Gettysburg

Chapter Eleven

4:00 PM, JULY 2,1863

NORTHEAST OF GETTYSBURG

It was hard to conceal his delight as the light battery of horse artillery galloped into position, guns bouncing and careening behind their caissons, mounted gunners yelling with delight

Stuart snapped off a salute as the unit raced past him, deploying out into an open field to the northeast of the wooded hill flanking the cemetery held by the Army of the Potomac. The range was extreme. The fire would be nothing more than a nuisance, but that was not the main intent.

For the last hour he had "been running the brigade of infantry ragged. They had marched five miles, swinging far north of the town, cutting across fields and down lanes beyond the sight of the Yankees, finally to emerge into view along a stretch of the road leading back to York. After marching in plain sight for several hundred yards, the column dipped out of view, heading to the east then countermarched back around by a concealed lane, only to re-emerge and do the march in sight yet again.

Farther afield small troops of cavalry simply galloped back and forth along roads and farm lanes, dragging brush, kicking up dust while the bulk of his command concentrated east of town skirmished with the Union cavalry that was beginning to come up and probed down around the right flank of the Union lines.

It reminded him of the stories of Magruder down on the Peninsula the year before. A passionate devotee of amateur theater, Magruder had hoodwinked McClellan into believing that two thousand men before Yorktown were actually twenty to thirty thousand.

Though still smarting from the rebuke and the clear threat from Lee, he had to admit that this afternoon he was beginning to enjoy his work.

4:15 PM, JULY 2,1863

HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Hunt saw the courier galloping up the Taneytown Road. He was astride a magnificent stallion, the animal stretching out, running hard, as its rider guided the horse around the clutter of ammunition wagons slowly moving along the road.

Henry stepped down from the porch of the small house below Cemetery Hill that was now the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac. Staff officers, who had been clustered about, nervously looking to the northeast, where the sound of gunfire was rapidly increasing, barely noticed the arrival of a courier storming up the road from Taneytown.

The courier was a cavalryman, hat gone, uniform so coated with dust that he almost looked like a rebel in dark butternut The man reined in hard, swinging down from his saddle.

"General Meade!"

Several of the staff moved toward the rider, one of them extending his hand, asking for any dispatches.

"My orders from General Buford are to present this directly to General Meade!" the courier shouted, obviously agitated.

Henry felt a cold chill. Buford was supposed to be on his way to Westminster. He moved into the group. "I'll take you to him."

Leading the way, Henry stepped into the small parlor, where Meade stood at a table hunched over a map, while Warren was tracing out a position.

"Based on the Confederate movements against our right flank, I think we have to extend to the right," Warren said, looking around die room,

"General, a dispatch rider," Henry announced. "He says the message must be given to you personally."

Meade looked up, slightly annoyed at the cavalryman standing in the doorway. "Who are you?" Meade snapped.

"Sergeant Malady, Eighth New York Cavalry, Buford's division, sir."

Meade came erect, extending his hand, while the trooper fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the note.

Meade unfolded it, started to read, and Henry could instantly tell that the news was bad. Meade finished reading and then seemed to go over the note a second time. All in the room were silent Meade finally passed it to Dan Butterfield, his chief of staff, and turned away for a moment

"What the hell is it?"

General Hancock, who had been standing on the front porch as the courier came in, was now behind the trooper, pushing his way into the room.

"General Buford reports that he is engaged with Hood's division on Monocacy Creek along the Emmitsburg to Taneytown Road," Butterfield announced.

"Jesus Christ Almighty," Hancock cried, stepping up to a map pinned to the wall and after several seconds stabbing his finger at a spot on the lower left corner.

Meade turned, looking back at the trooper. "Did you see this?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, sir. We were in Taneytown. It was around one. I remember that because one of the church clocks struck as we rode in. A scout came in from the west and we were ordered to horse. It was a hard ride; a lot of the horses were about ready to drop."

"Yours looks pretty good," Hancock interjected.

'Well, sir, I sort of arranged a swap with a civilian when we got to Taneytown," and the trooper dropped his eyes as he spoke.

"Go on," Meade snapped.

