House Divided

by Ben Ames Williams

  Yes, and perhaps Lee was right to try this last throw of the dice. It could hardly bring victory; it would be costly; but it would shake Meade and make him even more cautious than his habit, and so give them a respite and a chance to retreat. Longstreet thought with a sudden clarity that this battle they were to fight today was actually a rear guard action. Win or lose, Lee must retreat. He had not strength enough to exploit victory. Tonight, even if they broke the Union center and shattered the force in front of them, their own army would be reduced in strength, its ammunition spent. A week ago it had seemed possible to deal such a blow that the war’s end would be in sight; now, after two days of fruitless and exhausting battle, there was nothing to hope for but escape back to Virginia, back to long and desperate defense.

  Yet General Lee had certainly not entertained this thought. He must be telling himself this morning that if they could split Meade’s center and roll back its flanks they would open the gates to Baltimore and Washington. But that was an illusion. If they were victors today they would have say fifty thousand men fit for battle; but they would be encumbered with their own wounded, and with thousands of prisoners, and they would have little or no remaining ammunition except what they might capture from the enemy. Their army would be almost as badly crippled by victory as by defeat.

  Longstreet shook his head, thrusting the truth away. No matter. He would do as much as he was able to do. His attention returned to the present task. The battle on Ewell’s front seemed to be slackening; but behind them to the southward sudden firing suggested that Meade was feeling for Law’s flank. Well, Law must meet that move in the best way he could.

  They paused where Ranse Wright’s brigade was taking position; and Lee spoke to General Wright. “General,” he suggested, “tell General Longstreet what you learned when you went over to find those people yesterday. We expect to follow your example in a little while now.”

  “Why, it’s easy to go over there from here,” Wright explained. “There’s a ravine down in the swale beyond the road that offers a chance to correct your lines. But the ground north of here offers no good place to pause. General Posey could not even cross the road yesterday. That’s what let the enemy in on my left. We were right in their guns, but we had to withdraw; and to come back is harder than to go there.” He added, harshly to hide his sorrow: “My brigade lost seven hundred men yesterday, General. You can see our dead lying out there in the sun to mark the line we took.”

  Lee did not speak, and Longstreet said in a kindly tone: “Thank you, sir. I will tell Pickett to use that swale of which you speak.” As they rode on, he spoke to Lee. “Pettigrew must guard Pickett’s left, General.”

  Lee nodded absently and they turned back through the trees to come out behind the crest of the ridge. There, hidden from the enemy, regiments and brigades were moving into position. Longstreet paused to speak to brigade commanders, directing that the regimental officers be led through the woods to see the task before them and to note their guide points. Toward the front there rose a sudden clamor of guns. He sent Moxley Sorrel to see what was happening, and Sorrel reported that enemy skirmishers had tried to seize a house and farm this side of the road on Pettigrew’s front. The Third Corps artillery was battering the house to drive them away.

  “We may need those shells later,” Longstreet commented. Alexander’s guns, he noticed approvingly, were silent. Colonel Alexander would use his ammunition only for a worth-while end.

  Turning southward again they passed Pickett’s brigades lying in the shade, and the men without command rose and took off their hats and stood while Lee rode by. “Well, General,” Lee commented, “those Virginians of Pickett’s will do anything men can do.”

  General Hill joined them and they returned through the trees to the front toward the enemy, and paused behind Alexander’s batteries. Longstreet could see skirmishers, thrown forward to protect the guns, lying in the tall grass in the blazing sun. It was even hotter today than it had been yesterday. The firing on Ewell’s front and on Law’s had died away. The house the Federal skirmishers had tried to occupy was burning cheerfully; flames ate their way through the roof and blossomed from the windows, and smoke billowed briskly upward. The enemy skirmishers had fallen back nearer the road, and an occasional smoke puff marked their positions, but these scattering shots came at long intervals. There was a pressing quiet in the still and stifling air.

  Well, this quiet would not last. Longstreet imagined the interweaving pattern of shot and shell and canister and grape which presently would scour those fields. Then General Hill, as though driven by an uncontrollable longing, said urgently: “General Lee, let me throw my whole corps into this assault.”

  Lee shook his head. “No, no, General. We must keep something in reserve.”

  Longstreet marked the word, and he understood. Lee knew well enough that against them lay heavy odds. He would not have ordered this desperate venture unless he had considered and rejected every alternative. Then General Lee lifted his hand in salutation; and he and Hill turned away, leaving to Longstreet the conduct of the day.

  Longstreet felt the weight of responsibility press down upon him, felt for a moment hopelessly and dreadfully alone; so it was a relief when Sorrel approached. Sorrell’s eyes were shining; he had a letter in his hand.

  “General,” he said proudly, “my commission as lieutenant colonel has just arrived.”

  “Is there mail from Richmond?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Longstreet wished to ask whether there was a letter for him, some word of Louisa; but if there were, Sorrel would have told him. “Well, Colonel, that commission was well-earned.” He forced himself to concentrate on the problem here at hand. “Please ask General Pettigrew and General Trimble to spread their steps when they move. They must align with Pickett.”

