The Last Full Measure (8 page)

“You have your own responsibilities and you’re a good enough officer to know that. In any event, you will be here in spirit, and by the Lord’s grace we’re on the same side,” Armistead replied with a smile.

Hancock grimaced, then speared Chamberlain with his gaze. “What of you, professor? You have volunteered to fight here, and Captain Armistead could use help in commanding the defense of this position.”

“Commanding?” Chamberlain looked from Hancock to Armistead in surprise. “I’m no West Point man, sir.”

“Neither is Mosby. I’ve been watching and listening to you, and you’ve skill despite your lack of training, an understanding of the difference between theory and action which many an armchair warrior lacks.” Hancock nodded grimly to Chamberlain. “And unless my instincts are wrong, sir, you are a leader men will follow. Will you accept a field commission and serve as Major Armistead’s deputy?”

“Major?” Armistead asked.

“A field promotion, Lo. I just decided on it. It’s not right I should be a colonel and you a captain. Would you be right with Chamberlain as a deputy?”

“I would.”

Chamberlain swallowed, thinking of the regular army column marching toward this location. He knew too much history to believe that victory here would be easy or inevitable. Far from it. Hancock clearly hated to leave his friend Armistead here, but both men understood the need.

As did he, Chamberlain realized. Words meant nothing if men were not willing to personally sacrifice for the principles in which they believed. He took a deep breath and faced Hancock. “Yes, sir. I would be honored to accept a field commission.”

“Then raise your right hand, sir. Do you swear to serve faithfully in the Army of the New Republic, to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic and to follow all lawful orders given you by those officers senior to you in authority?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then I hereby appoint you to the brevet rank of captain of volunteers in the Army of the New Republic. Do your duty, sir.” Hancock seized his reins and made to turn his horse’s head, then paused for another look at Armistead. “Farewell, Lo.”

“Farewell,” Armistead echoed, saluting.

Hancock returned the salute, then pulled his horse around and galloped down the road toward where the rest of the column had begun moving steadily away.

Armistead spent a moment watching Hancock, then shifted his appraisal to the men awaiting his commands. “Let’s get the troops over to the other side of the hill and make sure they are properly placed, Captain Chamberlain. We have some rifles and some carbines, but also a fair number of pistols and shotguns. We will need to let the attackers get close before we fire, and that means getting the troops under cover as Captain Longstreet advised. There is little time nor tools to dig trenches, but we will do what we can.”

“Yes, sir.” Chamberlain saluted. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t seem surprised when Colonel Hancock proposed me as your deputy.”

Armistead smiled at Chamberlain. “Win and I both knew that you had already joined us in your heart, sir. He also spoke truly in his assessment of you. You will need confidence in yourself this day. Lack that confidence, and the men will know. Believe that what Colonel Hancock said of you is true, and together we will hold this hill. There goes the wagon with Mr. Lincoln. If you wish any farewells with him, you had best do so now.”

Chamberlain ran over to the wagon, which had just started to move, and pulled himself up onto the back. Inside he saw Lincoln lying on his pile of blankets, the plain-featured face drawn with strain and suffering from the wound and the rough travel. With no opportunity for shaving, a beard had begun sprouting on Lincoln’s chin, but the growth did not further roughen the man’s features, instead lending him some extra measure of dignity. “I’m staying here, Mr. Lincoln, with the soldiers who will be holding off the regulars. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Professor Chamberlain, and thank you for all you have done.” Lincoln offered his hand, which Chamberlain was relieved to find cool and not hot with fever.

“It is Captain Chamberlain now,” he advised Lincoln.

Lincoln smiled with surprising gentleness. “I hope to be worthy of the men who are defending me, Captain Chamberlain. Will I see you in Illinois?”

“Perhaps.” Chamberlain didn’t know if he would ever leave this hill, but he didn’t want to speak of that. “Events are coming to a head, it seems. I need to return to Maine, to help raise the state in rebellion in support of the New Republic, and then raise soldiers to help the struggle in other states.”

“A difficult and worthy labor, captain. My good wishes go with you.”