"By the time we got up to the bridge, Gamble's brigade was really into it A lot of heavy fire. I could see rebel troops on the far side; columns of them just beginning to deploy. My regiment was ordered in on the right to cover a ford; at least that's what I heard. It was then that General Gamble came up, spotted me, and ordered me to report to General Buford to carry that dispatch."

"And you took it personally from General Buford."

"Yes, sir."

"And he said he believed all of Longstreet's corp was behind the attack?" "Yes, sir."

"Did you see that? Other divisions?" ' "No sir, not exactly. But I tell you, sir, we were getting hit as hard as we were over by the seminary yesterday. They had three batteries up. There was a hell of a lot of shooting. When I got back to Taneytown, I could still hear the gunfire."

"The condition of your men going in?" Hancock interjected.

"Well, sir, to be honest not so good. The horses were pretty worn; a lot of us were short on ammunition. I heard the troopers who had Spencer repeaters were all but empty. But we'll make a good fight of it"

Hancock looked over at Meade, who stood silent arms folded, eyes fixed on the map.

"We'd better get people down there now," Hancock said.

"That will take four hours or more," Meade replied, eyes still fixed on the map.

Warren stepped up to the map.

"That report from the Round Top signal station that came in a half hour ago of smoke being seen to the south. It fits. Also, losing contact with Emmitsburg. Sir, this doesn't look good."

Meade Was still silent

"Maybe Sickles was right," Butterfield interjected, and Meade turned, fixing him with his sharp gaze.

Henry said nothing for the moment Butterfield had been the previous commander's chief of staff. Meade had kept him on simply because the man clearly knew the routine. No one in this inner circle had any real love for Sickles, but Henry knew that Butterfield's comment showed remarkably bad timing since Meade was still fuming about the incident earlier in the day.

And yet if Hood was indeed on the flank, then Sickles had been right How absurd, Henry thought the foul-mouthed amateur showing up, at least for the moment all the professionals.

"Butterfield, I want a meeting of all corps commanders within an hour. Get the staff out to round them up."

Hancock, an incredulous look on his face, turned toward Meade.

"A staff meeting? That will take hours. We've got to act now."

Meade shook his head.

"All seven corps are up, and we are deployed for battle here. Sedgwick's men are coming in even now after marching thirty-five miles."

He then pointed toward the north.

"General Slocum is reporting at least a division of Confederate infantry, supported by Stuart moving on our right. You can hear the fire coming from over there."

All were silent for a moment the steady thump of artillery echoing, growing louder as several batteries up on Cemetery Hill began to reply.

"Goddamn it I have reports now of infantry moving on my right flank, something I can see with my own eyes, and now this courier reporting Longstreet to my rear a dozen miles away, something I can't see.

"I want my corps commanders' opinions before we move this army again," Meade said firmly.

"Pulling the corps commanders in just isn't wise. If Lee does hit us here in the next hour, you want the corps commanders with their units. And besides, you don't need them to make this decision. You are in command. You are."

"And you want me to do what?" Meade responded.

"Sixth Corps is exhausted. But Fifth is camped right along the Taneytown Road. You could have them marching within the hour" Hancock pleaded.

Again Meade shook his head. "Marching where? To my right or to the rear?"

"The rear of course. Send Fifth Corps down to Taneytown now, sir."

Meade sighed wearily and shook his head. Again the thumping of gunfire rattled the windows of the small farmhouse.

"That's our active reserve for the moment. Sixth Corps is just too worn out from the march to be of much use now. I'm not going to detach an entire corps based on one report from a courier."

"Sergeant, tell him!" Hancock shouted, looking back at the cavalry trooper. 'Tell him what Buford said!"

The sergeant stood there gape-mouthed, unable to reply.

Meade put his hand up, beckoning for silence.

Henry caught the eye of the trooper and nodded toward the door. The cavalryman stepped outside, Henry following, along with Warren, as the two generals within exploded at each other.

Henry led the trooper down to the fence bordering the Taneytown Road and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a flask and offered it.

"God bless you, sir."

The trooper tilted his head back and took a long swallow.

"You said that you saw what was going on at that bridge?" Henry asked.

