A Stillness at Appomattox (12 page)

Winfield
Scott
Hancock
led
the
II
Corps.
He
had
been badly
wounded
at
Gettysburg
and
the
wound
still
bothered him,
but
he
came
back
at
the
end
of
the
winter
with
all
of
his old
gusto
and
the
men
were
glad
to
see
him.
He
was
a
vivid, hearty
sort
of
man—his
chief
of
staff,
with
strong
understatement,
remarked
that
he
was
"absolutely
devoid
of
asceticism" —and
it
was
believed
that
he
could
conduct
a
long
march
with less
straggling
and
more
professional
competence
than
any other
officer
in
the
army.
He
differed
from
most
Regular
Army officers
(including
Meade
himself)
in
that
he
liked
volunteer soldiers
and
did
his
best
to
make
them
feel
that
they
were
as good
as
Regulars,
and
his
army
corps
repaid
him
for
that
attitude.
²⁶
The
corps
badge
was
a
trefoil,
and
when
the
men
went into
action
they
had
a
way
of
yelling:
"Clubs
are
trumps!"

To
the
V
Corps,
in
place
of
the
departed
Sykes,
came
one of
the
most
baffling
figures
in
the
army—Major
General
Gouver
eur
Kemble
Warren.

Warren
was
thirty-four,
with
long
jet-black
hair
and
a
mustache
which
he
was
fond
of
twirling;
a
slightly
built
man
with sallow
complexion,
looking
not
unlike
an
Indian,
well
liked
by the
troops
because
he
displayed
great
bravery
under
fire.
(No officer
could
be
popular
in
this
army
unless
he
could
show
a spectacular
contempt
for
danger.)
He
was
a
queer
mixture
of the
good
and
the
ineffective—a
fuss-budget
with
flashes
of genius,
a
man
engrossed
in
detail
and
given
to
blunting
his cutting
edge
by
worrying
over
trifles
which
a
staff
captain ought
to
have
been
handling.
He
had
never
heard
of
delegating
authority,
and
he
had
a
certain
weakness
for
setting
his own
opinion
above
that
of
his
superior
officer's.

He
had
had
two
great
days.
One
was
at
Gettysburg,
when as
an
engineer
officer
on
the
commanding
general's
staff
he had
stood
on
Little
Round
Top,
had
seen
the
coming
danger, and
by
a
hair's
thin
margin
had
got
Union
troops
there
in
time to
save
the
day.
The
other
was
at
Mine
Run,
in
December, when
half
of
the
army
had
been
given
to
him
for
a
mighty
assault
that
was
to
destroy
the
Rebel
army
and
make
General Warren
a
national
hero.
At
the
last
minute
General
Warren had
discovered
that
the
Confederate
line
was
far
stronger than
had
been
supposed:
so
strong,
indeed,
that
the
attack could
not
possibly
succeed
and
would
be
no
better
than
a second
Fredericksburg.
With
no
time
to
refer
matters
to
the army
commander
he
had
had
the
moral
stamina
to
call
things off,
let
Meade's
wrath
descend
entirely
on
himself,
and
take whatever
rap
might
be
coming.

He
came
from
Putnam
County,
New
York,
and
as
a
young man
he
was
a
sobersides,
not
to
say
a
bit
of
a
prig.
He
can
be seen,
at
twenty-two,
a
very
junior
second
lieutenant,
writing home
to
his
mother
telling
her
how
to
rear
the
eleven
other children
she
had
borne:
"You
must
dress
them
warmly
and give
them
the
best
of
shoes
to
keep
their
feet
dry.
.
.
.
Put flannel
underclothes
on
them
all.
Cold
fingers
and
cold
ears are
not
much
account,
but
cold
feet
is
the
cause
of
a
great
deal of
sickness.
If
Edgar
is
still
troubled
with
that
tickling
in
his throat,
put
woollen
underclothes
on
him,
place
a
plaster
on
his chest,
keep
his
feet
warm
and
dry,
and
I
know
it
will
disappear."
Yet
he
would
not
merely
give
advice:
"I
have
money to
spare,
if
that
is
lacking."

An
engineer
officer,
he
had
worked
on
Mississippi
River flood-control
projects,
and
under
Harney
he
had
fought
the Sioux
Indians.
He
had
an
unmilitary
ability
to
be
sensitive
to human
suffering.
The
worst
thing
about
fighting
Indians,
he wrote,
was
that
one
shot
a
good
many
women
and
children, and
when
it
came
time
to
dress
their
wounds
afterward
one discovered
that
they
were
just
like
any
other
women
and
children
and
not
at
all
like
howling
savages.
He
had
filled
in
for Hancock
in
charge
of
the
II
Corps,
this
past
winter,
and
now he
had
a
corps
of
his
own.
It
included
many
good
fighters
and contained
some
of
the
best
of
the
troops
from
the
departed I
Corps,
and
what
it
might
do
would
depend
a
good
deal
on General
Warren.
²⁷