Love and War

Yesterday Fighting Joe had started his men forward to a more advantageous offensive position — higher and more open ground beyond the edge of the Wilderness. When his men encountered enemy fire, he called off the advance. Corps commanders had not concealed their fury. Billy had heard what General Meade said; it had spread everywhere, like the fire in the woods: 'If he can't hold the top of a hill, how can he expect to hold the bottom?'

But now they were preparing for precisely that. Swing; why? Swing back; why?

'Stand back,' Billy yelled, pushing men as the elm swayed and tilted. The men scattered, the tree crashed, the volunteers leaped forward, stirring the raw, smarting smoke that came partly from the unseen cannon, partly from the fiery forest.

Yesterday, while Hooker shilly-shallied and lost his chance at a superior position, Bob Lee and Old Jack had been busy outfoxing him. Jackson had led his men on one of their famous lightning marches, this one a damnably risky flanking movement. But he had pulled it off without discovery and by nightfall stood ready to savage the Union right. Howard's Dutchmen were at ease there, enjoying their supper. Old Jack's whooping, screaming farm boys took them totally by surprise.

That was the start of the end of Hooker's great plan. Now the rebs were on the offensive throughout the second-growth forest. God knew where they would appear next — which was the reason Union soldiers were frantically preparing rifle pits to defend the open ground at the crossroads, while axmen, including Billy and his detachment, felled trees in front of the lines.

They slashed off branches, bound others together with ropes and vines, sharpened still others and fixed them to point toward the smoke where the rebs might be lurking. The abatis was a defensive fortification, not one employed by troops who meant to march ahead and win. Perhaps Fighting Joe had lost the advantage at the same mysterious spot where he had misplaced his nerve. Even rumors that a stray reb ball had wounded or killed Old Jack last night didn't lift the army's gloom, any more than daylight had lifted the choking smoke.

Chop and chop. Spinnington worked on Billy's left, Lije just beyond. On his right, bent over so as to minimize exposure in case of a sniper attack, was a volunteer whose name he didn't know. The man's posture didn't permit much work. Billy had an impulse to split the coward's head with his ax, but he supposed Lije would object.

White beard gleaming with sweat drops, Lije lifted his heavy ax with his right hand, as if it weighed no more than a straw. He pointed the ax at a tree larger than most, an oak about a foot in diameter.

'That one next, lads. She will fall to the right if we cut her properly. We may then turn her ninety degrees and fix points on some of those topmost branches to torment the enemy.' Billy managed an exhausted laugh. What a rock Lije was. Every remark to his men was round and complete as a sermon sentence.

Lije also spoke loudly, which was necessary because of the continual noise: drumming and bugling, men shouting, small arms crackling, strays from the beef herd mooing as they ran down the narrow turnpike or got snared in the forest vines and bled from thorn pricks. Catching a nap at three in the morning, Billy had had his stomach stepped on by a wandering cow.

Now, renewed artillery fire increased the din. The firing came from south of Chancellorsville. Inexplicably, Sickles had been withdrawn from another piece of high ground, a place called Hazel Grove. Had the rebs moved fieldpieces into that favorable position?

Billy and Lije attacked the oak from opposite sides. Lije met his eye, smiled in a weary, fatherly way. Chop and chop. Billy wished he had the older man's faith. If God stood with the Union, why did Old Jack surprise and whip them every time?

They had notched a white vee into the trunk when, above the noise of men, horses, wheels, guns, Billy picked up a more ominous one: the scream of a shell. 'Put your heads down,' he shouted to those nearby. 'That one's coming in mighty —'

The earth blew up around him, hurling him off his feet in a cloud of dirt and grass. He landed on his back, dazed. He breathed the heavy smoke, then coughed. Something lay on his bare chest: a large yellow-white wedge of heartwood blown from the trunk of the oak.

Blinking, he focused on the tree as it started to topple, stirring the smoke. Men as dazed as he struggled to their feet. Lije stood well beyond the tree, and he, too, saw it coming down, directly on Spinnington. Knuckling his eyes, the corporal failed to hear the creak; the bombardment was too loud.

''Spinnington, get out of there,' Billy yelled. Spinnington turned, dull-faced, still not comprehending. The rest happened very fast. Lije bowled forward and hit the corporal with his shoulder, intending to push him to safety and fall on top of him. Lije's left boot tangled in a vine. He slammed on his chest, raised his head, clutched handfuls of weedy earth, and said, 'Oh,' an instant before the oak fell on the small of his back.

'Oh, Lord,' Spinnington whispered, standing unhurt a yard beyond Lije's open mouth, closed eyes, fists clenching grass. Billy ran forward, shouting Lije's name. Men hit the ground again; another shell struck twenty yards away. The concussion threw Billy on his rump and hurled bits of earth and stone into his face. Something grazed his left eyeball. Something else cut his cheek.

Up again, he staggered to the fallen oak. Slowly, Lije's eyes opened. Another shell hit to the left and well behind them. Pieces of a man rose up and fell back to the unfinished rifle pits. Cries and moans added to the other noise. Billy knew the pain Lije must be feeling, but only a slight moisture in the older man's eyes betrayed it.

'I'll get you out, Lije.' He leaped for the tree, slipped his hands under, pulled. Pain shot through his back. The oak trunk didn't move.

He twisted around. 'You men help me!'

'Fruitless,' Lije murmured. He closed his eyes, licked his lips, repeated the word, then said, 'Withdraw, Lieutenant. The enemy fire is growing too heavy. Withdraw — that is my direct — order.'

Though badly frightened, several of the volunteers ran up and attempted to lift the oak. The trunk rose about two inches. Then the hands of one man slipped, and the oak fell again. Billy heard Lije's teeth clench and scrape.

'Withdraw,' he whispered.

'No,' Billy said, his control breaking down.

'William Hazard, I order —'

'No, no.' He was crying. 'I can't leave you to die.'

' 'What man is he that liveth — and shall not see death?''

'Don't spout Scripture at me,' Billy yelled. 'I won't see you left here.'

'I will not be.' Though Lije's voice was faint, he articulated each syllable. 'I trust the Master's promise. 'He that heareth — my word''— in the shell-struck rifle pit, men shrieked like children, without cease — ''— and believeth in Him that sent me — shall not come into condemnation but — is passed from death unto life.' I was — meant to fall here. You are — meant to live and — take these men —'

Another shell hit in the forest, shredding vines, blasting earth into the smoke, blurring Lije's faint voice with its roar.

'— to safety. I order you.'

'Jesus,' Billy wept. 'Jesus Christ.'

'Do not — blaspheme. I order you. Live and — fight on. I — loved you like a son. This was — ordained.'

It was not, Billy cried in secret places. It isn't God's will but chance and your stupid Christian sacrifice —

'Come on, sir.' Hands tugged. 'He's dead, sir.'

Billy looked down from the smoke to which his gaze had drifted. Lije's eyes were closed, his face smooth. A silver line of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth nearest the ground. A grasshopper hopped onto his beard and sat there, as if curious about the dead giant.

'Come on, sir,' Spinnington repeated. With surprising gentleness, he and another beardless volunteer took hold of Billy's arms. He was dazed, muttering to himself. 'We'll come back for his body, don't you worry,' said a faraway voice he didn't recognize. He ground a dirty fist into his wet eyes and let them lead him.

Near the headquarters encampment, a surgeon offered a bottle of whiskey. Two swallows jolted Billy awake, made him able to function again. He knew something he hadn't known earlier. God did not rule a war such as this — if indeed He ruled anywhere.

It was dismal to face that truth. Against it, Lije had worn the armor of his faith. It was good armor; it had