out.
But how? A fight in a town like this was utter confusion. Rebs might hold a block, a building, while across the street his boys were holding on. In several places, columns of troops advancing had turned a comer, only to collide with their foes, with the fight degenerating into a vicious street brawl until one side or the other pulled back.
'Sir, for Cod's sake, let's pull back.'
He turned on the man, shouting the advance.
'No, sir. We go forward. Grant will bring up Burnside and we are going to hold this town!'
Frederick
7:15 P.M.
General Robertson!' Lee rode to Robertson's side, his division commander saluting. 'How goes it, sir?'
Robertson shook his head and looked up at the darkening sky, now streaked with lightning.
'Sir, it's chaos in that town. Can't keep any control or command of troops. Its street by street, and those Yankees just won't give up. Frankly, sir, I can't tell you what is going on.'
'Are we driving them?'
'Yes, sir,' Robertson said, 'but it isn't like any fight we've been in before. Hard to tell in a town like that. The men we're facing aren't like the Army of the Potomac. Never seen anyone try to hold a town like this before.'
He pointed toward Frederick, the city ablaze, driving back the approaching darkness. It looked to Lee like something out of the Bible, apocalyptic, the air reverberating with thunder, explosions, the crackle of rifle fire.
'Drive them! Keep driving them,' Lee shouted. 'I want those Federals in there taken. Tonight.'
'We'll try, sir.'
Lee spurred his mount, going forward into the fight.
Frederick
7:20 PM.
Sgt. Maj. Lee Robinson, First Texas, Hood's old Texan brigade, was at the head of the column, not carrying the colors for the moment, instead directing his men to keep moving, to drive to the center of the town regardless of loss.
Yankee snipers were at a score of windows, shooting down. He urged his own on as ordered. If they got tangled up in a building by building fight all semblance of order would vanish. The orders were to seize the center of town, and that was only one block ahead.
'Keep moving, keep moving!'
Frederick
7.21P.M.
'This way!' McPherson shouted.
Leading part of an Illinois regiment, McPherson pointed the way straight into the center of town. Two of his staff had dropped in the last block and a dozen men of the Illinois regiment. The center of the town, he thought. Hold that intersection and we can hang on awhile longer.
'Come on boys, come on!' He spurred his mount ahead.
Sergeant Hazner leaned up on the windowsill. If not for the spreading fires it would have been impossible to see a target. He saw the column, an officer on horseback, rose up to shoot, and a volley from across the street drove him back down.
Sergeant Robinson stopped dead in his tracks, stunned as a Yankee officer, alone, came around the corner on horseback. His own men staggered to a halt, the column around him confused for a brief instant, then raising their weapons up.
Robinson, rifle poised, aimed straight at the officer. He was less than ten feet away.
'For God's sake,' Robinson shouted, 'surrender!' The officer looked straight at him, grinned, offered a salute, and then started to turn as if to ride away.
Robinson shot him, feeling as if it was murder. The man jerked upright, swayed, and then tumbled from his mount.
A few seconds later Yankee infantry appeared, and at the sight of the downed officer a wild shout of rage rose up from them and they lunged forward.
Robinson's Texans deployed, delivered a volley at point-blank range, and charged in with bayonet. A frightful melee ensued.
'McPherson! McPherson!' the cry went up among the Yankees, even as the Texans waded in, clubbing and lunging.
Within seconds the Union troops broke and fell back, driven around the corner by the advancing Texans.
Robinson, however, stopped, and knelt down by the Union officer, who was still alive.
'Sir, why didn't you just surrender?' he asked.
'Not in my nature,' McPherson gasped. 'Could you do me a favor, soldier. Can't breathe. Help me sit up.'
Robinson set his rifle down and propped McPherson up against the side of the building. McPherson coughed, clearing his lungs, blood foaming from his lips. 'Thank you.'
'Sergeant?'
Robinson looked up and was stunned to see General Lee approaching, oblivious to the battle raging around him, staff nervously drawn in close in a protective ring.
More troops of Hood's old Texas brigade were running past, going into the fight.
'Who is that, Sergeant?' Lee asked.
Robinson looked at the man's shoulders.
'A major general, sir.'
Walter took the reins of Traveler as Lee dismounted and stepped up to the two. Robinson, not sure whether he should come to attention, decided to continue to help the wounded officer and kept him braced against the wall.
'Oh, God,' Lee sighed, 'James.'
McPherson opened his eyes.
'General, sir. Sorry we had to meet again like this.'
Lee knelt by his side and took his hand.
'James. Dear God, James, I'm so sorry.'
'Fortunes of war, General. Remember old Alfred T. Mahan always talked about that, the chances of war.'
Robinson did not know what to do. Should he draw back, stay to help the Union general, or rejoin his command?
The sergeant looked over at Lee.
'I'm sorry, sir,' he said, voice near to breaking. 'I asked him to surrender, but he wouldn't. I'm sorry, sir.' His voice trailed off.
'Not your fault, Sergeant,' McPherson whispered. 'Did your duty. Foolish of me, actually. Don't blame yourself.'
Robinson found himself looking up into Lee's eyes, and was filled with anguish.
'I'm sorry, sir.'
Lee shook his head.
'No, Sergeant. War, contemptible war, did it.' Lee looked back at McPherson. 'Are you sorely hurt, James?'
McPherson nodded. 'Can't seem to breathe.' Blood was spilling out from just under his armpit, trickling down from his lips and nostrils. 'General?'
Lee looked up. It was Walter.
'Sir, it isn't safe for you here. Word is more Yankees are coming into the town. Sir, you must move!'
