The Killer Angels

”Yes.” Chamberlain was busy.

Vincent said, “You are the extreme left of the Union line. Do you understand that?”

”Yes,” Chamberlain said.

”The line runs from here all the way back to Gettysburg. But it stops here. You know what that means.”

”Of course.”

”You ca

”Yes,” Chamberlain said absently.

Vincent was staring at him.

”I’ve got to go now.”

”Right,” Chamberlain said, wishing him gone.

”Now we’ll see how professors fight,” Vincent said.

”I’m a Harvard man myself.”

Chamberlain nodded patiently, noting that the artillery fire had slackened. Could mean troops coming this way. Vincent’s hand was out. Chamberlain took it, did not notice Vincent’s departure. He turned, saw Ruel Thomas standing there with his horse. Chamberlain said, “Take that animal back and tie it some place. Sergeant, then come back.”

”You mean leave it, sir?”

”I mean leave it.”

Chamberlain turned back. The men were digging in, piling rocks to make a stone wall. The position was more than a hundred yards long. Chamberlain could see the end of it, saw the 83rd Pe

The hill was shaped like a comma, large and round with a spur leading out and down: The Twentieth Maine was positioned along the spur, the other regiments curved around to the right. At the end of the spur was a massive boulder. Chamberlain placed the colors there, backed off. To the left of his line there was nothing.

Empty ground. Bare rocks. He peered off into the darkness.

He was used to fighting with men on each side of him. He felt the emptiness to his left like a pressure, a coolness, the coming of winter. He did not like it.

He moved out in front of his line. Through the trees to his right he could see the dark bulk of a larger hill. If the Rebs get a battery there. What a mess. This could be messy indeed. He kept turning to look to the vacant left, the dark emptiness. No good at all. Morrill’s B Company was moving up. Chamberlain signaled. Morrill came up. He was a stocky man with an angular mustache, like a messy inverted U. Sleepy-eyed, he saluted.

”Captain, I want you to take your company out there.”

Chamberlain pointed to the left. “Go out a ways, but stay within supporting distance. Build up a wall, dig in. I want you there in case somebody tries to flank us. If I hear you fire I’ll know the Rebs are trying to get round. Go out a good distance. I have no idea what’s out there. Keep me informed.”

Company B was fifty men. Alone out in the woods.

Chamberlain was sorry. They’d all rather be with the Regiment. Messy detail. Well, he thought philosophically, so it goes. He moved on back up the hill, saw Morrill’s men melt into the trees. Have I done all I can? Not yet, not yet.

Artillery was coming in again behind him. All down the line, in front of him, the men were digging, piling rocks. He thought of the stone wall at Fredericksburg. Never, forever.

This could be a good place to fight. Spirits rose. Left flank of the whole line. Something to tell the grandchildren. Nothing happening here. He hopped up the rocks, drawn toward the summit for a better look, saw an officer: Colonel Rice of the 44th New York, with the same idea.

Rice gri

He gestured. Chamberlain moved forward. Now he could see: masses of gray rock wreathed in smoke, gray men moving. If Sickles had a line down there it had already been flanked. He saw a Union battery firing to the south, saw sprays of men rush out of the woods, the smoke, and envelop it, dying, and then the smoke drifted over it. But now more masses were coming, in clots, broken lines, red battle flags plowing through the smoke, moving this way, drifting to the left, toward the base of the hill.

Rice said, glasses to his eyes, “My God, I can see all of it. Sickles is being overrun.” He put the glasses down and smiled a foolish smile. “You know, there are an awful lot of people headin’ this way.”

Chamberlain saw gleams in the woods to the south.

Bayonets? Must get back to the Regiment. Rice moved off, calling a thoughtful “good luck.” Chamberlain walked down back into the dark. Awful lot of people coming this way. Sixty rounds per man. Ought to be enough.

”Colonel?”

At his elbow: Glazier Estabrook. Incapable of standing up straight, he listed, like a sinking ship. He was chewing a huge plug of tobacco. Chamberlain gri

”Colonel, what about these here prisoners?”

Chamberlain looked: six dark forms squatting in the rocks. The hard cases from the Second Maine. He had completely forgotten them.

Glazier said slowly, around the wet plug, “Now I wouldn’t complain normal, Colonel, only if there’s goin’ to be a fight I got to keep an eye on my cousin. You understand, Colonel.”

What he meant was that he would under no circumstances tend these prisoners during the coming engagement, and he was saying it as politely as possible. Chamberlain nodded.

He strode to the prisoners.

”Any of you fellas care to join us?”

”The Rebs really coming?” The man said it wistfully, cautiously, not quite convinced.

”They’re really comin’.”

One man, bearded, stretched and yawned. “Well, be kind of dull sittin’ up here just a-watchin’.”

He stood. The others watched. At that moment a solid shot passed through the trees above them, tore through the leaves, ripped away a branch, caromed out into the dark over the line. A shower of granite dust drifted down. The ball must have grazed a ledge above. Granite dust had salt in it. Or perhaps the salt was from your own lips.

Chamberlain said, “Any man that joins us now, there’ll be no charges.”

”Well,” another one said. He was the youngest; his beard was only a fuzz. “No man will call me a coward,” he said. He rose. Then a third, a man with fat on him. The other three sat mute. Two looked away from his eyes; the last looked back in hate. Chamberlain turned away. He did not understand a man who would pass by this chance. He did not want to be with him. He turned back.

”I’ll waste no man to guard you. I’ll expect to find you here when this is over.”

He walked down the hill with the three men, forgetting the incomprehensible three who would not come. He gave the three volunteers to Ruel Thomas, to post along the line.

There were no rifles available. Chamberlain said, “You men wait just a bit. Rifles will be available after a while.”

And now the softer roar of musketry began opening up behind him; the popping wave of an infantry volley came down from above, from the other side of the hill. The Rebs were pressing the front, against Rice’s New York boys, the rest of the brigade. Now there was sharper fire, closer to home; the 83rd was opening up. The battle moved this way, like a wall of rain moving through the trees. Chamberlain strode down along the line. Tom came up behind him, Kilrain above. Private Foss was on his knees, praying.

Chamberlain asked that he put in a kind word. Amos Long was sweating.

” Tis a hell of a spot to be in. Colonel. I ca

Chamberlain laid a hand on his shoulder. “Amos, they’ll be a lot closer than that.”

Jim and Bill Merrill, two brothers, were standing next to a sapling. Chamberlain frowned.

”Boys, why aren’t you dug in?”

Jim, the older, gri