House Divided (124 page)

Turning southward again they passed Pickett's brigades lying in the
shade, and the men without command rose and took off their hats and stood while Lee rode by. “Well, General,” Lee commented, “those Virginians of Pickett's will do anything men can do.”

General Hill joined them and they returned through the trees to the front toward the enemy, and paused behind Alexander's batteries. Longstreet could see skirmishers, thrown forward to protect the guns, lying in the tall grass in the blazing sun. It was even hotter today than it had been yesterday. The firing on Ewell's front and on Law's had died away. The house the Federal skirmishers had tried to occupy was burning cheerfully; flames ate their way through the roof and blossomed from the windows, and smoke billowed briskly upward. The enemy skirmishers had fallen back nearer the road, and an occasional smoke puff marked their positions, but these scattering shots came at long intervals. There was a pressing quiet in the still and stifling air.

Well, this quiet would not last. Longstreet imagined the interweaving pattern of shot and shell and canister and grape which presently would scour those fields. Then General Hill, as though driven by an uncontrollable longing, said urgently: “General Lee, let me throw my whole corps into this assault.”

Lee shook his head. “No, no, General. We must keep something in reserve.”

Longstreet marked the word, and he understood. Lee knew well enough that against them lay heavy odds. He would not have ordered this desperate venture unless he had considered and rejected every alternative. Then General Lee lifted his hand in salutation; and he and Hill turned away, leaving to Longstreet the conduct of the day.

 

Longstreet felt the weight of responsibility press down upon him, felt for a moment hopelessly and dreadfully alone; so it was a relief when Sorrel approached. Sorrell's eyes were shining; he had a letter in his hand.

“General,” he said proudly, “my commission as lieutenant colonel has just arrived.”

“Is there mail from Richmond?”

“Yes sir.”

Longstreet wished to ask whether there was a letter for him, some word of Louisa; but if there were, Sorrel would have told him. “Well,
Colonel, that commission was well-earned.” He forced himself to concentrate on the problem here at hand. “Please ask General Pettigrew and General Trimble to spread their steps when they move. They must align with Pickett.”

Sorrel cantered off to deliver this direction; and Alexander rode up to join Longstreet. They sat surveying the gentle valley across which fifteen thousand men presently must march into a blast of fire. “Well, Colonel,” Longstreet asked, “any enemy activity?”

“They tried the range once or twice; but we were careful not to give them a worth-while target.”

“How many guns have you in hand?”

“Seventy-five here, and eight off to the right to guard our flank; and General Pendleton offered me some of the Third Corps Howitzers to go forward with the infantry. I have them ready back behind the woods. They'll be useful at short range.”

“I'll send you word when to open. You'd better arrange a signal to the guns.”

When Alexander was gone, Longstreet dismounted. A courier from General Law reported that enemy cavalry had threatened his right rear, so that he had to swing his flank to face them. Longstreet thought Kershaw had better draw his men back a little to conform, and he sent the order to General McLaws. The adjutant of the Washington Artillery came to say they were ready to give the signal for the batteries to open.

“Tell Colonel Walton I will send him word,” Longstreet directed, and he drew away to be alone. It was his responsibility now to give the order that would send many men to die. When death might clear a road to victory, he never hesitated; but he could see no path to victory today. Still vainly hoping that some alternative might be found, he wrote a note to Colonel Alexander, writing slowly, forming every word with a conscious effort.

He signed the note in due form, looked up, called the nearest courier. “Give this to Colonel Alexander with my compliments.” When the note had gone, he who had never been tired in his life was terribly tired. He walked to a near-by tree, lay down and closed his eyes; he lay there trying to find some device that might at least reduce the losses of the attacking columns. Tears stung his closed eyes, and his thoughts blurred. It would be heaven to sleep and wake and find this moment gone. Why, he was crying like a child! The men must not see him. He turned on his side, buried his face in his arms, brushed his eyes on his sleeve.

A horseman approached and he sat up. Here was the reply from Colonel Alexander.

So Alexander too feared the results of this attack! A bloody cost? God Almighty, why should Alexander tell him that? Why not let him forget it? He wrote in harsh haste: “The intention is to advance the infantry if the artillery has the desired effect.... When that moment arrives, advise General Pickett . . .” He sent off the message, thinking that even this paltering exchange of meaningless notes used up a little time. Something might yet happen to avert the catastrophe into which this army was about to plunge. In a sudden concern for the safety of his right he decided that General McLaws had better withdraw Kershaw above the road to his original ground of yesterday, and he sent messengers to Kershaw and to McLaws.

