The Killer Angels (15 page)

“Who is commanding there?” Lee pointed to the hills beyond the town.

Heth blinked, suddenly remembering. “Sir, I’d forgotten. We have word that General Reynolds was killed.”

Lee turned. “John Reynolds?”

“Yes, sir. Prisoners state he was killed this morning. I believe Doubleday has succeeded him.”

“Are you sure?”

“The news seems reliable.”

“I’m sorry,” Lee said. His mind flashed a vision of Reynolds. A neat trim man. A gentleman, a friend. Lee shook his head. It was queer to be so strange and tight in the mind. He seemed unable to think clearly. Reynolds dead. Gone. Doubleday behind him. Doubleday an unknown quantity, but certainly nothing spectacular. But Reynolds’ First Corps was solid. What to do?

“I can support Rodes, sir,” Heth said.

Lee looked at him. He knows he has brought this on; he wants to fight now to retrieve it. His answer is to fight, not to think; to fight, pure and simple. Lee rode slowly forward, nearing the trees ahead alongside the road. You can depend on the troops, but can you count on the generals? Why has Rodes attacked? Will Hill fight well, or Rodes either? What I need is Longstreet and he is not here. A mistake to bring him up last.

Another courier. “General Early has arrived, begs to report that he is attacking to the north of General Rodes.”

Lee stopped, looked north. It was working almost like a plan. It was possible to see Intention in it. The Union formed to face him and fought well and now was being flanked from the north, simply because Lee’s men had orders to come to Gettysburg, and they were coming in almost behind the Union defenses. Lee felt a sharpness in the air. His blood was rising. He had tried to be discreet, but it was all happening without him, without one decision; it was all in God’s hands. And yet he could leave it alone himself no longer. Rodes and Early were attacking; Heth and Pender were waiting here in front of him. Lee’s instinct sensed opportunity. Let us all go in together, as God has decreed a fight here.

He swung to Heth. “General, you may attack.”

To Pender he said the same. He gave no further directions. The generals would know what to do now. With that word it was out of his hands. It had never really been in his hands at all. And yet his was the responsibility.

He rode forward to the rise ahead, across the small creek. Now he had a clearer view. Pender’s division was on the move; he heard the great scream of the massed Rebel yells. Now batteries were in position behind him, beginning to open up on the woods near the cupola. Lee ducked his head as the shot whickered over him. He did not like to stand in front of artillery. Some of the artillery was moving forward. Rifle fire was breaking out. The wind shifted; he was enveloped in smoke. Marshall’s face appeared, an incoherent message. Lee tried to find some place to watch the assault. Pender’s whole force was streaming forward across the fields, into the woods. Lee saw flags floating through white smoke, disembodied, like walking sticks. Shell bursts were appearing in the air, white flakes, round puffs. One blossomed near. There was Marshall again. Lee heard fragments split the air near him. He moved into a grove of trees: oak, chestnut. There was a white house nearby, a white rail fence, a dead horse lying in a black mound in the sun.

He waited in the grove, listening to the enormous sound of war. Eventually he sat, resting himself against the bole of a tree. It was dark and cool back in here out of the sun. Men were dying up ahead. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, felt his life beating in his chest. The fight went on. Lee thought for the first time that day of his son, Rooney, wounded, lying not far from here. He closed his eyes, prayed for his boy, for all of them. He put his hand down on black dirt, was reminded: Pennsylvania. I am the invader.

Once more the Rebel yell—inhuman screaming of the onrushing dead. Another unit was going. He rose and went forward, trying to see, but no point in that. There was too much smoke. Yet it might help if he was seen. He moved up out of the grove of trees, onto the road. The road ahead was crowded with wounded. There were men lying under wagons, out of the sun, most of them semi-naked, covered with bandages, blood. He saw another dead horse, a splintered wagon; the severed
forefoot of a horse lay near him in gray dust. Smoke was pouring down the road as from a great furnace. He moved forward; his staff followed him. Here was A. P. Hill.

