For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth, and to another, Come, and he cometh…
As a boy I thrilled to hear the stories of Washington, my father beside him, he thought I never realized the burden, the weight bearing down on Washington's soul that if but one mistake was made the dream of the Republic would die.
And the men, merciful God, the men. That sergeant I could have drawn my revolver, pointed it at his head, and still, for my sake, he would have hung onto the bridle, letting me kill him before he would let go, doing that to protect me.
He lowered his head. "Do not let me fail them, O Lord," he whispered. "For their sake, not mine, let me not lead them astray."
A pot clattered behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. The black servant had accidentally spilled a coffeepot A couple of the men laughed, one in a whisper vilely swore at the cook, and the poor man lowered his head.
And what of him? Is this the reason we fight? To keep him in bondage? If so, what would God say of our cause?
He pushed that thought aside. He had reasoned it out long before; at least he thought he had. When this war is over, then perhaps this scourge upon our souls can be addressed. Those around him at headquarters knew it was a subject not to be discussed; the higher ideal of fighting for the Constitution, for the right of states against the usurpation of the central government was the cause. Yet in his heart he knew that for some, especially the wealthy planters and men of ignorance who could only feel superior when another was suppressed, slavery was indeed their root cause; and in the end that root would have to be torn out
He shook his head. He had to stay focused; to ponder on such imponderables would take what little strength he had, divert him for all that must be done; otherwise, yet again this sacrifice of the last three days, on both sides, would be. in vain.
He looked eastward. There was a glow in the darkening sky. The reports of what had happened in Westminster were frightful. Half of the village had burned to the ground, dozens of civilians dead or injured in the conflagration. Burning along with it he was told, were millions of dollars of precious supplies. Yet even then, in spite of the destruction, millions more had been captured. The Union army was so well supplied that even the leftovers seemed amazing to the men of the Army of Northern Virginia.
Two of McLaws's brigades were still sorting it out, but reports were that over two thousand wagons had been captured along with their teams and the contents within those wagons, limbers, ambulances, and carts. A quartermaster with McLaws had sent up a written report that Taylor had read off to him just before they had left Taneytown: a pontoon train; 50 wagons loaded with precious shovels, picks, and other tools; 250 wagons of rifle ammunition; 200 limber chests of artillery ammunition; wagons loaded with boots, uniforms, champagne, medical supplies, canned milk, tobacco, cartridge boxes, belts, socks, a virtual cornucopia for his army, which just three months back was on the edge of starvation because less than half a dozen trainloads of food a day could be delivered to the front lines at Fredericksburg.
To think of all that was destroyed and yet so much remained to be taken, a treasure trove far exceeding what Jackson had taken the summer before at Manassas.
And they will replace it, he thought. The only question left, the only way he knew he could win, was to break their resolve here, to deal them so shattering a defeat that though they could make the weapons of war, there would be no one left with the moral strength and will to wield them. That was the only way victory could be achieved, though it would mean that many a boy on the other side of the stream dividing them that night would be dead by tomorrow.
He thought of the week before Chancellorsville, a cool spring evening, and how a Yankee band serenaded his men, until both sides stood along the banks of the Rappahannock, laughing, sharing songs, and then all together singing "Home Sweet Home," most of them dissolving into tears.
We must win the war, but in so doing we cannot shatter the peace, so poisoning the common well of our shared heritage that the hatred on both sides will burn for a hundred years. Win or lose, if this war continues, that might happen nevertheless. That is yet another reason it has to end here,
he thought
Win it here. I must steel myself for that, even if it kills me a day later, as I thought it might this afternoon. Defeat them and in so doing save lives and bring this brutality to a close before it consumes us all, North and South.
The twilight deepened Flashes of light on the western horizon caught his attention. He stiffened and focused toward the west, and then he relaxed; thunderstorms, not gunfire.
A first hint of coolness wafted around him, drifting across the fields, a gende breath of wind carrying the scent of fresh-mown hay. He sighed, letting the moment settle his nerves.
"General Lee?"
It was Walter, coming out of the shadows. "Yes."
"General Longstreet is coming in." "Yes. Thank you, Walter."
He headed back toward the tent The cavalry captain stepped before him and saluted. "Sir, the minister for this church; we found him."
Lee nodded.
"And?"
"He gave us permission, sir. Said he was a Southern man and would be honored."
"Thank you, Captain, and in the future, always check first When we are finished here, make sure everything is returned to its proper place."
"Yes, sir."
That detail taken care of, Lee went back to the fire in front of the tent and settled down on one of die pews. The straight hard back of it was somehow comforting, a reminder of more peaceful times.
He caught the eye of the cook and handed back his earthen mug.
"It was very good. Could you please pour another cup? And I think General Longstreet will want one as well." As he spoke softly, he looked sharply at the trooper who had sworn at the cook. The trooper dropped his gaze and turned away.
Taking the refilled mug, Lee stood up as Longstreet approached, trailed by his staff, all of them dust-covered, hollow-eyed. The two exchanged salutes, Longstreet taking the mug offered by the cook, who nervously withdrew.
'Tell me everything, General," Lee said, motioning for the two of them to sit down on one of the pews by the fire.
Longstreet all but collapsed and leaned back for a moment, stretching, looking up at the sky. "Hancock attacked at midday. Almost overran our position, then withdrew. If he had pressed harder, he might have taken it. I only had two brigades up at that point; he hit with all three of his divisions."
"Winning with those odds; then it must be an excellent position," Lee interjected. Longstreet nodded.
"It seems that a couple of officers with Meade's staff had surveyed the ground on the morning of the first Meade was thinking of establishing his line there before he got drawn into Gettysburg."
"Which officersr
"Gouvenor Warren and Henry Hunt" Lee smiled sadly.
"I remember Hunt from New York. Very good man."
He fell silent Yes, Hunt knew good ground. Malvern Hill a year ago was proof of that
"I've had my people out examining the south bank of the stream all day. Before coming here I rode most of it myself. Sir, it's highly defensible. The creek, locals call it Pipe Creek, is open bottomland, in some places a quarter-mile wide and flat The land slopes up sharply on our side. The right flank is very secure. There's a millpond blocking the approach, and then the creek curves back to the south and southeast with a very high ridge looking down on it Most all of the countryside is clear cut to feed several mills and forges along the creek. Open fields of fire along most of the front