Jeff Shaara and Michael Shaara: Three Novels of the Civil War: Gods and Generals, the Killer Angels, the Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  43. HANCOCK

  Thursday, April 30, 1863

  HE HAD been wrong about the pontoons. They would be used again, were already in place when he led his division to the site, the wide clearing along the river. There had once been a bridge here too, at this place called, strangely, United States Ford. As at every good crossing, the bridges were long gone, small burnt memories lingering in crooked shapes. But here there was no opposition, no hidden muskets on the far bank, and the men crossed quickly and easily, and Hancock knew they were ready for a fight.

  Hooker had done for the army what Burnside could not. He had put them into position, quickly, with efficient use of engineers and time; put them into position to crush Lee’s army from the rear. The plan was basic military logic: keep Lee occupied by a large force, Sedgwick’s corps crossing the Rappahannock again below Fredericksburg, threatening to move across the same fields where Jackson had defended against Meade, while Hooker moved the larger bulk of the army upriver, to the shallow fords. By occupying all three of the main crossings, the army would move with more speed, down separate roads, converging due west of Lee’s position, to his rear. With pressure then from Sedgwick, Lee would be caught along his row of hills in a vise grip of nearly 140,000 Federal troops.

  By now Sedgwick was in place, a formidable blue mass that was already on Lee’s side of the river, and their complete parade-ground visibility would clearly demonstrate that it was a large enough force to hold Lee in place, a threat he could not ignore.

  Hooker had given the army something else besides another good plan. In the months of waiting, while the ground hardened and the warm air of spring filled the valley, the army had been trained constantly, their diet improved. He did away with Burnside’s system of Grand Divisions, bringing back the more efficient corps system. And, knowing the sad state of troop morale, Hooker devised a symbolic, though effective means of instilling pride. Each corps was given its own identifying insignia, with the color of that insignia reflecting the specific divisions. The new insignias were sewn on the soldiers’ hats, and the response was immediate and positive. The men eagerly accepted this small bit of identity, and the officers knew that in the heat of battle, it would be much simpler for the men to stay with their own units, or locate them after the fight.

  The new commander also dealt with poor morale by pardoning deserters and stragglers, and guaranteeing the men that they would have a predetermined opportunity for leave, so that desertion would no longer be necessary. For all of Hooker’s shortcomings, he had done a great deal to bring the army back up to fighting form. Now, with the new spring and the new march, Hancock understood that something good had happened to the army, to his division. Now they would learn if Hooker could satisfy Lincoln’s request to “go forward and give us victories.”

  The army was spreading below the river quickly, moving down the roads toward the hub of the wheel, the intersection of Chancellorsville. Hancock’s division was now the First, still a part of Couch’s Second Corps, and in the new organization of the army, Couch was an informal second in command to Hooker. Hancock felt some comfort in that, some sense that at least Couch would be there, would hear it all and have his say, and surely, surely, they would not stumble into another bloody disaster.

  They marched south, left the river, and the road led them through a thick and dense woods. Couch rode beside him, and they led the column, trailed by the staffs and Sam Zook’s brigade.

  “This is rather like Florida.”

  Couch looked toward Hancock’s gesture, said, “Really? I would imagine Florida to be more . . . green.”

  “Green, yes. And thick, impossible to see. Down there, it was palmettos, and some kind of damned thick sticker bush, something called catclaw. This looks about as bad—you can’t see anything.”

  Couch looked toward the other side of the road, saw more of the same, said, “It’s called the Wilderness. I heard it wasn’t always like this, but the big trees were all cut—there’s some ironworks around here, use a lot of wood fuel, and after the trees were cut, the woods just grew up thick like this, bushes, scrub trees. Maybe in a few years the bigger trees will come back.”

  “A few years . . . don’t expect we’ll see much of this country in a few years. Hope not. I’d rather be back in Pennsylvania, looking at green grass.”

  Couch smiled, nodded. Hancock was still staring into the brush, said, “We going to move out of this stuff soon? No place for a fight.”

