Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

Very, very good. He saw one small flicker of sadness pass over Spear’s face, took the bottle from his lips.

”Sorry, Ellis. ‘Swallow’ is a flighty word. An indiscriminate word. But thank you. Very much. And now.”

Spear bowed formally. “Colonel, it has been my pleasure.”

Here through the rocks was a grinning Tom. Young Tom.

Only a boy. Chamberlain felt a shattering rush of emotion, restrained it. Behind Tom were troops of the 83rd Pennsylvania: Captain Woodward, Colonel Rice of the 44th New York. Chamberlain thought: Rice must be the new commander of the whole brigade.

Tom said with vast delight, ticking them off, “Lawrence, we got prisoners from the Fifteenth Alabama, the Forty-seventh Alabama, the Fourth and Fifth Texas. Man, we fought four Reb regiments!”

Four regiments would be perhaps two thousand men.

Chamberlain was impressed.

”We got five hundred prisoners,” Tom insisted.

The figure seemed high. Chamberlain: “What are our casualties?”

Tom’s face lost its light. “Well, I’ll go check.”

Colonel Rice came up. Much darker now. He put out a hand.

”Colonel Chamberlain, may I shake your hand?”

”Sir.”

”Colonel, I watched that from above. Colonel, that was the damnedest thing I ever saw.”

”Well,” Chamberlain said. A private popped up, saluted, whispered in Chamberlain’s ear: “Colonel, sir, I’m guardin’ these here Rebs with a empty rifle.”

Chamberlain grinned. “Not so loud. Colonel Rice, we sure could use some ammunition.”

Rice was clucking like a chicken. “Amazing. They ran like sheep.”

Woodward said, “It was getting a bit tight there, Colonel, I’ll say.”

Rice wandered about, stared at the prisoners, wandered back, hands behind him, peered at Chamberlain, shook his head.

”You’re not Regular Army?”

”No, sir.”

”Oh yes. You’re the professor. Um. What did you teach?”

”Rhetoric, sir.”

”Really?” Rice grimaced. “Amazing.” After a moment: “ Where’d you get the idea to charge?”

Chamberlain said, “We were out of ammunition.”

Rice nodded. “So. You fixed bayonets.”

Chamberlain nodded. It seemed logical enough. It was beginning to dawn on him that what he had done might be considered unusual. He said, “There didn’t seem to be any alternative.”

Rice shook his head, chuckled, grunted.

Chamberlain said, “I heard about Colonel Vincent.”

”Yes. Damn shame. They think he won’t make it.”

”He’s still alive?”

”Not by much.”

”Well. But there’s always hope.”

Rice looked at him. “Of course,” Rice said.

Chamberlain wandered among his men. Ought to put them in some kind of order. He was beginning to feel an elation in him, like a bubble blowing up in his chest. A few moments later. Rice was back.

”Colonel, I have to ask your help. You see the big hill there, the wooded hill? There’s nobody there. I think.

General Warren wants that hill occupied. Could you do that?”

”Well,” Chamberlain said. “If we had some ammunition.”

”I’ll move a train up. That hill’s been unoccupied all day.

If the Rebs get a battery there… it’s the extreme flank of the Union line. Highest ground. Warren sends you his compliments and says to tell you he would prefer to have your regiment there.”

Chamberlain said, “Well of course, sir. But the boys are tired. May take a while. And I sure need that ammunition.”

”Right. I’ll tell the General you’ll be up soon as possible.”

Chamberlain squinted. A wall of trees, thick brush. He sighed.

Tom was back. “I count about one hundred and thirty men, Lawrence. Forty to fifty already dead, about ninety wounded. Lot of boys walking around with minor stuff, one hundred thirty for the hospital.”

Chamberlain thought: one hundred thirty down. We had three hundred in line. Almost half the Regiment. Kilrain is gone.

He told Spear of the move. He was becoming very tired.

But along with the weariness he felt spasms of pure joy.

Spear formed the Company, Rice took over the prisoners.

Rice came by to watch them go.

”Colonel,” Chamberlain said. “One thing. What’s the name of this place? This hill. Has it got a name?”

”Little Round Top,” Rice said. “Name of the hill you defended. The one you’re going to is Big Round Top.”

Little Round Top. Battle of Little Round Top. Well. I guess we’ll remember it.

”Move’em out, Ellis.”

He went back to say goodbye to Kilrain. The white head was visible from a long way off, sitting stump-like, motionless in the dark of the trees. He had leaned back and was staring at the sky, his eyes closed. He had welcomed Chamberlain to the Regiment and there had never been a day without him. He would be going to the hospital now, and Chamberlain did not know what to say, did not know how to express it. Blue eyes opened in a weary face. Kilrain smiled.

”I’ll be going, Buster,” Chamberlain said.

Kilrain grumbled, looked sourly, accusingly at his bloody wound.

”Damn.”

”Well, you take care. I’ll send Tom back with word.”

”Sure.”

”We’ll miss you. Probably get into all kinds of trouble without you.”

”No.” Kilrain said. “You’ll do all right.”

”Well, I have to go.”

”Right. Goodbye, Colonel.”

He put out a hand, formally. Chamberlain took it.

”It was a hell of a day, wasn’t it. Buster?”

Kilrain grinned, his eyes glistened.

”I’ll come down and see you tomorrow.” Chamberlain backed off.

”Sure.” Kilrain was blinking, trying to keep his eyes open. Chamberlain walked away, stopped, looked back, saw the eyes already closed, turned his back for the last time, moved off into the gathering dark.

He moved forward and began to climb the big hill in the dark. As he walked he forgot his pain; his heart began to beat quickly, and he felt an incredible joy. He looked at himself, wonderingly, at the beloved men around him, and he said to himself: Lawrence, old son, treasure this moment. Because you feel as good as a man can feel.

The hospital was an open field just back of the line.

There were small white tents all over the field and bigger tents where the surgeons did the cutting. Hood was there, in a big tent, on a litter. Longstreet came in out of the dark, bowing under a canopy, saw the face like cold marble in yellow candlelight, eyes black and soft like old polished stones. Cullen and Maury were working together on the arm. Longstreet saw; not much left of the hand. Exposed bone. He thought of Jackson hit in the arm at Chancellorsville: died a slow death. Let us cross over the river. Hood’s black eyes stared unseeing. Longstreet said softly, “Sam?”

Cullen looked up; Maury was tying a knot, went on working. Troops had gathered outside the canopy. A sergeant bawled: move on, move on. Hood stared at Longstreet, not seeing. There was dirt streaked in tear stains on his cheeks, but he was not crying now. His head twitched, cheek jerked. He said suddenly, in a light, strange, feathery voice, “Should have let me move to ri- “ He breathed. “To the right.”

Longstreet nodded. To Cullen, he said, “Can I talk to him?”

”Rather not. We’ve drugged him. Sir. Better let him sleep.”

Hood raised the other arm, twitched fingers, let the hand fall. “Din see much. Boys went in an’ hit the rocks. I got hit.”

Longstreet, no good at talking, nodded.

”Should have moved right, Pete.” Hood was staring at him, bright, drugged, eerie eyes. “How did it go, Pete?”

”Fine, Sam,”

”We took those rocks?”