“There is little I can do, Mr. Lincoln, compared to what you can do. A man of the people must lead this rebellion against those who hold the people and the Republic in slavery.”

“You do me too much honor, sir.” Lincoln smiled, though sadness held his eyes as if they could see a future which held much sorrow and loss. “I will gather the forces of liberty and direct them as best I may, though I will be much like the man riding a river in flood on a raft, who seeks first to keep the raft afloat as the raging flood goes where it will. But perhaps this flood can be guided along a better course.”

“I’ll help all that I can, sir.” Chamberlain dropped off the wagon, watching it go, then jogged back to where Armistead waited.

As they led the fifty volunteers east to where the Baltimore Pike climbed up the side of the ridge near the cemetery, Captain Buford rode by and saluted Armistead. “I’ll keep Stuart busy, Lo. See you at sunset.” Then Buford led his column of mounted troops down into the town, where the residents, having seen the preparations for battle, had vanished from the streets.

When Chamberlain reached the Baltimore Pike he saw that the arch of the brick gateway to the cemetery faced it from just off the road. Most of the windows in the building also faced the road, with only one looking down the pike. “Pity,” Armistead muttered. “That could have been a useful defensive position.” Aside from a few trees and the grave markers and memorials there was little other cover on the west side of the pike.

On the east side of the pike the hill rose a bit farther, its top almost clear of trees except for a copse near the eastern side away from the pike. Farmers’ fields occupied this side of the pike, and a series of low walls made of carefully piled stone ran perpendicular to the pike, the nearest such wall almost even with the cemetery gatehouse and just short of the crest of the hill. The slope up the pike here to the top of the hill was significantly shorter and steeper than where the Taneytown road came up to the west, especially on the side of the pike where the cemetery lay.

“Sergeant Maines,” Armistead ordered. “A cemetery will have shovels at hand. Get them. Inform the owners, if they are about, that we will either return the shovels or leave adequate compensation.” Armistead moved his arm, pointing. “I will place half the men on each side of the pike. Two on the east side can fight from the gate house but the rest must dig and throw up such bastions as they can manage in the time we have. The troops on the west side of the road will fight from behind the stone wall and dig what trenches they may in its lee to improve their own cover.”

Maines saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“The men must not be worn out when the regulars arrive, sergeant. We need to pace their work at fortifying this area.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll go acquire the shovels, sir.”

“Captain Chamberlain,” Armistead said as the sergeant left, “supervise the men digging in behind the stone wall. Make sure they are spread out, but that we have good strength toward the pike and are prepared to strike from the flank any force trying to charge past us up the road.”

“Yes, sir. How do I do that?”

Armistead smiled for a moment, then he used his hands to emphasize his words. “Throw up some of the dirt from the digging so it forms a bastion at the corner of the wall where it meets the road. Have it form a position from which several men can fire directly at the road and be protected, while also blocking anyone on the road from firing down the wall at the men behind it.”

Chamberlain found to his surprise that the men followed his directions without protest. The sun swung across the sky as the defenders labored to improve the natural defenses for the hill, everyone stealing glances down the Baltimore Pike whenever they took a break. Finally one man called out as five of Buford’s scouts came into view, tearing down the pike, but veering off toward the gap to the east well before reaching the slope leading up the hill. Behind them came at least twenty regular cavalrymen in pursuit, all of them following Buford’s men toward the gap.

Armistead brought out field glasses, standing in the center of the pike looking south, appearing totally calm. “The rest of the cavalry is in sight,” he told Chamberlain. “They are heading straight for the gap to the east of us, where Buford is waiting for them.” A flurry of shots sounded in that direction. “And where Captain Buford has just shown his command in full view and greeted the regular cavalry vanguard who forgot in the thrill of the chase their duty to screen the advance of their comrades.”

Chamberlain looked to the east, seeing several surviving cavalrymen retreating at high speed back to the south, then had his attention brought back to the pike by Armistead. “The infantry is in sight. They’re marching in good form. Either the corporal forgot to mention it or Colonel Lee has already received reinforcements. There are two cannon accompanying Lee’s force. Light horse artillery, but it can’t be discounted.”

