Chapter Twenty
JULY 9,1863
WESTMINSTER
'Then it is settled, gendemen,' Lee said, leaningbhack from the table.
Those around him, Longstreet, Hood, Stuart, the cartographer Hotchkiss, and Walter Taylor, all nodded in agreement
'I just wish I could have pushed up to that bridge in front of Harrisburg and taken it' Stuart sighed.
'The bridge is gone anyhow,' Lee replied, nodding to the captured newspapers, printed in Philadelphia just yesterday, announcing that the bridge had been swept away by the rising flood waters.
Typical of most newspapers, the news was distorted or simply untrue. The lead story declared that the Army of the Potomac was totally destroyed. That was not true. Three corps, the Third, Fifth, and Eleventh, had gotten out with some semblance of command and structure intact Yes, the victory was complete, but still, their total annihilation, another Cannae or Waterloo, had eluded him. Not to detract from all that had been achieved, and he looked at the count
Nearly thirty thousand of the Army of the Potomac were now prisoners, half of them wounded. It was reported that at least another seven to eight thousand were dead. Add to that the wounded who had escaped and it was safe to estimate that close to two-thirds of the Army of the Potomac had ceased to exist but there was still a nucleus, a surviving element on the far side of the Susquehanna, enough to prevent any crossing of that river and a drive eastward toward Philadelphia.
What had been captured was beyond belief. More than two thousand wagons, enough supplies to sustain his army for a month in the held, over two hundred held pieces, though most would have to be shipped back to Richmond for repairs, over a hundred regimental colors.
He scanned the paper again. Draft riots in New York, Philadelphia under martial law, and yet also the proclamation that Vicksburg had fallen, an editor for the paper proclaiming that this Union victory in the West more than offset the losses in what was being called the Gettysburg-Westminster Campaign.
He had hoped that events of the last week would have ended it. It had not, though this campaign was a triumph beyond any ever achieved by Confederate arms. And so still it seemed that it must continue.
It had been costly. Nearly twenty thousand of his own dead, wounded, and captured, though of those captured, nearly all would be back in the ranks within days, taken back when the Union forces abandoned Gettysburg and force marched to Harrisburg.
Harrisburg… if only Stuart had been able to seize that bridge, but he knew that dream to be impossible. Stuart had done a masterful job, first demonstrating in front of Gettysburg, holding Meade's attention just long enough to allow the flanking march to continue, pushing the Union cavalry back to the east, and then turning to act as the net to sweep up prisoners. To hope that Stuart's exhausted mounts could be pushed for one final drive was beyond expectations. Exhaustion and the weather had finished the campaign for now. Stuart would maintain a division on the west side of the river to observe Harrisburg, but nothing beyond that could be hoped for now.
He looked at those gathered round him. He had officially reorganized the army this morning. General Longstreet would command the old First Corps, with Pender's and Pettigrew's divisions added to his command. Hood would leave his old division behind with Longstreet and move up to command the reorganized Second Corps. Ewell was gone, returning even now to Richmond, in command of the men from Anderson's division, who were escorting the prisoners on their long march back over the mountains to Greencastle and then Winchester. Hill was gone as well, the strong suggestion that he retire due to health finally accepted.
He looked back at the paper one more rime and opened it up. The casualty list for the Philadelphia area filled two full pages, and he shook his head. More than one of his old cadets from the Point, a comrade from Mexico, and others from the days on the frontier were listed there. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed them.
'Sir, is there anything else?' Longstreet asked quietly.
Lee shook his head, opened his eyes, and forced a smile. 'No, sir. I think it is time we started. Gentlemen, you know the order of march. Let us now see to our duty.'
The group stood up, following Lee out into the street The scene before them was heart stirring. The battered veterans of McLaws's division lined the street in marching order, blanket rolls over shoulders, full haversacks and cartridge boxes, all of them with new shoes. As Lee emerged, the cry went down the line, the men snapping to attention, presenting arms, and then spontaneously the cheer erupted… 'Lee… Lee… Lee!'
For a moment he was overwhelmed, tears filling his eyes. How they trusted and loved him. He had tried to give them everything, and they had given everything in return. The war was not over as dreamed of, and he sensed that such a dream might very well be impossible in this new age of war, to win it all on just a single battle, though for the moment at least the victory had perhaps tipped the scales back into their favor. What was needed now was yet more audacity and will, and that he knew he had learned again in these last two weeks.
So now they would march on Washington. A forlorn hope perhaps, for the army lacked siege equipment and would go up against an array of fortifications that ringed the entire city. After the casualties of the last fortnight, the need to tend to the wounded of both sides, the escorting of prisoners, he could barely muster forty thousand; but their spirits were high, and with such an army the next step might very well be possible. As he had learned on that night three days before Gettysburg, he knew he had to realize it yet again; that it was his determined will, transfused into the indomitable men before him, that had accomplished so much.
He looked to Longstreet, who nodded, smiled, and then formally saluted while the cheers continued to echo.
Mounting on his beloved Traveler, Robert E. Lee turned south, toward Washington, and a dream of final victory… for all things were still possible.
A block away, in the nave of a small Catholic Church, Gen. Lo Armistead at last found who he was looking for. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain stirred and gave a weak nod of recognition as Armistead knelt by his bedside.
'How are you this morning, Colonel?' Lo asked.
'They say I'll live.''
'Yes, I heard. You are a very strong man, Colonel Chamberlain, and so is your brother.'
Joshua smiled and laughed softly. It had already become quite a story that everyone was talking about One of the best surgeons with Pickett's division had worked on Joshua for over an hour, fishing out the bullet embedded in one hip, drawing out splinters of bone from the other hip, which had been pierced by the ball. He'd tried to fashion a small plate from a hammered-out silver coin to close up the hole in Joshua's bladder but then finally stepped back, saying the case was hopeless.
Tom, who had been standing nearby, watching, stepped over to where a Confederate officer lay, waiting his turn for surgery. Tom drew the man's revolver from his holster, cocked it and pointed it at the surgeon's head, telling him to continue or have his brains blown out Half a dozen Confederates with weapons drawn on Tom threatened to blow his brains out in turn. The surgeon finally gave a solemn oath to continue, and Tom relented and was dragged away. The surgeon was good to his word and after it was over had Tom released and shared a drink with him.
'My division will be moving out, Colonel,' Lo said. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'
'My men, you promised about my men. Not being prisoners.'
Embarrassed, Lo nodded. 'In the confusion afterward, sir, I hope you understand, those not wounded were separated and became mixed in with thousands of others. I personally went before General Lee last night, sir, on your behalf, and he agreed that the promise must be honored. Word is moving along the column, and your men shall be paroled on the spot and escorted back to your lines.'
Joshua, eyes bright, nodded, and extended his hand, which Lo took.
'Once you are well enough to travel, Colonel Chamberlain, you and your brother will be paroled through the lines as well. Go home, sir. I understand you are a professor.'
'Yes.'
'Ah, I envy you, sir. Come autumn you will be back in the classroom teaching again.' Joshua shook his head.
'Don't feel that way, Colonel. You'll recover and your college will be honored to have you back in their ranks.' 'No, I'm coming back.' 'Back?' ‘To the army.' 'Why, sir?' Lo asked softly. 'It isn't over.'
