Battle of Gunpowder River, Maryland
August 19,1863 4:30 P.M.
Voice long since gone, Lo Armistead staggered up and down the line, limping slightly from the rifle ball or shell fragment that had creased his left leg just above the knee.
His brigade, his precious brigade, was bleeding out. A half hour ago he had committed his two reserve regiments, pushing them into the volley line, pulling his already committed regiments back one at a time to give the men ten minutes to clean their rifles, replenish ammunition, gulp down some water..and still it continued, the most sustained fire-fight he had seen across two years of war.
The smoke was a dark blanket hovering over the battlefield. The air was so thick from the humid heat combined with the smoke of battle that he was beginning to lose as many men from physical collapse as from enemy fire. Few were now standing; most of the men were hunkered down, kneeling, lying; some had stopped shooting and, with bayonets, were frantically digging in. The dead lay in almost orderly rows, most where the brigade had first engaged two hours ago; yet more were sprawled out now where the brigade had pulled back a hundred yards, back to a low crest and a fence row.
No one could see the Yankees in all the smoke, though they were still out there, the incoming rounds evidence enough of their presence. All was fire, smoke, screaming men, the maddening buzz of bullets sweeping past, the sickening thunk when one hit a man. "General Armistead!"
He looked up and to his amazement saw Pickett, still mounted, though his horse was bleeding from several wounds, the general nursing an arm in a sling. Lo wearily saluted, barely able to focus.
"You must hold this center, sir," Pickett shouted, his voice breaking, carrying a hysterical edge.
"Sir! What about our orders?" Lo cried.
"What orders?"
Lo stepped closer to Pickett's side.
"We were supposed to engage then withdraw, sir; those were our orders."
"And show our backs now?" Pickett shouted. "I'd sooner burn in hell! We've bloodied an entire corps over there, Lo, an entire corps! Hood and the rest will be up soon enough, but I'm not giving away this ground now. The blood of Virginia is on it!"
"When will we be relieved?"
Pickett shook his head.
"I'll be damned if I know. McLaws went in on our left an hour ago. Hood should be up within another hour."
"An hour? If they push now, sir, I can't promise we'll hold."
"You are talking about the honor of our division, General Armistead. We will hold!"
Pickett savagely turned his mount and rode off.
Armistead watched him ride off and shook his head. They were in a brutal head-on fight; the entire division was bleeding out. They were outnumbered, exhausted; men not down from wounds were collapsing in the boiling heat, and still George was determined to hold and to make it a point of honor.
Cursing under his breath, he resumed his walking up and down the line, oblivious, if for no other reason than exhaustion, of the continual rain of bullets and shells striking his line.