The sergeant from the Texan regiment took his canteen and slung it over his shoulder even as he continued to scream for his regiment to rally on the colors.
The Texan suddenly extended his hand.
"Lee Robinson, First Texas. Look me up after this is over, I'll give you a drink in the White House."
"Sergeant Major Hazner, Fourteenth South Carolina, and thank you."
A knot of men were gathering around the Texan, and with a wild cry he urged them forward, to continue the fight.
Hazner stood up, watching as the Texans reformed, groups of a few dozen here and there, and then pressed forward, little organization left but still game.
He turned and walked back to the parapet that they had just stormed, the tangle of bodies so thick he could barely find ground to step on.
"Sergeant Hazner!"
It was Brown, walking like a drunk, coming toward him.
'Sir.'
"Re-form the regiment, we're going in."
Hazner looked at the parade ground, at the gun emplacement for the thirty-pounder, the crew dead. He actually felt regret at the sight of that. The gunner who had been taunting him, he'd have liked to find him and offer a drink, but they were all dead. - "Re-form?"
"Yes, Hazner, we can't let the glory of the taking of Washington slip past us. We can't let Texas have this moment. Now re-form the regiment."
"Sir, what regiment?" Hazner asked woodenly.
In Front of Fort Stevens 8:30 A.M.
'T'hat's it," Lee cried. "Go, Texas, go!"
He had come forward from the grove, standing where he had first seen the fort the day before.
It was as if a vision was unfolding, a recurring dream that one forgets upon awakening, that yet hovers at the edge of memory throughout the day, only to return again in sleep. For two years he had dreamt of this moment, the final door unlocked, the end now within sight. Washington was there for the taking; it was the end.
"General Longstreet Now, bring your men up now!"
Longstreet was silent and there were tears in his eyes.
"General Longstreet?"
"Sir, it will be another half hour before I can even hope to commit McLaws."
"Then send in what you have!" "A brigade, maybe two, sir." 'Then send them in!" "Yes, sir."
He turned and rode back and Lee watched him leave. His gaze shifted to the east, to the sun.
"Oh, God, freeze it in the heavens as You did for Joshua before Jericho. I beg You please let it freeze, for time to stop, to give me but one more precious hour."
The smoke swirled, obscuring the sun for a moment, and then it came clear again... and to the southeast, he could see the dome of the Capitol.
To the Rear of Fort Stevens
9.15am
I can't let you go any farther, sir!" The captain of his cavalry escort reined around, blocking the middle of the road. Lincoln said nothing for a moment. He had always felt uncomfortable on horseback, and this mount was no exception ... a mare, far too small for his long, bony frame, stirrups pulled up too high, so that he was crouching in the saddle rather man sitting.
He had left the White House shortly after dawn in a carriage, but the tangle of troops heading into battle, and the civilians fleeing it, clogged all the roads, making passage impossible. After a difficult argument with the commander of his escort, a trooper had offered a horse, but there had been no time to adjust the stirrups before setting out again.
They were north of the city, close enough to the battle now that the air overhead hummed with shot and spent bullets. A trooper riding at the front of the column had been knocked unconscious by a spent bullet, which had struck him in the forehead. After that the cavalry escort had ringed him in even tighter, using their bodies as shields. The gesture had both touched and annoyed him.
Battered soldiers were coming back, many wounded, all of them panicked, spreading the word that Fort Stevens had fallen.
He could hear the roar of battle just ahead, the sound shocking, a continual thunder, so close now that the rebel yell was clearly heard.
"Sir, we must go back!" the captain shouted.
"No, Captain, we stay here for the moment."
"Mr. President. I am responsible for your safety. I urge you, sir, let's retire to the naval yard; I will send a courier to fetch your family."
He thought of the servant Jim, at this moment most likely rounding up the other servants, telling them to get guns and prepare.
Lincoln looked over at the captain.
"My family will not be fetched," Lincoln said coldly.
