The staff stayed back, and no one spoke, and he pounded his fist into the saddle again, said, "Let's go... !" and suddenly he heard it, the high screams, the rebel yell rolling through the woods in front of him in a terrible wave, and he spurred the horse hard, jumped it through the brush, could hear the guns now, the first wave of firing. To the left, near the road, there was another yell, and the men there began to move forward as well, clawing their way up and out of their low cover into the solid lines of blue. The attack was growing now, the woods alive with the new sounds.
Hancock's solid line was now caught in a trap, a deep V, Longstreet's men coming at him hard from two directions. Longstreet moved forward again, closer, the fire of the Yankees now cutting the leaves and brush around him. But there were not many, the musket fire was his own. Hancock's men were running, the flank collapsing completely, the panic of the surprise assault spreading along their lines. The blue troops began to flow in one great wave toward the road, each company, each regiment, carried along by the ones alongside.
Longstreet still moved forward, tried to see, thought, The road, I should send word... if Sorrel keeps advancing, he will cross in front of the troops along the road. He pushed the horse through the thickets, rode down suddenly into deep mud, the horse pulling itself free slowly. The staff was behind him now, and all around him men were moving toward the sound of the firing, his firing. The horse climbed out of the mire, and he could hear the sounds of Sorrel's advance now, closer to the road, and the firing began to slow. There were more horses, officers.
Micah Jenkins waved, rode toward him, yelled, "Did you see it, Sir? Did you see it? They're gone, we pushed 'em clean out of the woods!"
Longstreet said nothing, was listening to the fading battle. He turned to Jenkins, said, "We have a problem, General! We must get these men into line, keep the assault moving forward. We're tripping all over ourselves out there!"
Jenkins stared at him, began to understand. One flank had overrun the other, the attack might have been too successful.
There were more horses, and Longstreet saw Smith. The engineer was breathing heavily, had lost his hat, said to Longstreet, "Sir, we can still push east... all the way past the Brock Road! The enemy's flank is exposed."
Longstreet said, "Push with what, Mr. Smith? Our people are crowding all over themselves. It will take too much time to sort them out."
Jenkins said, "Sir, my brigade is close by, we're in good shape... it won't take long. Let me pull them together, Sir!"
Longstreet nodded, said, "Yes, go! General Smith, guide us to the best route. Waste no time! Let's move!"
Smith pointed, said, "This way, there's a road, a trail. We can put the troops in column up ahead, it's a short distance.... Smith moved the small horse, Longstreet followed, and now Jenkins moved up beside him. The orders had gone out, and Jenkins's men began to appear out of the woods. They formed quickly, the orders were clear. From below, more troops came forward.
Longstreet saw Joe Kershaw, shouted, "General, bring your people in line here! Whatever strength you can! Support General Jenkins!"
Kershaw saluted, shouted orders back to his aides, then turned, moved up beside Longstreet. He looked behind them, saw Jenkins's troops filling the open space, moving forward, a strong column, strong enough to turn anyone's open flank. Kershaw said, "General... these are Jenkins's troops? They're wearing... black."
Jenkins laughed, said, "Makes 'em hard to see in this place. They fade right into the shadows."
Kershaw shook his head.
"Not sure about that... makes 'em look like Yankees."
Longstreet was moving ahead, ignored the talk behind him. He thought again of Pickett, the laughing face, thought, You would have enjoyed this, George. This is not like Gettysburg.
He thought of Grant now, had kept that away as long as he could. It had been a sickening surprise that Grant came east. Longstreet had made his move on Knoxville when Grant took command at Chattanooga, and so they had never faced each other. He had not spoken of that, how he had hoped they would not meet, not like this. They were close in the old days, and Longstreet thought often of Grant's wedding, Julia the radiant bride.
Longstreet laughed suddenly, and faces turned toward him. He ignored the men around him, thought now of Grant putting on the dress, grumbling. At Jefferson Barracks, back in St. Louis, the soldiers would perform plays, usually Shakespeare. Grant's shortness made him a natural for the female roles, and it was a distinction Grant hated. Grant as Desdemona, Grant as Ophelia. He laughed again, thought, There was always great humor at Sam's expense. And no one there would ever have believed he would command an army.
We were very young, and we didn't know much about anything. We sure didn't know much about war. Now... we know a great deal.
He looked back, saw the line was moving well, quickly advancing. He stopped the horse, the others rode up close beside him, the faces watched him, waiting. He said, "Gentlemen, we have upset General Hancock once today, let's see if we can do it again."
They moved forward, broke into the clear. He saw the opening, a wide trail, led the column that way. The shooting had nearly stopped, the woods suddenly quiet around him. The only sound came from the rear, the sounds of cracking brush, of men moving with deliberate steps, the grim silence of soldiers who know they are part of something important.
In front of them Longstreet saw motion, a small opening in thick brush, a glimpse of a flag, and he thought, Yes, good, more troops, saw the flag clearly now, held high by a man in gray. Suddenly the troops turned, there were shouts, and he saw flashes, small puffs of smoke. The sounds whizzed by, and he heard grunts, the cry of a horse, and then he felt the sharp pull, felt himself in the air, pulled up off the horse, then set down hard in the saddle. He heard a voice.
