reined the horse, thought, If Lee is to the right, then we must be way too far east.
Suddenly, there was a roar, a massive volley of muskets, the sound rolling up toward him from the west, straight down the road. There were big guns now, the hard sounds punching the air, and he raised his hand, motioned to the bugler, the command to halt the line.
He raised his glasses, stared straight down the road, could see nothing, then made out a rising cloud of smoke, the sounds still flowing out in one great wave. He looked behind him, saw the second brigade coming up, Gregory’s men, and Chamberlain yelled, “This way … wheel them around! We’re not where we’re supposed to be!”
Gregory began to move, his men flowing over the road, his lines pivoting, swinging toward the west and the vast sounds of the fight. Chamberlain moved in front of his own columns now, waved his arm, his men wheeling about as well. He glanced up above the road, could still see Crawford’s division, moving farther away, and now he could see it, understood what had happened. Yes, the maps were wrong, they had reached the White Oak Road well to the right of the enemy’s position. But Crawford … was still moving away, was moving off in the wrong direction. Chamberlain saw horsemen now, flags, could see Warren, the perfect uniform, the bright gold sash, riding hard, moving out toward Crawford. Yes, Chamberlain thought, he knows as well. Turn them around …
His men were in line now, facing west, and Chamberlain looked around, thought, It isn’t supposed to be like this. There should be orders. I hope … this is the right move.
Then he saw more horsemen, Griffin, with Bartlett, the Third Brigade. Griffin was waving to him, waving the sword Chamberlain had given him, furiously waving his hand, and Chamberlain saw him pointing, the clear sign: yes, go, take them into the fight.
THE CAVALRY HAD BEGUN THE FIGHT, SLAMMING HARD INTO THE rebel front, pushing forward across the road. On the right, Ayres’s division, having moved up across the White Oak Road, was suddenly blasted from the left, and moved out just beyond Pickett’s flank, where it was hit hard from Pickett’s line. Leading two-thirds of Griffin’s division, Chamberlain could not see Ayres’s fight, rode down through a shallow ravine, then up, in sight of the heavy earthworks Pickett’s men had spread up to the north. The volleys were blowing down across the road, Ayres’s men pushed back by the surprise, trying to hold their position. On this end of the rebel position, Ayres was the only target, and the rebel muskets ripped his lines, their big guns throwing great bursts of canister into the startled blue troops.
Chamberlain tried to see Ayres, looked for the division flags, but the smoke boiled up from the low ground, the small patches of woods down below the road. In front of him he could see big guns swinging around, the muskets now pointing into his own troops, and Chamberlain turned, yelled, “Forward!”
The wave of blue surged down through the shallow depression, then climbed up, and was quickly on the rebel works. Now the smoke was in front of him, the muskets firing all along the works, the sounds whistling past him. His men were climbing the walls en masse. The firing slowed, and there were the awful sounds of men against men, bayonets and clubbing muskets. He still looked for Ayres, thought, I should tell him we are here, tell him what is happening. He glanced up toward the north, could see nothing, no sign of Crawford, of the rest of the corps.
He spurred the horse, moved down a short hill, fought the smoke, climbed up on the road, moved below it. He could see small trees, thick brush, musket fire from below, the fire from Ayres’s men. There were big Federal guns there now, and the sharp blasts hit the rebel works hard, shattering the dirt and logs. He pushed the horse on, searching, looking for horses, suddenly saw a different flag, a small man on a huge black horse, stopped, recognized Phil Sheridan.
Sheridan glared at him with black fury, said, “Well, by God, that’s what I want to see! General officers at the front! Where’s your command, where’s the rest of your commanders?”
Chamberlain pointed toward the north,
ducked under a sudden blast of wind, the impact of the shell tearing into the brush behind Sheridan. “Sir, General Warren is with Crawford’s division. General Griffin instructed me to bring two brigades to support General Ayres.”
Sheridan looked toward the north, his anger growing, said, “Ayres … I don’t know where he is … but yes, take your men into the flank, good, yes! Do it! Take command of anyone you see here, any infantry! Break them, dammit!”
