Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [232]
“Up, you men. Up! You must keep moving forward! On your feet!” Men were looking at him. Some began to rise, officers appearing, and he watched one man, grabbing at the men around him, pulling them up, and he yelled, “Yes! Stonewall would be proud! Do it for Jackson!”
Now more were moving, forming a solid line, and they began to move out of the trench. In the trees a blast of muskets rolled over them, an advancing line of blue troops, and the men melted back, down into the trench. The firing went both ways now, blue soldiers behind trees, moving forward in small groups, and the men in the trenches, and Stuart knew this was not where he should be. . . .
He reached the edge of the road again, past the bodies of many men, had stepped across solid layers of men. Bodies were scattered in a thin layer all across the road. He saw a group of officers and ran toward them. They watched him come, stared at him, and there were loud shouts, commands, and suddenly he was handed the reins to a horse.
“Do you have orders, sir?” It was Rodes.
He steadied himself on the horse, sat straight in the saddle, said, “General Rodes, we must advance with all our strength. We are being driven back. We do not have the numbers, the defenses are too strong. Are your men ready?”
Rodes looked behind him, saw officers riding along the edge of the woods, pointing, shouting orders, and he said, “We are ready on your command, sir.”
“Then, advance your men. Fast. Press them hard. If we do not push them back they may counterattack.”
“Sir, for General Jackson.” He saluted, turned to the officers behind him.
Stuart spurred the new horse, pulled him back toward the roar of the muskets, said under his breath, “Yes, for General Jackson.”
ARCHER’S BRIGADE continued to press up the long rise, toward the top of the wide hill known as Hazel Grove. Beside him McGowan’s brigade did the same, but it was two separate attacks, a fight by two units who could not stay connected to each other. Gradually, the lines of Federal soldiers withdrew all along the hill. Sickles had asked for help, to strengthen that part of the defense, but his lines were well below the main strength of Hooker’s trenches, and Hooker was more inclined to pull Sickles back, tightening the circle around Chancellorsville. As Archer’s men reached the top of Hazel Grove, they saw Sickles leaving, the heavy guns pulling away, the shallow gun pits empty and waiting for Porter Alexander to climb the hill.
“HERE! SIR!”
Stuart heard the voice, saw the wave, rode toward the man in the red cap. Around him the guns were unlimbering, men scrambling down from caissons and wagons, and Stuart saw Alexander pointing, holding his arm out straight. Now Stuart saw, pulled up the horse, stared across the green thickets below them, toward the northeast: a short mile away, toward the next rise, another hill, open, a wide clearing, and one large and imposing mansion: Chancellorsville.
“My God . . .”
“Yes, sir. As I said, sir. We will begin firing very soon now. This should take the pressure off the infantry, quite a bit, I’d say, sir.”
Below them, down in the trees, the musket fire was steady and spread all around them. Stuart rode forward, did not feel like a commander. There was no control to this battle . . . it was being fought by small groups of men, regiments, led by low-level officers. He had tried to find many of the commanders himself, found small units that did not know who was leading them. So many of the officers were down, so many of the names he knew were either separated from their units, lost themselves, or dead. Companies were being led by sergeants, regiments by captains. Frank Paxton, the only general that Colston had under him, the man picked by Jackson to lead the Stonewall Brigade, was dead. Stuart stared out across the sounds, to the grand old house, thought, This must end soon. We are running out of men.
The order was yelled, there was a shot from a pistol, and the batteries began