The courier returned with a last note from Colonel Alexander. “When our fire is at its best,” the Colonel wrote, “I will advise General Pickett to advance.”

So there could be no more delay, no escape. Longstreet grimly accepted the inescapable. He wrote to Colonel Walton: “Let the batteries
open.” Let the guns go! Let them do their best! Let Pickett advance, God help him! God help them all!

 

After an interval when he thought his heart had stopped he heard the signal guns, one and then another! A moment more, and then the ground shook to the concussion of a hundred cannon, smoke blossomed from every muzzle, yonder against the sky appeared for an instant the speeding black dots that were shot and shell arcing toward the enemy. So! With the beginning of the cannonade, Longstreet's thoughts cleared. He considered once more the arrangement of the attacking columns. Heth's division, led today by Pettigrew, would be on the left of the front line; Pickett's on the right. Pickett was five thousand men; he might be not quite so many, but five thousand men was near enough. Pettigrew? Well, a month ago Heth had counted seventy-five hundred men; but he had fought a hard battle day before yesterday, had taken heavy losses. Pettigrew probably led a scant five thousand men today, with Pender's two brigades—commanded today by Trimble—to give him backing. Add Anderson for support in depth and you brought the count to twelve brigades, say fifteen thousand muskets.

And all these brigades would converge upon that clump of trees over on the opposite ridge, Pickett's division angling in from the right, while Pettigrew on the left advanced almost straight ahead. The pattern of attack was clear in Longstreet's mind. Pettigrew's four brigades and two of Pickett's in front, Trimble's brigades and Armistead to back them, Anderson ready to help where help was needed. The attacking front would be a flexible line of about nine thousand men, a line perhaps a mile in length; the second line would be more than half as long. When enemy fire thinned the front ranks, they would dress toward the center. At first the left would be weaker than the right; but the right had farther to go, and must by that much longer be under enemy fire. Longstreet had arranged his forces so that the right might accept heavy losses and still be strong enough to drive home the attack.

He tried to anticipate the development of this battle. Assume that of nine thousand men in the assaulting front, six thousand reached Meade's lines; assume that with four or five thousand comrades coming
in support they pierced that line. Having accomplished that miracle, the ten thousand survivors would face on either flank enemy masses of twice or thrice their number, pressing in to squeeze them in a terrible vise. A year ago, if you cut a Yankee line, the fragments broke and fled; but these Northern men were better soldiers now than they had been a year ago. His First Corps had broken their line yesterday; but instead of turning tail as they would once have done, they had fought fiercely and well to mend the break; and for lack of support to the attackers, they had succeeded. Had General Lee made sure that support would be ready today? Had he given the orders necessary to exploit success if it were achieved, to reinforce the assaulting column and roll back the broken enemy to right and left? Ten thousand men —if that many lived to reach the goal over there across the valley—could accomplish nothing alone; but presumably General Lee would see to it that the Third Corps, the brigades not already involved, would rush to take a hand. And presumably Ewell had his orders.

Longstreet dismissed the question. His task was to break the enemy center. If that were done, it would remain for Lee to use to the utmost the advantage gained.

The guns were roaring, the Yankee guns were answering and there was as yet no slackening of the fire on either side. Longstreet judged that since this gigantic cannonade began, an hour had passed. A courier from General Law reported enemy cavalry on his right rear, and Longstreet called Captain Goree.

“Yankee cavalry are feeling Law,” he said. “We've some troopers guarding the trains. Take them and any horse artillery you can find, and keep Law's flanks clear.”

Goree galloped away, and Longstreet reflected that the assault here, when it opened, would relieve the pressure on Law. He mounted and rode to join Colonel Alexander near the guns; and from that new position he tried to appraise the effect of the cannonade. The fire from the rocky hill which Lieutenant Wentz called Little Round Top was light and inconsiderable, so apparently Colonel Long had been right about those guns. Elsewhere, hostile fire was slow; and once Longstreet was sure he saw a Yankee battery move to the rear. The time to attack was close at hand.

He rode back to where among the trees that crowned the ridge
Pickett and his men were waiting. Meade's cannon were searching the woods to find the assaulting column, and solid shot and bursting shell came hungrily seeking human flesh to tear. Longstreet saw a man sitting against a tree, staring at him with astonished eyes. The man had only half a face. A solid shot had struck away his jaws and the lower end of his nose; and in that huge torn wound white bone showed, and the stump of a tongue moved as though the man tried to speak, or to swallow, or to spit out the choking blood. The man wore a hat with no crown, and his red hair was enough to identify him as that soldier in the Virginia regiment whose jests amused Pickett's men: Red Wheatley, something of the sort, that was his name.

