Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 (57 page)

"I can have it finished in another two or three hours," Pete said.

"Those guns, though," and Lee pointed to the west, the distant puffs of smoke.

The two batteries Pete had brought up were trying to suppress the enemy fire, but only one of them was comprised of rifled pieces, the others were smoothbores, and so far they had had no effect either on the thirty-pounders or the lighter ten-pounders.

"Can you not push those guns back?" Lee asked.

"I have Scales covering that flank. He's trying as hard as he can, sir. But the numbers are about even and their forward line of infantry is dug in."

Lee took it all in. It was a
marvel that Pete had indeed ac
complished this, but the. approach would be difficult. It might very well mean abandoning nearly all their remaining artillery and wagons.

"Did you receive my dispatch about what happened at Darnestown?"

"Sir?"

Lee shook his head.

"We are flanked to the east, Pete. Our old adversaries, the Army of the Potomac. They closed off that approach. Even now they are pressing the rear of my column."

"I didn't know, sir. I thought we had destroyed the Army of the Potomac twice now. Their resilience is amazing."

"You must watch your own flank carefully," Lee said, pointing east.

"I barely have the men left," Pete replied. "What's left of Rodes and Anderson?"

He pointed across the open field where scattered commands were resting, waiting for the bridge to be finished.

"Form them up now," Lee said. "I fear that part of the Army of the Potomac might advance along the canal and try and strike you here."

"I have patrols out, sir. I need to rest these men in case they are needed as a reserve. They fought all day yesterday and have been on the road since midnight. Rations are short as well. Some haven't had a bite to eat all day."

"Please see to it anyway. Form them up now."

"Yes, sir."

"I will shift my column down this way. Expect the head of it to arrive within two to three hours." "Yes, sir."

Lee turned and Duvall fell in by his side to provide escort.

Lee rode slowly, looking back occasionally toward the river. So tantalizingly close.
We could have the bulk of our men across by tomorrow morning.
Something in his heart told him not to exult just yet.

As they reached the edge of the woods mere was a tattoo of rifle fire from the east, and within seconds it rose to a shattering explosion of volley fire.

P
ete Longstreet turned away as Lee rode north. He could see that another boat was being maneuvered into place, men standing in the water. Now that it was shallower, the work would go quicker. And then the first pistol shots echoed. Looking toward the east he saw several mounted men, riding hard, one firing his pistol in the air as he galloped. Behind them, a hundred yards back, a darker mass was approaching
...
Union cavalry!

Across the field where the rest of his corps had been keeping low, waiting for the bridge to be finished, men were stirring, standing up, grabbing stacked rifles, starting to form.

The column of Yankee cavalry came on at a gallop, reaching the edge of the field, spreading out as they did so. Behind them a column of infantry was visible, coming at the double.

He raised his field glasses, focused on the lead flag
...
a
fluttering triangle, a red Maltese cross in the middle.

"
Damn, the Army of the Potomac."

W
infield Scott Hancock stirred, looked up as his staff began to shout, pointing down toward the crossing. Behind him an assault column was forming up, men brought down from Point of Rocks and Nolands Ferry. He had kept the garrison at Edwards Ferry in place, except for the removal of the four thirty-pounders. There was always the chance that if he stripped out there, Lee could swing on the position and still try to take it. His reinforcements were coming, but it was taking so damn long, and now they were arriving at last. In another half hour, just before full dark, he planned to go in with everything he had and try to dislodge them before they finished the bridge.

"It's our boys!" someone shouted. "Look over there, our boys!"

Winfield raised his field glasses and looked to where they were pointing, the view momentarily obscured from the smoke of one of the thirty-pounders going off.

And then he saw it, cavalry, a regiment at least, maybe two, but behind them, infantry, a dark blue mass, national colors at the fore, and alongside them, fluttering out for a second, a large triangle, red Maltese cross in the middle.

He wept unashamedly at the sight of it. It was the old Fifth Corps, men of his army, men of the Army of the Potomac, trusted comrades in so many fights.

"Up, boys, up!" Hancock shouted.

The troops lying in the field on the opposite slope were
already on their feet, sensing from the excitement of the officers around the guns that something was about to happen.

Hancock turned back to face them.

"It's the Army of the Potomac!" he shouted. 'They're closing in from the other side. Let's join them and finish this!"

A resounding cheer arose. The men who but a minute before were nervously awaiting the orders to charge could not now be held back. They started up the slope, passing through the guns, which fell silent.

Several of Hancock's staff helped him to mount. He fell in alongside the advancing lines, struggling to draw his sword, pointing it forward. A rider came up beside him, wearing an army slouch cap that looked rather absurd when contrasted with his mud-covered butler's jacket.

