by Jeff Shaara
Taylor still held the cup, and Lee took it, held the steam up to his face, breathed it in.
“Colonel Taylor, we should be hearing from General Longstreet soon. Send someone out on the road, to guide him into position. I wish us to be ready when those people make their move.”
Taylor moved away, and Lee walked out into the tall grass, stared out over the open field, looked up at the great mass of stars, the small blinking eyes of God. It will be a good day, he thought. He turned, could see the dark shapes of the row of big guns, Poague’s batteries, their crews beginning to gather, one man wiping at a brass barrel with a rag, sweeping away the wet mist. Lee walked toward the road, could hear more sounds, the army stirring in the woods around him. Riders were beginning to move quickly now, the first dispatches of the day.
He reached the road, looked off to the west, the black space in the woods, pictured it, the sounds, the beat of the horses, the sharp flutter of the flags, maybe a band, drums, the cheerful sound of the great advance of his strong army, and in front, the big man, the wide shoulders, and the grim expression that said only, “We are here for a fight.” Lee stepped into the road, the first glow of the dawn behind him, and he could see a bit farther down the road, expected to see it even now, the great scene as he pictured it in his mind. But there was nothing there, the road still yawned wide and empty through the trees. Behind him, far into the dense woods, Hill’s men lay quietly, still filled with the sleepy exhaustion of their good fight. The stars were beginning to fade away, the first glow of daylight spread out above the trees, and now there was a sound. Lee turned, felt a cold thump in his chest, and the sound grew, a great wave of shouts and cheers. It was not the sound he was used to hearing, the high scream of the rebel yell. He stared at the gray light, thought, No, they cannot come … not yet.
Around him men began to shout. The rest of the gun crews ran up, moving around the cannon with quick motion. He stared at the sounds, heard someone calling to him, saw Taylor, the staff, Traveller. He climbed the horse, pushed forward, moved down the road toward the sound. Now the sounds changed, a rising wave of muskets, and the hail of lead began to fly around him. He felt the horse move, pulled off the road, saw Taylor, Marshall, their faces watching him. He stood now, looked for Hill, for the commanders, and the wave of musket fire grew, volleys blending together. There were new shouts, the voices of his own men, and they were coming out of the woods, moving back, away from the great blue wave that was flowing through the thick woods. He could see more troops now, on both sides of the road, no order, no lines, men running back toward him, pouring into the open field. They began to run past him, and he saw the faces, the animal fear, the unstoppable panic.
He began to shout, yelling at them to stop, saw an officer, a man on a horse, and the man looked at him, stunned. Lee yelled out, “Halt these men! Turn them around! What unit is this?”
The man hesitated, then was suddenly gone, carried in the wave of panic. There were more men on horses, more officers, and Lee saw them waving swords, some striking hard on the men who ran by them, yelling at them to stop, to fight. Lee saw a familiar face, rode forward onto the road, saw Sam McGowan, from South Carolina, older, a man Lee had always liked. McGowan was waving to the side of the road, yelling something Lee could not hear. But the men were not slowing, there was no fight in them. Lee began to feel sick, his stomach twisting.
Taylor still held the bridle, was pulling Lee off the road again, but Lee jerked the reins, and Taylor released the horse, followed Lee closely as he moved out toward McGowan.
McGowan saw him now, was red-faced, angry. Lee felt the sickness still, wanted to scream at the men to halt, could only see McGowan, wanted to reach out, grab the man hard, they were his men, he should have them under control. The breath slowly drained out of him, and Lee said, “General, is this splendid brigade of yours running like … a flock of geese?”
McGowan glanced around, still angry, raised his sword, said, “General, we’re just looking for a place to form a line! These men will fight as well as they ever did!”
McGowan moved away, followed his men back into the trees behind Poague’s guns. The gunners were standing ready, a man behind each gun, the lanyards held tightly, and he saw that the guns would fire right past him, and knew it was time to move. He spurred the horse, saw Poague now, shouting to his men.
Poague was watching Lee as well, waited. Lee moved his way. Poague shouted out, “General Lee, should we withdraw? What are we facing? We can’t lose these guns!”
