The Civil War Trilogy: Gods and Generals / the Killer Angels / the Last Full Measure

by Michael Shaara

  Lee said, “General, are you suggesting that General Stoneman is attempting to duplicate your . . . accomplishments?”

  “All I can tell, sir, is he’s taken several thousand men, is moving down along the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, trying to tear up whatever he can, and he has already sent some units toward the east, well below us, sir. By now he is completely cut off from General Hooker’s command. They may even be heading toward Richmond, sir! Maybe General Stoneman . . . well, maybe he wants to see his name in the Richmond papers.”

  Stuart was glowing now, and Lee could not believe it. If Stuart was right, Hooker’s cavalry, the critical eyes of the Federal Army, was on their own, possibly to make a sweep through central Virginia that would be an annoyance, but little else. Stuart had made the same type of ride, twice before, had severely embarrassed the Federal command by riding completely around their army without any serious obstacles, and without any substantial gain. It was not something of which Lee approved, but the grand show, the sheer audacity of it, had been of great benefit to morale and was trumpeted loudly by the newspapers, both North and South. Surely, Lee thought, there is more than that . . . this cannot be just a glorified parade.

  “General, please keep me informed what the young Mr. Lee reports. I do not want ten thousand Federal cavalry suddenly appearing on our flank.”

  “There will be no surprises, General.”

  Lee turned, walked over to a small fire, and Stuart followed. It was very late, and Lee suddenly felt a great need for sleep, a thickening fog in the brain. Taylor was poking the fire, trying to stifle a yawn. Lee said, “Major, you may retire. We will have a long day tomorrow.”

  Taylor stood, felt another yawn coming, clamped it down, saluted, and quickly moved away. Lee felt his own yawn building, and he stretched his back, twisting slightly.

  “General Stuart, in the morning, General Hooker will find that we have moved out to meet him. We are constructing a line of defense from the river to the north, down across the main roads. I do not believe the force that is below Fredericksburg is a threat at this time. I have ordered General Jackson to move his corps away from these hills, to support General Anderson and General McLaws. General Jackson will be in command of the field.”

  Stuart looked out along the top of the hill, started to say something, and Lee said, “We are not abandoning these hills, General. I have placed General Early’s division up here, spread out in a thin line. He will do what he can to convince General Sedgwick that we are still up here in force.” The fog in his brain had cleared. He felt a rush of energy, and the words came quickly. “I do not believe General Hooker wants the fight to be below Fredericksburg, and so I do not believe General Sedgwick will advance against us. But I do not want General Hooker to move the rest of his army any farther south. General Stuart, you will do what you can to impede his movement that way, toward Gordonsville. If there is to be a fight, we must make it quickly, before General Sedgwick learns we have pulled away from him. If he sees there is only weak opposition, he will certainly move up and occupy these hills. We cannot fight a battle in two directions. . . .”

  Stuart listened hard, stared at Lee. It was plain and clear, and Stuart suddenly felt overwhelmed, felt something rising in him, loud and excited. He smiled again, wanted to put his hands on Lee’s shoulders, show him the affection, but it would not happen, and he tried to hold it in, abruptly made another deep bow, swept the ground with his hat.

  “Yes, sir. I will keep you informed, sir.”

  Lee nodded, was finished. The words had drained him, and he felt the fog returning in a heavy wave. He turned away from the small fire, moved wearily toward his tent and with a soft voice said, “You are the eyes of this army, General.”

  45. HANCOCK

  Friday, May 1, 1863

  THE FOG had been thick, was now burning away. The men had been up since first light, had formed early and waited in the roads, but there were no orders. Now, finally, the word came from the old mansion and they began to move.