Chamberlain started to answer, his arm rising in salute, and there was a sudden blast close behind him, the horse bolting forward. Chamberlain regained control, then spurred the animal, was quickly gone from Sheridan. He moved now below the road, thought, No, I don’t want him that angry at me. He saw a line of blue coming up from the thick brush, looked for officers, saw a flag. They were from Ayres’s division, the Third Brigade. He moved quickly, saw a familiar face, Jim Gwyn, reined the horse. Gwyn’s face was red and sweating, with a small flicker of panic.
Chamberlain said, “General Gwyn … what are your orders? Where is General Ayres?”
Gwyn looked at Chamberlain with relief, someone who might know something, said, “I have no orders. I’ve lost General Ayres … this brush is too thick. We’re cut off.”
Chamberlain could hear musket fire again, the sounds cutting the air around him, Gwyn’s men now in plain sight of the rebel works. He turned, saw blue on the right, above the road, his men still fighting the rebels up close. He looked at Gwyn, saw a man waiting for instructions, thought now of Sheridan: He told me … take command.
“General, come with me. Bring your men forward. I will take responsibility. You shall have the credit. Let me have your brigade for a moment!”
Gwyn saluted him, still waiting for orders.
Chamberlain saw the men watching him and he yelled, “Forward, right oblique!”
Gwyn turned, repeated the order, and the blue line began to move forward, climbing up toward the road, straight into the fight where Chamberlain’s men were holding a wide stronghold in the rebel works. Chamberlain moved his horse to one side, waited for the line to move by, then rode up alongside, thought of the salute, thought, He probably outranks me.
He looked farther down, saw more flags, thought, It must be Ayres. He jerked the horse, spurred it hard. He rode behind Gwyn’s line, was suddenly surrounded by horsemen, Sheridan again. Sheridan was more angry than before, red-faced, waving a fist close to Chamberlain’s face. “What the hell are you doing?”
Chamberlain pointed at the flags, at Ayres now riding toward them, didn’t know what Sheridan was asking. Sheridan ignored Ayres, said, “You’re firing into my cavalry!”
Chamberlain looked up toward the rebel lines, the fight now swelling into a new roar of sound, Gwyn’s men disappearing over the wall. Chamberlain felt the heat rising in his face, looked at Sheridan, held it for a moment, then said, “Then the cavalry is in the wrong place. One of us will have to get out of the way! What will you have me do, General?”
Sheridan stared at him with wide-eyed shock, his mouth moving slowly, and Chamberlain was still angry, thought, Well, that may be the last thing I say to him.
Sheridan turned, his mouth still open, looked up across the field, looked back at Chamberlain again, said, “Well … don’t fire into my cavalry!”
Now Ayres was there, and Chamberlain let out a long breath. Sheridan recognized Ayres, yelled, louder, “General Ayres, you are firing into my cavalry!”
Ayres leaned forward, looked at Chamberlain, and Chamberlain thought, I should tell him, said quickly, a short burst, “Sir, Gwyn is in on the right.”
Ayres glanced up, searching, nodded to Chamberlain, looked at Sheridan, said, “General, we are firing at the people who are firing at us! I don’t hear any carbine shots … those are muskets, the enemy’s muskets. I ought to know, General!”
Sheridan’s face exploded into red again. Abruptly, he jerked at his horse, rode away through the blue lines moving up from behind. Chamberlain watched him, thought, My cavalry? I thought it was our cavalry.
Ayres was watching Sheridan as well, then looked briefly at Chamberlain, said, “Fine work, General. We are back in the fight.”
Chamberlain saluted. “We’re in the works, sir.” He turned, the musket fire slowing, said, “I would suggest, sir … that way.”
Ayres shouted, and a bugler blew out a short command. The wave of blue began to move forward, adding to the strength, pushing into the rebel works, the fight now moving farther above the road. Ayres looked again at Chamberlain, said, “Don’t fire into my men, General.”
HE HAD MOVED PAST THE REBEL WORKS, HIS OWN MEN, STRENGTHened by Ayres’s division, now moving the rebels back. There was still a fight, small pockets of rebels, led by officers who would not retreat. The fight had become disorganized, chaotic, and as the men in blue moved forward, there were sudden bursts of fire all around, hand-to-hand fighting rolling across the line as small groups of rebels tried to hold their ground.
