July 1: 3:55 p.m.
From the cupola of the Lutheran Seminary they could see victory forming. Directly before them the divisions of Heth and Pender pressed the attack against the Federal I Corps. To the north Rodes was engaging the XI Corps. And from the northeast Early was coming up quickly beside Rodes.
Through his field glasses Armistead Long watched enthralled. The Yankees had certainly blundered. They were very foolish to deploy the Eleventh in the open fields north of town. Early would easily take them in the flank.
In a great arc west and north of town, the terrific din of battle rent and tore the smoke filled air. Rifles rattled without pause. The rebel yell swelled and ebbed. Salvos of cannon fire thundered. Very occasionally an individual voice was heard, shouting orders or screaming pain.
The screams reminded Long he was not viewing a magnificent play.
The cupola also provided vantage to see men snap backward as Minié balls struck. Or watch them, or parts of them, hurtle into the air as shells exploded. Or observe whole rows of them disappear as canister scythed—which happened to some North Carolina boys an hour ago.
Uneasily did Long remember General Lee’s admonition at Fredericksburg: “It is well war is so terrible; otherwise we should grow too fond of it”.
General Lee stood feet from him. The General however did not appear to study the battle; his field glasses were trained on the northern horizon. He must be on watch for Johnson. With Johnson’s men he could completely rout the Federals.
It had gone as General Lee predicted back in May. To counter him the Yankees were rushing their forces piecemeal to this crossroads town. Now in their panicked haste they would lose two corps this afternoon, and maybe some more over the next days. They would certainly have to retreat towards Washington City.
This would be a great day for the South, perhaps the greatest of the war. If only Stonewall could have lived to see it. Of this triumph he was co-author.
“Ah ha!” Lee exclaimed.
Long and Colonel Taylor turned to see their commander beaming.
Long smiled uncertainly. “Sir?”
“Colonels, come with me.”
The General fairly flew down the spiral staircase. Long had never seen him this agile. He swore Lee was chortling during the descent. Long and Taylor traded puzzled looks.
On the ground floor of the seminary the battle was no longer theater. Wounded men lay everywhere. Surgeons plied their trade in side rooms, where severed limbs were accumulating.
Outside the battle turned even more real. Freshly wounded men were being carried or staggered on their own toward the seminary. Dead men lay scattered among trees of the adjacent orchard. An artillery battery across the pike unleashed a deafening roar. Couriers galloped, and fresh troops double quicked toward the front. Drifting gun smoke stung the eyes and obscured vision.
General Lee still looked to the north. Beneath his field glasses the broad smile persisted.
“He’s coming,” said Lee.
“Who, sir?” asked Taylor.
Long strained through his own field glasses. He saw some movement, a hansom carriage and mounted men, on a ridge a half mile away. Then the group was lost in trees.
It had to be Ewell and his staff. Yes, General Lee should be glad to see them. But why this near euphoria? Perhaps it was just the excitement of anticipated victory.
“You will see, Colonel Taylor, you see will see.” The General laughed. “You will not believe your eyes, that I promise.”
Again Long and Taylor exchanged puzzlement.
The hansom and mounted men reappeared. Now they were a quarter mile away. Lee’s hand rapped against his thigh.
“Oh how God blesses us!” Lee cried. “Our mighty servant returns.”
Now Long became concerned. He had never seen the General react this emotionally during a battle. Even in the worst crisis Lee remained extraordinarily calm. What had gotten into the man?
Could Ewell be bringing word of Jeb Stuart? For a week the whereabouts of Stuart and his three cavalry brigades remained unknown. Stuart back in contact would indeed give Lee reason for euphoria.
Perhaps Jeb was even in the company of Ewell, and his much needed cavalry nearby. The thought—the fervent hope—caused Long’s heart to thump.
A courier leaped from his lathered horse and rushed up to salute the General. It was a captain from Early’s staff. He said Early was in position.
“Attack immediately,” said Lee. “But tell him to stop at the southern edge of the town. No pursuit into the hills beyond. Make certain General Early absolutely understands that.”
“Yes, sir!” Another vigorous salute and the captain fled. Clods of dirt from his horse sprayed them. Lee chuckled.
Long was not sure he heard Lee correctly. Don’t seize the heights south of town? They were the much prized “lovely ground”, the ideal defensive terrain. Those hills must be taken to completely rout the Federals.
Now the hansom was within two hundred yards. Through the glasses Long clearly saw Ewell sitting inside. Someone in civilian clothes sat beside him. Was that Reverend Lacy? Hard to tell, a straw hat was low on his forehead.
Long then scanned the mounted officers. He recognized Brown, Pendleton, Trimble. But there was no sign of the general with the plumed hat. No Stuart.
So what was Lee’s hullabaloo about?
Lee was now beside himself. “Colonels, prepare yourself for the greatest joy of your lives.”
The hooded carriage drawn by a big roan and driven by a Negro perched at the rear halted a score yards away.
Day Nine Page 26