  They were to advance eastward on three roads, the two direct routes toward Fredericksburg, the Orange Turnpike and Plank Road, and by a third route, River Road, which left the Wilderness above and moved in a direct northeast line toward Bank’s Ford. Two divisions of Meade’s Fifth Corps had this assignment, with the intended goal of opening up that crossing for Federal troops and creating a more direct line of communication and supply between Hooker’s main force and Sedgwick’s corps below Fredericksburg. Slocum’s Twelfth Corps would advance on Plank Road, to the south, supported by Howard’s Eleventh, and between these two routes, George Sykes’s division of Meade’s corps would lead the way, followed by Couch’s Second Corps, with Hancock in front, close behind Sykes. The Third Corps, led by Dan Sickles, would remain north of Chancellorsville, acting as a general reserve. This advance involved a force of nearly seventy thousand troops.

  Hancock rode behind the last of Sykes’s column, watched thin clouds of steam rise out of the thick brush on both sides of the road. The fog had given way to a light rain, but it had been brief, thankfully, had not mired the roads, and now it was clear and warm, and nearly noon.

  They would not have far to march before the Wilderness would break, give way to the open fields, precious room to maneuver, to place the cannon where they could actually see their targets . . . if there were any targets.

  Couch had been with him earlier, before the march, expecting the quick order to move out, and when the orders did not come, Couch had gone back to see Hooker. Hancock did not know if the orders had finally come because of anything Couch had done, but he knew—all the commanders knew—something was wrong at headquarters. The soldiers still had the high spirit of the day before, knew they had done something important, a quick and successful march by this huge army, and the campsites had been lively places. This morning they had not delayed falling into line, were moving now with the quick step of men who have the sense that this time they had the upper hand, that the fight would be theirs.

  The line in front of Hancock began to make a long slow climb toward a slight rise that lifted the ground far out on both sides. He could see the advance now, up in front, small flags, and suddenly there was a long thin line of smoke, but not heavy. It was the skirmish line, the first opposition to their grand sweep toward Lee. Sykes’s column began to disperse, moving with difficulty off the road and into the wiry brush. Hancock rode forward, past shouting officers, intent on finding General Sykes, to see if he knew yet what was in front of him.

  There had been no word from either of the other advance columns. The terrain made it impossible for communication, but there were no sounds, not yet, no deep thunder of the battle, and so they would press on.

  Sykes’s lines did not slow, pushed the rebel skirmishers back up the long hill, and Hancock still rode forward, past more troops. He saw Sykes now, a cluster of blue uniforms, and Sykes was directing his officers, spreading the companies out across the road.

  Sykes saw Hancock, raised a hand, said, “Ah, good morning . . . good day, General. All is well so far. We seem to have awakened a few rebels. No matter, they’ve scattered away.”

  “A skirmish line, General?”

  “Barely. They didn’t really try to slow us down, just took a shot and moved out. Probably a scouting party. Any word from the rear?”

  “Not yet. I expect General Couch to return soon. Have you heard anything—”

  “From Meade? No, and nothing down below us either. Looks like easy going, General.”

  Hancock focused on the far woods, tried to hear . . . something. Sykes’s men began to file back into the road, reforming the column, and now they were moving again, up the long hill.

  Sykes was waving to more officers, directing them forward, and he said to Hancock, “If you can, General, ride with me. Your men are close behind, stay in front for a bit. We should break out of this infernal thicket just beyond that hill, give us a little room to move. Should be able to see Slocum’s lines, down to
the right. How does it feel?”

  “Feel?” Hancock shook his head, didn’t understand.

  “Knowing you’re running right up the back of Robert E. Lee? We may have him this time . . . finally have him. I always thought it would have been McClellan, we would have done this, ended this with Mac. Never figured Joe Hooker to be the one.”

  Hancock nodded, said nothing. Maybe it was true. If Lee felt the threat from in front, from Sedgwick, and then felt the greater force coming in behind him . . . he might simply be gone, pulled out. With his smaller numbers, he thought, it might be the smart move to withdraw south of Fredericksburg, dig in closer to Richmond, make Hooker bring the Federal Army to him. And we will have gained . . . what? he wondered. Ground? But maybe more important, Hooker will have driven Lee back, and once that begins, we may be able to keep driving him back. He is outmanned, outgunned, outsupplied. And maybe today he was outmaneuvered.

