A Stillness at Appomattox (53 page)

It
began
to
rain
again,
and
the
men
in
the
trenches
stood to
their
knees
in
bloodstained
water,
and
the
ground
outside the
trenches,
trampled
by
massed
thousands
of
men,
turned into
a
stiff
gumbo
in
which
bodies
of
dead
and
wounded
men were
trodden
out
of
sight.
From
the
rear
Barlow
could
see an
immense
mass
of
Federals
lying
flat
in
this
muck,
twenty or
thirty
ranks
jammed
together
in
a
formless
crowd,
the
men in
the
rear
passing
loaded
muskets
forward
to
the
men
in front.
An
orderly
brought
Barlow
his
horse
and
the
general galloped
back
to
Hancock
to
beg
that
no
more
men
be
sent forward.

Never
before
on
earth
had
so
many
muskets
been
fired
so fast
on
so
narrow
a
front
and
at
such
close
range.
About
all that
kept
the
two
armies
from
completely
annihilating
each other
was
the
fact
that
most
men
were
firing
too
rapidly
to aim.
A
whole
grove
of
trees
behind
the
Rebel
line
was
killed by
shots
that
flew
too
high,
and
the
logs
of
the
breastworks were
splintered
and,
a
Confederate
officer
said
expressively, "whipped
into
basket-stuff."
Bodies
of
dead
and
wounded men
were
hit
over
and
over
again
until
they
simply
fell
apart and
became
unrecognizable
remnants
of
bloody
flesh
rather than
corpses.
There
were
big
charges
and
little
charges,
with bayonet
fighting
when
the
men
came
to
close
quarters,
and
at times
Union
and
Confederate
flags
waved
side
by
side
on
the parapets,
with
bullets
shredding
them
into
tattered
streamers.
¹⁹

A
few
hundred
yards
to
the
east
of
the
blunt
tip
of
the salient
there
was
a
place
where
the
Rebel
trench
line
made
a little
bend
to
the
south,
and
right
at
this
bend
a
spirited
Confederate
counterattack
regained
part
of
the
breastworks.
On the
Yankee
side
of
the
works
there
was
a
ditch,
and
as
the Southerners
retook
their
trench,
men
of
the
VI
Corps
came charging
in
and
occupied
the
ditch,
and
for
a
distance
here the
rival
battle
lines
were
literally
face
to
face
with
only
the log
breastwork
between
them.

Men
fired
at
one
another
through
chinks
in
the
logs,
or stabbed
through
the
chinks
with
their
bayonets,
or
reached over
the
top
to
swing
clubbed
muskets.
Where
the
Vermont

Brigade
was
fighting,
men
were
seen
to
spring
on
top
of
the logs
and
fire
down
on
their
enemies
as
fast
as
their
comrades could
pass
loaded
muskets
up
to
them.
Each
man
would
get off
a
few
rounds
before
he
was
shot,
and
usually
when
one
of these
men
fell
someone
else
would
clamber
up
to
take
his place.
Dead
men
fell
on
top
of
wounded
men,
and
unhurt men
coming
up
to
fight
would
step
on
the
hideous
writhing pile-up.
²⁰

Emory
Upton
had
his
thinned
brigade
in
beside
the
Ver-monters.
He
was
riding
his
horse
back
and
forth
just
behind the
firing
line,
the
only
mounted
man
in
sight,
going
unhurt by
some
miracle—every
man
on
his
staff
was
either
killed
or wounded.
He
was
proud
of
the
way
his
men
were
fighting,
but he
felt
that
they
would
do
even
better
if
they
had
the
help of
some
artillery,
and
he
sent
back
for
a
section
of
guns.
In a
few
moments
two
brass
fieldpieces
from
a
regular
battery came
splashing
madly
up
through
the
rain,
wheeling
about to
unlimber
within
literal
whites-of-their-eyes
range—artillery charging
entrenched
infantry,
as
if
all
roles
were
reversed
in this
mad
war.

The
gunners
sent
double
charges
of
canister
plowing through
the
Confederate
ranks,
and
at
this
close
range
the effect
was
fantastic.
Inspired
by
it,
the
gunners
laid
hands
on their
pieces
and
ran
them
forward
until
they
touched
the
very parapet,
and
then
they
resumed
firing
and
kept
it
up
as
long as
the
guns
could
be
manned,
which
was
not
very
long. When
the
guns
at
last
fell
silent
they
could
not
be
removed because
all
of
the
horses
were
dead,
and
of
the
twenty-four men
who
came
on
the
field
with
them
only
two
were
on
their feet
unwounded.
²¹

There
had
been
hand-to-hand
fighting
before,
but
it
invariably
reached
a
quick
climax
and
then
ended,
one
side
or the
other
breaking
and
running
away.
Here
nobody
broke and
nobody
ran.
The
fighting
did
not
stop
for
a
moment,
and the
unendurable
moment
of
climax
hung
taut
in
the
air
and became
fixed,
a
permanent
part
of
some
insane
new
order
of things.
Some
regiments
sent
details
a
dozen
paces
to
the
rear to
clean
muskets;
men
were
firing
so
continuously
that
their weapons
became
foul
with
burnt
powder
and
could
not
be loaded.
Amazingly
enough,
as
the
day
wore
on
exhausted
men from
time
to
time
would
stagger
a
few
feet
away
from
the firing
line,
drop
unhurt
in
the
mud,
and
fall
sound
asleep. Now
and
then
men
had
to
stop
fighting
and
lift
the
bodies
of dead
and
wounded
comrades
out
of
the
wet
ditch
and
drop them
in
the
mud
outside.
There
were
so
many
bodies
they interfered
with
the
fighting.
²²