"I'm not missing this, sir!" Bartlett shouted.

"Come on then, old man!" Hancock roared.

The charge swept down the slope.

Bartlett looked back. Mingled in with the infantry were many of "his" men, carrying axes and shovels, racing forward as well.

6:40 PM.

P
ete Longstreet was silent, turning back and forth, watching as the vise closed.
If they had planned this, it could not have been done more masterfully
,
he realized.
We could have been to the island in another thirty minutes; if need be, men could have started crossing and waded the last few yards to the other side, to Virginia.

Panic was breaking out. Scales's men were on the run, falling back toward the center, a wall of Union infantry in pursuit. From the other side of the clearing Anderson and Rodes's men were holding for the moment, but more and more infantry were coming up the towpath on the double, pushing into the fight.

"General, we have to get out!"

It was Scales, wide-eyed, hat gone, his voice edged with hysteria.

"Can't you hold?" Longstreet cried.

"With what, sir? If I had the men I had at Fort Stevens, if I had the men I had but three days ago, yes, but not now. Not now, damn it!"

The work crews at the bridge had stopped, were looking in one direction and then the other.

From the far side of the field men were beginning to break as more men of the Army of the Potomac surged into the fight.

More officers were coming up to Pete, shouting, asking for orders, yelling they had to get out.

Pete was silent, gazing at the bridge
...
the damn bridge.
If we had had it in but one day ago, we'd all be across. We'd still have an army.

A
shell detonated down where the remaining bridging material had been unloaded, striking a wagon with a pontoon still on it, the entire affair blowing apart, mules collapsing, screaming, and that set the panic off. Men turned away and started to run toward the canal embankment to get out. Others stormed onto the bridge itself as if instinct was telling them safety lay to the south.

"Order the men out," Pete said. "Full retreat."

He turned his horse, and started no
rth, staff falling in with him.

He turned and saw Brown, down on the ground. Hazner turned and ran back to the colonel's side.

Horrified, he saw that the colonel had been shot in the back.

Hazner tried to pick him up, but the man screamed and he gently set him back down.

"Hazner. Guess this is it," Brown said.

"No, sir. I'll get you out."

Brown feebly motioned back. The Yankees, advancing in the twilight, were less than fifty yards off.

"Not this time, my friend," Brown said.

Brown fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a small notebook and a pocket Bible.

"My diary, a few notes inside the Bible for my wife. See that she gets them."

Hazner gulped hard and nodded.

"Now go!"

Hazner stood up and stuck them in his haversack, to rest alongside another diary, that of his old friend killed at Union Mills. He felt as if the burden he carried was more than he could bear.

He saw young lieutenant Hurt limping along, blood dripping from a flesh wound to the leg.

"Come on, Lieutenant," Hazner shouted, gulping back his tears. "Let's get the hell out of here."

He grabbed the lieutenant, half lifted him, and together they ran.

T
hey were running. Never had Chamberlain seen the rebels run like this before. Not at Fredericksburg, defi
nitely not at Taneytown. He rode at the front of the advance as it swept along the canal path. Men were no longer shooting, just charging past the rebels as they dropped rifles, some putting their hand
s up, some collapsing, others sti
ll running. A mob of them were pouring over a makeshift bridge spanning the canal, and he pointed toward it. Though this was not his command, the men seemed to follow his orders, and they raced toward the canal crossing, shouting and cheering.

He fell in with them, crossing the canal, then nearly losing his seat as his horse slid down the far side of the embankment. He grimaced, the agony in his hips feeling as if someone had stuck a hot poker through his side.

. The infantry with him spread out across the flood plain, driving hundreds of rebels before them, the enemy running, nearly all of them without weapons. They funneled onto the bridge, and he pushed forward. He had his sword out, could barely wield it, but when he did, he struck out with only the flat side of it.

They reached the approach to the bridge, the rebel mob running before them. An officer on horseback came riding up, infantry following.

"Form a volley line!"

He turned and saw the men spreading out, raising their rifles.

"Volley fire on my command!"

"For God's sake, no!" Chamberlain cried, and rode directly in front of the men.

"Who in goddamn hell are you?" the officer roared. "Colonel Chamberlain."

"Well, Colonel, this is not your command, and I outrank you."

Chamberlain saw the glint of a single star on the man's shoulders.

"You will not fire!" Chamberlain shouted, looking past the general to the infantry forming up.

'They're beaten. It would be murder." He paused. "They are no longer our foes."

The infantry lining up, as if guided by a single hand, grounded their rifles, some nodding. "Bully for you, sir," one of them shouted.

"I'll have you for this, Chamberlain," the general shouted.

"Yes, sir, report me to General Sykes. We are soldiers, not murderers, and if you plan to shoot, I will be in front of you when you do."

