Hands reached up. Someone was grabbing the reins of the horse, pulling its head down, steadying the dying animal. Others grabbed Winfield, dragging him from the saddle. The shock, the pain, struck him with such intensity that he felt the world start to spin away, drifting on the edge of passing out
Men were storming past him. He caught glimpses of feet mud spraying about. He looked up. A soldier was leaning over him, shouting something; he couldn't hear what the man was saying. Someone was holding a canteen, -cutting off the sling and then kneeling down. Another man helped Winfield to sit up while the first soldier looped the canteen sling around his left thigh.
He wrapped the canteen sling around a discarded bayonet scabbard and began to twist it the pressure increasing, the pain unbearable.
Sound was returning; he could hear men shouting.
"The general's dead!"
He wasn't sure if they were talking about Wright or himself. "I must stand up," he gasped.
"Your left leg, sir" It was one of his staff, kneeling, examining the wound.
"I know it's my leg, damn it" "You're bleeding bad." "Get me up." No one moved. "Get me up!"
Several men gathered round, bracing him, hoisting him up, and for a few seconds he passed out and then vision gradually returned.
The line he had been leading was stalled, having advanced only a few more yards past the place where he had fallen. A volley erupted and men, standing in place, began to reload.
"Charge, don't stop!" Hancock gasped.
The men holding him up started to turn away. Swearing, Winfield feebly struggled to break free from their embrace, but they ignored his pleas.
"Charge them, charge!"
One of the men stumbled and then just collapsed, shot in the back of the head. Winfield fell, hitting the ground first with his injured leg.
The world went dark.
Longstreet crouching low in the saddle, rode along the line just behind the trench. The air was thick with shot but for the moment he was all but oblivious to it.
The charge was stalling, caught out in the open ground. Some of the men in the trench were so exhausted that they simply sat on the ground like statues of stone, incapable of moving. Rodes's men, though, in general, were still relatively fresh, and in places ranked three and four deep, pouring a devastating fire down into the blue ranks.
The Second Division of Sedgwick's corps pushed up the slope, merging into the stalled line of the First but this renewed surge only advanced the line a few dozen feet before it stopped yet again.
They had seen too much, the defeated troops coming down off* this damnable ridge. The footing was increasingly treacherous in the rain, and the piled-up carnage before them was almost a barrier in itself, thousands of dead and wounded caught in the open between the two volley lines, men thus trapped curled up, screaming, begging for the horror to end. -
Sedgwick, coming down from the grand battery across the open held, was nearly stopped several times by the sheer numbers of wounded and fleeing troops heading to the rear. At last he reached the left flank of his Third Division, which was just reaching the first trench line.
"Halt! Halt!"
He pushed through the ranks, shouting the order over and over again. Men looked up at him confused, not sure of what was happening, more than one assuming that Sedgwick had to be on the front line, leading the advance; otherwise why would they be going in?
Wheaton, commanding the division, turned on Sedgwick, mystified. "Why are we stopping?" Wheaton shouted.
"I did not order this advance."
"Sir, we are in the middle of it now. I am going to oblique to the right," and as he spoke he pointed up the slope to where one could catch glimpses of a swarm of Confederates now outside of their trenches, moving to flank the assaulting column.
"Who authorized you to advance?"
"I thought you did, sir."
"I did not."
"We can still turn this," Wheaton cried, "but we've got to move now; our boys up there are getting flanked."
Sedgwick shook his head. "It's lost," he replied. "I want you to hold here.".
"Sir, it's lost if we do hold here."
"Hold," Sedgwick cried. "You, sir, are the last reserve division in this entire army now. Meade wants you to hold."
Wheaton hesitated, and then finally nodded his head in agreement
"General Lee!"
Lee, who had remained behind the lines at the point where Rodes had been deployed, saw Taylor approaching, and somehow he knew exactly what would be reported.
Taylor reined in and saluted.
"What is it, Walter?" Lee asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Sir, I felt I should report to you personally on this." "Yes.'!
"Sir, about a half hour ago, a courier came in from General Ewell." Taylor handed the message over and Lee opened it
12:00 PM
Near Taneytown, on the Littlestown Road. Sir,
I have heard the cannonade from our right for the last two hours, the sound of it just now diminishing. I am, at this moment, unaware of conditions along the front held by General Longstreet and have received a report that his position is about to be turned.
Therefore, respectfully sir, I am refraining from initiating the advance ordered by you last night until such time as I can be assured that my right is secured In addition, sir, the condition of Hood's and Johnson's divisions makes offensive operations highly problematic.
I await your orders, sir.
Ewell
Lee crumpled the message in his right hand, held it in his clenched fist for several seconds, and then flung it to the ground. All about him were shocked by this display.
Lee looked at those gathered around him. He pointed at a young cavalryman who was part of his escort detail, the same one who had sworn at the black cook the night before.
"You. Ride up there," and he pointed to the battlefront "Longstreet should be in that artillery bastion. I want an answer, and I want it now. Can he hold against this latest assault? I expect you back here within ten minutes."
The trooper saluted and galloped off.
"Where are McLaws's two brigades from Westminster?" Lee asked impatiently. "I ordered them up here nearly three hours ago."
A trooper,, without waiting to be ordered, spurred his mount onto the Baltimore Pike and galloped south; but even as he did so, Lee could see the head of a column coming out of the mists, the men running flat out.
Without waiting, he turned and started to ride straight toward the front, none of his staff now daring to try and intervene.
Longstreet stood silent, unable to speak. The slaughter that was unfolding before him had simply become too much. Straggling units were now coming in from Pettigrew, pushing down on to the flank of the Union forces, pouring fire in.
The courier from Lee had been answered with a single word, and he vaguely saw, in the smoke and curtains of mist, the rider slowing, a momentary glimpse of Lee.
"They're giving way!"
The blue wall was starting to fall back, caving in. Rodes's men were again up and out of their trenches, pushing forward.
"General Longstreet!"
Pete turned, recognizing the voice. It was Lee. "Are you all right, sir?" Lee asked. Pete realized that in his numbness he had failed to salute, and now did so.
"Yes, sir, I am unhurt"
"Fine then, sir. But remember, I ordered you to take care of yourself," Lee said chidingly.
"Sir, you are under fire as well." Lee forced a weak smile and nodded.
"Can you hold here, and maintain the action on this front?" he asked.
"Sir, they are falling back."