  Hancock began to feel some excitement, thought, Yes, it is working, the quick march, dividing the army. He looked at Sykes, who was focused to the front, to the moving line of troops.

  “Yes, General, press on! My men are anxious to see the backs of Lee’s army!” He felt foolish saying it, the kind of mindless boasting heard so often around the camps, around the headquarters of bad commanders.

  Sykes looked at him, smiled. “Yes, and don’t forget that Stonewall. Let’s see how fast he can run!”

  There was more firing now, a rolling wave of muskets, and toward the front of the line the men were spreading out again. Sykes began to ride, moving forward, and Hancock followed, sped the horse closer. Now they could see the crest of the hill. Spread on both sides of the road, out through a narrow clearing in the deep brush, was a solid gray line, and the muskets began again, fresh and regular volleys, and Sykes was yelling, directing the men. Hancock saw that this was not a skirmish line, Lee had come out to meet them, was waiting for them. He stared ahead for a moment, then turned the horse, rode back down the hill toward the front of his division. His staff was there, waiting, expectant faces, and he thought of the ridiculous conversation with Sykes, the arrogant notion that Stonewall Jackson would ever run.

  THEY HAD met the lines of Anderson and McLaws. Jackson did not want to wait, knew that once the Federal columns came out of the Wilderness, they would have the advantage of mobility. While Jackson’s own divisions were quickly moving toward the field, preparing to link up with Anderson, Jackson was already there, had reached the strong defensive lines Anderson had prepared during the night, the trenches and felled trees. It was a strong line, but Jackson would not wait for the slow advance of the Federals, had ordered Anderson and McLaws forward, out of the trenches, toward the edge of the Wilderness.

  Hancock pointed from the center of the road, spreading his regiments out into the woods. He could still see Sykes’s lines moving forward, still climbing the hill, and now his own men were ready, began to advance up, close behind Sykes. The sounds were steady now, a dull echo in the dense mass of brush. Down to the south he could hear more sounds: Slocum was engaged as well; Jackson’s lines were spread down across both roads.

  Hancock stood in the stirrups, tried to see beyond the brush, but it was hopeless. How can they put up that much of a front? he wondered. His mind began to turn quickly. If Lee is here, he thought, if he has come out to meet us, then who is on the hills in front of Sedgwick? So, if Lee has turned this way, then it is up to Sedgwick to come up over and around the hills, and we can still squeeze Lee between us.

  His men were pushing slowly through the thickets, still moving up the hill, and now he saw a flag, riders. It was Couch.

  Couch pulled the horse up, stared forward toward the crest of the hill. “General Hancock, are your men engaged?”

  “No, sir. But Sykes is pushing them back. He appears to have control of the high point of the hill. The clear open ground is not far beyond. If we can advance out of this mess, we will have an open field of fire.”

  Couch turned to the south, listening. Hancock said, “Slocum is engaged as well. If the rebels are giving way, it must be a thin line in front of us. We have the momentum, and it seems we have the strength.”

  Couch nodded, looked back to the north. “Meade is still advancing on the River Road. I left headquarters when we heard the first sounds from out here. But so far Meade is unopposed. Lee will surely have some force guarding Bank’s Ford, but with two divisions, Meade should be able to clear them out.” Couch was staring hard, intense, bright flashing eyes, and Hancock did not recall seeing the small man with such energy, such animated movement.

  “Sir, what of Sedgwick? Is he advancing?”

  Couch did not answer, still stared ahead to the fight.

  “Sir, is General Sedgwick advancing on Lee’s position? If Lee has moved a strong force this way, the hills above Fredericksburg could be taken without—”

  “General Hooker has ordered Sedgwick not to attack, to just make a demonstration. General Hooker has ordered Sedgwick to dig in, to prepare to receive an attack.”

  Hancock leaned forward, stared at Couch, was not sure he understood. “An attack? From where?”

  “From Jackson . . . from Lee’s forces on the hill.”

  Hancock was confused, said, “Then who is that in front of us?”

