Grant Comes East - Civil War 02 (55 page)

No one could see, all were now firing blindly; the experienced, those with a cold logic still in their mind, took then-time, aiming low, searching for a flash of an enemy gun muzzle in the smoke, then swinging to aim at it Here and there the smoke would part enough to show a flag on the other side of the field, and then a storm of shot would rake into it the banner dropping, .coming back up, going down again, the horror of this hitting on both sides, so that around each regimental color guard a dozen or more men would be sprawled out dead or writhing in agony.

Clips of meadow grass seemed to leap into the air as bullets cut in low, the grass leaping up as if an angry bee were slashing through the stalks at blinding speed. An artillery shell, winging in low as well, would plow up a terrifying furrow of grass and dirt, then plow into a volley line, bowling men over.

Men's eyes stung from the blinding smoke, faces streaked black from the mixture of black powder, sweat and saliva. Uniforms were caked with dirt, powder, sweat, blood.

Lo stalked up and down behind his regiments, saying nothing, watching as the volley lines gradually contracted on the center, the fallen dropping almost in an orderly row, wounded streaming back to the rear. Twenty or more rounds per man had been fired, and still there was no slackening of fire from the other side. It was impossible to see; all was blinded by smoke, the only indicator of the enemy presence the continual buzz of bullets slashing overhead, the cries of his own men being hit the dim pinpoints of light from the other side of the pasture.

He heard a shouted command to the rear, looked back, and saw Garnett's brigade, which had been advancing behind him, filing off to the left on the double, moving to extend the line, whether to flank or to prevent being flanked he could not tell. He caught a glimpse of Pickett galloping past

It had been going on for at least fifteen minutes now, a stand-up, knock-down brawl. He had heard the orders, to engage after they crossed the Gunpowder River, hold briefly, then start to fall back, luring them in. Shouldn't they start?

"General Pickett!" he shouted, trying to be heard above the thunder of battle, but George rode on, standing in his stirrups, eyes afire with that strange light of battle.

The rate of fire from his own line was slackening, not through lack of will, but after such sustained fire guns were fouling, barrels so caked with the residue of black powder that men were grunting as they pushed down on their ramrods. Some had stopped shooting, were pouring precious water from canteens down the barrels, their guns so hot that steam would come bubbling out as they then hurriedly ran a swab down the bore, filthy black water cascading out of the barrel. Inverting the gun would make the gluey mess dribble out—then another swab to wipe it dry, pour in another round, and resume firing.

And still the enemy fire slashed in.

August
19,1863 2:45
p.m.

Birn
ey stalked the firing line, a Pennsylvania regiment in front of him standing solid, musket fire flashing up and down the line. To his right he could see another rebel brigade swinging into battle front, extending the line. Already his own Second Division was racing behind the volley line on the double, men panting and staggering in the heat lead regiments shaking out from column into battle front, rifles held high as they formed. A roaring volley erupted: Each regiment fired as it came into place. "Birney!"

It was Dan Sickles, riding up on his black charger, staff trailing behind, the flag of the commander of the Army of the Potomac held high. He pushed his way through the column of the Second Division, the men cheering him as they raced by, Sickles standing in his stirrups, hat off.

"Give it to 'em! Remember Union Mills and give it to 'em!" Sickles roared.

He came up to Birney, grinning.

"How is it here?" Sickles shouted.

"Damn hot, sir. That's a full division across this pasture."

"Can see that, Birney. Blue flags, looks like Virginians; it has to be Pickett He's left Baltimore wide-open, the damn fool."

"Did you expect Pickett this far north?"

"Of course," he lied. "That madman can't miss a fight."

He stood back up, raising his field glasses, but the smoke was hanging thick in the humid, windless air, a smothering, choking blanket filled with the stench of rotten eggs, strangely, a smell Dan reveled in.

If the Virginian was going to stand and fight, why not in the fortifications, why out here, a dozen miles north of town? Even Pickett would not be so foolish as to pit his lone division against three entire corps. It could only mean that Lee was coming up. But how fast? When would he gain the field? Surely not by this afternoon, unless he had been willing to push his army forty miles in this grueling heat

He smiled.
If
so,
let
him;
his
men
will
be
exhausted
and then
we'll
make
it
a
stand-up
fight.