"Yes, sir, I did, but only for a minute or so while General Buford wrote out the note."

"How long have you been in the army?"

"Since we signed up back in sixty-one. I've been in every campaign since, sir."

Henry nodded.

"You know we get a lot of couriers galloping in here" Warren interjected, "claiming they've seen the whole rebel army."

I didn't say that, sir," and there was a slightly indignant tone to his voice. "I saw at least two brigades over there, sir. Well, not exactly saw, but down around the bridge, the width of the firing, sir, you know the sound, it was wide, a front of half a mile maybe."

As he spoke the trooper extended his hands wide, and Warren nodded.

"I saw another column moving to flank our right"; the trooper continued, "that's where my regiment went off to cover. It was just like yesterday when we fought Heth and Pender. You could just tell that there was a whole hell of a lot behind them, building up, pushing in. Sir, General Buford ain't prone to exaggerating, sir. If he said that Longstreet's entire corps was coming down that road, by God, I'd believe him.'

Henry nodded. The trooper was right; Buford was a good man. Yesterday John Reynolds had marched to Buford's rescue, not waiting for the nicety of formal orders properly countersigned.

"One of my batteries is parked over there," and Henry pointed across the road. "Go down there; get some water and fodder for your horse and some food for yourself. Wait there."

"Thank you, sir."

"And, trooper, did that civilian willingly trade you horses? That is one beautiful mount you got there."

The man grinned, saying nothing, as he handed Henry his flask and saluted.

Henry turned to go back into the fray.

'Sir?"

It was the trooper. "Yes?"

"For God's sake, don't let the generals screw this one up. We can lick those bastards any day of the week, if only they'd give us some good ground and let us fight"

Henry fixed the trooper with his gaze. He understood the sentiment, but still it bothered him, even though he knew the man was right.

Without comment, Henry turned and walked back toward the small, whitewashed house.

"Henry, what do you think?" Warren asked, falling in by his side.

"I think Longstreet is flanking us, that's what I think."

"What's in front of us then?" and Warren nodded toward the sound of gunfire.

"I don't know, but I'm willing lo bet it's a diversion," Henry offered. "We've only seen what appears to be one division of infantry over there, just a couple of batteries, no massed battalions of guns, so where the hell is the rest of Lee's army? It's either hidden behind the seminary or it's marching to the south.

"You and I rode that ground around Westminster yesterday morning, along Pipe Creek."

Yesterday morning? God, was it really just a day ago?

"It's damn good ground, Henry. Damn good. High land, open fields of fire for anyone dug in along the south bank, and Westminster as the primary base directly behind it. My God, if Longstreet seizes that, he'll cut us off from the railroad and our supplies and be between us and Washington."

As they walked back to the house, couriers were already dashing off, heading to the various corps headquarters to fetch the generals in.

Hancock was out on the porch, face red; He caught Henry's eye. "We wait," Hancock snarled. "Goddamn it, we wait"

Henry, unable to believe what Hancock was saying, walked into the small, whitewashed house. Meade was leaning over the map table, fist balled up, Butterfield by his side. The room was boiling hot It gave Henry a claustrophobic feeling. Meade looked up with a cold eye. '"Well?" Meade snapped.

"I didn't say anything, sir."

"But you're thinking it."

That trooper, I talked with him outside. General, he's a good soldier, been in the army since the start of the war and not some naive kid straight from the farm. And Buford is a damn good cavalryman. If John is telling us Longstreet is on our flank, we'd better believe him."

Meade sighed. Stepping back from the table, he picked up a tin cup of coffee and sipped on it, turning to look at the map of southern Pennsylvania and northern Maryland pinned to the wall.

Warren came in and stood silently by Henry's side.

"You two surveyed that Pipe Creek line, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, we did," Warren replied. "An army on defense would have a huge advantage at Pipe Creek and an especially big advantage if they were defending the south side of that valley. If Pete Longstreet slides into that position, he'll be astride our line of communications."

Meade said nothing for a moment, the room silent except for the annoying buzz of horseflies, and the distant boom of artillery coming from the right flank.