He moved again with his own brigade, the staff watching him with relief, men who were becoming used to the man who did not obey what they had all been trained to recite: one hundred fifty yards behind the lines.
The fight was in all directions now, rebels suddenly appearing out of small depressions, over low hills. Chamberlain was looking behind them, saw a mass of troops emerge from brush. His heart jumped, and he yelled, “Turn … prepare to fire … by the rear rank!” The men close to him spun quickly around, saw the rebels moving close and raised their muskets. Suddenly, the rebels began to drop their muskets, hands went up, and the hand-to-hand combat was no longer combat at all.
The rebels gathered around the raised bayonets of the blue troops, men shouting, “Surrender … we surrender!”
Chamberlain stared in amazement, saw many rebels now, many more than the men they were surrendering to, and the blue troops were backing up slowly, nervous, unsure. Chamberlain thought, If they see how few we are, any one of them … they can just pick up their muskets.
“To the rear!” he shouted, pointing. Glancing down at his men, he motioned with his hand, the urgent silent command, spread out, move around them. Quickly, the prisoners were eased away from their muskets, and slowly began to drift back, away from the fight. He watched them for a moment, thought, Now that was interesting …
The fight was still in front of him, and he could see more groups of rebels moving to the rear, escorted by the bayonets of their enemy.
He moved forward again, saw a hard line of rebels, stronger. His men were kneeling, firing into brush, small stands of trees. The volleys flew out in both directions now, and Chamberlain moved the horse forward, was surrounded by bodies, down in the tall grass, realized the horse was stepping right across many dead, many more wounded. The sounds began to rise up from the grass around him, the horrible cries that he had heard on so many fields, so many bloody fights. He still moved forward, dropped down into a shallow depression, saw his men huddled close to the ground, a long line now stopped, men holding tight to the muskets, waiting for … something, as though if they just held here, in this one safe place, it would end. They began to see him, and men slowly stood, watching him. He pointed up, over the rise in front of them, the strong line of rebels still in place, still full of the fight, said, “Up, move forward! It’s almost done! We have broken their flank!”
More men stood, and he looked around, saw officers, a young lieutenant, and Chamberlain said, “Get them up, they want to follow you! Lead them!”
The young man looked at him, dazed, his eyes blank. Chamberlain saw the man’s shirt now, saw blood, a dark stain, and the man said nothing, stared past him. Chamberlain looked beyond the man, erased him quickly from his mind, gazed out across the wide depression. There was another officer, familiar. Chamberlain fought for the name … yes, Major Glenn, and Chamberlain knew now, these men … the 198th Pennsylvania, thought, These are fighting men, there is no line anywhere they cannot cross. He felt a rush of energy. Yes, we will push, or captu
re them all!
He yelled to Glenn, “Major, get these men up! If you break that line you shall have a colonel’s commission!” Glenn saluted, grinning, began to move, and Chamberlain thought, Yes, he always had the fire, then thought of himself, the green commander who didn’t know how to do any of this, just that it had to be done. Chamberlain watched Glenn move up the hill. This is your time, he thought. Make your mark on these men, take them into the fight!
Glenn shouted, “Boys, will you follow me?”
There was a cheer, the men moving up the rise, a hard surge forward, and now the rebels could see their targets, and a sudden blast poured from the line of logs, but the men did not stop, rushed forward as one wave, were now up and over the low works. Chamberlain spurred the horse, moved up behind them, heard the voices, loud and strong, the sounds of the fight now swept away by the sounds of the fire in his men.
It was over in a few minutes, and he rode forward again, felt a strange pride. I can tell them … to do anything. We cannot be stopped! He wanted to laugh, felt alive, the excitement taking over. The job was done, the work, leading the men, commanding the brigade, now something else. He said the word to himself … victory, wanted to yell it, waved his hat, something he had never done, something from a storybook, the glorious thrill, the pure joy.
Men were falling back now, many with prisoners, small groups, then larger ones. He wanted to count them, thought, No, we will learn that soon enough. But I want to know …