"I'm putting the entire Third Corps in here," Sickles announced.

Birney nodded his head in agreement instinctively dodging as a rifle ball hummed by so close that he could feel the wind of it on his cheek. Dan laughed.

"If it's got your name on it, Birney, it's got your name, no sense in dodging."

Grinning, he rode off.

Five
Miles
South
of
Gunpowder
River,
Maryland

August
19,1863 3:00
p.m.

Lo
ngstreet could
clearly hear the rumble of battl
e in the distance. Coming up over a low rise he could see the cloud of smoke on the horizon billowing up, tiny puffs of white erupting in the air from shell bursts. A courier had just come in from Stuart, who had shifted to the left, reporting that the Union Fifth Corps was pressing forward on the road from Bel Air, approaching the upper end of the Gunpowder River Valley. Stuart had committed all his reserves, and the fight was beginning to spread.

Now was the moment of choice—push his lead division, McLaws's, up to Stuart or over to Pickett. Pickett had five full brigades now, the heaviest division in the army. Capable, for a time, of standing up to a Union corps. No, McLaws would extend the fight to the left and hold the Union Fifth Corps in place till the rest of the army came up. It would be a bloody, uneven match for the next three to four hours, until first Hood and then Beauregard arrived. A courier had just come up from Baltimore; the army was moving hard, but the rate of march was slowing in this killing heat, and stragglers were now falling out by the thousands. Pickett should be giving ground now, slowly falling back onto Hood.

Grim as it was, hard as the casualties would be, it would suck Sickles in, give him more confidence, play to his arrogance.

He passed the orders for McLaws to move forward to the left and prepare for battle.

Gunpowder
River,
Maryland

August
19,1863 3:15
p.m.

Th
ough only a colonel in the presence of a major general, Ely Parker found it nearly impossible to conceal his rage. He knew without doubt that his so-called guides had been leading him on a wild-goose chase throughout the morning and into the early afternoon as they weaved back and forth on the two main roads leading south from the river crossing. Over the last hour the thunder of battle had continued to swell and finally, ignoring the shouts and threats of the staff sent to fetch him along, he had ridden off, heading for the center of the battle, knowing that the man he sought would be there.

A mile back from the battle line he rode past dense columns of troops, swinging out from the road, tramping cross-country on the double, heading down across a shallow ravine to ford a stream and then back up the opposite slope. Seeing one of their command flags, he recognized it as the Second Division of Third Corps and fell in with them, riding as fast as his exhausted mount would carry him. Coming up over the crest he reined in for a moment Several hundred yards to his front a long volley line was dimly visible in the smoke, blazing away, wounded by the hundreds limping back, ambulances already up, stretcher-bearers at work, loading the men in.

He had to admit it was a magnificent sight. The volley line seemed solid, no faltering in their work, flags waving back and forth. Puffs of dirt kicked up around him as spent rounds smacked into the ground and ricocheted off, his horse dancing nervously as one nicked its leg.

He pushed on, carefully watching the line, looking behind it and then he spotted the flag of the army commander. Spurring his mount for one last effort before his quarry rode off, Ely Parker of General Grant's staff galloped up and reined in hard. Sickles was surrounded by staff, giving orders, pointing to various details of the fight, one of his men holding up a rough sketch map that Sickles was examining. Without observing protocol, Ely pushed his way in.

"General Sickles, I am Colonel Parker, adjutant to General Grant."

Sickles looked over at him and actually smiled.

"In a moment, Colonel, I am busy now."

"Sir, I have been led back and forth by your staff to no avail for the last eight hours looking for you. We need to speak now, sir."

"In a moment," Sickles barked and turned away.

"Brewster, keep extending your line to the right, push it out; I want to get enfilade into their left. Now move!"

Brewster saluted and galloped off, and Dan turned to yet another officer.

"Get back to Warren, tell him to push his first division up at the double to reinforce Birney. Those men have fired sixty or more rounds; their rifles are fouled; they need to be pulled back to clean weapons, reload, get water and a few minutes' rest I want that fresh division on the line within the half hour!"

More staff galloped off. Dan snapped his fingers to yet another staff officer, who pulled out a flask and handed it over. Dan briefly hesitated, then took a drink, turning slightly as he eyed Parker. He screwed the lid back on the flask and then finally spoke.