"Sony, sir. I didn't mean it as an insult. They will be escorted with all dignity."
"No, Captain. They will not be escorted, nor will I. They stay where they are, as I plan to stay right here."
The captain started to open his mouth. Lincoln forced a smile, leaned over, and touched the captain on the sleeve; the young officer startled, looking at him wide-eyed.
"Son, if I run now, what will my soldiers say?"
The captain looked at him, unable to reply.
"I'm the commander of this army, am I not?"
"Ah, yes, sir."
"Fine then, son. Let's just calm down, stay here, and do our duty. At the moment my duty is to be calm, as is yours. We can't go running about like headless chickens, can we?"
The captain actually forced a smile.
"No, sir," he responded with an emphasis on the "sir."
Lincoln patted him on the arm.
"Fine, son. Let's just stay here for the moment and see what we can do to make sure this wrestling match turns out a victory for the Union."
He smiled again and the captain nodded, turning away, but ordering his men to form a barrier in front of the president, the captain himself taking position directly in front of him.
Lincoln had to admit that inwardly he was terrified. He had only heard battle from a distance before, the two fights at Manassas, the distant thunder from Union Mills. He never imagined it could be so loud, so all-consuming, and so frightening.
His mount, however, did not even flinch as a shell fluttered overhead and detonated with a thunderclap, the captain looking back anxiously to see that he was not harmed.
He smiled yet again.
"Sir, at least take that hat off." And the captain hesitated. "What?"
"Your hat. You're tall, sir, that hat marks you. A rebel sharpshooter might see it"
He realized the captain was right. He had somehow retained his stovepipe hat on the ride out No, if it marked him, others would see it as well; his boys would see it and that was what he wanted.
He shook his head. Exasperated, the captain turned to face front
A cluster of officers came down the road, riding back from the fight, one of the men swaying in his saddle, blood covering the front of his jacket. In the lead was Heintzelman. The general reined in and saluted.
"Mr. President, just what are you doing here?" Heintzelman shouted.
"Watching the battle, General."
"Sir, battle is not a spectator's sport. The rebs are not a quarter of a mile off and coming on fast"
"What is the situation, General?"
"They've taken Fort Stevens; they have a breakthrough across a front of more than a quarter mile."
"The flanking forts?"
"Still holding for the moment, sir, but it's getting shaky." "And you propose?"
Heintzelman did not reply, looking back to the north. "Your plans, General?"
"Sir, we should abandon the line and pull back into the city."
"What has General Lee put in?" "Sir, it's hard to say. Looks like three divisions, but more will be coming." Lincoln nodded.
"Like trying to pour a hundred gallons of buttermilk through a funnel. It'll take him time, General."
"Sir, I know that, but the men are running, sir," and even as he spoke he gestured to the open fields, the battered remnants of defenders heading back into the city.
"Calm, General. Let us be calm."
Heintzelman looked at him wide-eyed, as if about ready to explode.
"Calm, General. If we lead we can rally those men. They will invest their fears in our courage. But they must see our courage and rally to it"
Heintzelman lowered his head, nodded, wiping his eyes, and Lincoln was startled to see that the man was actually in tears.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President Sorry. You are right sir. We can rally them."
Lincoln felt an infinite exhaustion. He thought of the pictures he had seen of General Washington, the forlorn hope of crossing the Delaware, of the bitter winter of Valley Forge when nearly all had given up hope. The mantle of that now rested upon him, the sacrifices made to create this republic now upon his shoulders.
He said nothing, features now stern, bony shoulders braced back.
"Let us just stay here," Lincoln said softly.
Heintzelman looked back up, nodded, and fell in by his side.
Men continued to pass, falling back, but at the sight of the two, here and there a soldier slowed, stopped, a few calling out Lincoln's name, others silent, as if ashamed. Gradually a cluster of men gathered around them. A flag bearer came out of the smoke, carrying the dark blue banner of Maine. The soldier stopped and without comment planted the staff of the flag in the ground and turned to face back North. Within minutes hundreds were gathering. There was no cheering, no singing, no heroic gestures, just grim determination.