  Sorrel cantered off to deliver this direction; and Alexander rode up to join Longstreet. They sat surveying the gentle valley across which fifteen thousand men presently must march into a blast of fire. “Well, Colonel,” Longstreet asked, “any enemy activity?”

  “They tried the range once or twice; but we were careful not to give them a worth-while target.”

  “How many guns have you in hand?”

  “Seventy-five here, and eight off to the right to guard our flank; and General Pendleton offered me some of the Third Corps Howitzers to go forward with the infantry. I have them ready back behind the woods. They’ll be useful at short range.”

  “I’ll send you word when to open. You’d better arrange a signal to the guns.”

  When Alexander was gone, Longstreet dismounted. A courier from General Law reported that enemy cavalry had threatened his right rear, so that he had to swing his flank to face them. Longstreet thought Kershaw had better draw his men back a little to conform, and he sent the order to General McLaws. The adjutant of the Washington Artillery came to say they were ready to give the signal for the batteries to open.

  “Tell Colonel Walton I will send him word,” Longstreet directed, and he drew away to be alone. It was his responsibility now to give the order that would send many men to die. When death might clear a road to victory, he never hesitated; but he could see no path to victory today. Still vainly hoping that some alternative might be found, he wrote a note to Colonel Alexander, writing slowly, forming every word with a conscious effort.

  Colonel: If the artillery fire does not have the effect to drive off the enemy or greatly demoralize him, so as to make our effort pretty certain, I would prefer that you should not advise Pickett to make the charge. I shall rely a great deal upon your judgment to determine the matter, and shall expect you to let General Pickett know when the moment offers.

  He signed the note in due form, looked up, called the nearest courier. “Give this to Colonel Alexander with my compliments.” When the note had gone, he who had never been tired in his life was terribly tired. He walked to a near-by tree, lay down and closed his eyes; he lay there trying to find some device that might
at least reduce the losses of the attacking columns. Tears stung his closed eyes, and his thoughts blurred. It would be heaven to sleep and wake and find this moment gone. Why, he was crying like a child! The men must not see him. He turned on his side, buried his face in his arms, brushed his eyes on his sleeve.

  A horseman approached and he sat up. Here was the reply from Colonel Alexander.

  General: I will only be able to judge the effect of our fire on the enemy by his return fire, as his infantry is little exposed to view and the smoke will obscure the field. If, as I infer from your note, there is any alternative to this attack, it should be carefully considered before opening our fire, for it will take all the artillery ammunition we have left to test this one, and if the result is unfavorable we will have none left for another effort. And even if this is entirely successful, it can only be so at a very bloody cost.

  So Alexander too feared the results of this attack! A bloody cost? God Almighty, why should Alexander tell him that? Why not let him forget it? He wrote in harsh haste: “The intention is to advance the infantry if the artillery has the desired effect.... When that moment arrives, advise General Pickett . . .” He sent off the message, thinking that even this paltering exchange of meaningless notes used up a little time. Something might yet happen to avert the catastrophe into which this army was about to plunge. In a sudden concern for the safety of his right he decided that General McLaws had better withdraw Kershaw above the road to his original ground of yesterday, and he sent messengers to Kershaw and to McLaws.

  The courier returned with a last note from Colonel Alexander. “When our fire is at its best,” the Colonel wrote, “I will advise General Pickett to advance.”

  So there could be no more delay, no escape. Longstreet grimly accepted the inescapable. He wrote to Colonel Walton: “Let the batteries open.” Let the guns go! Let them do their best! Let Pickett advance, God help him! God help them all!

  After an interval when he thought his heart had stopped he heard the signal guns, one and then another! A moment more, and then the ground shook to the concussion of a hundred cannon, smoke blossomed from every muzzle, yonder against the sky appeared for an instant the speeding black dots that were shot and shell arcing toward the enemy. So! With the beginning of the cannonade, Longstreet’s thoughts cleared. He considered once more the arrangement of the attacking columns. Heth’s division, led today by Pettigrew, would be on the left of the front line; Pickett’s on the right. Pickett was five thousand men; he might be not quite so many, but five thousand men was near enough. Pettigrew? Well, a month ago Heth had counted seventy-five hundred men; but he had fought a hard battle day before yesterday, had taken heavy losses. Pettigrew probably led a scant five thousand men today, with Pender’s two brigades—commanded today by Trimble—to give him backing. Add Anderson for support in depth and you brought the count to twelve brigades, say fifteen thousand muskets.

  And all these brigades would converge upon that clump of trees over on the opposite ridge, Pickett’s division angling in from the right, while Pettigrew on the left advanced almost straight ahead. The pattern of attack was clear in Longstreet’s mind. Pettigrew’s four brigades and two of Pickett’s in front, Trimble’s brigades and Armistead to back them, Anderson ready to help where help was needed. The attacking front would be a flexible line of about nine thousand men, a line perhaps a mile in length; the second line would be more than half as long. When enemy fire thinned the front ranks, they would dress toward the center. At first the left would be weaker than the right; but the right had farther to go, and must by that much longer be under enemy fire. Longstreet had arranged his forces so that the right might accept heavy losses and still be strong enough to drive home the attack.