Hill said, white-faced, “Very hard going. Heth is down.”

Lee looked at him, waiting.

“Wounded in the head. I don’t know how serious. But the division is moving. Pender is on the flank. But the Yankees are fighting well. I don’t recall them fighting this well before.”

Hill seemed peculiarly calm, vacant, as if he was not wholly present. He was a handsome man who had a great deal of money but was not “society” and was overly aware of it and very touchy about it.

Lee said, “Let me know General Heth’s condition as soon as possible.”

Lee sat down against a rail fence. A band came by, playing an incoherent song, fifes and bugles. The sky was overcast with blowing white smoke, the smell of hot guns, of blasted earth, the sweet smell of splintery trees. Lee was in the way, in the road; men were gathering around him, calling to him. He saw a house, an empty front porch. He moved toward that way and stared down toward the smoke. Firing was intense. He sent couriers to Early and Rodes to advise them of his new headquarters and to ask for progress. He had no idea of the whereabouts of Ewell, who was supposed to be in command over there and who probably knew less of what was happening than Lee did. Longstreet was right: command was too loose. But no time for that now.

A courier from Early: The enemy was falling back. Lee could hear an officer near him erupt in a high scream. “They’re runnin’, Great God Amighty, they’re runnin’!”

Lee looked down the smoky street, saw a man helping another man along the road, saw masses of men moving vaguely through a field, saw flashes of artillery. The fire seemed to be slowing down. There were many men yelling. A lieutenant came down the road, pointing back toward the smoke, yelling wildly that someone was hurt.

A. P. Hill said, at Lee’s elbow, “General Heth’s surgeon has examined him, sir. He says he ought to be all right, but he will be out of action for a while.”

“Where is he?”

“In a house over this way.” Hill pointed.

“You will take good care of him, of course. And, General, see to yourself. You can do no more good now. I want you to rest.”

Hill said softly, calmly, vacantly, “I’m fine, General, just fine.”

But he looked as if he were about to faint. Lee was thinking: if Longstreet were only here. How many in the Union Army? If the First Corps is here and the Eleventh, the rest must not be far behind. He heard more men yelling. In the street he saw officers waving their hats, grinning enormous grins. Victory? A rider came up, from Pender. A young man with a marvelous wide mustache said, “General Pender begs to report the enemy is falling back.” Officers threw hats in the air. Lee smiled, could not be heard. One man touched him, another patted his back. He raised his glasses and looked to the clearing smoke.

He turned to Marshall. “I’ll go forward.”

Traveler was at the rail outside. Lee mounted and rode. Men were cheering him now, touching the horse as he went by. He tried to control his face. The wounded were everywhere. Some of them were Union boys, looking at him insensibly as he went by. A courier from Early: a rout on the left flank. The Union Eleventh Corps was running. More cheers. Lee closed his eyes once briefly. God’s will.
My trust in Thee. Oh Lord, bless You and thank You
.

He moved forward to the rise ahead, across a small creek. Taylor said, “This must be Willoughby Run.” Lee halted at the crest. Now he could see; the land lay before him wreathed in smoky ridges. Half a mile away lay the town, white board buildings, dirt roads. Beyond it was a high hill that rose above a series of ridges running off to the east. Blue troops were pouring back through the town, moving up the sides of the hill. The couriers were right: they were retreating. Victory. Lee put his glasses to his eyes, felt his hands tremble, focused, saw: Union artillery forming on the high hill, men digging. The fight was not over. Must not let those men occupy the high ground. Lee turned. To Taylor he said, “Find Hill’s chief of artillery, tell him I want fire placed on that hill. I don’t want it occupied. What word do you have from Ewell? And send General Hill to me.”

