On to Richmond (21 page)

             
There was a long silence as the exhausted men exchanged glances.  In the distance Robert could see men disappearing farther into the back line, ignoring the rush of men moving forward to take their positions.  Those men had made their decision. 

             
Pickins was the first to speak.  “Where you want us to go, Lieutenant?  We’re sticking with you!”

             
Robert heaved an inward sigh of relief and flashed them an encouraging smile.  “I knew I could count on you!” 

             
Just then he caught sight of General Beauregard and General Johnston moving toward them.  A quick glance at his watch told him it was after twelve-thirty.  After a morning of agonizing battle, the leading Confederate generals had finally arrived.  Maybe things could turn around after all.

             
“Where are you supposed to be, Lieutenant?” Johnston’s voice was not unkind as his sweeping gaze took in the tattered remains of Robert’s troops. 

             
“Wherever we can do the most good, sir!”  Robert responded quickly.

             
“That’s the way!”  Johnston replied with a grim smile.  “Move to the left and reinforce the line where Colonel Bartow is.  We have to hold that position.   This day is not over yet!  Victory can still be ours!”  Then he turned and rode to the next scattering of men. 

             
Robert moved his troops quickly to follow Johnston’s orders.  The general’s words had breathed new life into his disheartened troops.  As Robert positioned his men, the steady bombardment from the Union troops continued.  Sensing their strong advantage, they were moving forward. 

             
“Give it to them, boys!”

             
With faces set in grim determination, his men fired off their rounds and then turned to reload.  They were back in the battle! 

             
All around them, reinforcements rushed into the battle.   As Robert fired and rapidly reloaded, he noticed with grim satisfaction that the tide seemed to be turning.  Less than an hour ago, the Confederate left was in a confused and hopelessly outnumbered retreat.  Now they were holding Henry Hill with a long line of strong troops.  General Johnston had been right.  They weren’t out of this yet! 

             
“Lieutenant, look at that!”

             
Robert looked toward where Pickins was pointing.  All he saw was the same line of powerful Union batteries that had been moved out of the woods to bombard their position earlier.  The shrill and whistle of their shells had been relentless since then.   He looked back at Pickins with a shrug. 

             
“No, look at that!” he insisted, a smile appearing on his face.

             
Robert looked back again.  He gasped at what he saw.   Colonel Cummins of the 33rd Virginia was just leading his men from the woods, less than a hundred yards from where the battery was firing away.  What was he doing?

             
As he watched, his face spread into a broad smile.  Not all the Confederate troops were dressed in gray.  Some, including Cummins’ men, were dressed in the only uniforms they could obtain at the time - blue ones.  It was obvious to Robert that the Union troops were uncertain as to the identity of the men moving toward them.  He watched as one of the Federals moved to turn the guns toward Cummins’ men, only to have one of his own stop him from doing so.   The confusion continued as Cummins moved closer.

             
“How far is that crazy man going to take them?”  Pickins asked in disbelief then fired off another round.    This time he didn’t turn around to reload.  He did it facing the action. 

             
Robert fired another round and then watched breathlessly as the drama unfolded before him.  If Cummins could pull it off, it would be brilliant.  If not, it would mean the certain end of all his men.

             
Down below, the confusion seemed to end.  Robert watched, horrified as the big guns of the battery swung to face the oncoming troops. 

             
Just then Cummins gave the order to fire.  Instantly, a deadly volley rang forth from his men’s guns.  The watching Confederate troops cheered wildly as Union men fell right and left - joined by dozens of horses littering the ground.  Within minutes the triumphant company of blue-clad Confederates swarmed jubilantly over the guns as the Federal gunners fled for their lives. 

             
Robert cheered wildly, realizing the Union army had just suffered a major setback.  From that point forth, the battle turned in their direction. 

At around four o’clock, massive reinforcements marched in from the
east.  General Early had arrived with his men.  It was more than the now beleaguered Union troops could take. 

             
“We got them, boys!”  Robert yelled. 

             
As Early’s men opened fire on what was already a retreating army, the retreat turned into a route.  Blue-clad men left their formations and began to run in panic, headed for the bridges and fords that would take them behind the lines. 

             
Cheers erupted around him. 

             
“Look at them run!” 

             
“We did it!”

             
“They’re ours now!” 

             
“They should have known better than to mess with us Southerners!”

             
Robert smiled grimly but said nothing.  Only hours earlier, they had been the ones in full retreat.  It was indeed a heady moment, but if reinforcements had not arrived precisely when they did, Southern troops would be the ones running for their lives. 

