Cain at Gettysburg (35 page)

*   *   *

Longstreet and McLaws rode along together, neither saying much. Longstreet sensed the division commander's peevishness and was tempted to tell McLaws to act like a man. With battle ahead.

He let it go. Given that he felt downright peeved himself. Resigned to doing his duty, Longstreet still believed the attack was foolish. But Lee had made it clear as all ugly that he intended to fight.

A lieutenant spoke as they neared another ridge. “Just over that crest, sir. That's where we'll break cover.”

They turned their mounts aside to let Kershaw's men pass.

“How are you going in?” Longstreet asked as the horses quieted. Hoping for an answer that would not require his personal amendment. Sweat drenched his back, but he knew it was many times worse for the men on foot. How many of their canteens were already empty?

“That will be determined,” McLaws said coldly, “when I can see what is in my front.”

“There's nothing in your front, damn it. You heard General Lee say it himself. You'll be entirely on the flank of the enemy.”

Haughty as a Charleston belle, McLaws said, “Then I'll continue my march in columns of companies. After arriving on the flank as far as is necessary, I'll face to the left and march on the enemy.”

“That suits me,” Longstreet said. For all of his tootling about honor, McLaws was a good, stubborn fighter. Just not the man to cope with too many surprises. “We need to get this attack under way before Christmas.”

Longstreet rode back toward Hood, to hurry him forward.

*   *   *

Satisfied that he'd held his own with Longstreet, McLaws watched Kershaw plunge ahead to lead his men through the treeline atop the ridge. Everything had to go crisply now, his brigades would have to quick-march toward the Union flank before deploying into battle order. Surprise was everything.

As soon as the lead troops in gray disappeared from McLaws' line of sight, cannon fire exploded to their front. Seconds later, shot screamed overhead.

McLaws galloped up the slope and dismounted behind the crest. His staff hurried after him. Still on horseback, Kershaw was ablaze with the fire of command, ordering out skirmishers and telling his forward regiments to deploy behind a stone wall that marked a field line.

“Ride back to the other brigades, tell them to rush on up,” McLaws shouted to an aide. Then he stumped forward, wheezing, toward the battle sounds.

Penetrating the narrow band of trees, he saw a sight that wasn't supposed to be: A line of Union batteries awaited his division, spitting fire at Kershaw's vanguard. Between and behind those smoking muzzles, regiments of Union infantry had taken up positions around an orchard. Their refused flank sat astride his line of attack.

As General Lafayette McLaws tried to figure out what to do, more Federal troops hastened over the fields to extend the Federal line.

Where Lee had promised an undefended flank, Meade's army stood waiting.

“This ain't good,” McLaws said.

*   *   *

Accompanied by the key members of his staff, Longstreet rode forward to amend McLaws' battle orders. A courier had instructed the division commander to hold off attacking until Longstreet could survey the changed situation for himself.

The corps commander found McLaws agitated and befuddled.

“I need to attack,”
he cried out to Longstreet. “I need to attack right now. Their artillery…”

“Just hold up,” Longstreet barked. “Let me have a look, damn it.”

Longstreet didn't dismount, but rode out beyond the trees into the field that faced the enemy. Behind him, Union shells tore away branches. The limbs fell with a thump and a splash of leaves. When Sorrel and Fairfax followed, Longstreet waved them back. The troops who had taken to ground had to see him exposed and full of confidence. But he did not intend to risk the lives of subordinates to no purpose.

Porter Alexander had already rolled his guns out on the right and was giving the Federals about as good as he got. No cannon replied to the Yankees from the front of McLaws' division, though. That wanted fixing.

At first glance, the Union lines appeared formidable through the patches of smoke. The Federals had advanced to a ridge that swept back from an orchard and ran southeast to boulder-studded high ground. The stony crest blocked the way to the two round hills. An attack on so strong a position had never been part of Lee's plan. Everything seemed upended. Longstreet had learned, though, that few situations were as dire as they appeared at the moment of surprise. Forcing patience upon himself, he began to dissect the Yankee position.