As he looked at them he wept inwardly, struggling to hide his tears. Here was the republic, his country, which he had sworn to defend and which those men were now defending, without fanfare, without much hope of seeing the day through to the end, but which they would now die for. The cause of the United States of America was reduced to this band of nearly defeated men who were gathering new courage, reorganizing themselves, and beginning to gird for battle in front of his eyes.
He took heart from these rallying troops, as he had taken heart from a servant of a race who till now were exempt in the minds of so many from that solemn pledge that all men were indeed created equal.
Another flag bearer, from New York, fell in carrying the national flag. A militia regiment, easily distinguished by their bright, clean uniforms, came up the road at the double. Sweat streaked their faces; many were gasping for breath, many trembling with fear, and yet they swung into line.
Heintzelman looked over at Lincoln, nodded, and then, with proper flourish, drew out his sword and saluted.
Lincoln could only nod.
The ragged formation stepped off, following Heintzelman. They went back into the inferno. He caught glimpses of battle, his first sight of that blood-red banner of the South coming forward, a dimly seen line of men advancing. A round struck one of his escorts, the man swearing, turning away, clutching a shattered arm. The wounded trooper looked at Lincoln, then pushed his mount back into the formation around the president, reassuming his post
The roar of battle swelled, expanding, racing outward to either flank, Union huzzah counterpointed by rebel yell.
And then they started to fall back, giving ground slowly, men dropping, but none running.
"Sir, we must move back. Now."
His attention was so fixed on the battle that he had not even noticed the captain by his side, reaching over to take his reins.
"Not yet"
"Sir, they're a hundred yards off, they'll be on us in a minute."
He shook his head.
The captain started to pull his mount around and Lincoln angrily jerked his reins back.
"We stay here," Lincoln said sharply.
The captain looked at him, wide-eyed, and then with a flicker of a smile raised his hand and saluted.
"Yes sir, Mr. President."
And then a distant cheer rose up behind them.
Lincoln looked back over his shoulder; even as he did so, another trooper of his escort collapsed, falling from his horse, dead. Behind them, though, he saw something coming. A column on the road from the city, running, bayonet points held high, tin cups and canteens clanging, an officer riding at the front ahead of the colors.
The officer came on fast, now urging his mount to a gallop and then reining in hard, and with an elegant gesture raised up his sword and saluted.
"Mr. President, I'm Col. Robert Shaw, Fifty-fourth Massachusetts."
"Colonel, it warms my heart to see you and your men; you may be just in time to save your nation's capital." "Mr. President. We're from Charleston. We arrived at the naval yard two hours ago. My brigade commander, General Strong, ordered me to move my regiment to the sound of the guns. He and the rest of the brigade will be coming up shortly."
Lincoln looked back and saw the column of veterans beginning to shake out into battle line, the men professional-looking, moving sharply ... and they were colored.
Unable to speak, Lincoln faced Shaw again.
Shaw could not help but smile.
"We loaded up from Charleston the day the message arrived about Union Mills. There's a full brigade of combat-experienced troops behind me, sir. Now just tell me where to go.
He still could not speak.
'To the sound of the guns, sir!" the captain exclaimed, reaching out to grasp Shaw on the arm.
Shaw saluted, turned, and galloped off. A minute later the regiment swept past, and at the sight of the president, the men burst loose with a thunderous cheer. "Lincoln... Lincoln... Lincoln!" The charge went in.
He watched them go forward, still unable to speak. Behind them, back down the Seventh Street road, he saw more troops coming on at the double, a battery of artillery galloping across the open field beside the road, caissons leaping into the air.
He turned back to say something to the captain. But the saddle was empty, the young officer down on the ground, a couple of his troopers around him, kneeling, one looking up anguish-stricken at Lincoln.
