Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [230]
Stuart reached him, saw he was a major, said, “You’ll have to dismount! Move with them . . . stay with them!”
The man looked at him without recognition, and Stuart was quickly past. The man stayed on the horse, and Stuart was looking in all directions, could see no other horses, just lines of moving men. He saw the major again, thought, He might know . . . where his commander is.
The man was watching him now, yelled, “This is no place for a fight . . . we can’t stay together!”
“Dismount! Move into the brush with your men, Major. The fight is in front of you!”
The man stared at him, still not moving, and now another man rode up, through the thickening smoke, said, “General Stuart! Please ride down this way . . . General Archer is pushing the flank, sir!”
Stuart jerked the horse, moved with the man, and the major stared, wide-eyed, was quickly down from the horse, began to plunge into the brush after his men.
Stuart followed Archer’s aide closely, their horses still stepping over scattered bodies. Then he saw Jim Archer, a vague, ghostly form in the smoke. The heavy shells were whistling higher overhead now, finding the lines behind them, and now in front of them a steady rattle of muskets began, from places they could not see.
Archer saluted Stuart, yelled hoarsely through the sounds, “Good morning, sir! It is an honor to be under your command, sir! We have a strong position in front of us, it appears. The Yankees are still in these woods! We did not expect to find them this far below the roads!”
Stuart tried to see to the front. The musket fire was growing still, and now the men behind them were moving up, the second line, and hats went up, cheers. Stuart waved, but did not yell, knew these men did not need anything else to inspire them.
There was another officer beside them now, a captain, and he was pointing up to the left, from where Stuart had just come. “General, we have lost contact with McGowan’s flank! We are in the open, sir! It’s too thick to see!”
Archer spurred his horse, said, “Excuse me, General, I must see to my flank,” and he rode forward, moved quickly through a grove of short trees.
Stuart watched him. It could be like this all along the line, he thought, hard for them to stay together, to see each other. He dug hard at the horse’s side, rode farther down to the right, toward the end of the line. He could see a long clearing now, then up a large hill, in front of them, and on top the steady flashes of the Federal guns, a high and clear position, a perfect place to throw fire into the oncoming lines of his troops. Stuart heard more guns now, down in front, farther east, and he thought, Lee’s guns. Lee was pressing the attack as well.
He turned the horse and rode back toward the turnpike, passing between lines of gray troops, all moving east. He came to a small road, was amazed to see a long line of guns, his guns, strung out far down the road, men on wagons and horses, just sitting, waiting. He thought, No, something is wrong. Why are they not in line, firing? He saw an officer, a red cap, and the man rode toward him, saluted, said, “General Stuart, we are ready, sir. We need that ground!”
Stuart stared at the man, then recognized him, it was Porter Alexander.
“Colonel, why are these guns not in position? They should be answering those batteries up on that hill!”
“General, that is exactly where we’re going . . . that hill. All I’m waiting for is your troops to clear those batteries away. We will advance as soon as we can.”
Stuart looked toward the hill, could see only smoke, and the musket fire below was a strong and steady roar.
“Colonel Alexander . . . you are assuming