A Stillness at Appomattox (178 page)

He
waved
toward
the
north,
toward
the
position
of
the railroad,
and
he
cried:
"I
want
you
there!"

He
turned
and
rode
to
the
north.
Meeting
Griffin
and
Ayres and
Chamberlain,
he
called
to
them:
"Get
together
all
the men
you
can,
and
drive
on
while
you
can
see
your
hand before
you!"

While
the
officers
formed
the
men
into
ordered
ranks
and prepared
to
move
on,
a
pale,
slight
man
rode
up
to
Sheridan and
spoke
to
him
quietly:
General
Warren,
the
written
order clutched
in
his
hand,
asking
Sheridan
if
he
would
not
reconsider
the
order
that
wrecked
a
soldier's
career.

"Reconsider,
hell!"
boomed
Sheridan.
"I
don't
reconsider my
decisions!
Obey
the
order!"
Silently,
Warren
rode
off
in the
dusk,
and
Sheridan
went
on
trying
to
organize
a
force to
break
through
to
the
railroad.
¹⁸

Actually,
no
more
could
be
done
that
night.
No
more needed
to
be
done.
To
all
practical
purposes,
Pickett's
force had
been
wiped
out.
Thousands
of
prisoners
were
on
their way
back
to
the
provost
marshal's
stockades,
and
there
were so
many
captured
muskets
that
Sheridan's
prisoners
were using
armloads
of
them
to
corduroy
the
roads.
Some
of
the Rebel
cavalry
elements
which
had
got
away
were
swinging about
to
rejoin
Lee's
army,
but
the
infantry
that
had
escaped was
beaten
and
disorganized,
drifting
off
to
the
north
and west,
effectively
out
of
the
war.
Sheridan
could
have
the railroad
whenever
he
wanted
to
march
his
men
over
to
it,
and he
might
just
as
well
do
it
tomorrow
as
tonight
because
the force
which
might
have
stopped
him
had
been
blown
to
bits. There
was
no
need
to
put
exhausted
troops
on
the
road
before morning,
and
in
the
end
even
Sheridan
came
to
see
it.
Cavalry and
infantry
went
into
bivouac
where
they
were.

Around
General
Griffi
n's
campfire
the
new
commander
of the
V
Corps
talked
things
over
with
division
and
brigade commanders.
These
men
were
deeply
attached
to
Warren. They
felt
that
his
troubles
today
had
mostly
been
caused
by General
Crawford,
and
it
seemed
very
hard
that
Warren should
be
broken
for
mistakes
and
delays
which
had
not, after
all,
affected
the
outcome
of
the
battle.
This
was
the
first time
in
the
history
of
the
Army
of
the
Potomac
that
a
ranking commander
had
been
summarily
fired
because
his
men
had been
put
into
action
tardily
and
inexpertly.
Sheridan
had been
cruel
and
unjust—and
if
that
cruel
and
unjust
insistence on
driving,
aggressive
promptness
had
been
the
rule
in
this army
from
the
beginning,
the
war
probably
would
have
been won
two
years
earlier.

As
the
generals
talked,
a
stocky
figure
stepped
into
the light
of
the
campfire—Sheridan
himself.

He
was
in
a
different
mood,
now,
the
battle
fury
quite gone,
and
he
spoke
very
gently:
If
he
had
been
harsh
and demanding
with
any
of
them
that
day
he
was
sorry,
and
he hoped
they
would
forgive
him,
for
he
had
not
meant
to
hurt anyone.
But—"you
know
how
it
is;
we
had
to
carry
this place,
and
I
was
fretted
all
day
until
it
was
done."
So
there was
this
apology
for
hot
words
spoken
in
the
heat
of
action, and
there
was
the
general's
thanks
for
hard
work
well
done; and
then
Sheridan
went
away,
and
the
generals
gaped
into the
dark
after
him.
General
Chamberlain,
who
was
one
of the
circle,
reflected
that
"as
a
rule,
our
corps
and
army commanders
were
men
of
brains
rather
than
magnetism";
but Sheridan,
now—well,
"we
could
see
how
this
voice
and
vision, this
swing
and
color,
this
vivid
impression
on
the
senses, carried
the
pulse
and
will
of
men."
¹⁴

Several
miles
to
the
east,
one
of
Grant's
staff
officers
who had
been
with
Sheridan
this
day
finished
a
tiring
ride
over crowded,
watery
roads,
and
pulled
up
his
horse
by
the
open fire
at
Grant's
headquarters.
His
fellow
officers
there
crowded around
him
before
he
had
dismounted,
eager
for
news,
and he
shouted
it
to
them
in
breathless
sentences—complete
victory,
Rebels
utterly
routed,
the
way
to
Lee's
railroad
and Lee's
rear
wide
open,
roads
all
clogged
with
prisoners—and they
shouted,
tossed
hats
and
caps
in
the
air,
slapped
one another
on
the
back,
capering
in
wild
enthusiasm;
all
but Grant
himself,
who
stood
in
their
midst
impassive,
cigar
in his
teeth,
and
as
soon
as
he
could
make
himself
heard
in
the din
asked
the
staff
officer
the
question
that
seemed
to
be
his private
gauge
for
measuring
a
victory:
How
many
prisoners? The
officer
said
that
the
best
estimate
was
about
five
thousand,
and
for
a
moment
Grant
looked
pleased,
almost
enthusiastic.
Then
he
went
over
to
the
telegraphers'
tent, coming
out
a
moment
later
to
remark:
"I
have
ordered
an immediate
assault
all
along
the
lines."
¹⁶