He slid down the ladder, landing hard, and ran down the stairs. Reaching the main floor, he gingerly stepped around the wounded. The surgeon who had surrendered the building tried to say something, but John avoided him, moving fast.
He raced out of the building. All was confusion outside, wounded Yankees, wounded Confederates now intermingled. Those who could walk were coming up from the field where the charge had swept in. Several hundred bluecoats, disarmed, sat around the building, a few sentries guarding them. A column of troops, moving on the double, was coming up over the crest, following their colors, a North Carolina state flag. The men were panting, canteens rattling. A number of men had pairs of shoes tied by the laces and slung over their shoulders or around their necks, booty stripped from the dead, but there was no time yet to try them on. He reached the road just as the knot of officers came up the slope.
Men were stopping, seeing who was coming, cheering.
John took a deep breath and stepped in front of the group. "Walter! Walter!"
One of the officers looked over, saw John, smiled, and reined in.-
John, remembering that his old friend was now a superior in rank, came loosely to attention and saluted.
Lt Col. Walter Taylor, chief of staff to Gen. Robert E. Lee, leaned over and extended his hand. "John, how are you?"
'Tolerable. A hard fight"
"Saw you go in. You were magnificent The general said it was a proud day for South Carolina."
John caught a glimpse of the general coming up the slope, General Longstreet by his side.
"Walter, can I have a word with the general?".
Walter looked at him appraisingly. He was the gatekeeper, the one who fended off the glory seekers, the hangers-on, the dozens, the hundreds who every day wanted to see Lee.
"Up there, Walter," and he pointed to the cupola. "Go up there. You can see the whole thing. There's a hill beyond the town; that's where they're falling back. I saw everything from up there."
"The cemetery?"
"Yes."
Walter nodded. "Follow me."
Lee approached. John looked up at him. He had seen Lee numerous times. Being an old college roommate of the chief of staff meant that he was often invited to headquarters for a late-night drink or game of cards. Yet every time he had seen him, there was a cold chill, a sense of reverent awe, a belief that if their country was to survive that this man would be the savior. He remembered him from just three nights back, sitting alone in the field, most likely contemplating all that was now happening.
John remembered as well his own panic and terror of that night It had lingered about him like an unpleasant scent in the air that would not disappear. He had mastered it again for the moment, caught up in the hysteria of the charge, but the fear was still there, whispering to him, warning that something terrible was just ahead.
He forced the thought aside. He was about to speak to the "Old Man," and he had to play his part.
He self-consciously tugged at his uniform and caught a glimpse of Sergeant Hazner by his side, fumbling to button up his jacket
Walter intercepted Lee; the two exchanged words; Lee looked over, nodded, approached the last dozen yards, and stopped.
John saluted.
Lee, eyes bright calm, looked down, the touch of a smile on his face. "I trust you are well, Major Williamson."
John, surprised that Lee remembered his name, could barely speak for a moment
"The blood, sir, are you hurt?"
John looked down at his uniform… his orderly, head gone, body collapsing. He shook his head. "No, sir. One of my men…" and his voice trailed off.
Lee nodded, a fatherly look of understanding in his eyes. "South Carolina did splendidly today," Lee finally replied. "I saw the charge go in."
"Thank you, sir," and he hesitated, not sure what to say next
"You have some information for me?"
John gulped, nodded. "Sir. From up there," and he pointed back to the cupola. "I was just up there. We're driving them, sir, really driving them. But south of the town, they're beginning to reform. Artillery, I'd say at least thirty guns, sir, and what's left of their infantry; most of it is rallying."
General Longstreet reined in beside Lee, catching John's last words.
"Fresh troops?" Longstreet asked.
"I didn't see any, sir."
John was surprised at how casually Longstreet had interrupted the conversation, but Lee did not react
Lee looked over at Longstreet "We have their First and Eleventh Corps here, and we've defeated them," Lee said. "It might be nightfall before the rest of them begin to come up."
"We are not sure what's beyond that hill," Longstreet replied, pointing east where the crest of Cemetery Hill was just visible, covered in smoke.
Lee looked back down at John. "Thirty guns?"
"I can't promise that sir, but I think that's close. I saw a battery coming out of the town and moving into place. There might be more soon."
Lee turned his attention back to Longstreet
"Sir," Longstreet said slowly, "we've done well today, very well. We don't want to get tangled up in that town. If we try for that next hill now, we might be sticking our necks out"
"General Longstreet we have them on the run. We will drive these people, drive them, sir!"
He stopped for a second, looking with solemn determination from Longstreet to Taylor, then back to Longstreet again. John stood by, aware that Lee barely noticed that he was there.
"Drive them, sir, drive them. If they are running, I will press them."
As he spoke the last words, he gestured toward the town, to the heart of the battle. John turned to look and sensed that the thunder was abating, the attack dying off even as Lee called for the battle to continue.
"Now is when to press them," Lee said, his voice sharp. "I want those people driven off that far hill within the hour. Colonel Taylor, let us go find General Ewell."
Longstreet began to speak, but a glance from Lee stilled him.
"General Longstreet, return to your corps. Have them come forward with all possible haste. General Hill is not well today. If need be, you are to assume control over his men still on the road and press them forward. I want Johnson and Anderson's divisions to come forward and prepare to go into action."
Without waiting for a reply, Lee reined Traveler around and started toward the town.
John saluted as he passed, but the general did not notice.
"By God, what is going on with him today?" Longstreet asked, looking over at Taylor.
"His blood is up, General. His blood is up."
Walter saluted as Longstreet, features grim, turned his mount and started back in the opposite direction.
Walter looked down at John. 'Take care, John. It's a hot day."
John saluted, saying nothing as Walter set off to catch up with Lee.
A hot day. Suddenly he felt very thirsty. "Sergeant, you got a drink?''
Hazner shook his head. "Gave my canteen to some Yankee."
"Damn it," John sighed.
"Sir, we better get back to the regiment. The Old Man's blood is up, and you know what that means."
John watched as Lee cantered down the road, heading into the town, hat off, acknowledging the cheers of his men, urging them forward. He could sense the vibrant excitement rushing through the army, the indefinable something, the inner spark that Lee could strike and, once struck, exploded into flame. It felt as if they were on the edge of a distant dream, that just beyond the mist, the smoke ahead, were the green, sunlit fields… of home.