A round of solid shot ripped through the air, shrieking close enough to shy his horse. Behind his back, it smashed through a tree. Falling timber groaned.

Longstreet refused to turn to regard the damage: The men had to believe he was unperturbed. Even if every organ from his brain to his belly jumped.

He coaxed his horse back to stillness.

Peering through his field glasses, he noted that those impressive lines of infantry in blue were, in fact, as thin as a young belle's waist and backed by nothing. The Union batteries covered gaps in the line that were just too wide. Those gaps would be fatal, if struck just right.

Getting up there was going to be costly. Once on that ridge by the orchard, though, his men would sweep those regiments aside. There was an initial advantage, but no solidity, to the Union position. Viewed with a veteran's eye, it seemed an amateur's gambit, all bluff and fakery. Properly attacked, the Federals would have to sacrifice most of their guns.

He rode back toward his gathered staff, letting his mount lope easily. But his heart wanted to escape his chest.

McLaws remained on foot and appeared determined to stay that way. Longstreet dismounted and handed off his horse. He waved to Fairfax and Sorrel, indicating that they should join him. Unwilling to be left out, McLaws hurried over.

“Tom still not back from General Lee?” Longstreet asked.

Moxley Sorrel smiled through sweat and dust. “Even Goree can't ride that fast, sir.”

Longstreet turned to Fairfax. “John, I need you to ride down and tell Hood the plan has changed. He's to come up on the right immediately. He'll lead the attack. As soon as he can get his men deployed.”

McLaws reddened. “That's
my
privilege.”

Longstreet was out of patience. Even as he spoke, he understood he was making an enemy for life.

“The situation's changed,” he told the division commander. “Honor can wait. First, we have to deal with those goddamned Yankees.”

“I insist on my—”

The pent-up fury of the day threatened to erupt. Longstreet drew McLaws aside. Not gently.

“General, you will do what I tell you to do, and you will do it when I tell you to do it. Or I will take direct command of your division. Do you understand me, sir?”

Longstreet kept his voice low enough to avoid a public shouting match. But it was difficult.

“And on another subject,” he continued, “why aren't there any guns in front of your position? Your supporting artillery should be pounding away.”

McLaws spouted and sputtered: “If a battery's placed in my front, it'll draw the enemy's fire right down on my lines. And we're all formed up to charge, the guns would be in our way. It'd be demoralizing.…”

Longstreet stared right through the man. “You get a goddamned battery up there now, Laff. You expect your men to charge those guns before they've been softened up? Good God, man. Think what you're about.”

Underscoring his point, a wave of artillery rounds tore through the trees. To the left and rear, an explosion left men screaming. The carnage went unanswered.

Chastened for the moment, McLaws lumbered off.

“Wait,” Longstreet called. “Kershaw's leading on your right. Who leads on your left?”

“Barksdale.”

“Good.”

“General Longstreet, let me charge. Let me go right now. We'll take those guns. Give me one half hour. If we don't take that gun line, you can hang me from a tree.”

“No.”

“I can take them, I swear.” McLaws looked pathetic, on the edge of tears.

Longstreet cleansed the anger from his voice. “Laff … we have to do this in a way that makes a hint of sense. It's not about honor, yours or anybody else's. It's about winning this goddamned battle. Their position has more holes than a drunkard's conscience, and we're going to give them a lesson in tactics. But we're going to do it right.” He softened further, grasping the turmoil within the man he had known since their first, grim year at the Academy. “You'll get your chance. Hood goes in ahead of you, but you're going to finish the job. You'll have all the honor any man could want.” That was the most he could offer to McLaws: No more time for coddling. “Now get a battery up there.”

Longstreet rejoined Fairfax and Sorrel. Fairfax had brought up his horse, ready to mount.

“All right, John. Tell Hood to attack as soon as he can form up. He's to find their flank and punch through it.” Longstreet shook his head, disgusted at the entire situation. “And I don't mean go around them now. We're out of time. He's to punch right through. He'll growl about that high ground in his front, but tell him the Yankees look fairly thin from up here. His right brigade's to go for the low hill dead on, with his left close enough to the road to align with McLaws.”