There was a long pause, and with a curse the general jerked his reins and rode off.

Alone, Chamberlain turned and rode onto the bridge. The back of the mob was barely visible in the twilight and then they just seemed to disappear, men leaping off the sides of the bridge, off the front of it. Some were down in the boats hiding. He rode on, saber drawn but down by his side, and he heard some infantry behind him, the men it seemed whom he had unintentionally taken command of.

Hundreds of rebels were in the river, heads bobbing, those who could not swim being swept away, their cries horrifying. Others were already crawling up onto the island, standing silent, looking back.

He rode to the end of the bridge. A lone man was standing there, arms folded, hat brim pulled low, a general, with a roughly made star stitched to his collar.

"I think, sir, you are my prisoner," Chamberlain said.

"Goddamn," the man sighed.

"Sir?"

"Just that, goddamn," the rebel said. Chamberlain smiled. "Profanity won't change it."

"Frankly, I don't want it changed. I'm goddamn glad it's over." "I see."

The man looked up at him.

"Would you happen to have a bottle on you, some good bourbon perhaps?"

"I'm a temperance man," Chamberlain replied.

'Typical of my luck," Cruickshank replied. "Get taken prisoner by
a temperance man."

‘M
y men, my men," Lee sighed, watching as what was left of Longstreet's once valiant corps came staggering across the fields and into the woods. And then he saw Pete riding up to him and let out a cry of relief.

"I'm sorry, sir," Pete said woodenly. "Sorry, I just wish
..."

"Come along, General," Lee said softly. "If there is fault, it is mine. Come along now. We must plan for tomorrow. It is not over yet."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna

One Mile North of Monocacy Church, Maryland

9:00 P.M.

T
he rain unleashed like a shattering deluge shortly after nightfall, striking with such intensity that he had called a halt to the march. As he looked out the window of the small farmhouse requisitioned as headquarters, he had to confess to a sense of guilt. In the past he had usually tried to set the example. If his men were forced to sleep in the rain, then so would he. But tonight, the migraine, the exhaustion, and also the fact that the secretary of war was by his side argued against that example, and he had Ely approach the darkened house.

It was, in fact, abandoned, the family most likely having fled because of the armies marching back and forth. It was a ramshackle affair, not much more than a rude cabin concealed beneath the trappings of clapboard nailed over the logs and a rough coating of plaster and whitewash on the inside.

The barn was empty as well, his staff piling into it, bedding down with their horses.

A flash of lightning revealed his troops hunkered down in the open fields, crouched under ponchos or shelter halves. In the woodlot nearby some intrepid souls had actually managed to get a fire going and were piling on logs, a circle of drenched men standing around the smoldering flames.

Grant turned back to Elihu and sat down, the room illuminated by a coal oil lamp hanging from the ceiling.

Their meal, what little he could stomach, was the same as the men outside ate, cold salt pork, hardtack, but he did have the luxury of coffee that one of his staff brewed in the open fireplace. Water was pouring down the chimney, and the fire was starting to hiss, smoke backfilling into the room.

Ely came in, stamping his boots, poncho dripping water on the rough-hewn floor.

"Sir, thought you should know a courier managed to come in from Hancock a few minutes ago."

Grant reached up to take the note.

"Sorry, sir, the paper, well, it just got soaked and disintegrated."

"Go on then."

"Hancock reports they've sealed off the Potomac and have linked up with the Army of the Potomac about five miles below Edwards Ferry."

Ely grinned.

"He also begs to report, sir, they bagged most
of Longstreet's Corps and an enti
re pontoon train. The rebs had the bridge halfway across the river when they attacked and cut them off. He estimates between his command and that of Sykes and Grierson they've taken nearly five thousand prisoners."

"They did it," Elihu exclaimed, slapping the table with his hand, the sound of it causing Grant to wince.

Elihu jumped to his feet, came over to Grant's side, and grabbed his hand, shaking it.

"You did it, Grant. By God, you did it!"

"That they did, sir," Ely grinned. "Hancock suggests, sir, that what is left of Lee's army will be coming back toward us in the morning. He has linked up with Sykes, and they will begin pushing toward us and closing the trap, come dawn."

Grant nodded and offered a weak smile.

"Thank you, Ely."

There was a note of dismissal in his voice, and Ely, a bit confused, withdrew, closing the door.

"My God, Grant, this could be it"

Grant looked out the window.

"Perhaps."

"What's wrong."

Grant rubbed his forehead.

"Maybe I'm just tired."

"The letter from the president," Elihu said.

Grant nodded, and Elihu reached into his breast pocket and took it out, pushing it over to Grant. Grant saw that the envelope was open.