  “Our orders are to advance to Chancellorsville, then turn east, toward Fredericksburg. The ground clears away once we move east a bit. If we’ve done as well as the reports say, we’ll have an easy march well beyond the Wilderness before we run into Lee. Last I heard, he still hadn’t moved away from the hills.” He paused. “This may actually work.”

  Hancock did not answer, thought, I’ve heard that before.

  There were shouts to the front, calls from the pickets, and from around a curve a rider appeared, a courier. The man sat straight in the saddle, pulled his horse up and turned with expert precision, a good show for the generals. He was smiling through a short clipped beard, waited for some acknowledgment, and both men looked at him, said nothing.

  The man finally spoke. “General Couch, sir! It is a pleasure to see you this fine day. Your corps is moving with great speed, I must say! And General Hancock, you are looking fit and well.”

  Couch looked at Hancock, said, “Do you know this man?”

  Hancock shook his head, suddenly had no patience for the overdone show of good cheer.

  The man said, as though of course they would recall, “Lieutenant Colonel Earle, sir, General Slocum’s adjutant.”

  “What can we do for you, Colonel?”

  Earle pulled his horse up alongside Couch, said with the smugness of a man close to it all, who knows much, “General Slocum sends his regards, and wishes you to know that his Twelfth Corps, and the Fifth Corps of General Meade, are encamped around the Chancellor house and await your arrival, so they may begin the assault.”

  “Await our arrival? Why?”

  “General Hooker’s orders, sir. The army is to assemble into one grand force, to strike the fatal blow into the rebels!”

  Hancock felt his stomach twist. Couch said, “Why have they not moved forward . . . is there any opposition to the east? Where is Hooker?”

  The colonel’s expression began to change. Couch’s response to his good news was not what he had expected. “Uh . . . I am not sure, sir. General Hooker has not yet arrived on the field. Perhaps the general would care to accompany me back to General Slocum? It is a short ride now, sir.”

  Couch glanced at Hancock, said, “Keep your column moving, General,” and spurred his horse, moving quickly away, leaving the colonel behind. Earle jerked his horse forward, and then both men were gone in a spray of dust.

  Hancock turned, saw the puzzled faces of Couch’s staff, said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back. It seems the plan has changed.”

  “GENTLEMEN, THIS is a glorious day indeed!”

  There were nods, some low sounds, and Hooker held his glass high, waited, and gradually the arms went up, the others joining in the toast.

  Hancock and Couch stood under a great chandelier, and the large room was filled with the elegance of the great plantations and thick with the smell of cigars. Hooker had arrived after dark, a grand show, taking personal command of the attack, which now would begin the next morning.

  Hancock held his glass high, had said nothing, glanced at Couch, who was not smiling, and he felt the shared anger, the sense that yet again they were led by a man who did not inspire respect. There was something else about Hooker that made Hancock uneasy. Unlike the personable and mildly buffoonish Burnside, Hooker was a man clearly focused on his own goals, behaving more like a politician than a soldier. Hancock heard it in the idle talk, the conversation of the others: Hooker was generally disliked by everyone who served close to him. They had respected his treatment of the army, but the rise in mor
ale had not spread through the headquarters of the commanders. They would wait, instead, for the results of this new plan. Their gloom was lifted by the quick march, the efficient crossing of the river, but now, despite Hooker’s attempt to create a party, a celebration of some unnamed success, Hancock felt it clearly, through the toasts and the bouyant salutes. There was nothing yet to celebrate.

  The troops were camped close to the small town, spread out in tiny clearings that dotted the thick Wilderness. Hancock understood, they all understood, that had they pushed on, turned to the east, they would be out in the open ground, closer to Lee’s position, where they could see what lay in front of them. There had been no official explanation from Hooker why he had slowed them down, just some vague talk of uniting the army. And so the afternoon had passed without contact with any major force from Lee, nothing to slow down the assault except the sudden caution of Joe Hooker.

