A Stillness at Appomattox (32 page)

Not
too
ready,
possibly:
the
men
had
fallen
in
behind
the log
barricade
willingly
enough,
yet
it
was
noticed
that
in some
places
they
simply
cowered
close
to
the
earth,
pointed their
muskets
up
toward
the
treetops,
and
maintained
a
fire that
could
hurt
no
one
except
birds.
Yet
by
this
time
the forest
fire
was
just
about
taking
charge,
anyway.
The
Rebel battle
line
that
charged
up
to
the
Brock
Road
came
splashing through
little
pools
of
fire,
and
here
and
there
the
log
breastworks
themselves
caught
fire
and
blazed
up
hotly,
so
that neither
side
could
hold
possession,
and
attackers
and
defenders
stood
a
dozen
yards
apart
and
fought
each
other
through a
sheet
of
flame.
In
some
places
cannon
had
been
put
into line,
their
muzzles
protruding
out
over
the
logs,
and
the
gunners
tried
to
work
these
in
spite
of
the
fire.
Some
of
these
men were
horribly
wounded
when
cartridges
were
exploded
at
the guns'
muzzles.
¹⁶

In
a
few
places
the
Rebels
came
through
the
line.
But
there were
reserves
to
deal
with
them—Samuel
Carroll's
brigade, which
had
driven
Jubal
Early's
men
out
of
the
guns
on
Cemetery
Hill
at
Gettysburg,
on
the
night
of
the
second
day's
battl
e there—and
these
men
rammed
the
attackers
back.
The
Southerners
finally
retreated
out
of
sight
through
the
burning woods,
and
all
that
had
been
accomplished—about
all
that was
possible,
under
the
circumstances—was
to
increase
the casualty
lists
on
both
sides.

Grant
had
spent
most
of
his
time
on
the
knoll
over
by
the Turnpike,
and
there
had
not
been
much
that
he
or
anyone
else could
do
to
control
this
insane
battle
that
slipped
out
of
sight every
time
the
fighting
lines
went
into
action.
Yet
somehow
he had
created
a
new
atmosphere
around
headquarters,
and around
noon
he
sent
word
to
Hancock
to
put
on
a
new
offensive,
early
in
the
evening,
with
the
same
men
who
had
been driven
back
in
the
morning.
The
Rebel
assault
on
the
Brock Road
had
of
course
canceled
this
plan,
but
if
anyone
cared to
make
a
note
of
it,
there
it
was—the
commanding
general's only
reaction
to
news
of
a
reverse
had
been
to
call
for
another
attack.
¹⁷

It
had
been
somewhat
the
same,
once
that
day,
when Ewell
s
men
bent
the
Union
line
back
near
the
Turnpike
and got
some
guns
far
enough
forward
to
shell
the
very
knoll where
Grant
was
sitting.
An
anxious
staff
officer
came
up
and asked
if
it
would
not
be
pna^ent
to
move
the
whole
headquarters
setup
back
out
of
range
until
they
knew
whether
this position
was
going
to
be
held.
Grant
took
a
quiet
drag
on
his cigar
and
said
that
it
would
be
even
better
to
wheel
some guns
of
their
own
up
on
the
knofl
and
make
certain
that
the position
was
held;
so
the
guns
were
brought
up,
and
the
genera!
kept
on
whittling
twigs—completing
the
ruination
of
his tan
gloves,
in
the
process—and
the
Confederate
attack
was beaten
off.
¹⁸

Now
and
then
the
grim
news
that
came
back
from
the
firing lines
had
a
personal
touch.
An
aide
came
over
from
Hancock's
front
once
to
tell
Grant
that
the
Rebels
had
killed
Brigadier
General
Alex
Hays—red-haired,
coarse-grained,
hard-drinking,
and
hard-fighting,
who
had
spent
three
years
with Grant
at
West
Point,
had
served
in
the
old
4th
Regulars
with him
after
graduation,
and
had
been
with
him
in
Mexico, where
Hays
had
marveled
at
Grant's
ability
to
get
his
supply train
through
in
spite
of
all
obstacles.
Hays
commanded
a brigade
in
the
II
Corps,
and
he
had
helped
to
beat
off
Pickett's great
charge
at
Gettysburg,
and
now
a
bullet
had
found
him in
the
wild
mix-up
along
the
Plank
Road.
Grant
took
the
news quietly,
saying
that
he
was
not
surprised
to
learn
that
Hays had
been
in
the
front
line
of
action
when
he
was
killed:
"It was
just
like
him."
¹⁹

Dusk
came
at
last,
with
smoke
and
a
muffled
crying
in
the air,
and
still
the
battle
was
not
over.
Lee
had
a
pugnacity
to match
Grant's,
and
just
a
year
ago
on
the
edge
of
this
Wilderness
he
had
flanked
a
Federal
army
quite
as
large
and
as
confident
as
this
one
and
had
sent
it
scurrying
back
across
the Rapidan
in
utter
defeat.
Now,
as
the
day
ended,
one
of
Lee's brigadiers
pointed
out
that
up
north
of
the
Turnpike
the
right flank
of
John
Sedgwick's
line
was
exposed,
and
in
the
gathering
dark
a
Confederate
striking
column
came
whooping
down on
this
naked
flank
and
drove
it
headlong.