The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [42]
“Obliged,” Buford said.
“Not at all.” He wheeled the horse gracefully, still something of that elegant quality of display in the fluid motion, and rode off. In the direction he took Buford heard music. A blue band was playing. Buford issued his own orders. The great weight was off him. Now it belonged to Reynolds. And there was no regret. Through most of his life he had resented the appearance of higher command. Now it came to save him. A new thing. He did not mind at all. Must be the age. Well, you have gone to the limit, lad. You have reached your own personal end.
Tom Devin was up. He was annoyed to be pulled out. Buford looked at him, shook his head. In a moment Reynolds was back, leading blue troops at double time through the fields, tearing down rail fences as they came. Buford’s heart was stirred: the Black Hats, Simon Cutler’s Iron Brigade, best troops in the Union Army. An omen. They began to move out onto the road by the seminary, regiment after regiment, moving with veteran gloom, veteran silence, steady men, not many boys. One man was eating cherries hurriedly from a mess tin; another had a banjo on his back which was bothering him, and he swung it around to cover his front and banged the man in front of him, who complained, to peculiar laughter. One man asked one of Buford’s aides loudly which way was the war and offered to go the other way, and an officer turned and began sending them into line along the crest Gamble had held. Then Reynolds was back.
The Rebel shells were beginning to pass overhead. They had seen new troops coming and some of the fire was falling now on Gettysburg. Reynolds summoned another aide.
“Lieutenant, get on into town and tell these people to stay in off the streets. There’s liable to be a fair-sized dispute here today, and give anyone you meet my compliments, along with my suggestion that every person stay indoors, in cellars if possible, and out of harm’s way. Especially children.” He peered at the aide. “Joe, how do you see with those things on?” The aide wore glasses that were very muddy. He took them and tried to clean them and smeared them with jittery fingers. A shell hit a treetop across the road and splinters flickered through the grove and spattered against the brick wall. Reynolds said pleasantly, “Gentlemen, let’s place the troops.”
He motioned to Buford. They rode out into the road. Buford felt a certain dreamy calm. Reynolds, like Lee before him, had once commanded the Point. There was a professional air to him, the teacher approaching the class, utterly in command of his subject. Reynolds said, “Now, John, he’s got a good fifteen thousand men out there, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes. Be a lot more in a little while.”
“Yes. Well, between us we can put almost twenty thousand in the field in the next half hour. We’re in very good shape, I think.”
“For a while,” Buford said.
Reynolds nodded.
He turned in his saddle, looked back toward the hills. “Isn’t that lovely ground?” he said.
“I thought so.”
“Keep at it, John. Someday, if you’re spared, you may make a soldier.” He bowed his head once slightly. It came over Buford like a sunrise that he had just received Reynolds’ greatest compliment. At that moment it mattered very much. “Now,” Reynolds said, “let’s go surprise Harry Heth.”
They rode out together, placing the troops. The First Corps moved into line on the left. The Eleventh Corps moved in behind them, swung out to the right. Through all that the Reb cannon were firing steadily and smoke was filling up the hollow between the armies and no one could see the motion of the troops. The Eleventh was still not in line when the new Reb attack came rolling up out of the smoke. Reynolds moved off to the left, close to the line. Buford heard music, an eerie sound like a joyful wind, began to recognize it: “The Campbells Are Coming.” He recognized Rufus Dawes and the Sixth Wisconsin moving up, more Wisconsin men behind them, deploying in line of skirmishers and firing already as they moved up, the line beginning