House Divided (126 page)

Longstreet spoke in easy tones. “Take your time, men. Keep your faces towards those people. You don't want to be shot in the back. Form among the trees up there on the ridge. They'll come over and give you a chance at them.” Some heeded, some like deaf men pressed
by him and went on. He was a rock dividing the ebbing flood, talking steadily and calmly to the passing men; his throat was dry from powder fumes and from the dust raised by scuffing feet. He said absently to Colonel Fremantle, still at his side: “I'd give a good deal for a drink.”

The Englishman produced a small silver flask. “There's a little rum in this.” Longstreet lifted it to his lips, then stoppered the flask to return it; but Fremantle said: “Won't you keep it, sir, as a remembrance?”

Longstreet smiled. “Remembrance? I'm not likely to forget today, Colonel. But thank you.” It occurred to him to warn McLaws to be ready to hit Meade's flank if the Yankees advanced. He turned back to where he had left his horse, retracing his steps to the fence above the road where he had sat to watch the charge. As he arrived there, so did Latrobe, with his saddle slung over his shoulder. Longstreet asked: “Where's your horse, Latrobe?”

“I left him down by the barn yonder, went on with Garnett's brigade.” Latrobe added in a low tone: “That was a slaughter house up there, General. I could hear the bullets thudding into men's flesh all around me, like hailstones on a roof. My horse was dead when I got back to where I'd left him.”

Sorrel joined them. He too was afoot. Longstreet bade him take a courier's mount and carry the message to McLaws. Then he saw Pickett walking toward him, and went to meet Pickett and threw his arms around the man in a heartening embrace. Even in that moment he was struck by the absurdity of Pickett's perfumed locks, their scent heavy in his nostrils. With his arm across the other's shoulder, he said:

“They're steadying now, General. It's all right now.”

Pickett's lips were twisting like tortured snakes, his eyes blazing. “Colonel Alexander promised to take some howitzers forward with me! Why didn't he?”

Longstreet almost smiled. How often men desperate with grief thus lashed out at some trifling annoyance! He said appeasingly: “Colonel Alexander could not find the howitzers when they were needed, General. Someone had moved them to safety.”

“Safety!” Pickett's voice rang. “General, we shattered two lines of
Federal infantry, took two lines of guns. But I had no support! Pettigrew's men broke! I sent my brother to try to rally them, but most of them ran away!”

Someone spoke beside them, and Longstreet saw Major Currain. “I was with Colonel Marshall's regiment, on your left, General Pickett,” Trav said in a grating voice; and Longstreet saw the dregs of battle passion in his eyes. “Your words are unjustified!” Pickett stared at him in some astonishment, and Longstreet nodded in affectionate approval. Good for Currain! Let him stand up for his North Carolinians! Pickett was too ready with blame. Currain went on, speaking with a characteristic precision. “When we came under fire from the batteries in the cemetery, our artillery gave us no protection. I sent back to ask for help; but they were out of ammunition, had used it all this morning. So the guns in the cemetery cut us to pieces. I expected Pettigrew's men to break long before they did. I don't know how they went so far. But not all of them faltered, sir! I was with the Eleventh North Carolina. Some of us got into the Yankee lines, till a column coming down from the cemetery threatened to cut us off.” His tone modified, lost its stern rasp. “Company C of our regiment went in with forty men and only three came back.” Longstreet chuckled again. Trust Currain to think in figures. “We did all men could do, General!”

Pickett nodded. “Yes, yes,” he assented, “I suppose you did, but so did we!” He turned to Longstreet. “Garnett is dead,” he said. “Armistead too, I believe. Kemper's badly hurt. I don't think there's a field officer left in my division.”

General Lee, unperceived, rode up to where they stood, and heard, and said gently: “This was all my fault, General Pickett.” Longstreet looked at Lee in sudden surging tenderness for this brave man who spread his broad shoulders to receive the burden of blame. Today was General Lee's fault, yes; but it was also Stuart's fault, and Hill's, and Ewell's. Yes, and his own fault, too. This army was invincible unless its leaders failed. “It was all my fault,” Lee repeated. “But now you must rally your division to meet those people.”