             
Just then another - a more commanding voice - rose above the cries of victory.  “After them!”

             
Robert turned around quickly and saw General Beauregard, astride his horse, watching the retreating troops.  Delight was stamped on his face. 

             
“Bring back prisoners!”  he cried and then moved on.

             
Pickins was the first to surge forward.  “Now it’s our turn!” 

             
Robert moved quickly to take the lead, but his heart wasn’t in it.  He was tired, hungry, and sore.  The Union army was defeated.  Maybe the optimists were right.  Maybe this would be the only battle of the war.  Why did they need prisoners?  Why not just rejoice in the victory and enjoy Southern freedom?   He continued to press forward, however.  He had been given an order. 

Robert gazed around on the scene before him in astonishment.  By now the temperature was somewhere in the nineties.  Combined with the humidity and the lingering smoke from the battle, the elements had created a hazy fog that infiltrated the woods and seeped onto the open fields.  It only intensified the surreal picture that lay before him.  Abandoned rifles lay where they had been thrown or dropped.  Overturned wagons were still full of ammunition.  Riderless horses stood dazedly among their fallen friends.  Artillery pieces, left behind in the route, waited to fall into Confederate hands.   Clothes, backpacks, canteens
, and other equipment almost blocked their way because they lay so thick. 

             
But it was the bodies that turned Robert’s stomach.  Such carnage made him want to turn and run.  He had lost all taste for the hunt.  Men, those not gathered by the fleeing forces, were already bloating and turning black from the intense heat.  Some lay with their eyes wide in horror; others were minus limbs that had been blown away. 

             
Robert looked for a long moment and then turned away, struggling to control the nausea.  He pressed on resolutely, his men silent behind him. 

             
Then suddenly in the distance, he and his men saw a flash of movement.  Robert welcomed any action to take his mind off the horror around him. 

             
“After them, men!” 

             
With a whoop his men charged forward. 

             
Robert could see the shadows of men fleeing through the woods, trying to lose themselves in the cloud of smoke.   Running forward, he grabbed the reins of a sturdily-built bay gelding and leapt into the saddle.  Within moments he was leading the charge into the woods.  Suddenly he pulled back on the reins and brought his mount to an abrupt halt.  “You there!  Behind that tree.  Come out!” 

             
Silence met his loud command.  He waved his men into position.  “If you don’t come out now, I will order my men to shoot,” he commanded.  He didn’t want any more death, but he wasn’t going to put his men at risk.  Several of the men behind him lowered to one knee and raised their rifles to their shoulders. 

             
Suddenly a voice rose from behind a tree.  “Don’t shoot!” it pleaded.  “We’re coming out.”  Slowly, five men edged from behind the trees, their hands reaching for the sky.  Their blue uniforms were tattered and torn.  All of them were covered with filth and grime.   One was clutching a bandage to his arm to control the flow of blood from an earlier wound. 

             
“You are now prisoners of the Confederate Army,” Robert said crisply.  “Fall in!” 

             
Robert continued to move forward.  In just minutes they were out of the woods and once more on the road.  As they moved along, the scene in front of them began to change.  Scattered among the remnants of a fleeing army were the souvenirs of a panicked northern citizenry.   Loud laughter rang from his men as they held up picnic hampers, ladies slippers, and colorful parasols.  Further searching revealed men’s top hats, elegant field glasses, and baskets of sandwiches.  There were more than a few overturned buggies. 

             
Robert shook his head in amazement.  The people of Washington, D.C. must have driven out to the battlefield for an afternoon of amusement, believing their troops would sorely defeat the Southern army on the other side of the river. 

             
“If that don’t beat all!”  Pickens muttered as he picked up yet another pink parasol.  “Those folks must be plumb crazy.” 

             
A sudden movement in the woods to his left caught Robert’s eye.  He said nothing, just waved a few of his men in that direction.  Moments later he heard one of his men shout for him.   Robert quickly rode to join them.  What he saw caused him to rein his gelding in abruptly. 

             
“Who are you?” he demanded. 

             
The elegantly dressed man before him looked a little worse for wear.  His top hat was missing, and his long-tailed coat was torn in several places.  His white shirt was covered with stains, he was missing one shoe, and his face was covered with smudges.  Fear glazed his eyes, but he stepped forward confidently. 

             
“My name is Edward Mullins,” he said a bit pompously. 

             
“Well, Mr. Edward Mullins.  What the devil are you doing here in these woods?”  Robert kept his voice cutting.