"Stuart is on our right with at least a division of infantry, maybe more. You can see him out there from the top of the cemetery. Reb infantry and artillery are deployed from the seminary clear down to opposite the ridge in our center, and there're still Reb skirmishers in the town. What the hell is that?"

"Diversion," Warren replied.

Meade finally looked back at the two. For a moment the combative, dyspeptic look was gone, replaced by an infinite weariness. Henry knew that Meade had not had a moment's sleep since yesterday, had only been in command of this army for five days. It was one thing to command a corps, to receive the orders to take or hold a position; it was an entirely different game to make those orders, orders upon which the fate of this army and the Republic might hang.

"At least send a division down there," Warren said softly. "Fifth Corps is astride the road back to Taneytown. Get a division on the road now, and they can be in Taneytown before dark. If Buford is indeed holding Longstreet at Monocacy Creek, the division can reinforce. If Longstreet is into the town, it will stall his advance. I'll go down with them and send back a report."

Meade did not reply, attention focused back on the map.

'Turning this army around; marching it south, will be a bloody nightmare."

He paused for a moment

"John reported contact with two brigades only. He surmised that Longstreet was behind the attack, but he didn't see it. It could be a diversion. Lee hit us hard last night and we gave him a bloody nose. Maybe he thinks he can't push us off this ground, so he's trying to scare us off instead. We start marching south, then he hits us, storming out from behind that ridge behind the town with us strung out on the roads. It could be that you know."

Warren nodded in agreement "But I don't think it is."

"Listen to me," Meade said coldly, "it's fine for all of you to guess, to think, but if I make one mistake, just one goddamn mistake, I can lose this war."

Don't make the right decision, and we can lose this war as well, Henry thought

"A division," Meade finally said, "Fifth Corps. Crawford's men are rested. Get them on the road, Warren. You go with them. Henry, detach a couple of batteries from the reserve and send them along."

Warren was out the door, in seconds.

Meade caught Henry's eye.

"You want me to go with them?" Henry asked. "If it's a fight for Taneytown, I should scout out the artillery positions."

Meade hesitated.

"My job here is done for the moment All our guns are in position. I've surveyed the line from one end to the other twice. If we are going to shift south, I need to be down there."

"Go."

Henry followed Warren out the door, calling for a horse.

Even as he mounted, the sound of guns, again from the right, thundered. Ignoring them, he spurred onto the road, orderly following, racing to catch up to Warren, who was already off at a gallop.

4:30 PM, JULY 2,1863

GETTYSBURG-HERR'S RIDGE

General Lee reined in, turning to look back toward the seminary on the ridge to the east. The ground before it was still littered with dead Union soldiers and horses. It was a grim sight, the air thick with that sickly, cloying scent

He pulled out his pocket watch… four-thirty. If we had stayed here, it would be happening now, hitting them on both flanks, the wooded hill next to the cemetery, the place the locals called the Round Tops on the other flank. He had observed the strange movement down on the flank at noon, an entire Union corps advancing, and it had caused a heart-stopping moment He had ordered a division from Hill's corps off the line of march, deploying them out in response behind the crest next to the tavern. And then, strangely, the movement had stopped, and they had turned about and marched back to the Round Tops.

Curious, some confusion in orders most likely. It had been a tempting moment though. If that corps, a scout reported it to be the Third, had stayed there, it would have been vulnerable on its left

But no, this was no longer the place. That decision had already been made.

A deep rumbling, Stuart's light artillery continuing their demonstration to the flank of the wooded hill, hopefully fixing the attention of the Union forces. Doctrine always was to have cavalry securing the flank along the intended line of advance. One of Ewell's divisions was still deployed in the open ground north of town, plainly visible, his other two divisions occupying the seminary and the ridge to the south, giving every indication possible that they were preparing to attack. Once darkness settled, they'd pull out, attempting to reach Fairfield before falling out to rest for several hours.

Pickett, who was still on the far side of the mountains, would move, along with the supply wagons, pulling back down the main road from Chambersburg to Greencastle. From there Pickett was to advance over the mountain and come into Emmitsburg, to fall in on the rear of Ewell tomorrow morning.