Pickett, his voice hard with rage and sorrow, stiffly protested: “General Lee, I have no division!”

But Longstreet touched his arm, silenced him; and Lee repeated:
“This has been my fight, General; and the blame is mine. Your men did all men can do. The fault is entirely my own.”

He rode away from them, and Pickett said, half-sobbing: “Armistead led his men right into them, his hat on his sword!”

Trav spoke. “Yes, I saw him! The sword had pierced his hat, and the hat slid down to the hilt. He had his hand on one of their guns when he fell.”

Currain's face was smoke-blackened, and his garments were stained. “Are you hurt, Major?” Longstreet asked.

“No sir.” Trav looked at blood on his sleeve. “I helped lead one of the men who had a broken arm.”

Longstreet only half listened. West of the road there were steady men now, waiting for the attack that was sure to come. He said to Pickett as a quiet reminder: “Those are your men, General. Your place is with them.” Pickett turned that way, and Longstreet rode down to where Colonel Alexander's guns were throwing canister to scatter some enemy skirmishers. Sorrel overtook him to report that cavalry had broken into Law's flank and rear.

“In force?”

“Two or three hundred.”

“Law will destroy them,” Longstreet said confidently. The skirmishers under Alexander's guns scattered and disappeared. Time was passing. Perhaps Meade would not attack, after all. He must be shaken by this day's work, and caution would restrain him. The afternoon was waning fast. Unless Meade struck quickly, night would come.

General Wilcox came to Longstreet, his face white under that old straw hat. “General,” he said quietly, “you sent me in support, but when I got up to the Yankee front I could find no one to support.”

“We've all done the best we could, General,” Longstreet reminded him. He spoke to Alexander. “How's your ammunition?”

“I've a little.”

“Use it sparingly. We must stay here and make a bold front for a while.”

“We've no thought of withdrawing, General.”

 

The retreating infantry reached the cover of the woods. Except for the thickly scattered forms of dead men and of wounded, and the
litter-bearers at their work, and a few officers riding here and there, the fields and meadows across which the attacking columns had advanced were now almost deserted. General Lee rode down to join Longstreet here behind the guns, and they sat side by side, both of them studying the enemy position which so many men had died to reach. There was no stir of forming columns there; and Longstreet said quietly:

“I don't believe they're coming, General.”

Lee did not at once reply. Longstreet looked toward him, then quickly away again. For that moment, since there were none to see, since he need not for the sake of his beaten army wear a firm demeanor, Lee's defenses were down, and his woeful grief was in his eyes. Longstreet felt shamed as though he had intruded upon another's prayers. Lee said half to himself: “It's all my fault. I thought my men were invincible.”

A courier from General Law reported that the enemy cavalry which pierced his line had been destroyed. Longstreet nodded. “Please tell General Law and General McLaws that they had better resume the positions from which they attacked yesterday.” The courier galloped away.

Over near the cemetery there was a sudden gust of cheers. That might be the signal for an enemy advance; but nothing happened. Colonel Alexander said the Yankees appeared to be cheering some officer riding along the ridge. “Probably General Meade,” he said. Longstreet saw Lee's shoulders sag a little, and the commanding general rode slowly away.

 

Longstreet's thoughts turned to the hours ahead. He sent word to General Law to draw his right back far enough to protect the trains, then spoke to Colonel Alexander. “I think you might move your guns, one or two at a time. If they can find the caisson trains, they can fill their limbers.”

Alexander signalled, and horses came cantering from the woods. The artilleryman said thoughtfully: “It was strange for General Lee to come down here alone, with none of his staff, not even couriers. I think Marse Robert was looking for a fight! I think he expected the enemy would charge these guns and wanted to be in it.”

“Probably,” Longstreet agreed. “I used to feel that way sometimes. That's why I no longer wear even a sword. Being unarmed keeps me out of temptation.”

