“By God, Colonel, by God, by God,” Spear said. He pointed. Men were running off down the valley. The regiment was moving across the front of the 83rd Pennsylvania. He looked up the hill and saw them waving and cheering. Chamberlain said, aloud, “I’ll be damned.”
The regiment had not stopped, was chasing the Rebs down the long valley between the hills. Rebs had stopped everywhere, surrendering. Chamberlain said to Spear, “Go on up and stop the boys. They’ve gone far enough.”
“Yes, sir. But they’re on their way to Richmond.”
“Not today,” Chamberlain said. “They’ve done enough today.”
He stopped, took a deep breath, stood still, then turned to look for Tom. Saw Morrill, of Company B, wandering toward him through thick brush.
“Hey, Colonel, glad to see you. I was beginning to wonder.”
Chamberlain stared. “You were beginning to wonder?”
“I tell you, Colonel, I keep thinking I better come back and help you, but you said stay out there and guard that flank, so I did, and I guess it come out all right, thank the Lord. Nobody came nowhere near me until just a few minutes ago. Then they come backin’ my way, which I didn’t expect. So we opened up, and they all turned around and quit, just like that. Damnedest thing you ever saw.” He shook his head, amazed. “Easiest fight I was ever in.”
Chamberlain sighed. “Captain,” he said, “next time I tell you to go out a ways, please don’t go quite so far.”
“Well, Colonel, we looked around, and there was this here stone wall, and it was comfortin’, you know?”
Tom was here, well, untouched. Chamberlain opened up into a smile. Tom had a Reb officer in tow, a weary gentleman with a face of grime and sadness, of exhausted despair.
“Hey, Lawrence, want you to meet this fella from Alabama. Cap’n Hawkins, want you to meet my brother. This here’s Colonel Chamberlain.”
Chamberlain put out a hand. “Sir,” he said. The Alabama man nodded slightly. His voice was so low Chamberlain could hardly hear it. “Do you have some water?”
“Certainly.” Chamberlain offered his own canteen. Off to the right a huge mass of prisoners: two hundred, maybe more. Most of them sitting, exhausted, heads down. Only a few men of the regiment here, mostly Morrill’s company. Ironic. Chamberlain thought: Well, he’s the only one with ammunition.
Firing was slacking beyond the hill. The charge of the 20th Maine had cleared the ground in front of the 83rd Pennsylvania; they were beginning to move down the hill, rounding up prisoners. As the Reb flank on this side fell apart and running men began to appear on the other side of the hill the attack there would break up. Yes, firing was less. He heard whoops and hollers, felt a grin break out as if stepping into lovely sunshine. We did it, by God.
The Alabama man was sitting down. Chamberlain let him alone. Kilrain. Looked. Where? He moved painfully back up the rocks toward the position from which they had charged. Hip stiffening badly. Old Kilrain. Unhurtable.
He saw Kilrain from a distance. He was sitting on a rock, head back against a tree, arm black with streaked blood. But all right, all right, head bobbing bareheaded like a lively mossy white rock. Ruel Thomas was with him, and Tozier, working on the arm. Chamberlain bounded and slipped on wet rocks, forgetting his hurts, his throat stuffed. He knelt. They had peeled back the shirt and the arm was whitely soft where they had cleaned it and there was a mess around the shoulder. Great round muscle: strong old man. Chamberlain grinned, giggled, wiped his face.
“Buster? How you doin’? You old mick.”
Kilrain peered at him vaguely cheerily. His face had a linen softness.
“They couldn’t seem hardly to miss,” he said regretfully, apologizing. “Twice, would you believe. For the love of Mary. Twicet.”
He snorted, gloomed, looked up into Chamberlain’s eyes and blinked.
“And how are you, Colonel darlin’? This fine day?”
Chamberlain nodded, grinning foolishly. There was a tight long silent moment. Chamberlain felt a thickness all through his chest. It was like coming back to your father, having done something fine, and your father knows it, and you can see the knowledge in his eyes, and you are both too proud to speak of it. But he knows. Kilrain looked away. He tried to move bloody fingers.