How far Longstreet had advanced, he wasn't sure. The last dispatch rider, coming in a half hour ago, reported fighting along the creek that bisected the road between Taneytown and Emmitsburg.

This was the vulnerable moment, one that if he contemplated it too much, would freeze up his nerves. Longstreet, with two divisions, might be as far as Taneytown. Hill, so sick he could barely keep in the saddle, was now on the road, the head of his column down to Emmitsburg, the last of the troops now streaming toward Fairfield. Ewell and Stuart were here, and Pickett was still twenty-five miles away.

We are spread out all over the map, and if now, at this moment, Meade should stir and come storming down from those hills, and at the same time dispatch a corps to move on Emmitsburg, the Army of Northern Virginia would be cut to ribbons.

How many times have I courted disaster like this? Chancellorsville, everyone talks about it now, the audacity of Jackson's march; but that was an act of desperation. The Second Manassas campaign, that was a calculated move; but I knew the character of Pope, the bitterness between him and McClellan, and acted accordingly. That was nearly a year ago. If someone on the other side realizes I'm doing it again, this time they just might strike first and catch me on the roads. McClellan almost achieved that last September when one of my couriers lost our campaign plan, and we barely got the army back together in time to stop the Union forces at Sharpsburg. That was so close I spent half the day thinking they might just break through and split our forces. Let's hope Pipe Creek doesn't turn into another Antietam Creek if Meade figures out what I am doing.

An artillery battery, one of Hill's units that had been in yesterday's fight and waited hours for the infantry to pass, came clattering in from a field on the north side of the pike, a staff officer leading the way, motioning for the gunners to start south. The artillerymen silently saluted as they passed; orders had been repeatedly given to all the men that there would be no demonstrations, no cheering.

"Going around 'em again, ain't we, General?" one of the gunners shouted as he rode by, astride the lead trace horse of a three-inch rifled piece.

Lee said nothing, just nodding in reply, and the man grinned, offering a proud, almost exaggerated salute.

"It's going smoothly," Walter Taylor offered.

"As long as they don't stir over there," Lee replied, nodding back toward Gettysburg.

'They won't"

"How do you know that?"

"They never have."

"Someday they just might" Lee said softly. "Remember, this army is all we have, Walter. It's got one more good fight in it and we came too close to using up that fight here. I came too close. I realize now that I was trying to match our blood against the ground those people over there held.

"General Longstreet was right But even if we seize the land south of here, and force those people over there to come at us, they will do it with a fury. We'll finally be between them and Washington, and the cost will be high. When that time comes, and it might be as early as tomorrow, it has to be decisive, not just another hollow victory."

He sighed, gaze still fixed back toward Gettysburg.

"Keep a sharp eye on things here, Walter. Ewell is in command on this front I know that rankles Stuart, him being senior in rank, but he needs to be reined in a bit

"If anything stirs, if the enemy starts to move on Ewell, send for me at once. If not and once Ewell starts to pull out after dark, catch up to me; I will reach Taneytown tonight and make headquarters there."

"Sir, that's a long ride for you."

Lee fixed his adjutant with a cool gaze. 'I'm not that old, Walter," Lee said softly.

Walter shifted uncomfortably. Ever since the "incident" back during the winter, which one doctor called trouble with the heart, Walter had increasingly taken on the role of monitoring how much rest Lee got and how long he spent in the saddle. There wasn't time for that now, even though Lee's stomach had been troublesome throughout the day.

"It's a wicked hot day, sir," Walter finally offered. "At least try and find a cool spot by a creek to take a few minutes."

"Walter."

"Sir?"

Lee sighed and then smiled. "Just keep an eye on things here. Make sure Ewell and Stuart keep fighting the enemy and not each other."

As if to add emphasis to Lee's words, the sound of artillery fire increased off beyond Gettysburg, Union guns along the brow of Cemetery Hill opening up, replying to the harassing fire from Stuart. What sounded like the rattle of musketry was added in as well.

Walter smiled and men offered a salute.

Lee, followed by the rest of his staff, edged down to the side of the road; and gently nudging Traveler to a trot, Lee started south, toward Emmitsburg, leaving Gettysburg behind.