Two guns, the horses at a trot, moved off toward the shelter of the woods. Far away on Ewell's front, a few guns sounded. Longstreet, as the sun sank behind him, saw his shadow reach out toward the enemy. The day was spent. Alexander sent two more guns to safety, and Longstreet's thoughts went to dwell among the Yankees yonder. He imagined their jubilations, their loud exultant words. Victory there, defeat here; but both there and here, and all across these fields upon which presently night would lay its shades, dead men and wounded men, friend and enemy, were united in death or in the shared agony of dreadful hurt. Would the moon shine tonight upon this silent field? He thought not. There was some mackerel sky. If that meant rain tomorrow, retreat would be hindered; but pursuit would be hindered too.

The sun set and darker shadows shrouded the scene, where now the only sounds were far faint cries of wounded men beseeching easement of their pain. He raised his glasses to study in the failing light the ground Pickett's men had trod today. The slightly rising slope beyond the road was clotted with the bodies of the dead. They lay flattened like sacks from which the grain had spilled. He thought he could distinguish even at this distance a wounded man from a dead one. No matter how motionless a wounded man lay, life somehow gave his body form and composition. He was still visibly a man; the dead were just bodies. A body emptied of life ceased to look like a man.

Alexander's last guns were withdrawing. It was time to go. The protecting skirmishers would fall back with the guns till they were within reach of support from the woods where the army lay. As he rode slowly toward the peach orchard he heard, ahead of him and at some distance, a long scream, rattling and choking and terrible. The surgeons were at their work. In the deepening shadows among the peach trees he saw some howitzers, and called a question. “Whose guns are these?”

A man he knew stepped forward. “Mine, General.”

“Ah, Captain Miller. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I thought if the Yanks came out of their holes we'd have some fun.”

These puny little howitzers against that victorious army yonder! In sudden ironic mirth at the valorous absurdity of man, Longstreet laughed aloud. “You damned old fool, Buck,” he said, “get back where you belong.”

That laugh had done him good. He rode up to the barn which last night furnished hay for his bed. He was not hungry; but when food was prepared he ate. General Lee sent word to prepare to retreat. The loaded ambulances and the trains would go by way of Cashtown and Chambersburg, the army by the road through Fairfield and over Monterey Pass and down to Hagerstown. Hill would lead, then the First Corps; Ewell would guard the rear.

Longstreet recalled to his mind the map, considered the necessary preparations. The lane past the school house, by which they had come forward yesterday, would be their best guide in withdrawing. He summoned his divisional commanders to tell them what they must do. Pickett was silent with sorrow. McLaws had little to report, but General Law had been kept all day on the alert by enemy cavalry.

At ten o'clock Colonel Alexander came to say his guns were all withdrawn behind the ridge and their ammunition replenished. “We'll get no more till we meet the reserve trains, but we have enough for an hour or two of careful work.”

Longstreet, watching Pickett, thought it would do him good to talk to someone. “General,” he said, “here's Colonel Alexander. Did his guns serve you well?” He wondered whether Pickett would repeat that complaint he had made when the charge failed.

Pickett looked up and seemed to collect his thoughts. “Why, yes, Colonel,” he said. “The enemy batteries on our right and in our front did us very little harm. There was one gun off to the right that had us under enfilade. I saw one shell knock over eleven men. But aside from that, we weren't hit hard.” He hesitated, his eyes clouding with memories. “We were all right till Garnett reached the wall,” he said. “Kemper was fifty yards behind, and Armistead too; so Garnett's men took the first volley. It staggered them. Kemper was lapping
Garnett a little; so I swung him more to the right, and then Armistead came up, and we all went in together.” Longstreet saw that to talk did seem to steady him. Pickett said to Alexander: “Your guns helped. Yes.”

“We drew their fire, at least,” Alexander remarked. “We had a hundred and forty men killed and wounded, lost about as many horses.”

Pickett seemed to shudder. “I dread our next roll call. We must have lost fully half our strength, two or three thousand men.”

When Colonel Alexander left them, Longstreet stayed with Pickett in slow talk with many silences. After a time General Imboden rode into the firelight and dismounted. Longstreet rose to greet him, and the cavalryman said: “General, I've just seen General Lee.” They drew aside together, and Imboden explained: “I am to guard the trains on the retreat. General Lee wants all wagons and ambulances ready to start early in the morning.”