“In the armpit,” he gloomed forlornly. “For the love of God. He died of his wounds. In the bloody bleedin’ armpit. Ak.”
To Tozier, Chamberlain said, “How is that?”
Tozier shrugged. “It’s an arm.”
“By God,” Chamberlain said. “I think you’ll live.”
Kilrain blinked hazily. “Only an arm. Got to lose something, might’s well be an arm. Can part with that easier than the other mechanics of nature, an thass the truth.” He was blurring; he stretched his eyes. “Used to worry about that, you know? Only thing ever worried, really. Losing wrong part.” His eyes closed; his voice was plaintive. “I could do with a nip right now.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You do pretty good.” Kilrain blinked, peered, looking for him.
“Colonel?”
“Right here.”
“The army was blessed …” But he ran out of breath, closed his eyes.
“You take it easy.”
“Want you to know. Just in case. That I have never served …” He paused to breathe, put out the bloody hand, looked into Chamberlain’s eyes. “Never served under a better man. Want you to know. Want to thank you, sir.”
Chamberlain nodded. Kilrain closed his eyes. His face began to relax; his skin was very pale. Chamberlain held the great cold hand. Chamberlain said, “Let me go round up something medicinal.”
“I’d be eternal grateful.”
“You rest.” Chamberlain was feeling alarm.
Tozier said, “I’ve sent off.”
“Well I’ve seen them run,” Kilrain said dreamily. “Glory be. Thanks to you, Colonel darlin’. Lived long enough to see the Rebs run. Come the Millennium. Did you see them run, Colonel darlin’?”
“I did.”
“I got one fella. Raggedy fella. Beautiful offhand shot, if I say so mesel’.”
“I’ve got to go, Buster.”
“He was drawin’ a bead on you, Colonel. I got him with one quick shot offhand. Oh lovely.” Kilrain sighed. “Loveliest shot I ever made.”
“You stay with him, Sergeant,” Chamberlain said.
Thomas nodded.
“Be back in a while, Buster.”
Kilrain opened his eyes, but he was drifting off toward sleep, and he nodded but did not see. Chamberlain backed away. There were some men around him from the old Second Maine and he talked to them automatically, not knowing what he was saying, thanking them for the fight, looking on strange young bloody faces. He moved back down the slope.
He went back along the low stone wall. The dead were mostly covered now with blankets and shelter halves, but some of them were still dying and there were groups of men clustered here and there. There were dead bodies and wounded bodies all down the wall and all down through the trees and blood was streaked on the trees and rocks and rich wet wood splinters were everywhere. He patted shoulders, noted faces. It was very quiet and dark down among the trees. Night was coming. He began to feel tired. He went on talking. A boy was dying. He had made a good fight and he wanted to be promoted before he died and Chamberlain promoted him. He spoke to a man who had been clubbed over the head with a musket and who could not seem to say what he wanted to say, and another man who was crying because both of the Merrill boys were dead, both brothers, and he would be the one who would have to tell their mother. Chamberlain reached the foot of the hill and came out into the last light.
Ellis Spear came up. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. He nodded jerkily, a habit of Maine men, a greeting.
“Well,” he said. He did not know what to say. After a moment he pulled out an impressively ornamented silver flask, dented, lustrous.
“Colonel? Ah, I have a beverage here whic
h I have been saving for an, ah, appropriate moment. I think this is—well, would the Colonel honor me by joining me in a, ah, swallow?”
Chamberlain thought: Kilrain. But he could not hurt Spear’s feelings. And his mouth was gritty and dry. Spear handed it over solemnly, gravely, with the air of a man taking part in a ceremony. Chamberlain drank. Oh, good. Very, very good. He saw one small flicker of sadness pass over Spear’s face, took the bottle from his lips.
“Sorry, Ellis. ‘Swallow’ is a flighty word. An indiscriminate word. But thank you. Very much. And now.”