Kershaw was yelling frantically, "Friends! We are friends!" There were more shouts, and men began to fill the road in front of them. He tried to see, but felt his head rock forward, saw the blood now, stared at the flow of red down his shirt, felt the wetness, the warmth, watched it spread slowly down his chest, thought, It does not... hurt.
The horse was moving still, and Longstreet began to rock in the saddle, and now there were hands on the horse, someone grabbed the reins, and he felt himself slide down, hands holding him. He was turned to one side, saw bodies, one face, saw it was Jenkins, sprawled flat on the ground, a bloody stain spreading out under his head, the face staring out at him with lifeless eyes. He tried to yell, but there was no sound, and he thought, No... God no.
They set him down on his back, and he was looking into the bright sun, closed his eyes, tried to breathe. The air would not come, and he fought for it, felt himself choking, the blood filling his throat, and he coughed, took a small breath, thought of the men behind him, the great opportunity, thought, Do not stop... keep them moving... tell General Lee... keep them moving....
14. HANCOCK
LATE AFTERNOON, MAY 6, 1864 THE ATTACK ON HIS FLANK HAD EXHAUSTED
ITSELF, AS ALL THE attacks had done in the thickets of the woods. Now his men were moving back to the Brock Road, to the safety of the strong defenses. He sat on the big horse, watched them come, saw not panic, but the slow dragging movements of men punched by a hard defeat. They were climbing up and over the great walls of logs, and all down the Brock Road his troops were pulling themselves together, recovering from the shocking assault. The defenses grew stronger.
It had been hours now, and there had been no attack, not even a strong skirmish. He kept his eyes to the woods to the front, thought, They will come. It's as hard for them as it is for us... moving in that damned place. But they surprised us, rolled us back completely. They will not just let us sit now, licking our wounds. They will come.
He had secured the flank, and back behind his left, a mass of artillery waited for targets, guns that had been silent all day. Out in front there was nothing to shoot at but the sounds, and the sounds could be your own men. Down on the left, the big guns were now in posi
tion, and if the rebels came that way, tried to make the sweep far around the flank, they would have to cross in front of the guns. No, he thought, they will see that as clearly as we do. Out in the brush, our flank was vulnerable. Back here, the flank is secure.
To the right, the woods were a mass of sounds, but they were not the sounds he'd expected to hear. Burnside had been ordered to move into the gap between the roads, to push hard into Hill's left, but there had been nothing from Burnside, no word, no sign of his men. There were sounds of a fight, but it was not strength, no. massed assaults. Burnside was out there, he thought, somewhere, half his men looking for the other half, probably shooting at each other. But the woods will keep Lee from moving that way as well. Damn this place!
He moved the horse slowly along the road, still peered out toward the woods. He thought of ordering his own men forward, but no, even headquarters understood that little would be gained. He had done that already, at dawn, driven the enemy back in complete chaos, but the chaos spread to his own advance, commanders losing their own men in the thickets. By the time Longstreet suddenly appeared in front of them, the chaos was complete. Hancock's assault had become a stalemate, then a retreat, men fighting their way backward. He looked down the road, saw more men filing up and over the logs, the defense stronger still. Our advantage is here, he thought. Now it is time to wait.
Two days before, he had marched the Second Corps right past the ruins of the Chancellor mansion, the place where he'd held the rebels away a year ago. It was a memory he carried into every fight, the collapse of command, Joe Hooker suddenly losing his nerve. Hancock had been the rear guard, had held Lee at bay while the rest of the army backed away, northward, to the safety of the river. The Battle of Chancellorsville had been a complete disaster, but the defeat was not inflicted by Lee or by the rebels. Hancock's men, and the others, the great power and spirit of the Federal army, had been beaten by their own commander.
He had tried not to dwell on that, moved quickly past the ruins of the mansion, stared to the front, toward the dense woods, but those sights brought a different horror. In the small clearings, patches of burned brush, he could see the bones, men and horses, the sickening remains of the fight a year ago. The men saw it too, and many remembered this awful place, marched quietly, no one hoping for another fight on this ground. Many others, the replacements, stared at the bones and the wreckage in stunned silence, some only now understanding that the next fight could do the same to them.
The wound still bothered him, nearly every day. It had come the third day at Gettysburg, facing the last great assault from Lee's army. The musket ball struck his saddle, shattered the wood and exploded it underneath him, punching splinters and fragments up inside of him. The doctors thought they had removed all the fragments, but the pains were still there, and the wound still festered and burned, and if the doctors didn't know, he did. There were more fragments inside of him yet. He would need surgery again.
There was not much about that day he could recall. He had watched them come, a great wave of men, Pickett and Pettigrew, nearly fifteen thousand soldiers, pushing straight at his defenses. When he saw it was Pickett, he also knew it was Armistead.