Lee turned, looked across the open ground, the trees now heavy with smoke, a thick cloud flowing forward. Lee turned to Poague, said, “Colonel, you must hold this ground! We will form behind you, move the men back up in support. You must not let those people come across that field!”
Poague looked out at the open ground, said, “We’re ready for ’em sir. Sixteen guns. Double canister. We’ll be here when the sun goes down, sir!”
Lee watched the far trees, and more volleys ripped through the air, the deadly sounds flying close to him. He heard the sharp crack of lead hitting a brass cannon, saw men beginning to fall along the guns, and then he heard shouting down the line, saw Poague pointing, could see down the road now, a thick mass of blue crowding out of the woods.
Suddenly, the guns opened up, one massive line of fire. The horse jumped, and Lee felt his heart leap in his chest. The smoke washed over him, and Taylor had the bridle again, steadied the big horse, pulled him back. Now Lee was out of the smoke, behind the guns. Across the field, all across the road, the woods came alive with the shattering impact of the hot metal. Trees flew into pieces, and now he could see the men on the road, and the great blue wave was a mass of twisted men, the wave halted, but now there were new sounds in the woods, more men coming forward, and Lee could see them on the road as well, pushing forward, over their own dead, another solid line. The guns exploded again, and again the smoke covered the field. He spurred the horse, moved farther back, saw his men gathering, a weary, ragged army, some attempt at a line, men picking up muskets dropped by the men who were far to the rear now.
Lee rode along the thin line, called out, “Form here, move up to the guns! Form here!”
The officers were gathering as well, and Lee heard the orders coming fast and clear, the orders he would have given, and now the voices were strong, the men were beginning to listen. He rode farther back, past small groups, men still dazed, breathless, men trying to find the soldier inside themselves, recovering from the shock of the massive blue wave. He saw the numbers, thought, We do not have the strength. If Hancock has sent in his entire corps … Poague cannot hold them back … we will lose the guns.
The men around him began to move back toward the fight, but the crushing wave of blue troops was closer still, the sharp sounds of lead still flew past him, men were falling all around.
Taylor yelled out, “General, please! This is not the place for you!”
Lee raised his hand toward Taylor, said nothing, was watching the guns again, the crews working with efficient speed, firing steadily, Poague moving in and out of the smoke, directing the fire. More soldiers were coming up from the rear. Another thin line formed behind him, began to move forward, but Lee saw the first line coming back again, men still going down, and he wanted to yell again, no, do not run, but they could not stand up before the tide rolling toward them.
He saw an officer, riding hard from below the road, and the man saw him, moved quickly up, said, “General, we are being flanked … below the road! The enemy is extending below our right. General Wilcox is ordering the men to withdraw, but there is no order, sir. I cannot find General Heth. We don’t know where his flanks are!” The man was out of breath, lowered his head, and Lee heard a slap, a dull crack of bone, and the man slumped, slid slowly off the horse. There was blood on the man’s shirt, and Lee looked at it, saw the red stain spreading, the man’s face looking at him, past him, the eyes not seeing.
Lee looked out past the guns again, c
losed his eyes, a short prayer, Bless this man, thought, I do not know his name. He heard Taylor again, calling to him, but thought, No, I will not move, we will fight it out right here, we have chosen the ground, God has given us this ground … if it must end, it will end on this ground.
The gun crews were dropping quickly now, the officers manning the pieces, the firing beginning to slow, the efficiency dropping with the loss of the men. He saw a break in the smoke, saw across the field, the road still swarming with the blue mass. He closed his eyes, said quietly, “Thy will be done …”
Behind him there were new shouts, and Taylor was yelling, manic, waving his hat. Lee turned, looked back along the road, saw the battered and beaten soldiers moving aside, lining the edge of the woods, and beyond he could see the flags, horses, a heavy column of soldiers, moving forward at a trot, the double quick. Now the men were beside him, moving past, a steady rush toward the thick smoke. He tried to see them, an officer, see who they were, what unit, and suddenly he felt Traveller jerk to the side. He looked down, saw an older man, a sergeant, and the man was pulling Traveller to the side. Lee felt an explosion of anger, yelled at the man, “Stop! What are you doing?”
