Newt Gingrich - Never Call Retreat

"Just one more victory, gentlemen," Lee said softly, surveying his lieutenants and the secretary of state. "Whether he comes due south or tries to flank us, all we seek is one more victory-and the war is over."

All around him nodded in agreement.

"Keep the troops moving, gentlemen. I want the entire army into Baltimore as quickly as possible, and then they can rest.

"General Stuart, starting tomorrow I want a strong screen moved forward toward General Grant. Give your men time to rest this afternoon and into tomorrow. Report to me tonight for orders."

"Sir, a problem."

"Go ahead."

"Many of our mounts are worn. I dare say half our horses need reshoeing." 'Then find new mounts in the city."

"Sir, city horses, well, they just aren't fit for cavalry. Draught horses, mostly. We're starting to sweep this area clean of remounts. I must have several days at least to refit after the hard ride of the last week."

Lee nodded.

"Rest your men today. Get them off the roads. Concentrate at a place of your choosing between here and Baltimore, then report to me as ordered. Send some of your staff back to the city to see what arrangements can be made for your refitting^" "Yes, sir."

"Gentlemen, I want this army to make twenty-five miles today. I know it will be a hard march. But I promise you at least a day of rest tomorrow. As I said before, be liberal with those who cannot keep up. We are not an army in retreat, and those who fall out will surely rejoin the ranks. They are good men, so treat the exhausted, the ill, with respect; make that clear to your provost guards."

All nodded in agreement.

"We meet tomorrow in Baltimore, and there will plan our next move."

The look in his eyes was clear indication of dismissal. The group began to break up, officers calling for their mounts, staff, and escorts.

Lee caught General Pickett's eye and motioned for him to come over, the crestfallen division commander yielding with a certain reluctance.

"General Longstreet, would you join us for a moment?"

Lee stepped out from under the awning into the warm afternoon sun.

"General Pickett, sir, I am disappointed in the report I received regarding your action at Gunpowder River."

"Sir, our blood was up," Pickett replied defensively. "We would not run before Yankees."

"And you destroyed your division, sir."

Pickett looked at him, eyes wide.

Lee looked over at Longstreet. Pickett was his old friend.

Pete gave no indication either way of his wishes. He knew Longstreet was in a quandary.

"I had hoped that in actions to come, General Pickett, it would be your division, which had been the heaviest division in my army, to see victory through. The honor might have been yours to lead a charge that could have won the war."

He paused for a moment.

"Sir, I shall not relieve you of command. But know, sir, that I shall be watching you closely henceforth."

"General Lee," Pickett replied icily, "if you do not have confidence in my ability, sir, then accept my resignation."

Lee flushed.

"I have no wish or time for such a result," Lee replied sharply, controlling his anger. "I need you and what is left of your division. I need every man, every experienced field commander I can find. Just do your duty, and follow orders, next time, to the letter. That is what I expect of you now."

Features pale, Pickett stood motionless. Slowly he saluted.

"Yes, sir."

He turned and walked off.

"I think you should have relieved him," Pete said quietly, waiting till Pickett was out of earshot.

"Perhaps. But controlled, under your direct observation, he can still lead. General Longstreet, I shall see you tonight in Baltimore. Perhaps by this time tomorrow the picture will be clearer and we will see our next move."

"I hope so, sir."

Lee looked at him closely. Now was not the time to show hesitation, even if it did whisper to him.

"I know so, General Longstreet."

He walked off, signaling for Traveler. An orderly brought his horse up; he mounted and fell in alongside the endless column, into the boiling clouds of dust, moving south toward Baltimore.

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Carlisle

August 22, 1863

9:00 P.M.

The evening air was beginning to cool as he stepped out of the Carlisle army barracks, which had become his headquarters for the night. The corridor reeked of coal oil. A rolled-up newspaper, half burnt and then crushed, lay by the doorway, as if the rebs were going to burn the place then changed their minds. Whoever it was who had spared the building, he was grateful to him. The barracks was a fine old part of army history.

He lit a cigar and leaned against a pillar on the veranda, drawing the smoke in, signing as he exhaled. He actually felt relaxed, all the weeks of tension, of waiting, what seemed to be interminable waiting, were over. They were on the move.

It had been a good day's march. McPherson's Corps had made over twenty five miles and camped ten miles southwest, at Centerville, and just behind him was Burnside's Ninth. Ord's men were still filing into Carlisle, and as he stood on the veranda, he watched them pass.

The town was rich, prosperous, not really touched by the war. Gaslight illuminated the main thoroughfare, this incredible valley pike, the type of road he'd have given a right arm for while struggling through the back lanes and swamps of Louisiana and Mississippi. Broad, well macadamized, the crushed limestone pavement glittering in the glow of the gaslight.

The troops marched by in good order, their spirits up. They were on the move and in the East. All day long the men he had brought with him from the Mississippi campaign had been in high spirits. Though over eighty degrees, the air was relatively dry. There were no foul humors in this Pennsylvania air carrying ague or yellow jack. For them twenty-five miles in such conditions was all in a day's work, though some had found the paved pike to be hard on the feet after the soft mud or powder of western roads.

What had captivated him and his army was the outright celebration of the citizenry. The pike was lined with thousands of civilians. They had been behind the rebel lines for over a month, and though Lee's men had treated them with the utmost respect, still it had been an occupying army, and now the liberators had come. It was a heady experience for all of them, civilians, soldiers, and even their general. For the first time on a campaign march they had been greeted as friends and not as alien invaders.

That thought, of being aliens in their own country, had often troubled him. Nearly twenty years earlier, during the build-up before the war with Mexico, he had spent a winter in Louisiana and had found it to be a pleasant memory, of cool winter nights and days usually filled with a nice touch of warmth when compared to Ohio or the freezing nights at the Point. Back then they had been treated as heroes about to go off to war. But those days were long gone. Not since the start of all this current misery had he seen such a march as they had experienced this day.

Pretty girls, many wearing patriotic ribbons of red, white, and blue, stood at farm gates, waving flags, cheering as each regiment passed. Mothers had looked on smilingly, passing out fresh-baked biscuits and bread; little boys had run up and down along the fencerows bordering the pike, laughing and playing friendly pranks. When the march broke for ten minutes' rest at the end of every hour, civilians had mingled freely among the men, bearing buckets of cool fresh well water and passing out yet more food.

So many soldiers in the ranks who were fathers found themselves, for a few minutes, transported back home, a child in their lap, tickling it, trying to get the infant or toddler to smile, and everyone laughing even when the child burst into tears and reached for its mother. Men began taking bullets out of a cartridge box, tearing them open and tossing a handful of loose powder into a quickly made fire to give the children a thrill as it burst with a puff of sulfurous smoke, then passing the minie ball to some wide-eyed boy as a souvenir. So many were doing this that word passed down the ranks that the practice had to be stopped before someone got hurt, and besides, multiplied a hundred thousand times, it was enough ammunition to keep an entire brigade on the firing line for a long day's fight.