Lewis Armistead commanded one of Pickett's brigades, and Armistead had been as close to Hancock as anyone before the war, a friendship that grew from the early days, Mexico, Kansas, the Seminole Wars in Florida. They had parted ways in Los Angeles, when news of Fort Sumter reached the West Coast. Much of the army simply dissolved, so many resigning, going south. He knew they would meet eventually, that there were too many in this war who were facing their friends, their brothers, across the deadly space. He had not allowed himself to feel the sadness of that. It was, after all, Armistead's choice.
He still didn't understand that, how the good men, the honorable men, could betray their oath as officers, betray their country. He had asked himself, tormented himself with the question: When this is over, will we still be friends? Will I be able to look him in the eye and not see a traitor?
Pickett's great assault had brought Armistead and his men straight into Hancock's guns, and unlike most of the shattered gray wave, Armistead's men reached the Federal lines, actually broke through, pushed across the low stone wall in one last desperate surge. But they were too few, and the men in blue too many, and Armistead fell just inside Hancock's own lines.
Hancock never saw him that day, had already gone down with his own wound. Now there would be no answers. He would never know if Armistead could still have been his friend. It all seemed so very long ago.
He moved the horse again, heard more scattered musket fire from the right, thought, Burnside. You're in there, somewhere. It would be nice if you would tell me where, or what the hell you're doing.
The field across the road was quiet now, the last of his men safely behind the log wall. There was a steady flow of black smoke down to the left, a brushfire moving with the breeze, rolling slowly toward the road, toward the pine of the wall. He moved that way, saw the smoke drifting across his men, a thick cloud. Men began to move out of the way, waving their arms. Some were laughing, and he heard a man say, "You boys keep a lookout. Them rebs could be hidin' in the smoke!"
He looked across the field, toward the trees, and suddenly there was a new sound, a ripple of musket fire, the high shriek of lead, dull smacks in the wall. Then the rebels were there, moving forward, and now there came the sound, the awful scream he had heard before. It was the rebel yell.
His men began to fire at the gray line, and he watched, thought, How many... how strong? The rebels moved closer, but the charge didn't come. They simply stopped, knelt, were trading volleys with his men behind the wall. Now the fire from his own men began to take effect, and the rebel line was falling apart. He stared, thought, This is insane. They can't just... stand there. It will be a slaughter.
He saw a staff officer moving along the road, coming toward him. The man reined up his horse, saluted, said, "General Hancock, we have word from General Burnside. He is moving into position on our right front. General Burnside reports he will try to assault the rebel flank, if we can only hold them in place, Sir!"
Hancock stared at the man, felt a burst of anger.
"If we can hold them... why? So he can watch? Where the hell has he been all day) Now, we don't need him, we are behind a big damned wall. The enemy is coming right at us!"
Suddenly there was a great burst of sound, across the field in the far trees. Hancock turned, saw a new wave, a heavier line of infantry emerging from the trees. The sounds of the muskets rolled all around him, the road filling with gray smoke, the hot smell of powder. Now it was a fight.
The staff was gathering behind him now, and he could hear the shouts, the men yelling at him. He jerked the horse, moved away from the wall, behind the road, thought, No, this is not the place for you to be. He moved back into tall trees, followed by the staff, saw more officers waiting for him, looks of pained relief. Well, hell, he thought. If I can't see it for myself, how am I to know what's going on?
Now a man rode quickly up behind him, a staff officer, the man ducking low. Hancock turned the horse, and the man yelled, "Sir... we have a gap in the lines! General Ward reports the enemy is advancing into our center, Sir.
Hancock stared at the man, watched him wilt under the hot gaze.
"Yes, Captain, I can see where the enemy is assaulting! A gap? Where? Where is General Ward?"
"Uh... I don't know Sir.
It wasn't a brushfire anymore. it had reached the sticks and timbers of the wall, and now a great roaring bonfire began to spread out on both sides, sheets of flame towering above the road. Blue troops with blackened faces were streaming toward him, men with burnt clothes, a new panic from an enemy you could not hold away.
He saw officers now, yelled, "Dammit! Get these men back in line!" They were moving in a rush all around him, shouts and curses, and now he could hear the sounds of the muskets, the hot lead cutting the air around him.
He tur
ned, yelled to his staff, "Get word to all units... send support to the center! Order up the reserves, to the middle of the line! Tell the officers... follow the smoke! Go toward the smoke!"
Now there was a new burst of musket fire, all along the wall, and he tried to see, thought, Yes, hold them back. Suddenly there was a great chorus of screams, and he saw a burst of men leaping through the flames. The rebels had reached the logs, were rushing forward through the wall of flames. They began to flow out from the wall, and he could see them pointing, quick aim, scattered shots. They were looking for targets, began now to fire up and down the road, where the men in blue still huddled at the wall, where the flames had not yet spread.
Hancock could see the faces now, men with singed hair, blackened clothes. He spurred the horse, and the staff followed, moved farther back into the trees. The smoke was everywhere, from the fight, from the growing fire. He moved into an open clearing, took a deep breath of blessed air. On the trails behind him a column of his men was moving forward, the reserve, and he pointed, yelled to an officer, "There, double quick! They have broken through!"