commit.
But his men were suffering terribly, the artillery fire improving at times in accuracy, solid shot striking just in front of a file, bounding up, obliterating two men in a rank and then bounding on up the slope. It was in many ways far more unnerving than facing a volley line, and the strain was showing. His men were now cursing, down on the ground, loading, trying to take aim, firing, then rolling over on their backs to pour another measure of powder down the barrel, not daring to stand up.
He rode along the volley line, shouting encouragement. Screaming for them to pour it in. He knew he should have left this sector by now, to check on the advance to either flank, but his attention was focused here. If they could finally overrun these guns, by God, what a victory that would be. Then he could plunge straight up the center and catch the rest of Lee's army in the rear.
A constant stream of couriers came in, many hunched low, frightened by the bombardment, reporting that the Third Division of the Third, supported by the Sixth Corps, was even now pushing around the flank of the guns. Another report from the Fifth Corps, that they were continuing to drive McLaws two miles to the north, asking if a brigade should be detached to catch the guns on the other flank, a request to which he agreed.
'Pour it in!' he continued to scream. 'Damn them to hell, pour it, boys!'
Back a quarter mile behind the line, reluctantly following the orders given to him by General Lee, Longstreet watched the struggle down in the valley below. Behind him an entire division was concealed-Dole's men, rested and waiting-but he would not spring them yet. The time was not yet right.
Overhead and around him a continual rain of branches, leaves, bits of bark floated down or whirled past, tens of thousands of minie balls, fired high, plunging into the woods.
'General Longstreet!' It was Venable. 'I've just come from General Lee, sir. He wishes to inform you that the advance of Beauregard has begun. Do not engage until it is clearly evident that the Yankees are in retreat'
'Thank you, son. How are you?'
Venable grinned.
'Turning into one hell of a fight, isn't it?'
'And he's taken the bait,' Longstreet replied, pointing to the battered line out in the middle of the field. 'Hell, I might of taken it as well, the chance to capture so many guns unsupported by infantry. Masterful by General Lee. Now let's hope Beauregard pushes it!'
‘General Sickles!' Dan looked to his left; a courier, the Maltese Cross of the Fifth Corps on his cap, was riding down the line at a gallop. The courier, a captain, reined in.
'From General Sykes, sir!' He handed over a folded piece of paper.
Dan crumpled the paper in his hand.
He looked forward. Still no sign of their infantry. Was this the bait of a trap, so many guns that he would of course stop, engage, try to flank, commit his reserves? And now another whole corps appeared on his flank and rear?
He felt a shiver of fear.
'How long ago?' Dan shouted, looking at the captain.
'About a half hour, maybe forty minutes, sir.'
'Did you see them?'
'Yes, sir. I was with General Sykes. Division front at least, thousands of them, coming on fast, cavalry skirmishers to their fore.'
'Did no one look toward those woods?' Dan asked.
'No, sir, our cavalry patrols were pushed back throughout the night. And, sir, our orders said to follow down the road in pursuit.'
'Goddamn you, I know what my orders said!' Dan shouted. 'But your flank, man, your flank, didn't anyone look?'
The captain did not reply.
'Birney!'
'Here, sir!'
'Birney, I'm going up to the Fifth Corps. It might be Beauregard on our flank up there. Press the action here in the center. Keep pressing…'
His words were cut off.
The solid shot screamed in, brushing the flank of his horse and then striking his right leg just below the knee. In the split second it took to pass, the twelve-pound ball, moving at just under seven hundred feet a second, struck with frightful energy. It tore the bone of his lower leg out of the joint of his knee, severing ligaments, arteries, tearing cartilage, whipping the lower leg back at a ninety-degree angle, popping it out of the stirrup.
The angle of the shot carried the ball into the right rear quarter of his horse, shattering its hip, exploding out the back of the tortured animal in a spray of commingled blood, muscle, and bone both from horse and rider.
He gasped in surprise. There was no pain, just a terrible shock. All feeling, sound, sensation, thought were blanked out for a second. Instinct drove him to pull the reins of his mount, which was rearing back and then beginning to collapse onto its right side.
Though he did not see it, the courier from Sykes, who had actually felt the brush of the ball, was already leaning out, grabbing the horse's reins. Birney, on the other side, did the same, his shoulder getting dislocated as the horse pitched and fought
More men came up, struggling to keep the horse upright General Sickles, blood now draining from his face, numb, remained stock-still, frozen in part by fear, in part by the realization that his body would not react that he could not control the struggling animal beneath him.
Hands reached up, grabbing him on the left side.
'Get him down, gently, get him down!'
He started to collapse, sagging. He thought he should pull his right foot from the stirrup. He actually thought he had done so. Somehow they were dragging him up over the saddle, then lowering him to the ground.
He caught a glimpse of the courier, still holding the reins of his horse with one hand, pistol in the other. The man cocked his pistol. He wanted to shout a protest It was a good horse, a damn good horse, a gift from the governor.
The man pushed the pistol against the ear of the dying animal and fired, the poor thing collapsing in a heap.
He looked around. Men were kneeling by his side, Birney, arm hanging limp, struggling to dismount; a private was gazing down at him, wide-eyed, frightened.
The fear came into him, and like all wounded men he tried to sit up. He still wasn't sure where he was hit.
'Let me up!' he gasped, and they released him.
His body was still numb; he couldn't tell where he was hit, how bad.
He sat up and looked down at his body.