Now there were more men around him, and the old sergeant looked at him, a hard grim face, said, “General Lee to the rear!”
He was still angry, thought, Who are you to suggest … and now all around him the men began to shout, “Lee to the rear! Lee to the rear!”
He glanced around, and the men had formed a tight arc around the horse, were moving him back, away from the road, from the big guns. The anger began to slip away, and he could see there was no use, no order would sway these men. He raised his hand, waved them away, saw now these were not Hill’s men, did not carry the black grime of the fight. He yelled to the sergeant, “What is your unit?”
The man still pulled the horse, moved to the side of the road, said, “We’re from Texas, sir. General Hood’s division. Now, you just make yourself at home right here, and let us do the work. And I don’t want to see you out that-aways again, you understand? I’ll be back, and I expect you to be a-settin’ right here.”
Lee felt a sudden jolt, turned, looked away, down the road, thought, Texans … No, these are not Hill’s men.
There were flags now, moving with the fast rush of more troops, fresh troops, and one man rode tall alongside the advance, the wide shoulders, the brim of the hat low across his face. Longstreet had arrived.
13. LONGSTREET
MID-MORNING, MAY 6, 1864
THEY HAD MARCHED THIRTY MILES IN LESS THAN TWO DAYS, AND when Lee’s final order came, they began the last leg at one o’clock that morning. The plan had been for them to come up from the southwest, reaching the Brock Road below Hancock’s defenses, pushing northward to contain Grant in the Wilderness. But Grant had chosen the fight, had contained himself, and with Hill’s corps badly outnumbered, Lee had changed Longstreet’s advance, moved him up through the woods, to come in behind Hill on the Plank Road.
The men did not need to be told what lay in front of them. From first light they had heard the assault as Lee had heard it, a rolling tide of musket fire, and so their step had quickened. Now, with the smoke hanging low over the road in front of them, they began to move faster yet, the officers keeping them together. Hill’s men were moving back still, and the heavy columns let the worn and beaten soldiers pass through, and there were jeers and insults, but no one believed that Hill’s men were not good soldiers. If Hill was badly beaten, it meant the fight in front of them would be a test many of them had never experienced.
Longstreet reached the clearing, could see Lee now, close behind Poague’s guns. The guns were still firing, the heavy thunder shaking the ground. Through brief clearings in the smoke Longstreet could see the flashes of musket fire across the field, the strong lines of the enemy, partially hidden, firing from behind the cover of the brush. Down below the road, deep into the woods, he could hear more firing, the enemy pushing forward on the flank.
He had not fought on this ground before, was staring out into the horror of the thick brush for the first time. He had not been here when they fought around the small intersection to the east, the crossroads at the Chancellor mansion, had not been here when Jackson had gone down. Lee had sent him south, to southern Virginia, a mission to send much needed supplies to the army, and at the same time Longstreet had hoped to rid the coast there of Federal troops. All that spring he had punched and struck in futile assaults on the Federal stronghold at Suffolk, and nothing had come of it but more casualties they could not afford. Lee had finally ordered him back, but the rails had been slow, and he did not arrive in time to help win the fight at Chancellorsville. Lee had prevailed with a weakened army, but the enemy then had been Joe Hooker. Now it was Longstreet’s old friend, and Longstreet knew that Lee would need every piece of his strength at hand if Grant was ever to be pushed away.
His mind began to work, there was very little time. His men were advancing now close behind the big guns, the officers spreading them out into thick battle lines, and Longstreet turned, shouted to his staff, to Moxley Sorrel, said, “Major, we must not move into those woods in heavy lines. This is not the place.”
Sorrel nodded, but did not understand, and Longstreet looked past him, saw Joe Kershaw, waving his sword in a high arc, spreading his men out into the woods.
Longstreet spurred the horse, moved close to Kershaw, said, “General, advance your men in a strong skirmish line, let them find their own way.”