"Yes, I read it," Elihu said. "The president told me to, even though it is addressed to you. I think you need to look at it now."

Grant nodded, sat back, unfolded the sheets of paper, and began to read.

The room was silent as Grant read the memo carefully. Finished, he put it down, then picked it back up, and read it one more time.

Finished, he looked over at Elihu.

"And this was written after the casualty reports from Frederick?" he asked.

"Yes, General, it was."

Grant sighed and folded the document up.

"I half expected when you arrived that it was with orders to relieve me."

"That's absurd, Grant."

"Frederick was a near-run thing, very near run."

"You warned us of that cost a month ago. You warned the president again just last week. He was prepared for it, though I know the news did come as a shock. But Grant, even if you had lost the field at Frederick, you accomplished the goal you set before us a month ago, the one mandated to you by the president. You destroyed Lee's army in the process. Even if you had abandoned the field, the combined commands of Hancock and Sykes would have cornered him."

"Perhaps," Grant said quietly.

He looked out the window.

"The cost. I never quite realized the cost. I think history will remember me now as 'the Butcher.'"

"Grant, what is war but butchery?" Elihu replied sharply. "Isn't that why you hated the army even as you served in Mexico? Isn't that why you quit? Any man who loves what he does too much, I would not give two cents for, nor would the president. The president just said to me a few days ago that a good general is like a good doctor facing a cancer or an amputation. He cuts because he has-to, not because he loves it. You need men under you like that young Sheridan, who get caught up in it, but the man who runs it all must balance things. You did so, and the survival of the Republic was in the balance."

"I wish it could have been done with less cost," he paused, "to both sides."

"If this war dragged on another year, how many more deaths? A hundred thousand, two hundred thousand? That's the other side of the equation the president asked me to convey to you. He anticipated what you might have to do to win. 'The cost up front might be high,' he said, 'but if the cost is high up front, let us pray it saves more lives in the long run.' I think, Grant, that is what you are accomplishing now."

"If we still bag Lee."

"What do you mean? He's lost his one pontoon bridge. This deluge will bring the creeks and rivers up. You have him cornered."

'Too many generals claim they have their opponent cornered and wake up in the morning to find him gone."

He looked out the window as another flash of lightning ripped the heavens.

"He can still run. He can still drag it out under cover of this storm, break up his army, and slip part of it across the river. If he does, this will still drag on."

Elihu did not reply.

"I think I need to try and sleep, sir. You can have the bunk here, I'll take the one in the loft."

Elihu did not argue with him. He could sense the melancholy, the burden Grant was carrying as he slowly climbed up the ladder and collapsed on the bed in the loft.

Elihu turned, and picking up a stick, he poked at the fire, unable to sleep.

Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia One Mile South ofMonocacy Church

10:00
P.M.

T
he small village of Beallsville was nothing more than a hamlet of a half dozen homes, a general store, and a small Episcopal church. Lee sat within the church alone, head bowed in prayer.

For once, given the violence of the storm, he had broken his rule and allowed his men to move into the houses, the sick and wounded to be brought into the church. The men were silent as he sat in the front pew.

He finished praying and stood up, then walked to the back of the church where a surgeon was at work. A Union soldier was on the table, leg shredded just below the knee, the boy looking up with pleading eyes at the doctor.

"It will be just fine, son," the doctor whispered. "Son, I have to take your leg off, but you still have your life. Think about your mother. Will it matter any less to her if you come home to her injured?" "No, sir, I guess not."

"Of course not. She'll greet you with open arms. Now go to sleep, son. You'll be just fine."

The doctor nodded to his assistant, who placed a paper cone over the boy's face.

"Breathe deeply."

"Hail Mary, full of grace
..."
the boy began to whisper, and then his voice drifted off. The doctor nodded to his other assistant who handed over a bloodied scalpel, and the doctor set to work. Lee turned away.

He heard a polite cough behind him and turned to see

Walter in the doorway, illuminated by the flashes of lightning outside. Behind Walter was a gathering of officers, Longstreet, Stuart with head and arm bandaged, Jed Hotchkiss, several brigadiers, and Judah Benjamin.

"Sir," Walter whispered, coming to Lee's side. 'These gentlemen wish to speak with you."

"I assumed that," Lee said.

Walter opened the door into the vestry and the men followed him in. Walter struck a match to light a lamp, then closed the door.

Lee sat down in the only chair, the others standing formally before him.

"Go on, gendemen. I thought our plan of march had already been laid out for tomorrow, but if you have a concern, please share it."

They looked one to the other, and finally it was Jeb who stirred and stepped forward slowly.

"Sir, we have a request to lay before you."

"I am always open to suggestions from my trusted officers," Lee said. "Ple
ase go ahead, General Stuart."