"Well, Colonel?"

Ely glared at him coldly.

"Sir, I've been sent by General Grant. I have written orders for you to withdraw back to the north side of the river and then to report to his headquarters in Harrisburg."

Dan threw back his head and laughed.

"Should I do this right now, Colonel? This very instant?"

"Those were the orders I was to convey to you."

Dan edged his horse closer.

"Goddamn it, man, do you know how stupid you sound at this moment?"

"Sir, I am carrying orders from the commander of all Union forces in the field."

"Again, do you know how stupid, how idiotic you sound?"

"Are you calling General Grant idiotic, sir?" Ely snarled, features turning dark red.

"You're an Indian, aren't you?" Dan asked.

"What the hell does that have to do with it, sir?"

"I would think that one with your blood would enjoy a good fight. Well, my brave, you got one right here," and Dan pointed to the volley line.

"I am in the middle of an all-out fight at this moment That's Pickett over there, Stuart a couple of miles to the northwest. We are holding and we are savaging them and we will beat them. Now do you honestly expect me to order a general retreat?"

Ely said nothing. Tragically, he knew Sickles was right. The fight was on; there was no way to disengage without the threat of a rout. The long hours of delay thrown in his path had given this man enough time to get into a tangle he could not get out of, short of victory.

"General Sickles, you acted without authority; in fact you acted in direct contradiction to the plan that General Grant had laid out to you at your last conference with him. I know, sir, for I was there, if you will recall."

To his amazement, Sickles actually shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

"War changes all plans, Parker. If your Grant was here, he'd agree and order me to push in everything I had. The old plan is off and the Army of the Potomac is back in the fight and we will win this day. Now if you will excuse me, I have a battle to fight"

"General Sickles, I believe that once this affair is over, you will face an inquiry from General Grant as to the arbitrary and irresponsible nature of your actions."

"Let him. Just tell him, though, to first check with the secretary of war."

Stunned, Ely could say nothing.

"Now stay out of my way, Chief Parker. Though if you want to fight, be my guest If you want to see how the Army of the Potomac can win battles when properly led and not held back on a leash, stay and watch."

Laughing, Dan spurred his mount and rode off. Ely remained behind, oblivious to the constant whine of bullets passing overhead. There was nothing he could do now to stop this, and considering the respective skills of Lee and Sickles, he feared what was to come.

Ch
apter Nineteen

Battle
of
Gunpowder
River,
Maryland

August
19,1863 4:30
p.m.

Vo
ice long since gone, Lo Armistead staggered up and down the line, limping slightly from the rifle ball or shell fragment that had creased his left leg just above the knee.

His brigade, his precious brigade, was bleeding out. A half hour ago he had committed his two reserve regiments, pushing them into the volley line, pulling his already committed regiments back one at a time to give the men ten minutes to clean their rifles, replenish ammun
ition, gulp down some water ..
and still it continued, the most sustained fire-fight he had seen across two years of war.

The smoke was a dark blanket hovering over the battlefield. The air was so thick from the humid heat combined with the smoke of battle that he was beginning to lose as many men from physical collapse as from enemy fire. Few were now standing; most of the men were hunkered down, kneeling, lying; some had stopped shooting and, with bayonets, were frantically digging in. The dead lay in almost orderly rows, most where the brigade had first engaged two hours ago; yet more were sprawled out now where the brigade had pulled back a hundred yards, back to a low crest and a fence row.

No one could see the Yankees in all the smoke, though they were still out there, the incoming rounds evidence enough of their presence. All was fire, smoke, screaming men, the maddening buzz of bullets sweeping past, the sickening thunk when one hit a man. "General Armistead!"

He looked up and to his amazement saw Pickett, still mounted, though his horse was bleeding from several wounds, the general nursing an arm in a sling. Lo wearily saluted, barely able to focus.

"You must hold this center, sir," Pickett shouted, his voice breaking, carrying a hysterical edge.

"Sir! What about our orders?" Lo cried.

"What orders?"

Lo stepped closer to Pickett's side.

"We were supposed to engage then withdraw, sir; those were our orders."