He dismounted and knelt down by the captain. The man had been struck in the chest, was struggling to breathe.
Lincoln took his hand.
"Will we hold, sir?" the captain gasped.
"Yes, son, we'll hold. You have helped save the Union this day."
In Front of Fort Stevens
July 18,1863 10:00 A.M
General Lee, I beg you, sir, call it off." He turned to look at Longstreet and Hood, who stood beside him. He could not reply.
"Sir," Hood interjected, "it's finished. They're closing the breech. They have a colored regiment in the line now; one of my staff says it's the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts. General Beauregard reported that same regiment as being in front of Charleston two weeks ago. It means, sir, that they have fresh troops, experienced troops in the city now."
"Can we not sweep them aside?" Lee asked, and even as he spoke he realized his own will was breaking, he was asking now for some final reassurance.
"Sir," Hood continued. "My divisions are a shambles, one of them my own former command; if they cannot take it, no one can."
Longstreet shifted uncomfortably at this unintended slight. "General Longstreet?"
"I agree with General Hood, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but that road, in places the mud is knee-deep; we just can't bring men up fast enough to exploit the breakthrough."
"What about somewhere else along the line? They must have stripped their defenses to the bone elsewhere."
"Sir, we have no infantry along the rest of the line. We don't have enough men as is, even if we do force our way into that city. Sir, we've lost five, maybe ten thousand this day; we'll lose that much again, even more if we press it"
He paused, as if seeking a dramatic effect
"Sir, we just might take the city by the end of the day if you press it, but the Army of Northern Virginia, our last hope, will be destroyed doing it"
"I beg you, sir," Hood cried, his voice close to breaking. "Stop it now, our chance has passed for this day."
Lee looked toward the fort, that accursed fort Wounded, demoralized, pitiful fragments of broken units were coming back out of the smoke.
&
nbsp; He lowered his head and nodded.
"Pull them back," he whispered.
He looked back to the southeast. The Capitol was still visible, its nearly completed dome standing defiant.
He turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven
In Front of Fort Stevens
July 18,1863 10:15 PM.
General Lee walked with infinite sadness and weariness through the hospital area. As he passed, those around him, even the most hideously wounded, fell silent.
General Pettigrew had been found, just before dusk, when Lee had asked Heintzelman for a truce. Contrary to the first reports, the general had still been alive. He was no longer; Lee had held Pettigrew's hand as he died.
Perrin had been more fortunate, hit twice, in the arm and leg; the limbs had not been broken. Perrin had wept at the sight of his commander, asking forgiveness for not going in "more sharply."
How did one answer such a statement when it was obvious where the fault truly rested?
Lee finally broke the silence, looking over at "Pete" Longstreet, who respectfully walked by his side.
"It was my fault, General Longstreet."
"General Lee, you did all that any man could do."
"I should have waited another night. I attacked too soon, I asked too much of these men."
"Sir, the reason you attacked this morning was clearly confirmed. Reinforcements are pouring into that city." He nodded in the direction of Washington. "If you had waited another night, the results would have been the same, perhaps worse."
"Then I should have realized it was impossible." "Sir, how? The only way to confirm the impossibility was to attempt it. If we had not attacked at all, what would we
have then thought? It would have haunted us, the thought that we might have been able to take it. It would have undermined morale. What would all have said across the South if we had not tried?"
"A terrible confirmation, General," Lee sighed. "Eight thousand or more dead, wounded, or captured. I might as well strike the divisions of Pettigrew and Perrin off the roster. After the losses suffered at Gettysburg and Union Mills, and now this, they are fought out."
Longstreet nodded in agreement. The two divisions, since July 1, had sustained over eighty per cent casualties. All of the original brigade commanders, except for Scales, were dead or wounded. All but three of the regimental commanders were down as well. As fighting units, the two divisions were finished. They would have to be pulled from the order of battle, rested, consolidated, and reorganized.
Grant Comes East - Civil War 02 Page 13