Kershaw seemed puzzled, said, “Sir, a skirmish line? The enemy will pick them apart piecemeal. Are you sure, sir?”
It was not like Kershaw to question orders, and Longstreet glared at him, had no patience, there was no time for discussion. “General, advance your men in a strong skirmish line. Follow them up with more of the same. Send them in slowly, let them make their own way. Tell them to fight on their own, not to worry about straight lines. Use the ground, the cover. The enemy will not pick them off if they cannot see them! Look at this place!”
Kershaw nodded. “Yes, sir. I will order the lines … regiment strength.”
Longstreet looked back at Sorrel, shouted above the sounds of the guns, “Where is General Field? I want him to do the same thing, press the enemy slowly. There will be no massed charge! We must press slowly, steadily. The enemy is far outside his own defenses. Do you understand, Major?”
Sorrel saluted, stared at him, began to nod, said, “Yes … yes, sir. I understand.”
Sorrel moved away, and Longstreet pounded a fist against his saddle. Good, he sees it too. We cannot just go by the manual here. If the enemy is firing blind, a massed assault just gives him targets. If we move carefully, move up where we can see him, then we will not be firing blind … and we can make them very uncomfortable.
Longstreet spurred the horse, moved closer to the big guns, looked down the road, empty now of the blue troops. The fire from Poague’s guns had cleared them away from the deadly open space, but the musket fire was still heavy on both sides of the road. To the right, below the road, a bugle sounded, and Longstreet could see his men moving forward, a single line disappearing into the thickets. There was still heavy firing, some of Hill’s men, the ones who did not run, still holding a shaky front below the road.
Behind Longstreet more troops were coming up, and now he saw Micah Jenkins at the front of his brigade, the young man from South Carolina, pointing his sword toward the enemy. Longstreet watched him, nodded, saw the troops moving with speed, no hesitation. Longstreet shouted, “General, over that way, follow those men into line below the road!”
Jenkins saluted, tipped his hat, moved past him. Longstreet had always thought Jenkins would rise quickly, knew he was brilliant, had led a brigade in nearly every fight Longstreet had been in. He had not been to West Point, knew only what he had experienced on the bloody fields, and Longstreet knew it was simply a matter of time before Jenkins commanded a division, or even a corps.
In t
he open ground above the road the rest of Field’s division had begun to spread out in front of Poague’s guns, and the big guns had slowed their fire. Poague would not fire over the heads of the men so close to his front. The roar of the fight came only from the muskets, and the gray line began to move forward. Longstreet could hear the deadly sounds of the minié balls all around him, and now he could see Lee again, beside the road, not far from Poague’s guns.
He spurred the horse forward. The guns began to fire again, slowly, down the line, the gray troops far out in the field, Poague sending the shot and shell safely over their heads. Lee was standing up in the stirrups, and Longstreet reined up beside him, watched him, saw a look he had never seen. Lee was wide-eyed, his hair blown and wild, and now Lee reached over, put a hand on Longstreet’s shoulder, gripped the gray cloth, and Longstreet saw the damp reflection in Lee’s eyes. They did not speak. The sounds of the big guns rolled over them, the horses began to move about, and Lee let the hand drop, looked at Longstreet, said, “I thought … it was my time. I was ready to lead them, to take them across myself.”
Longstreet said, “No, General, these men know what to do. They will not likely permit you to take them into this fight.”
Lee smiled, put the hat back on, adjusted it slowly. “No, they were rather insistent. I believe, actually, I am under arrest. Some fellow from Texas ordered me … to stay back. He was … persuasive.”
Longstreet laughed, looked across the field, saw the Texas flag reaching the far woods. “John Gregg’s brigade … Hood would be proud of them. They’re leading the attack.”
The musket fire began to slow in front of them, the gray lines had reached the far trees. Below the road there was new firing, scattered out, but farther away, to the east.
Lee said, “The flank … we held the flank. We’re pushing them back.…” He looked at Longstreet, and Longstreet nodded, knew that Lee would not say more, that it would come out later, in the reports, formal and specific.