rocking chair. Walter had his coat off and they sat Lee down. The woman upended the pitcher, soaking the towel, then ever so gently wiping his face and the back of his neck. The cool water hit him like a shock, and for a second he feared he would vomit again, something that would have mortified him. He leaned over, gagged, but fought it back.
Another woman was by his side, a colored servant, kneeling down, holding an earthen mug.
'Cool water, General. Just the thing you need; now drink it slowly, sir.'
She held the mug as he took it with trembling hands, slowly swallowing, the servant looking at him, an older woman, his age, perhaps older, smiling, nodding her approval, whispering as if he were an ill child taking his medicine. He drained it and she took the mug.
'Now you let that settle for a moment and if it comes back up, I don't want you to feel no shame. It'll take the heat out of your body.'
'Thank you, thank you,' he gasped.
She smiled, refilled the mug, and offered it to him even as the mistress of the house continued to wipe his neck and brow.
'Now you can hold your own mug, sir, but sip slowly; you'll be all right in a few minutes.'
She stood up and scurried off, going back to a Yankee lying on the porch, kneeling down to wipe his brow with the hem of her dress, her face filled with the same beatific compassion she had shown him.
His staff stood around him in respectful silence. He waited a moment, another spasm of nausea hitting him, not as strong as the last. He fought it down without gagging.
He felt something cool running down his back, and looked up at the woman; she was slowly pouring a trickle of water down his back.
'Thank you, ma'am; your kindness is a blessing.'
She nodded, eyes lowering.
'I am sorry, ma'am, if we have inconvenienced you this day.'
She started to turn away, then hesitated.
'I have a hundred dead, dying, and wounded in my house, sir,' she announced, her voice beginning to break. 'Is that an inconvenience? There are two boys I don't even know dying in my daughter's bed.'
He could not reply.
'For God's sake, General, when will this madness end? Is it worth it anymore?'
She stood frozen, as if horrified by her outburst. The pitcher dropped, shattering on the porch floor. All were silent, and she looked around at the Confederate staff, the Union wounded.
'Put an end to this!' she screamed, and then, gathering up her apron to cover her face, she fled back into the house. Her black servant watched her go, gazed upon Lee for a moment, then turned back to the Union soldier she was tending, lifting his head up, cradling it in her lap, and, leaning over, she began to whisper in his ear. And Lee could hear, ever so faintly, her words
'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want….'
He lowered his head again, filled with remorse, exhaustion, even a sense of loathing for all he had seen this day, this day of yet another victory. He finally raised his head and looked down toward the Chesapeake.
Thousands of Yankee soldiers were swarming down into the bay, the docks at a small port filled with them. Along the low heights, scattered commands were coming up from his own army. He had lost sight of Beauregard long ago, within the first ten minutes after the attack had swept into the flank of their Fifth Corps, but he knew that the man had proven himself today, driving with relentless passion, as if eager to assure beyond all doubt his ability to lead, even when General Lee commanded the field.
An hour after they had struck the flank, the entire Union formation began to give way, and then just collapsed. The shock of the surprise blow had been part of it. He knew that the weather had played to him as well. The heat was killing. Chances were that when the tally was finally done, maybe one out of five of the dead would be found with no mark upon them. But in that moment, when some believed victory was near, and others faced defeat, exhaustion created by the heat would drive those filling with despair over the edge.
The Fifth had broken, but their disengagement had been masterful, their General Sykes yet again guiding his men out of the trap, pushing relentlessly back northward, back toward the shelter of Perryville and the gunboats on the Susquehanna.
As for their Third and Sixth Corps, they were into the sack now, swarming down to the broad, open bay. Many were casting aside their guns, if for no other reason than to dive into the tepid waters of the bay to seek some relief.
Someone had already ordered up a rescue force. Dozens of small boats were coming into the dock to take off the broken Army of the Potomac; a lone gunboat was visible, coming down the bay.
He sat back in the chair, saying nothing, watching the spectacle as his men, all formation gone, pushed down toward the water.
He saw General Longstreet riding up and breathed a sigh of relief. Longstreet dismounted and his face was filled with concern as he stepped on to the porch and took his hat off.
'Are you all right, sir?' Longstreet gasped.
'Just the heat, General. I'll be fine in a minute.'
'Sir, you are staying put right here for the rest of the day,' Walter Taylor announced forcefully. 'I know your surgeon will order it once he comes up.'
Lee nodded his head in agreement As he had ordered Longstreet to protect himself, he knew he should do the same at this moment.
'Sir, I can see to what is left,' Longstreet said.
Lee nodded.
'What did it cost, Pete?' Lee whispered.
Longstreet lowered his head, looking over at the Yankee soldiers on the porch only feet away from them.
'Go on, General. They are our guests for the moment; talk freely.'
Longstreet found that, as he spoke, he could not look at Lee; instead his gaze was fixed on those who had faced them this day.
'They fought us with reckless courage, sir. I've never seen anything like it before. Word is that General Sickles lost a leg. We might capture him, I'm not sure.
'I cannot speak for what you saw against the Fifth Corps, sir. But their Third and Sixth, when they knew they were trapped, fought it out to the end. I think we'll bag most of them down there,' and he pointed to the bay, 'but, General, it was a bloody, costly fight. We might have lost another five, maybe eight thousand more than yesterday.'
Lee lowered his head, the shock of his losses a visceral blow. Why did each victory have to be so costly? Combined with yesterday, maybe ten thousand or more gone from the ranks.
He sighed, wiping his face, and then leaned back, grateful for the cooling water that had been poured down his neck and back.
He looked over at the wounded Yankees, who gazed at him, some warily, some with hatred, some with respect. A major, catching his eye, stood up and formally saluted. The man grimaced with pain, clutching his side with a bloody rag. Lee rose up and walked over to him, returning the salute.
'General Lee?' the major asked weakly.
'Yes, I am he.'
The major nodded, saying nothing.
'You are sorely hurt, sir,' Lee said. 'Please sit down; my medical staff will see to you shortly.'
'I'll be fine,' the major whispered. 'I want my men taken care of first. Just assure me of that, sir; it is all that I ask.'
'Major, I am sorry for your injury. I will pray that you return safely to your family.'
'Thank you, General. Just take care of my men. They're good soldiers.'
'I know they are good soldiers; you should be proud of them.' He said the words loud enough so that all on the porch could hear.
'I regret the divisions that force us to fight each other now. I hope, sir, when this is over, we can again be friends.'
