House Divided (122 page)

 

Longstreet filled his lungs, and calm returned to him. What Sorrel said was true. The sun had set, the roar of battle was diminishing. “See how the work goes on our left,” he directed. He himself rode toward the right. Goree reported that Kershaw's men were short of ammunition. Well, they would not need much more. Meade might fight back tonight, but Longstreet doubted it; the Yankees had been too badly hurt today.

There was still heavy musket fire on the slopes of the little Round Top, and he sent Major Currain for a report from that quarter. A reaction from these high hours began to possess him. He felt sleepy, and small details caught and held his dulled eyes. There were a great many dead and wounded men along the stone wall beside which he rode. Stone walls raised the devil with an attack; they were hard to carry, easy to defend. One man behind a stone wall was as strong as five men in the open; and this field where they had fought today was all stone walls and boulders and houses and woods and fences and orchards. Such ground made for deadly fighting.

He heard a sudden storm of musketry to the north. New reinforcements must be hitting Wilcox. Let Peyton Manning go and see what
could be done for him. At the word Manning whirled his horse so eagerly that he almost trampled a wounded man who had propped himself against a tree. Longstreet rode slowly toward the lane that led up to the peach orchard. He passed a dead man from whom blood had flowed down an eroded bank in a wavering line that reached twenty or thirty feet from where the man lay. How much blood was there in a man? Why did it not splash around inside of him audibly when he walked? Yonder a Negro moved from one still figure to the next, probably a servant looking for his master's body. There would be many such seekers on this field tonight. In the woods, among the rocks, how many dead men would escape that search, would never be found; yes and living men, too, who had not strength to cry out and thus attract attention? As Longstreet reached the lane, someone screamed; and he saw a man with a dangling leg just being lifted into an ambulance, saw the pink-white end of a projecting bone. The ambulance jolted away, the man babbling in a vise of intolerable pain.

Back at the house on the lane he found Sorrel and McLaws and General Law; and Major Currain came to report, and Colonel Manning presently appeared, carrying saddle and bridle because his horse had been killed under him. It was dark enough now so that against the sky, as the last shells went whirling toward the enemy, the burning fuses could be seen. Longstreet roused himself from the slaked listlessness which held him and sent Sorrel to report to General Lee.

“Tell him we have that height he wanted for his guns,” he directed. “Say that I will stay here, in case Meade makes a night move.”

To his divisional commanders he gave instructions. “Hold your positions and correct your lines. We may be ordered to attack in the morning. Have that in mind.” To General Law he added: “Reconnoiter to your right, around those hills, General.” Even now the best hope lay in that move to the right which he had urged upon the commanding general, and upon which Hood and Law when they saw the ground agreed.

Colonel Alexander came for orders. “Place your guns with an eye to work tomorrow,” Longstreet directed. “General Lee will want you in position to pound the cemetery.” He remembered Lieutenant Wentz. “Did that lieutenant of yours find his family at home?”

Alexander said: “His father, yes. The rest had moved to safety.
When we seized the orchard, Wentz hustled his father down cellar out of harm's way. We've a battery in his yard.” Alexander added in an amused tone: “The old man was sitting in his own kitchen smoking his pipe when the Lieutenant got to him. Several of our shells had hit his house, but fortunately he wasn't hurt.”

Longstreet said approvingly: “Well, Colonel, the Yankees around that house under your fire were hurt, thoroughly. A good day's work.”

When Alexander was gone, Longstreet asked the losses of the day. McLaws thought his strength had been reduced by at least two thousand bayonets; Law said Hood's division now under his command had lost as many or more. So four thousand men had paid in blood for that high ground on which General Lee wished to place his guns. Four thousand men? A heavy price. The whole army lost not many more than that at Fredericksburg! Four thousand? Yes, and Anderson's brigades had losses, too.

Major Currain requested permission to go seek Brett Dewain and find out how he had fared. Moxley Sorrel returned, and when he dismounted Longstreet saw some awkwardness in his movements. ‘Hurt?” he asked.

