Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [166]
Longstreet moved up next to Lee. “Beautiful.”
Lee said nothing, stared down from the hill, resting on the wheel of the big gun. The soldiers around them were still quiet, absorbed by the stunning sight, and he began to count, the regiments, the strength. From the river’s edge out into the plain he tried to estimate, could see . . . fifty . . . sixty thousand troops. They were not advancing yet, were not spread into battle line, and so it was like a grand review, some great blue parade.
There were always trees, hills, obstructing the view. You saw them coming in pieces, sometimes wide lines, maybe a whole brigade. But the smoke would come, the battle would be on before the rest came forward, and so you knew the strength, knew the numbers in your head, would make a good guess where they would hit the hard-est, where the farthest units would be thrown in at your own lines, but you would never see all of them, the whole army. Not like this. He even saw the reserves, more blue masses across the river, crowding the bank. And he thought, Longstreet is right, God help us, but it is a beautiful sight.
Guns began to fire now, far down the line, Jackson’s guns, but not many. Lee knew it was reckless, would be stopped quickly, and from the far heights the Federal guns answered, and he could see it all, the bright specks of light streaking across the river, landing in the woods. The great blue masses began to move forward, thinning out, shaping into long lines, and the Federal guns opened again, more of them, a massed artillery barrage on the woods where Jackson’s men crouched. Lee turned, saw Jackson looking through field glasses, said, “General, it seems that your men will open the day.”
Jackson turned, put down the glasses, and Lee saw the look, the blue fire, the raw, silent screaming in the eyes. Jackson did not speak, gave a short salute, and Taylor was there, had his horse. Jackson climbed up and pulled his hat down low on his head, hiding his face.
Longstreet said, smiling, “General, there’s an awful lot of them out there. Don’t they scare you just a bit?”
Jackson tilted back his head, glared at him, said, “We will see if now I will scare them.” He turned the horse, and with a quick flash from his eyes, a last glance at Lee, he was gone down the hill, toward the growing thunder filling the trees.
Lee turned back to the blue troops, to the steady sound of the Federal cannon. Far out, beyond the lines, down where Stuart’s troops were holding the flank, he saw something, movement, a small team of horses, then another, wheeling two guns out into the open field. He put his glasses up to his eyes, heard Stuart say, “My God, those are our guns . . . it’s Pelham. Those are Pelham’s guns.”
Lee strained to see. The guns were firing now, small dots of men scrambling around them, then firing again. The first wave of blue was advancing toward Jackson’s woods, moving out through the open fields, and now puffs of smoke came from their lines, the impact of Pelham’s shelling, the firing right into their flanks, right down the long blue lines.
Stuart began to cheer. “Hoooeeeee, that’s Pelham all right. Hoooeeeeee!”
Lee focused on the two small guns, saw a great ball of smoke and fire near them, a Federal gun directing its fire in their direction. Quickly, the horses were hitched and the guns moved a short distance. Then their crews were back on them and both guns began to fire again. Lee looked closer, toward the Federal lines, saw gaps opening, the line wavering, and still Pelham’s guns kept firing. Now more Federal guns were pointing that way, trying to find the range. Once again the horses were hitched and the guns shifted. Lee saw one explosion, a bright flash of light, and one of the guns was in pieces, and he thought,