Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [138]
“Yes, sir.” Hughes jerked the horse, moved away over the open field, and Hancock pulled his horse the other way, eased up the rise until he could see the Confederate lines again. There was no movement.
MCCLELLAN’S ORDERS were repeated: “Hold position, and prepare to receive an assault.” Burnside’s forces finally broke through and crossed Antietam Creek late in the afternoon, only to have their strong advance routed by the sudden arrival of the troops of A. P. Hill, the last of Jackson’s forces to rejoin the army after the capture of Harper’s Ferry.
Sumner, who commanded the Second Corps, had seen his divisions punished at the center of the Confederate position, at a place known as the Bloody Lane, but he had managed to push through, until Lee’s more mobile units strengthened the position. Now, neither side had moved the other from the field, and the aging commander convinced himself that this amounted to a success. McClellan seemed to accept that logic, absorbed it himself, and so once Burnside was halted and the daylight began to fade, McClellan’s preference was to wait and see if perhaps Lee would give them a better opportunity tomorrow.
25. CHAMBERLAIN
September 17, 1862. Late afternoon.
THE SUN was dropping toward the crest of the hill when Ames rode up and dismounted.
Chamberlain stood, and Ames said, “We won’t be needed today, Colonel.”
Chamberlain looked at him, waited for more, and Ames turned, stared up the hill to the guns. Other officers began to gather, and Ames turned back to them, said, “The Fifth Corps was not needed today, gentlemen, not in the judgment of the commanding general. The battle has been extremely costly. The enemy has been pushed back, at great loss to both sides, and from what we can observe so far, we have gained little. It is possible that tomorrow the fight will resume.” Ames stopped, looked slowly at the officers.
“I have been ordered to announce to you that the commanding general feels that this battle has been a great victory. Certainly I would not presume to dispute or contradict the words of General McClellan. I would only caution you to prepare your men for tomorrow, for what may yet follow.” He moved away, began to walk out into the field, looking over the sight.
The company commanders spread out to their men, and the order was given to stack arms and make camp. Chamberlain watched the men unload the wagons, watched the camp form, the tents and new fires. Beyond the hill there were still faint sounds of the battle, scattered firing, and he had to see, to walk back up. He stepped through the thick grass, up toward the positions of the guns, and saw now they were being moved, their crews hitching them to the caissons and the horses pulling them away from their shallow pits. He looked for the captain, the man who had ordered him off the hill, to apologize, to tell him it was his mistake, but he could not see the faces. The teams were beginning to move away, toward the road and down closer to the battle.
Chamberlain reached the top of the hill, looked down again across the quiet fields and saw great masses of men, long battle lines, and small groups in formation, appearing just as they had that morning. Now the light was fading, and he watched, waiting for something to happen, expecting movement, some noise. The men did not move, however, and he felt a sudden wave of horror, realizing he was looking at long lines and vast fields of dead soldiers, the unspeakable conclusion, the bloody aftermath. He forced himself to look, felt a hot sickness rising in his gut, scanned the wide fields from the far right, where the sounds had first come, down toward the stone bridge, where it had ended. Every field, every open space, was dotted with clusters of the dead, every fence