Well, Red Wheatley would never joke again, unless that writhing stump of a tongue sought even now to utter some jesting word. Longstreet felt a great and flooding sorrow for this man and for all the other men who would go valiantly out across those fields to death today. He swung his horse aside and at a little distance he dismounted and stood leaning against a fence. His downcast eyes filled and overflowed and he did not heed the tears.

General Pickett came to him and saw his distress, and asked quickly: “Are you all right, General?”

Longsighted spoke almost humbly. “All right? Why, Pickett, I am being crucified!” But that sort of talk would not do! He touched Pickett's shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “Yes, I'm all right! I've directed Alexander to tell you when to advance.”

From the guns a courier galloped toward them. Longstreet thought the message might be for him, but the courier handed it to Pickett. Pickett read it, then gave it to Longstreet. The words blurred under his eyes.

Pickett asked: “General, shall I advance?”

Longstreet's eyes drifted toward the men, waiting in what cover they could find, extending in an irregular line away from him through the woods. Red Wheatley with his jaw shot away was no longer propped against the tree. He had fallen over sidewise, but he was still
alive. What had been his face was turned toward them; and that stump of a tongue still twitched from side to side.

Here came another note from Colonel Alexander. Again Pickett handed it to Longstreet.

Longstreet stared at the slip of paper for a long time, till Pickett said quietly: “I shall lead my men forward, sir.” He waited a moment. Longstreet, unable to speak, extended his hand. Pickett clasped it, then saluted and turned toward his horse; but after a few paces he came back, drawing a letter from his pocket, smiling.

“General,” he requested, “will you send this letter to Miss Sally?”

Longstreet nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. He took the letter, and Pickett rode toward where his brigades were waiting. Longstreet heard his ringing cry: “Up, men!” Then, like a spur: “Don't forget today that you're from old Virginia!”

 

The regiments began to move out of the woods and down into the sheltering swale. There, the lines took shape, each regiment compact and three ranks deep. Longstreet watched them briefly; then he mounted and with a gesture summoned the men of his staff, waiting near-by.

“Sorrel,” he said. “Stay with me. You too, Fairfax. Keep three or four couriers.” His eye swept the others. “Gentlemen, some of General Pettigrew's brigades are under new leaders today. They may need guidance or direction. Three or four of you had better report to General Pettigrew.”

Major Currain asked: “May I go to Colonel Marshall, General? I've friends in the Eleventh North Carolina, in his brigade. I'd like to be with them.”

“If you desire,” Longstreet agreed. He smiled grimly. “But leave that black horse of yours behind. He'll get you into hot water.” He rode to find Colonel Alexander, Sorrel and Fairfax following him. “Colonel,” he asked the artilleryman, “what's this about not enough ammunition? You should have sent for more.”

“I did, General; but the ordnance train has been moved. My men couldn't find it.”

“Then stop Pickett. Let him wait till you fill your limbers.”

Alexander protested: “That would take God knows how long, General; it would give the enemy time to repair what damage we've done.”

This was so obviously true that Longstreet nodded in sorrowful agreement. “I'd halt this charge if I could,” he confessed. “But General Lee wants it. Have you those howitzers ready to go along with Pickett?”

“I sent for them some time ago, sir; but General Pendleton had moved them, presumably to get away from the enemy fire. I've sent twice without finding them.”

Longstreet made an angry gesture. Mishaps and mistakes had trailed them day by day. “Pickett has a hard row to hoe, Colonel.”

“General Wright says it's not hard to get there,” Alexander replied. “Pickett will need reinforcements if he is to stay; but I understand General Lee is throwing the whole army in to support him.” He added in a quickening tone, looking toward the ravine where Pickett's men were forming. “Here they come.”

Longstreet turned to watch. Smoke from the enemy shells and from their own guns somewhat obscured the sun; but he could see regiments move up out of the swale. The line took shape. Kemper's brigade extended from the ravine to the right, Garnett's to the left; Armistead would follow close on their heels. Kemper was forming behind the screen of an orchard; he would have farther to go than Garnett or Armistead. This spot where Longstreet and Alexander sat their horses was in Kemper's line of march, for he would approach the road at a long diagonal, passing through the batteries, so Longstreet rode to one side to be out of Kemper's way.

Under red sunlight that came sickly through the canopy of smoke, the regiments, beginning now to move forward, were dark and gloomy masses. Over the clamor of the cannon Longstreet shouted to Alexander:

“Keep your guns firing till it's time to let them through. Then follow and guard their right.”