  Couch waited, looked again to the north, heard nothing, said, “If we had some cavalry, we might have the answer to that.”

  Ahead of them the fighting began to slow, and they could see blue troops on the crest of the hill. Couch began to ride forward, and Hancock rode with him, leading their staffs. The crest of the hill was covered with bodies, and the dead were being pulled aside, off the road. All around them wounded were being attended, men from both sides. From the top of the hill they could see to the east, out past the edge of the Wilderness. Well below, the gray lines were reforming, had been pushed back, but now the Federal forces had the high ground, and far in the distance they could see the dark shapes of the hills between them and Fredericksburg.

  The ridge ran north and south for miles, and down to the right they could begin to see Slocum’s lines, also in numbers too great for the thin line of Jackson’s defense.

  Couch was looking through field glasses, watching the emerging lines of blue. Hancock saw Sykes riding up toward the crest, back from the advance lines of his troops.

  Sykes saluted, said, “General Couch, welcome to the field, sir. We have won the day . . . we have prevailed! The rebels have been pushed back to the edge of the open ground, and I am ordering my guns up to this hill. Have you heard from General Meade, sir? I must report to him.”

  Couch shook his head, pointed toward the north. “He’s still up there, as far as I know. If he’s had as good a day as you have, he may be sitting at Bank’s Ford.”

  Sykes looked toward the rear of his lines, saw horses bringing up the first of his field guns. There was an officer leading, and Sykes yelled, “Here, over here, there’s a small clearing. . . .” The horses moved that way, a clatter of wheels, and Sykes said, “General Couch, do you have any orders, sir? Should we press the attack?”

  Couch turned, looked back at Hancock’s troops, who had filled the road behind them, down along the hill. Hancock looked with him, thought, Yes, we cannot be stopped. We are too many.

  In the distance there was a man on a horse, moving awkwardly along the side of the road, pressing hard up the hill toward them. Couch said, “That’s Loveless . . . from Hooker.” They waited, and the man made his way up the hill, waving a piece of paper.

  “Sir . . . your orders, sir!”

  The man had called out with unusual energy, was looking now to the front, cautiously, where a few bursts of musket fire still echoed through the woods.

  Couch took the paper, read quietly, and Hancock watched his face, tried to see. Couch’s expression did not change. Suddenly, he gripped the paper hard, crushing it, stared ahead at nothing. “We have been ordered to withdraw.”

  Hancock waited for more, said, “Y
ou mean, my division?”

  Couch looked at him, grim and hard, said, “No, General. Both divisions. The army. General Hooker is recalling all units back to Chancellorsville. We are to form a defensive line, back where we began this morning.”

  Sykes stared at Couch, his mouth open slightly, and he turned to the east, pointed. “Sir, we have pushed the enemy back! The field is ours, we must advance . . . General Meade . . . I must find out if General Meade knows—”

  “No, General. The order clearly names your division as well. There is no mention of General Meade. I would assume he has received an order just like this one.”

  Hancock looked to the south, toward the far clearing where Slocum’s troops could be seen. “They’re leaving. Slocum is withdrawing already.”

  Couch followed Hancock’s gaze, said, “Of course, he follows orders. We all follow orders.”

  Sykes was shaking his head, waved an arm wildly, said, “No! If Slocum pulls back we are exposed! Our flank is open!”

  Hancock was still looking toward the south and the small sounds of distant muskets. He looked to the clearing beside the road, to Sykes’s cannon, the men unhooking and turning the guns, pointing toward the east. He looked back at Couch, who was listening to Sykes still protesting, his voice getting louder.

  Men were beginning to gather, men who knew their commander to be a solid leader, a soldier who led a tough division, mostly regulars, veterans of many bad and costly fights. Now the men were beginning to understand, heard Sykes say, “We cannot withdraw! General, we simply cannot!”

  The soldiers began to close in around the men on the horses, and Hooker’s courier was glancing sharply around, nervous. A man yelled out, “We ain’t turnin’ back! We got the rebs on the run!”