Spear bowed formally. “Colonel, it has been my pleasure.”
Here through the rocks was a grinning Tom. Young Tom. Only a boy. Chamberlain felt a shattering rush of emotion, restrained it. Behind Tom were troops of the 83rd Pennsylvania: Captain Woodward, Colonel Rice of the 44th New York. Chamberlain thought: Rice must be the new commander of the whole brigade.
Tom said with vast delight, ticking them off, “Lawrence, we got prisoners from the Fifteenth Alabama, the Forty-seventh Alabama, the Fourth and Fifth Texas. Man, we fought four Reb regiments!”
Four regiments would be perhaps two thousand men. Chamberlain was impressed.
“We got five hundred prisoners,” Tom insisted.
The figure seemed high. Chamberlain: “What are our casualties?”
Tom’s face lost its light. “Well, I’ll go check.”
Colonel Rice came up. Much darker now. He put out a hand.
“Colonel Chamberlain, may I shake your hand?”
“Sir.”
“Colonel, I watched that from above. Colonel, that was the damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“Well,” Chamberlain said. A private popped up, saluted, whispered in Chamberlain’s ear: “Colonel, sir, I’m guardin’ these here Rebs with an empty rifle.”
Chamberlain grinned. “Not so loud. Colonel Rice, we sure could use some ammunition.”
Rice was clucking like a chicken. “Amazing. They ran like sheep.”
Woodward said, “It was getting a bit tight there, Colonel, I’ll say.”
Rice wandered about, stared at the prisoners, wandered back, hands behind him, peered at Chamberlain, shook his head.
“You’re not Regular Army?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh yes. You’re the professor. Um. What did you teach?”
“Rhetoric, sir.”
“Really?” Rice grimaced. “Amazing.” After a moment: “Where’d you get the idea to charge?”
Chamberlain said, “We were out of ammunition.”
Rice nodded. “So. You fixed bayonets.”
Chamberlain nodded. It seemed logical enough. It was beginning to dawn on him that what he had done might be considered unusual. He said, “There didn’t seem to be any alternative.”
Rice shook his head, chuckled, grunted.
Chamberlain said, “I heard about Colonel Vincent.”
“Yes. Damn shame. They think he won’t make it.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Not by much.”
“Well. But there’s always hope.”
Rice looked at him. “Of course,” Rice said.
Chamberlain wandered among his men. Ought to put them in some kind of order. He was beginning to feel an elation in him, like a bubble blowing up in his chest. A few moments later, Rice was back.
“Colonel, I have to ask your help. You see the big hill there, the wooded hill? There’s nobody there. I think. General Warren wants that hill occupied. Could you do that?”
“Well,” Chamberlain said. “If we had some ammunition.”
“I’ll move a train up. That hill’s been unoccupied all day. If the Rebs get a battery there … it’s the extreme flank of the Union line. Highest ground. Warren sends you his compliments and says to tell you he would prefer to have your regiment there.”
Chamberlain said, “Well of course, sir. But the boys are tired. May take a while. And I sure need that ammunition.”
“Right. I’ll tell the general you’ll be up soon as possible.”
Chamberlain squinted. A wall of trees, thick brush. He sighed.
Tom was back. “I count about one hundred and thirty men, Lawrence. Forty to fifty already dead, about ninety wounded. Lot of boys walking around with minor stuff, one hundred thirty for the hospital.”
Chamberlain thought: one hundred thirty down. We had three hundred in line. Almost half the regiment. Kilrain is gone.
He told Spear of the move. He was becoming very tired. But along with the weariness he felt spasms of pure joy. Spear formed the company, Rice took over the prisoners. Rice came by to watch them go.
“Colonel,” Chamberlain said. “One thing. What’s the name of this place? This hill. Has it got a name?”
“Little Round Top,” Rice said. “Name of the hill you defended. The one you’re going to is Big Round Top.”