  He tried to anticipate the development of this battle. Assume that of nine thousand men in the assaulting front, six thousand reached Meade’s lines; assume that with four or five thousand comrades coming in support they pierced that line. Having accomplished that miracle, the ten thousand survivors would face on either flank enemy masses of twice or thrice their number, pressing in to squeeze them in a terrible vise. A year ago, if you cut a Yankee line, the fragments broke and fled; but these Northern men were better soldiers now than they had been a year ago. His First Corps had broken their line yesterday; but instead of turning tail as they would once have done, they had fought fiercely and well to mend the break; and for lack of support to the attackers, they had succeeded. Had General Lee made sure that support would be ready today? Had he given the orders necessary to exploit success if it were achieved, to reinforce the assaulting column and roll back the broken enemy to right and left? Ten thousand men —if that many lived to reach the goal over there across the valley—could accomplish nothing alone; but presumably General Lee would see to it that the Third Corps, the brigades not already involved, would rush to take a hand. And presumably Ewell had his orders.

  Longstreet dismissed the question. His task was to break the enemy center. If that were done, it would remain for Lee to use to the utmost the advantage gained.

  The guns were roaring, the Yankee guns were answering and there was as yet no slackening of the fire on either side. Longstreet judged that since this gigantic cannonade began, an hour had passed. A courier from General Law reported enemy cavalry on his right rear, and Longstreet called Captain Goree.

  “Yankee cavalry are feeling Law,” he said. “We’ve some troopers guarding the trains. Take them and any horse artillery you can find, and keep Law’s flanks clear.”

  Goree galloped away, and Longstreet reflected that the assault here, when it opened, would relieve the pressure on Law. He mounted and rode to join Colonel Alexander near the guns; and from that new position he tried to appraise the effect of the cannonade. The fire from the rocky hill which Lieutenant Wentz called Little Round Top was light and inconsiderable, so apparently Colonel Long had been right about those guns. Elsewhere, hostile fire was slow; and once Longstreet was sure he saw a Yankee battery move to the rear. The time to attack was close at hand.

  He rode back to where among the trees that crowned the ridge Pickett and his men were waiting. Meade’s cannon were searching the woods to find the assaulting column, and solid shot and bursting shell came hungrily seeking human flesh to tear. Longstreet saw a man sitting against a tree, staring at him with astonished eyes. The man had only half a face. A solid shot had struck away his jaws and the lower end of his nose; and in that huge torn wound white bone showed, and the stump of a tongue moved as though the man tried to speak, or to swallow, or to spit out the choking blood. The man wore a hat with no crown, and his red hair was enough to identify him as that soldier in the Virginia regiment whose jests amused Pickett’s men: Red Wheatley, something of the sort, that was his name.

  Well, Red Wheatley would never joke again, unless that writhing stump of a tongue sought even now to utter some jesting word. Longstreet felt a great and flooding sorrow for this man and for all the other men who would go valiantly out across those fields to death today. He swung his horse aside and at a little distance he dismounted and stood leaning against a fence. His downcast eyes filled and overflowed and he did not heed the tears.

  General Pickett came to him and saw his distress, and asked quickly: “Are you all right, General?”

  Longsighted spoke almost humbly. “All right? Why, Pickett, I am being crucified!” But that sort of talk would not do! He touched Pickett’s shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “Yes, I’m all right! I’ve directed Alexander to tell you when to advance.”

  From the guns a courier galloped toward them. Longstreet thought the message might be for him, but the courier handed it to Pickett. Pickett read it, then gave it to Longstreet. The words blurred under his eyes.

  General: If you are to advance at all, you must come at once or we cannot support you as we ought. But the enemy’s fire has not slackened materially, and there are still 18 guns firing from the cemetery.

  Pickett asked: “General, shall I advance?�
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  Longstreet’s eyes drifted toward the men, waiting in what cover they could find, extending in an irregular line away from him through the woods. Red Wheatley with his jaw shot away was no longer propped against the tree. He had fallen over sidewise, but he was still alive. What had been his face was turned toward them; and that stump of a tongue still twitched from side to side.

  Here came another note from Colonel Alexander. Again Pickett handed it to Longstreet.

  For God’s sake come quick. The 18 guns have gone. Come quick or my ammunition will not let me support you properly.

  Longstreet stared at the slip of paper for a long time, till Pickett said quietly: “I shall lead my men forward, sir.” He waited a moment. Longstreet, unable to speak, extended his hand. Pickett clasped it, then saluted and turned toward his horse; but after a few paces he came back, drawing a letter from his pocket, smiling.

  “General,” he requested, “will you send this letter to Miss Sally?”

  Longstreet nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. He took the letter, and Pickett rode toward where his brigades were waiting. Longstreet heard his ringing cry: “Up, men!” Then, like a spur: “Don’t forget today that you’re from old Virginia!”