Alexander nodded, but Longstreet's eyes never left the unfolding scene. As the nearer regiments came on, a faint west wind carried the
smoke toward the enemy and caught the battle flags and fluttered them. Longstreet saw the pause here, the hurry there, which brought Kemper's front into alignment. On Kemper's left Garnett; and beyond Garnett all the rest of the assaulting force came into position. The gently rolling fields between the woods and the road, till a moment ago almost deserted, now suddenly were alive with men. Six brigades, say thirty regiments, say nine thousand men, formed the front of attack; six thousand more would press on their heels.

Longstreet from his position on the right flank could at first see across the gently undulating meadows the whole length of the front line, and the open ground between brigades and regiments as each unit preserved its individuality; but as the line came up abreast of him, it became increasingly foreshortened. The skirmishers moved in advance in many little files, four or five or six men in each file, so spaced as to cover and protect the whole front of the attack and to clear away enemy skirmishers before the main body came near enough to suffer from their fire. They went forward in short rushes, not running but moving at quickstep for a few paces and then taking cover while the main body came on. The skirmishers kept their formation, five paces apart, except when the order was to fire while advancing; then each leader halted and fired and waited to reload, the men behind proceeding a few paces beyond him, each in turn halting to let off his piece and load again. Thus the long front of the moving line was alive with single figures weaving an orderly pattern as they shuttled precisely to their tasks.

As the front of attack came abreast of Longstreet, his attention centered on the nearest regiments. Here was General Kemper, his brigade crossing a lane where two fences for a moment hindered. Kemper had resigned from Congress, had left the legislative labors for which he was preeminently fitted, to enter the army; but he should not be here today. In Congress, guiding the passage of needed legislation, he was infinitely more valuable to the Confederacy than on this deadly field. As an active force in the Confederate legislature he would be worth a division to this army; but here, any chance Yankee bullet might destroy him. But the South had little respect for politicians; it wanted its great men to fight. So Kemper had come perhaps to meet his death today.

The men marched at a steady battle step, slow enough so that none need lag and slow enough so that the lines could dress, yet fast enough to carry them steadily forward. Kemper's brigade had almost a mile to go, across those open fields and across the road and up to where the enemy awaited them; the other brigades not quite so far. When now they came abreast of Longstreet, they had covered perhaps a third of the way.

When the column of assault began to move, the enemy guns for a few moments held their fire. In this brief respite, Longstreet dismounted and seated himself on a fence clear of the right flank of the advance; but Kemper had scarce passed him before, from the hill by the cemetery, from the whole length of the ridge over there, from the rocky heights to the right, Meade's batteries let loose a cascade of shot and shell.

So Colonel Long was wrong; those guns on that lower hill to the right had not been silenced. They had simply withheld their fire to wait for a target. Well, they had their target now; but the men went on, unshaken. Longstreet found himself trembling with pride and with love for these brave men. He saw Kemper turn and shout something to Armistead behind him; heard a word or two. “. . . close up!” Armistead made an assenting sign. The regiments marched as if on parade. Pickett as he passed gave Longstreet a salute. His long curls hung to his shoulder, and Longstreet smiled in grim affection.

The fire from the hill to the right harassed this flank, and Longstreet bade Colonel Alexander give it his attention. Alexander said quietly: “I will move my guns forward, General, as soon as the men are past.” Longstreet assented. Kemper and Garnett filed their brigades through the silent batteries, angling toward the road, and at once Alexander's guns whose fire was blanketed began to limber to the front. A signal brought their horses from the trees back on the ridge at full gallop to their work. Alexander explained: “I'm moving forward all guns that have enough shell to be of use, General. Most of them have nothing but canister left.”

Longstreet made no comment, watching the advance. The long front of attack was far enough past him now so that he began again to see it in perspective, this time from the rear, sometimes as a whole, and sometimes in segments when the smoke of shell bursts for a moment
obscured his view. Armistead's supporting brigade came on. There were brief clots of men here and there at a fence while the men tore rails away, or ripped off boards and crowded through the openings they had made. In one of these crowding groups Longstreet saw a shell burst, and another; and when that regiment paused to form again beyond the fence, half its strength was gone.

Kemper was across the road now, obliquing to the left toward where low ground behind a house and barn offered some shelter from enemy fire. That must be the Codori house of which Lieutenant Wentz had spoken; that was the swale where Ranse Wright had said they could correct their alignment and repair the ravages of enemy fire. Garnett was in the road beyond Kemper. Armistead, still on this side of the road, was approaching the knoll above the Codori house through a hollow twice as deep as a tall man, so his men were for the moment protected; but as they climbed the knoll and came again into enemy view Longstreet saw shells tear their solid ranks before they plunged down into the road.