  The toast was concluded, and suddenly there was a wooden box, a case of whiskey, a common commodity around Hooker’s headquarters. There were more toasts, and Hancock knew this would go on for a while yet. Other corps commanders had arrived, his friend Oliver Howard, who now commanded the Eleventh, and Dan Sickles of the Third. The great room was filling quickly, and Hancock felt a stifling heat, a need for air. He left Couch’s side, began to move toward the wide front door of the grand house. There was a sudden shout, a man calling for quiet, and slowly the talk hushed. Hancock waited, turned to see Hooker’s aide standing on a chair, holding a paper.

  “Gentlemen, you have all received the commander’s General Order Forty-seven, but . . . on this occasion, I feel it should be read aloud.”

  There were nods, mostly from the junior commanders, who had not yet seen the order.

  “ ‘It is with heartfelt satisfaction the commanding general announces to the army that the operations of the last three days have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his entrenchments and give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him—’ ” He was interrupted by cheers, a show of enthusiasm that Hancock tried to share.

  Now Hooker spoke up, raising a glass, and shouted above the voices, “God Almighty will not be able to prevent the destruction of the rebel army!” There were more cheers, but they faded quickly, and Hancock saw stunned and uncomfortable expressions, the men who held dearly to their faith, who were absorbing what their commander had just said.

  He had heard enough, quickly opened the door, passed by eavesdropping guards, stepped down away from the light. He climbed up onto the horse, moved the big mare along the road, thought of the ridiculous boasting, daring God to stop them, felt suddenly very sad. He tried to convince himself it did not have to depend on those men . . . the real success could still come from the good work of these good soldiers. We do have the numbers, he thought, and we may have indeed surprised Bobby Lee. He rode on toward the camps of his men, thought of Hooker’s words, wondered if Lee would ever be pursuaded to “ingloriously fly.”

  44. LEE

  April 30, 1863

  HE WAS still on the hill, looked down toward the river, to the spreading mass of blue, a force too strong to be a simple diversion. But they were not coming, not advancing toward the woods where Jackson’s men waited, again.

  Jackson was watching him, sat on a log, then stood, felt the itch of the new fight, paced for a moment, then sat again. Lee walked alone, still stared at Sedgwick’s troops, then turned and moved back up to the crest of the hill, toward Jackson’s impatience.

  “That is not the main attack,” Lee said. “They are waiting for something.”

  “We should punish them, now. Hit them before they can get set.”

  He turned to Jackson, saw the fire, the violence in the sharp face. “No, General, the guns, remember the guns. They are still on Stafford Heights, it would be a costly advance if we showed ourselves across that plain. It is no different now than it was in December. We must wait for them.”

  Jackson looked toward the far hills, across the river, knew of course that Lee was right. He put his hands behind him and his shoulders sagged slightly.

  Lee said, “General, I must know where the rest of them have gone. We must wait for General Stuart. Sedgwick has come across with only one or two corps. Hooker would not repeat Burnside’s plan. Do not focus your energies on those troops.”

  It was not a command, but the softer advice, a father to an overeager son. Lee understood the impatience: the target was in plain sight, open and vulnerable. That was exactly why he did not believe it, did not believe Hooker would attack with just those troops.

  Stuart had observed heavy columns moving above the river, out to the northwest, and Lee knew they would cross somewhere upstream, as they should have done in December. To the north and slightly west of Lee’s left flank lay Bank’s Ford, where the river made a sharp U downward, and he understood that there must be no crossing there, it was dangerously close to his rear, and so he had strengthened that position, sent Anderson’s division back, off the hills.

  Richard Anderson commanded one of the two divisions of Longstreet’s corps that had stayed with Lee, and Lee knew that though Anderson was not one for ingenuity, he could be counted on to stand his ground. Lee had instructed him to push out farther west, as far as the next major crossing, United States Ford. It was there that Anderson met the first of Hooker’s strong columns, advancing southward. As instructed, he pulled back, and now was spreading his division in a north-south line, protecting both Bank’s Ford and the two main roads that led from Chancellorsville straight into Lee’s position. But Lee still did not know how many troops Hooker was pushing across the river there, or just where they might be heading.