"And show our backs now?" Pickett shouted. "I'd sooner burn in hell! We've bloodied an entire corps over there, Lo, an entire corps! Hood and the rest will be up soon enough, but I'm not giving away this ground now. The blood of Virginia is on it!"

"When will we be relieved?"

Pickett shook his head.

"I'll be damned if I know. McLaws went in on our left an hour ago. Hood should be up within another hour."

"An hour? If they push now, sir, I can't promise we'll hold."

"You are talking about the honor of our division, General Armistead. We will hold!"

Pickett savagely turned his mount and rode off.

Armistead watched him ride off and shook his head. They were in a brutal head-on fight; the entire division was bleeding out. They were outnumbered, exhausted; men not down from wounds were collapsing in the boiling heat, and still George was determined to hold and to make it a point of honor.

Cursing under his breath, he resumed his walking up and down the line, oblivious, if for no other reason than exhaustion, of the continual rain of bullets and shells striking his line.

4.45pm

Ge
neral Warren, when will you be ready to commit?" Dan shouted, eyes wide, face contorted in anger as the commander of his Sixth Corps rode up.

Maj. Gen. Gouvern
eur Warren rode up to Sickles and saluted.

"Sir, my First Division is already in support of Birney."

"I want the rest of your corps in now; push them right up the center. I ordered that an hour ago, General."

"Sir, we are deploying even now in the valley back there." Warren pointed to the ravine of Gunpowder River.

"I want them now. By God, Gouverneur, we are ready to bowl those rebels over."

Warren looked past Sickles, to the hundreds of wounded painfully staggering back from the front line two hundred yards away, the boiling clouds of smoke. Just behind Sickles, a battery of three-inch rifles fired a salvo, redoubling the smoke around them, and Warren shook his head.

"A word of caution, sir."

"I have no time for caution now. We're on the edge of driving them from this field. Their fire has been slacking off. The time is now."

"Sir. The Sixth Corps is your only reserve. We've only marked the location of two of their divisions, Pickett here, and McLaws to the north, facing the Fifth Corps. Where is the rest of Lee's army?"

"Undoubtedly they are coming up," Sickles cried, "but they are not here yet If I can destroy two of their divisions before the rest arrive, we might get them rolling back and running."

"Sir, that is Lee over there," Warren replied, trying to stay calm, for it was evident that the commander of the Army of the Potomac was caught up in battle hysteria. "I think I should advise caution. You've done a masterful job, sir, but the losses to your old corps are heavy; we can both see that. Push them back tactically, sir, but do not go in with a full pursuit now. The men are exhausted, the heat is killing. Just do a local advance so they break, then stop and consolidate our forces so we can respond to whatever Lee is preparing."

He pointed back across the Gunpowder River.

"That is good ground back there; pull back, dig in, then let the rest of Lee's forces come to us, and we will defeat them from a sound defensive position at little risk to ourselves."

"Did I ask you for advice?"

"No, sir, but perhaps advice is needed," Warren replied. "Sir, I know ground. Remember, I was topographer for this army before you promoted me. You have a good position here. The good ground is right at your back. Hold on the north bank of this river. Let Lee come up, and then savage him. We have but hal
f the numbers we did at Chancel
lorsville. We don't have the reserves for an aggressive pursuit"

"And Lee would have good ground on this side of the river if we give it back to him! We are driving them," Sickles replied sharply. "I listened to caution at Chancellorsville, at Gettysburg, and Union Mills. We've caught two of their divisions out in the open. We will roll them up and destroy these divisions and then do the same to the rest of those damn rebels tonight and tomorrow. Now put your men in!"

Warren was silent for a moment looking straight at Sickles.

Wearily, he saluted. "Yes, sir."

Near
Christiana,
Pennsylvania

August
19,1863 5:00
p.m.

Hi
s horse collapsed, sighing, going down on its knees, and
he felt a moment of pity as he
pulled his feet from the stirrups and dismounted.

It was a beautiful animal, chestnut, well-bred, and he had driven it without mercy throughout the day. As a born horseman, he felt revulsion at having pushed mis faithful animal to the point of death.

Tradition demanded that he shoot it, not let it fall into enemy hands, but he could not bring himself to do it as the stallion looked up at him wide-eyed, panting hard, lathered in sweat

He turned to one of his few remaining adjutants. "Get my saddle off him; find me another mount," Wade barked.