Yet again he rolled off the top of the wall and into the fort. The Yankees lining the firing step were stunned by the sudden onslaught; most were still fumbling to reload. Several turned and jumped off the firing step and ran across the open parade ground to join the companies still deployed in the middle of the field. This time Hazner did not hesitate. He leapt down, knowing that his only protection was to charge right on their coattails.
He looked to either side; several dozen men were with him, all driven by the same realization.
The shock of hand-to-hand battle exploded in the middle of the fort as the feeble charge slammed into the enemy formation.
He heard cannon fire behind him but did not look back as he waded in, dodging, parrying, slashing, kicking, screaming, the madness of battle upon his soul.
A boy charged straight at Mm, bayonet lowered. He blocked the blow, driving his own bayonet into the boy's chest. The young soldier gasped, staggered backward, and Hazner lost the grip on his rifle, letting go.
He caught a glimpse of a clubbed musket and dropped to the ground, the blow missing. All was confusion, feet-some barefoot, others in shoes with sky-blue trousers-and he feigned that he was down and out of the fight. More feet, all with sky-blue trousers, stormed around him. He curled up, as if hit in the stomach.
Looking back he saw scores of men gaining the top of the parapet
'On the wall, volley fire on the wall!' The feet around him stopped; a ramrod came down, stuck into the ground beside him. The men atop the wall paused, rifles dropping down to the firing position. A scathing volley erupted, the man standing within inches of Hazner's face shrieking, falling backward.
Again the rebel yell, this time louder, confident as the men atop the parapet slid down to the firing step, jumped off, and charged across the courtyard.
Another melee, the harsh sound of wood striking wood and wood striking flesh and bone. Screams, men falling, staggering past, cursing, huzzahs, rebel yells, all commingled together into a terrifying roar that seemed to be trapped within the confines of the fort.
A flash of butternut-clad feet this one wearing only one shoe. More swarms of men were coming over the fortress wall, shouting, screaming. A field piece in the middle of the parade ground erupted, canister cutting down dozens. Still the charge pressed in, survivors climbing over bodies.
The carnage that ensued was beyond Hazner's worst nightmares. Driven to madness by the slaughter, the men of three divisions, who had endured hell since before dawn, exploded in rage. The sally port at the rear of the fort was clogged with Union soldiers trying to escape. In the close confines of the fight no one had time to ask or give quarter, nor was anyone capable of it anymore. Hazner stood up, in shock, watching as the garrison was slaughtered, many of the men of the First Maine and First New York Heavy Artillery fighting to the end, many bayoneted in the back, more than a few bayoneted or clubbed even as they tried to surrender.
Sickened, exhausted, Hazner collapsed back to the ground and sat unable to move or speak.
A flag bearer came up to his side and stopped.
'First Texas, rally to me! Rally to me!'
Hazner looked up at the man and caught his eye.
'You got water?' Hazner croaked.
The flag bearer nodded, unslung his canteen, and tossed it down.
He uncorked it, leaned his head back, half the water cascading down his jacket as he greedily gulped it. There was a bit of a taste to the water, whiskey, just what he needed. He emptied half of it, and then fought down the sudden urge to vomit.
He passed it back up.
'Thanks.'
The First Texan grinned.
'I saw you. By God, I saw you go over the wall, the men following you! Hell of a thing, took the fire off of us. Got us in here.'
Hazner couldn't speak.
'You hurt?'
Hazner looked up at him dumbly, and then at the tangle of bodies, many of them writhing in agony, which completely carpeted the parade ground of the fort
He shook his head.
The sergeant from the Texan regiment took his canteen and slung it over his shoulder even as he continued to scream for his regiment to rally on the colors.
The Texan suddenly extended his hand.
'Lee Robinson, First Texas. Look me up after this is over, I'll give you a drink in the White House.'
'Sergeant Major Hazner, Fourteenth South Carolina, and thank you.'
A knot of men were gathering around the Texan, and with a wild cry he urged them forward, to continue the fight.
Hazner stood up, watching as the Texans reformed, groups of a few dozen here and there, and then pressed forward, little organization left but still game.
He turned and walked back to the parapet that they had just stormed, the tangle of bodies so thick he could barely find ground to step on.
'Sergeant Hazner!'
It was Brown, walking like a drunk, coming toward him.
'Sir.'
'Re-form the regiment, we're going in.'
Hazner looked at the parade ground, at the gun emplacement for the thirty-pounder, the crew dead. He actually felt regret at the sight of that. The gunner who had been taunting him, he'd have liked to find him and offer a drink, but they were all dead. — 'Re-form?'
'Yes, Hazner, we can't let the glory of the taking of Washington slip past us. We can't let Texas have this moment. Now re-form the regiment.'
'Sir, what regiment?' Hazner asked woodenly.
'T'hat's it,' Lee cried. 'Go, Texas, go!'
He had come forward from the grove, standing where he had first seen the fort the day before.
It was as if a vision was unfolding, a recurring dream that one forgets upon awakening, that yet hovers at the edge of memory throughout the day, only to return again in sleep. For two years he had dreamt of this moment, the final door unlocked, the end now within sight. Washington was there for the taking; it was the end.
'General Longstreet Now, bring your men up now!'
Longstreet was silent and there were tears in his eyes.
'General Longstreet?'
'Sir, it will be another half hour before I can even hope to commit McLaws.'
'Then send in what you have!' 'A brigade, maybe two, sir.' 'Then send them in!' 'Yes, sir.'
He turned and rode back and Lee watched him leave. His gaze shifted to the east, to the sun.
'Oh, God, freeze it in the heavens as You did for Joshua before Jericho. I beg You please let it freeze, for time to stop, to give me but one more precious hour.'
The smoke swirled, obscuring the sun for a moment, and then it came clear again… and to the southeast, he could see the dome of the Capitol.
9.15am
I can't let you go any farther, sir!' The captain of his cavalry escort reined around, blocking the middle of the road. Lincoln said nothing for a moment. He had always felt uncomfortable on horseback, and this mount was no exception … a mare, far too small for his long, bony frame, stirrups pulled up too high, so that he was crouching in the saddle rather man sitting.