“A shell fragment hit my right arm, bruised it a bit; nothing serious.” Sorrel made his report. “General Lee congratulates you on your success and says you have accomplished what he hoped. He requests that you renew the attack in the morning.”

“He knows Pickett is here?”

“Yes sir.”

Longstreet nodded. Colonel Fremantle had come with Sorrel. “Well, Colonel,” Longstreet asked, “had you a good view?”

“Yes, but a distant one.”

“The enemy was not where we had been told he would be. We had to fight him where we found him.”

“General Lee was right under my tree,” said the Englishman. “I was interested to see that he sent only one message. Apparently he leaves all details to his commanders.” He added smilingly: “I understand your staff objects to the way you exposed yourself!”

Longstreet grunted. Major Fairfax joined them, exasperated because he had spent most of his time marching prisoners to the rear. “Like a damned mule driver,” he declared, and they laughed, glad to find an
excuse for mirth. Currain came back and to Longstreet's question answered that Dewain was all right.

“The Howitzers were up near the Seminary, had only two or three casualties. A shell burst near them and frightened Brett's horse, and it ran away with all his belongings. He chased it, but it galloped right through our battle down below the road here, and he had to let it go.” He came near Longstreet, said in an interested tone: “General, here's a curious thing. I passed where they were sorting over the muskets picked up on the battlefield, seeing how many of them could be used; and I talked with the lieutenant in charge. They had seventeen hundred and sixty-three muskets there, and they'd picked out four hundred and twelve——”

Longstreet made an amused sound. “Figures will be the death of you, Currain.” The Major was a simple man, always easily predictable except when sudden storming lust for action swept him out of himself.

“Yes sir; but here's the strange thing, General. Three hundred and four of those muskets were still loaded, and the lieutenant said at least half of them had more than one charge, sometimes four or five. One had nine charges that they drew and counted, and another was loaded right to the muzzle, solidly. I don't see how that could happen, sir.”

“Easily enough,” Longstreet assured him. “Men in battle get excited.” His tone was jocular. “I seem to remember an occasion when you were a little stirred up yourself; though to good purpose, to be sure. What happens is that excited men forget to cap the nipples. They snap their pieces and ram home another load without noticing that there was no shot.” He himself was usually completely calm in battle, or thought he was; but then he never carried a weapon, had not done so since his days as a young officer. “I remember an affair in Mexico when I kept snapping my pistol through several hours of action and never thought to load it till next day. Young soldiers lose their heads.” He rose. “There, I see a bite of supper ready.”

Over their supper, talk drifted wearily. The night seemed cool after the blistering day, but it was still hot enough so that no tents were needed, nor blankets. Longstreet sent Currain to ask the farmer near whose house they were preparing to bivouac whether they could take a few armfuls of hay from his barn, and Trav returned with this permission. “Mr. Warfield says as long as you don't sleep in the barn and
like as not set fire to it, he won't complain.” An orderly carried an armful of hay into the orchard across the road from the cooking fire, and Longstreet told Currain to ask Dr. Cullen about General Hood, and so lay down, half-listening to the talk back by the fire. The younger men of the staff discussed the day's work, their voices now argumentative and eager, now hushed with sorrow for friends hurt or dead. None of them were satisfied with what had been accomplished; and Longstreet understood their discontent. They had done what Lee asked of them; but the First Corps was used to doing more than was asked. Colonel Manning blamed inadequate reconnaissance.

“General Pendleton said he'd surveyed the ground, but if he did, either it was from a long way off or else he had poor eyes. I don't believe he came within a half a mile of the road. The Yankee prisoners say they had pickets out last night almost to Fairfield, and General Wilcox found Yankee outposts in the woods north of us here when he moved down this way today. If General Pendleton came this far, he would have run into them.”

Fairfax said: “Speaking of General Wilcox, he's in a damned bad humor tonight! He got right into the Yankee lines over there on the ridge, and sent for help; and his messenger found General Anderson in a ravine back in the woods, sprawling on the ground with all his staff around him as calm as if there wasn't a Yankee within fifty miles!” He laughed. “I suppose they kept in the shade for fear they'd get a touch of sun.”