Little Round Top. Battle of Little Round Top. Well. I guess we’ll remember it.
“Move ’em out, Ellis.”
He went back to say goodbye to Kilrain. The white head was visible from a long way off, sitting stumplike, motionless in the dark of the trees. He had leaned back and was staring at the sky, his eyes closed. He had welcomed Chamberlain to the regiment and there had never been a day without him. He would be going back to the hospital now, and Chamberlain did not know what to say, did not know how to express it. Blue eyes opened in a weary face. Kilrain smiled.
“I’ll be going, Buster,” Chamberlain said.
Kilrain grumbled, looked sourly, accusingly at his bloody wound.
“Damn.”
“Well, you take care. I’ll send Tom back with word.”
“Sure.”
“We’ll miss you. Probably get into all kinds of trouble without you.”
“No,” Kilrain said. “You’ll do all right.”
“Well, I have to go.”
“Right. Goodbye, Colonel.”
He put out a hand, formally. Chamberlain took it.
“It was a hell of a day, wasn’t it, Buster?”
Kilrain grinned, his eyes glistened.
“I’ll come down and see you tomorrow.” Chamberlain backed off.
“Sure.” Kilrain was blinking, trying to keep his eyes open. Chamberlain walked away, stopped, looked back, saw the eyes already closed, turned his back for the last time, moved off into the gathering dark.
He moved forward and began to climb the big hill in the dark. As he walked he forgot his pain; his heart began to beat quickly, and he felt an incredible joy. He looked at himself, wonderingly, at the beloved men around him, and he said to himself: Lawrence, old son, treasure this moment. Because you feel as good as a man can feel.
5.
LONGSTREET
The hospital was an open field just back of the line. There were small white tents all over the field and bigger tents where the surgeons did the cutting. Hood was there, in a big tent, on a litter. Longstreet came in out of the dark, bowing under a canopy, saw the face like cold marble in yellow candlelight, eyes black and soft like old polished stones. Cullen and Maury were working together on the arm. Longstreet saw: not much left of the hand. Exposed bone. He thought of Jackson hit in the arm at Chancellorsville: died a slow death. Let us cross over the river. Hood’s black eyes stared unseeing. Longstreet said softly, “Sam?”
Cullen looked up; Maury was tying a knot, went on working. Troops had gathered outside the canopy. A sergeant bawled: Move on, move on. Hood stared at Longstreet, not seeing. There was dirt streaked in tear stains on his cheeks, but he was not crying now. His head twitched, cheek jerked. He said suddenly, in a light, strange, feathery voice, “Should have let me move to ri—” He breathed. “To the right.”
Longstreet nodded. To Cullen, he said, “Can I talk to him?”
“Rather not. We’ve drugged him. Sir. Better let him sleep.”
Hood raised the other arm, twitched fingers, let the hand fall. “Din see much. Boys went in an’ hit the rocks. I got
hit.”
Longstreet, no good at talking, nodded.
“Should have moved right, Pete.” Hood was staring at him, bright, drugged, eerie eyes. “How did it go, Pete?”
“Fine, Sam.”
“We took those rocks?”
“Most of ’em.”
“Took the rocks. Really did.”
“Yes,” Longstreet lied.
Hood’s eyes blinked slowly, blearily. He put the good hand up to shade his eyes.
“Devil’s Den. Good name for it.”
“Yep.”
“Worst ground I ever saw, you know that?” Hood laid the back of his hand across his eyes. His voice trembled. “Got to give my boys credit.”
Longstreet said to Cullen, “Can you save the arm?”
“We’re trying. But if we do, it won’t be much use to him.”
Hood said, “Casualties? Was casualties?”
“Don’t know yet,” Longstreet said. And then: “Not bad.” Another lie.
Cullen said gloomily, plaintively, “He ought to go to sleep. Now don’t fight it, General. Let it work. You just drift right on off.”
Longstreet said softly, “You go to sleep now, Sam. Tell you all about it tomorrow.”
The Killer Angels Page 23