  Jackson was still frustrated, paced again. The meeting seemed to be over, and he looked for his horse, was ready to return to his troops, and Lee held up his hand, said, “General, please, sit down. We can do little else until we hear—”

  There was a shout, the voice of Taylor, running along the hill. “General . . . it’s Von Borcke, Major Von Borcke!”

  Lee saw him now, the huge form riding with some difficulty up the side of the hill. He was on a large black mule, and the mule seemed intent on moving in other directions than where the Prussian intended.

  “Vat ho! General Lee . . .” Suddenly the mule turned, began to go back down the hill, and Von Borcke jerked the head around, gave a heavy kick to the mule’s side, and it began to climb slowly again.

  Jackson moved up close to Lee, and Taylor stepped forward and grabbed the reins of the mule. Abruptly, Von Borcke swung a huge leg over and leapt from the mule in a great awkward flight, landing thunderously on both feet.

  “Only vay I can get off the damned thing. He shtill vants to run off to play.” He looked now at Lee, saw no smile, saw the deep glare from Jackson, straightened himself, said, “Forgive me, Herr General, I am not used to riding such animals as you have here. I beg to report on behalf of General Shtuart, that a column of the enemy has crossed the river at Germanna Ford, and is moving south, toward Chancellorsville. General Shtuart has determined it is the Twelfth Corps. He has also observed units of the Eleventh.”

  Lee said nothing, looked at Jackson, and Jackson said, “They would not move two corps that far behind us for a feint.”

  “No, they would not.” Lee nodded toward the big German, said, “Major, you may return to General Stuart, and request in the strongest terms that General Stuart join me here. Please go now, Major. I regret your difficulty with your mule. We do not have the luxury of thoroughbreds.” It was not a criticism, but Von Borcke suddenly felt foolish, complaining to a man who clearly knew of all the army did not have. He backed away, saluted, and Taylor held the reins tight as Von Borcke struggled up to the mule. Then he moved quickly away.

  Lee did not watch him leave, turned again toward the south and the blue stain that spread along the edge of the river.

  “General Hooker expects us to stay here, watching them. And that is the tra
p.”

  Jackson nodded, said nothing, understood now that Lee had been right.

  Lee motioned to Taylor, said, “Major, my horse please,” and then turned to Jackson. “General, we do not yet know where General Hooker is intending to lead his army. He is either intent on holding us here, assaulting us from behind, or he may move farther south, toward Gordonsville. He could easily cut the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, and cut us off from the Shenandoah. If he drives in that direction, we will have to withdraw from here, move down to the South Anna River and make our defense there.”

  He felt an anger rising up from deep inside, thought, How much more must we do? All the grand successes, the great bloody efforts to push them out of Virginia, and now they were coming again, unstoppable, into the heart of his home. He suddenly kicked at the ground, sent a spray of dirt flying, was breathing heavily, closed his eyes. No, keep control.

  Jackson stared at him, and Lee turned toward him, looked hard into the sharp blue eyes. Jackson did not look away, and Lee said, “General, once again God is challenging us, offering us another opportunity. We must strike the enemy before he can go any farther.” He looked away now, across the open fields, the town, the river. “I had thought . . . we had done enough . . . that He would be pleased. . . .”

  Jackson stared at him, at the soft white beard, the face of a man growing old, then he looked up, beyond, said, “General Lee, if it will please God, we will kill them all.”

  IT WAS dark when Stuart reached Lee’s camp. He led his troops through lines of marching infantry, Lee’s men withdrawing from the great safety of the long row of hills, moving out now toward the west. Stuart’s route had taken him along the roads that ran below Chancellorsville. He understood the necessity of staying clear of the Federal positions, but had still met a regiment of Federal cavalry, a short and confused fight on a dark road, and so it was becoming clear that Hooker was not passing them by, was not moving away toward Gordonsville, but was spread out around Chancellorsville, had stopped in the vast, thick Wilderness. Lee had not heard the shooting, but Anderson had, knew it was more than nervous skirmishers. He had sent word to Lee, and so when Stuart finally reached Lee’s camp, Lee had not been sleeping, but anxious and alert.