Taylor moved off. Lee was thinking: we must continue the assault.
The blue troops are on the move; now we must keep them moving. But Heth is down. He looked for Pender’s courier, informed him to tell General Pender to continue the assault. But Early and Rodes were closer, on the left. If they only kept moving. The guns on the high hill were beginning to fire.

Here was Powell Hill, looking worse. He said, “The men have done all they can do. Heth’s division is exhausted. Pender says he has had the hardest fighting of the war.”

Lee studied him, looked away, back to the hill above Gettysburg. Hill may be sick but Pender was trustworthy. If Pender had doubts …

Taylor arrived. “General Ewell is with General Early, sir. We are in communication.”

“Good,” Lee said. “Deliver this message in person. Tell General Ewell the Federal troops are retreating in confusion. It is only necessary to push those people to get possession of those heights. Of course, I do not know his situation, and I do not want him to engage a superior force, but I do want him to take that hill, if he thinks practicable, as soon as possible. Remind him that Longstreet is not yet up.”

Taylor repeated the message, rode off. Beyond that hill Lee could begin to feel the weight of the Union Army, the massive blue force pouring his way. What kind of a soldier would Meade turn out to be? We must not give him the high ground. Lee looked southeast, saw two rounded hills. We might swing around that way. They have marched quicker than I expected. Thank the Lord for Longstreet’s spy.

He heard more cheering, to the rear, looked, saw Longstreet. Moving forward slowly, calmly, like a black rock, grinning hungrily through the black beard. Lee flushed with pleasure. Longstreet dismounted, extended a hand.

“Congratulations, General. Wish I could have been here.”

Lee took the hand warmly. “Come here, I want you to see this.” He waved toward the field ahead, the hill beyond Gettysburg.

An officer near him said, “General Lee, it’s Second Manassas all over again!”

“Not quite,” Lee said cheerily, “not quite.” He was delighted to have Longstreet here. Now through the streets Johnson’s division was moving, Longstreet’s people could not be far behind. With every step
of a soldier, with every tick of the clock, the army was gaining safety, closer to victory, closer to the dream of independence.

Longstreet studied the field. After a moment he said, “We were lucky.”

“It couldn’t have worked better if we had planned it.”

Longstreet nodded. Lee explained the position that Ewell had orders to move to the left and take that hill. Longstreet studied the hill
^*
while Lee spoke. After a moment he said, “Fine. But this is fine. This is almost perfect.” He turned to Lee. “They’re right where we want them. All we have to do is swing around that way—” he pointed toward Washington “—and get between them and Lincoln and find some good high ground, and they’ll have to hit us, they’ll have to, and we’ll have them, General, we’ll have them!”

His eyes were flashing; he was as excited as Lee had ever seen him. Lee said, amazed, “You mean you want me to
disengage
?”

“Of course.” Longstreet seemed surprised. “You certainly don’t mean—Sir, I have been under the impression that it would be our strategy to conduct a defensive campaign, wherever possible, in order to keep this army intact.”

“Granted. But the situation has changed.”

“In what way?”

“We cannot disengage. We have already pushed them back. How can we move off in the face of the enemy?”

Longstreet pointed. “Very simply. Around to the right. He will occupy those heights and wait to see what we are going to do. He always has. Meade is new to the command. He will not move quickly.”

Lee put his hand to his face. He looked toward the hill and saw the broken Union corps falling back up the slope. He felt only one urge: to press on and get it done. He said nothing, turning away. There was a messenger from General Ewell. Lee recognized the man, Captain James Power Smith, Ewell’s aide. The captain was delighted to see the Commanding General.

Ewell’s message was cautious: “General Ewell says he will direct Early and Rodes to move forward, but he requests support of General Hill on his right. He says that there is a strong Union position south of the town which should be taken at once.”

Lee asked which position Ewell meant. He handed Smith the glasses. Smith said the position was beyond the one in front, at the top of which there was a cemetery.

Lee looked at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. Still two hours of daylight. He said to Longstreet, “General, how far away is your lead division?”