“Did General Anderson send help?” Manning asked.

“No. General Wilcox repulsed three attacks by Yankee reinforcements and then gave up, pulled his men back. He says with support he could have broken the Yankee front; but no support came, and they were hitting him from three sides.”

Longstreet would remember that against Anderson; yet even if Anderson failed, Hill—without waiting to be asked—should have sent fresh brigades to strengthen Wilcox. But it was too late now to correct mistakes. The day was done; afterthought never won a battle.

 

The voices died, the men drifted into sleep. Longstreet, his head pillowed on his folded hat laid atop his spyglasses, felt in his ear the hard pound of his heart not yet slowed to normal beat from the swift
tattoo of battle rhythm. His blood was still too hot for sleep. Not till he heard Colonel Alexander begin to put his guns into position for tomorrow's work did he drowse a little, and he woke at first light and sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Tom Goree, seeing him awake, reported that Hood would probably lose an arm, but should recover. Well, Hood fought with his head and with his dauntless heart; not with his arms. When breakfast fires were lighted, Longstreet got to his feet, stiff with dawn chill; but a hot drink would set him right again. Sorrel brought the reports of Law's scouts. There were enemy forces facing Law and massed behind the Round Tops; but south of those rocky hills the way to Meade's rear was still open and of easy access. If Pickett and his fresh men were sent around Meade's flank to hit the enemy trains behind the Round Tops, would not Meade's whole line be dislocated? Dawn melted into day and Alexander came to report his guns in position, with the Washington Artillery to add to their weight of fire.

“I had twenty of them in a bad spot,” he confessed. “I placed them after dark, but this morning I saw they would be under enfilade from the cemetery hill above the town. Luckily the Yankees couldn't see them in the morning mist, and they're better placed now.”

“Get some breakfast while you can,” Longstreet directed. “As soon as Pickett is ready, we'll go to work.”

Guns opened off north of the town, and he heard heavy musket fire; so Ewell was already engaged. Too bad Ewell had not been as energetic yesterday. While he ate, Longstreet reflected on yesterday's battle. The Yankees, give them credit, had done disquietingly well. With their line broken and their center pierced, they had recoiled, to be sure; but down in that wheat field below the peach orchard they had fought as tenaciously as cats. He remembered General Hill's remark day before yesterday, that the Yankees had never fought as hard as they did that day. This might be because they were defending their own territory, for every dog is a hero in his own yard.

But whatever the cause, their new prowess was all the more reason for seeking to defeat them by wit rather than weight, by maneuvre rather than assault. Perhaps General Lee would sanction that move to the right which Pickett's coming made so feasible.

As Longstreet finished breakfast, the commanding general with three
or four of his staff and General Hill rode toward them through the orchard. Longstreet rose, and with a word of friendly greeting, Lee said: “Well, General, from the position you won yesterday we can hurt those people today.”

Longstreet repeated the report brought by General Law's scouts. “They found good opportunity to send Pickett around Meade's flank,” he suggested, and pointed to the rocky heights that marked the southern end of the enemy line.

Lee shook his head; but before he could speak, General Pendleton rode up from the peach orchard. “I can see no room for improvement in the gun positions, sir,” he reported. Lee turned to scan the field. From the crossroads at the orchard the road ascended slightly to that knoll, yesterday their objective, which was now in Confederate hands. The batteries there, withdrawn a little west of the road to avoid an enfilade, were not much more than a mile from the cemetery on the hill above the town.

Lee said to Pendleton: “Then you will want to arrange the Third Corps artillery.” Pendleton rode away, and Lee turned back to Longstreet. “General, if you advance your corps to that low point of the ridge over there, you will break their center.”

Longstreet waited to speak calmly. “To go there, sir, we must accept the fire of the enemy massed here on our front. As we advance, they will be on our flank and rear. My divisions are weaker by four or five thousand bayonets than they were yesterday morning; and if we move as you direct, Meade's left will pour down and crush us.”