He glanced from one man to the other. “If Hood can bull through, they'll collapse. At a minimum, he'll draw off any reserves they have up. As soon as he's well under way, I'll send in McLaws.” For a moment, he looked away. Then he told Fairfax, “Best get going, John. And use your spurs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fairfax cooed to his horse and swung into the saddle as smoothly as if riding to his foxhounds. He rode the most beautiful mount in the entire army.

The shelling intensified. Longstreet saw old Barksdale storm up to McLaws. He didn't need to hear a word that passed between them to know that the brigadier was giving Laff hell. Barksdale didn't just want to beat the Yankees. He took a righteous delight in
killing
them. And he wanted to get at them now. The man was one firebrand politician who hadn't stayed safely at home to go on giving speeches.

Laff had his orders. He'd have to deal with Barksdale. As Longstreet had needed to disappoint McLaws.

“Moxley … find Alexander. My compliments on getting his batteries up handsomely. Then tell him I damned well want at least a battalion of guns up here to support McLaws. Fifteen minutes ago would've been too late. Get that Georgia pride of his on the boil.”

“Yes, sir.”

When his aides had ridden off, Longstreet walked back to the crest. In the woodline, a regiment lay belly-down, waiting for the order to advance. Spears of light pierced the treetops, pinning the men to the ground. Longstreet sensed the rambunctiousness soldiers feel as they wait under fire: Visions of what might happen to their flesh in that hour of helplessness provoked a lust to go at the enemy any which way. Sweat-chilled now and chafed by crusted wool, each man had to wonder why the damned fool generals didn't send them forward and get it done. Longstreet understood the private hells in that shell-torn grove. But he preferred to lose a few men to gunnery and falling branches, rather than throw away a thousand lives.

A battery thundered across the field behind them, outriders lashing the horses as they dragged up their bouncing twelve-pounders.

Longstreet felt a legion of eyes upon him.

He maintained his mask.

Entering the exposed field again, he stared across the ground over which he soon would send the men who lay under the trees. Shrouds of smoke hid stretches of the Union line, but the blue sky above touched perfection.

Death came for all men. But it was going to come a sight sooner than necessary for many a man this day. As it had come too soon, years and years too soon, for his children.

Would he and Louise find their way to each other again? What if he himself were killed? How would she grieve? Could she? As once she would have done? Back when they were so happy they both believed that no other love could ever have been so fine, so sweet, so true, as the one they shared?

Looking impatiently to the right, he strained to penetrate the smoke that rose from his own guns. He ached to see Hood's men appear. It was too soon, of course. Fairfax would just be delivering the order. His anxiety was almost that of a child, demanding the impossible. He realized full well that a division of infantry uncoiled slowly from the line of march, no matter how experienced and disciplined.

But knowledge had no power to vanquish emotion. Longstreet yearned to see gray lines break from the cover of the trees and begin their advance. Time was a cruel master now. To have a hope of success, they needed to smash through the overextended Union position before the generals in blue recognized their folly.

As he turned to watch the enemy again, a Confederate shell hit near a Union gun. He raised his glasses, but the smoke from the explosion obscured the view. He waited, forcing himself to be patient. At last, as the fog from the blast thinned to gauze, he spotted bodies sprawled around the field piece, some inert and others writhing. Tiny figures rushed toward them. In the background, horses leapt, fighting their harnesses.

He turned again: Still no sign of Hood down in the low ground.

Longstreet stalked back through the woodline. From the head of the field on the rear slope, McLaws stared at him, a child unfairly chastised. For all the brutality war summoned in men, it could strip away decades, too. The wisdom of adulthood bled to death.

Another battery rumbled up past McLaws' second line of brigades, rushing to fill in the gun line on the left. Alexander, at least, obeyed orders.

The first rider Longstreet spotted was Sorrel on his way back, but Fairfax came on at a gallop just behind him.