“Does it look like five hundred infantry?” Chamberlain asked.

“Very like that,” Armistead confirmed, pivoting to study the situation to the southeast. “It appears all of the regular cavalry is heading for the gap and the town. John Buford is going to have his hands full.” Then Armistead sighed sadly, surprising Chamberlain. “There’s Stuart. It’s got to be him. I never thought to be fighting against Lee and Stuart as well. Bad enough to be fighting the United States Army, but to have it led by those I once served beside makes it worse.”

Chamberlain and Armistead stood there in the road, while the regular infantry marched closer, Chamberlain feeling ridiculously exposed. “Do you think when they see us here they will move west and come up the Taneytown road as we did?” Chamberlain asked.

Armistead shook his head. “No, sir. I do not consider it likely. Colonel Lee’s first move will certainly be an attempt to sweep us aside with as little delay as possible. Marching across the fields toward the Taneytown road will take time, and we could easily shift our own frontage to meet him there since we would have far less ground to cover. Regular forces also tend to have contemptuous attitudes toward volunteers. That and Lee’s need for speed will work against a flanking maneuver with his infantry. He will come straight at us.”

A farmhouse stood perhaps a quarter mile down the pike on the east side of the road, and as Chamberlain watched the regulars marched even with the farmhouse, then came to a halt. The two cannon stopped behind them but the men riding the caissons made no moves to unlimber the guns. Another roar of gunfire arose to the northeast, this time tapering off into sustained shooting punctuating the blare of bugles. Armistead, his field glasses to his eyes again, shook his head. “Stuart’s companies are sounding the charge, just as Buford predicted. They’re charging into the town, while Buford’s men are dismounting and taking up positions behind cover and in houses. Stuart is going to try to defeat Buford’s force on Buford’s chosen ground, but Buford won’t oblige him with a traditional cavalry fight. Stuart has blundered, but he and Lee have also both just made a more serious error.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuart’s cavalry could have felt out our numbers and our positions, then the cavalry could have galloped to the Taneytown road and up it while Lee’s infantry held us pinned here. Neither Lee nor Stuart wants to take the time needed to reconnoiter us, and so they have to assume we have someone blocking the Taneytown road as well. But because they rushed to battle before scouting out our positions, their cavalry is now tied down fighting in a place they didn’t expect to encounter resistance and they know nothing of our positions on this hill.” Armistead lowered his field glasses. “Always try to learn as much about the enemy as you can
before
you make your plans, Captain Chamberlain.”

“I will remember that, sir.”

“See that you do. That is what Hancock, Longstreet, Buford and you and I did. You would be surprised how many professionals fail to recall the necessity of taking the enemy into account before they decide on a course of action, though.”

The infantry on the road stood in ranks in the hot sun, waiting. Chamberlain could see officers on horseback riding up to each other, possibly discussing the gunfire being heard from over the hill where Buford was tying down Stuart. He was peering at them as if that would allow him to discern their intentions when Sergeant Maines spoke behind him. “Begging your pardon, Major Armistead and Captain Chamberlain, but we have another volunteer.”

Chamberlain turned along with Armistead, seeing an elderly man clasping a vintage musket in one hand. The man came to attention and saluted. “Private John Burns, reporting for duty, sir.”

Armistead returned the salute solemnly. “You appear to have fought your battles long before this, sir.”

“I fought against tyranny in the War of 1812 and I can fight against it now. I have no horse, but your cavalry captain suggested you could use reinforcements here on Cemetery Hill.” Burns must have read the hesitation in Armistead. “I have seen seventy years on this earth, sir. I do not fear dying now in the cause of liberty.”

“Then take your position in the line, sir,” Armistead ordered, waving Burns toward the positions occupied by the defenders on the west side of the road. “Inside the gate house. Fire from the window along with the men already there.”

“Yes, sir.” With another salute, the old man marched behind Sergeant Maines toward the gate house.