Shortly after that he passed out He remembered awaking on the broad veranda of the Antrim, anxious staff gathered round, a doctor leaning over him, listening to his heart through a hollow wooden tube. For a moment there had been a sense of panic, that the attack he had suffered during the winter had come back.
'Heat and exhaustion,' was the doctor's prognosis, along with an order for a day of bed rest in a cool room.
Absurd.
He agreed to two hours of rest, a sofa being dragged out of the Antrim and set up on the porch so that he might have a cooling breeze. A drink of cool lemonade made him nauseous, but he managed to keep it down, and then reluctantly took a glass of Madeira on the doctor's orders to settle his nerves.
The battle was turned over to Ewell, who pressed the enemy back onto the road to Littlestown before the fight simply gave out, both sides equally exhausted after a six-hour struggle in the boiling heat
Yet another half victory, he thought. We should have completely enveloped the Fifth; now they will have the night to dig in, perhaps be reinforced. Yet again he sensed that Ewell had not pushed when he should have.
The doctor and Walter had strongly objected to his desire to come down to Westminster-to meet with Longstreet, but it had to be done, though he was glad for the compromise of riding in an ambulance and the suggestion that Longstreet come part of the way to meet him here.
Walter unlatched the back gate of the ambulance and offered a helping hand, which Lee refused. He must not let the men think he was weak. Before sliding out, he buttoned his uniform, wiped the sweat from his brow, and put on his hat, a straw flattop with a broad brim, the one concession he had publicly made to the heat
As he stood up, the vertigo returned and he swayed for a few seconds, reaching out to rest a hand on the wheel of the ambulance and then withdrawing it Too many were watching. The men must not have the slightest doubt the slightest fear as to his well-being. Too many men had died back at Taneytown to protect him, and too much now depended on the men believing in him. They drew their strength from his strength, and there could be no doubts in a battle like this.
Staff and some cavalry were setting up a large wall tent on the front lawn of a small church. Several pews had been brought out and set in a horseshoe around the front of the tent. Smoke was curling up from a blacksmith shop alongside the church, a team of artillerymen working to reset the rim on a wheel. At the sight of Lee, they stopped their work and stood in respectful silence.
Lee recognized Porter Alexander, Longstreet's chief of artillery, and Porter saluted.
'I came on ahead, sir,' Porter said. 'General Longstreet is coming here as fast as he can.'
'Thank you, Colonel. And all is well with you?'
'Yes, sir. A tough fight today, but we did well.'
'I am glad to see you are well.'
Porter nodded. Looking into Lee's eyes, he started to say something and then just simply smiled awkwardly.
A black cook was already tending the fire burning before the tent and circle of pews. As Lee approached, he stood up, offering a cup of tea in an earthenware mug, which Lee gratefully took, nodding his thanks.
He sat down on one of the pews and then caught the attention of a cavalry captain, who seemed to be in charge of the detail setting up camp.
'Captain, did you get permission to borrow these pews and tables?'
'Sir?'
'Permission from the minister or sexton?'
'Sir, ahh, I couldn't find them.'
'Then please do so and at once. Otherwise, take them back in. We do not steal from churches.'
The captain looked around exasperated, then sharply motioned for a sergeant and a couple of privates to find the minister. They ran off.
Lee stood up and walked over to the blacksmith shop. The artillerymen came to rigid attention at his approach.
'Stand at ease, men.'
The artillerymen drew back, looking nervously at each other.
'Were you in action today?' Lee asked. 'Yes, sir,' a corporal replied, his skin so fair that it was blistered and peeling from the harsh sun. 'Where?'
'Sir, in front of Westminster. One of our guns got this here wheel knocked off by a shell. Cap'n sent us back here to get it fixed since we can't find our forge wagon.'
Lee, half listening, nodded.
Hie smell of the forge was somehow comforting, clean charcoal, hot iron; it triggered a memory, but he wasn't sure what of; of childhood perhaps. It was soothing somehow.
He could see that he was making the men uncomfortable by his presence, and saying, 'Carry on,' he turned away, walking, sipping the tea that was flavored with honey, breathing in the clean air of a hot summer evening, rich with the smells of pasture, fields, and woods.
Twilight was deepening. All was quiet except for the movement of a column of troops on the road nearby. The men moved slowly, no banter or high spirits. They were exhausted, staggering on, turning north to move up toward the frontline.
Since he was standing in the shadows, they did not notice him. He was grateful for that. It gave him a moment to be alone, to clear his thoughts.
What I did today bordered on madness. It was madness, he realized. If I had led that charge, I most likely would have been killed. If I die now, in battle, or from something else, such as my heart, it might doom our cause. The burden of that realization was always something that struck a chord of fear within: the frightful responsibility of all this.
For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth, and to another, Come, and he cometh…
As a boy I thrilled to hear the stories of Washington, my father beside him, he thought I never realized the burden, the weight bearing down on Washington's soul that if but one mistake was made the dream of the Republic would die.
And the men, merciful God, the men. That sergeant I could have drawn my revolver, pointed it at his head, and still, for my sake, he would have hung onto the bridle, letting me kill him before he would let go, doing that to protect me.
He lowered his head. 'Do not let me fail them, O Lord,' he whispered. 'For their sake, not mine, let me not lead them astray.'
A pot clattered behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. The black servant had accidentally spilled a coffeepot A couple of the men laughed, one in a whisper vilely swore at the cook, and the poor man lowered his head.
And what of him? Is this the reason we fight? To keep him in bondage? If so, what would God say of our cause?
He pushed that thought aside. He had reasoned it out long before; at least he thought he had. When this war is over, then perhaps this scourge upon our souls can be addressed. Those around him at headquarters knew it was a subject not to be discussed; the higher ideal of fighting for the Constitution, for the right of states against the usurpation of the central government was the cause. Yet in his heart he knew that for some, especially the wealthy planters and men of ignorance who could only feel superior when another was suppressed, slavery was indeed their root cause; and in the end that root would have to be torn out
He shook his head. He had to stay focused; to ponder on such imponderables would take what little strength he had, divert him for all that must be done; otherwise, yet again this sacrifice of the last three days, on both sides, would be. in vain.
He looked eastward. There was a glow in the darkening sky. The reports of what had happened in Westminster were frightful. Half of the village had burned to the ground, dozens of civilians dead or injured in the conflagration. Burning along with it he was told, were millions of dollars of precious supplies. Yet even then, in spite of the destruction, millions more had been captured. The Union army was so well supplied that even the leftovers seemed amazing to the men of the Army of Northern Virginia.
Two of McLaws's brigades were still sorting it out, but reports were that over two thousand wagons had