6:00 PM, JULY 2,1863

TANEYTOWN

Numb with exhaustion, Pete Longstreet, legs trembling, swung down from the saddle. He leaned against his mount for a moment, waiting for feeling to return to his feet and calves. He'd been in the saddle for nearly fourteen hours, ridden over twenty-five miles, fought a battle, and been in the forefront of the pursuit of Buford's broken division. Several hundred prisoners had been rounded up on the road to Taneytown, men with blown horses that couldn't move another step.

The village was in utter chaos; dead horses littered the streets; skirmishing continued along the road to the east Anderson's men, pushed far beyond the limit were literally collapsing along the sidewalks. Behind them, the head of McLaws's division was coming into view. They had not been in the fight for the river crossing; but like everyone else, they had been on the road since before dawn, a long day's march in the July heat

He finally stepped away from his horse, holding the reins, and walked slowly, grimacing as he stretched, shoulders and back aching. A staff officer came up, saluted, and said he had found a house they could use as headquarters. Pete nodded and followed the man down a bend in the road to a splendid-looking, two-story, Federalist-style mansion on the south side of town.

The lawn was torn up, bits of paper and horse droppings littering it indicating that only a day ago a large number of troops had been here.

" 'The Antrim' locals call it" the staff officer announced. "Nice place."

Pete nodded.

"Fine. Put someone on the main road so they can direct couriers. Send a dispatch back to General Lee telling him I am establishing headquarters here for the night."

"Then we're stopping here?" the officer asked.

Pete slowed, looking up at the captain. Hell of a day. We actually got around them. Buford's dead. Damn, John was a good man. His men, most of them, got out though, riding in every damn direction.

He sighed, coming to a stop, leaning against his horse for support

Meade must know by now. That fight started around the bridge early in the afternoon. He must be sending something down here by now, perhaps a full corps. And to the east Prisoners were saying there were a hell of a lot supplies already stockpiled at Westminster, but that was still another ten miles away.

We stop tonight Meade could pull out start moving down that road, maybe even get troops into Westminster by dawn.

Everything was so damn confusing. He was exhausted, needed food, needed to just relieve himself, to then sit and think.

"Get into that house; see if you can rustle up some food, a place to sit down; get the maps out I want McLaws and Hood in here, and see if one of our boys can find a few locals who are on our side.

The captain looked at him, confused.

"Well?"

"Which do you want me to do first sir?" "Let's start with the food." Pete sighed. "Now get moving.

The captain nodded and turned, trotting off, heading to the mansion still a hundred yards away, Pete walking stiffly, leading his exhausted mount

He heard another rider coming up and, looking back, saw that it was McLaws, trailing a few staff officers, all of them covered m the white chalky dust kicked up from the crushed limestone paving of the road.

"My God, what a march," McLaws announced, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Pete nodded, saying nothing.

"We camping here, sir? My boys are beat"

Pete stopped, lowering his head. That's what I should do, he realized. We're into their rear, a good march, in spite of the incident back at the bridge. But there's still Westminster. Meade might even be moving toward it now. If he gets there first he can slip around our right and fall back to Washington without a fight… then what?

McLaws looked at him expectantly.

"Behind you? What's going on?"

"Hood's boys are blown, still forming up back at the bridge. A rider just came up reporting that the head of Hill's corps is just coming into Emmitsburg.''

"Our corps artillery?"

"Between Emmitsburg and the bridge."

Pete looked back up at McLaws. "My men did over twenty-five miles, general. Even Old Jack would be proud of what we did today."

That rankled him slightly. Always it was Old Jack.

He exhaled noisily, looking back down at the ground, kicking at the dust "One hour here. Get your men fed, get water. Then I want you back on the road."

"Sir?"

"On the road. It'll cool off a bit at dusk. On the road by dusk. You should have good moonlight. I want you to push to Westminster."

"Sir, that's kinda risky to my way of thinking."

"Goon."

"Hood here. Me heading off to God knows where? Sir, I'll bet at least ten percent of my men are dropped somewhere between here and Emmitsburg. You push us through the night and I won't have a thousand left standing under their colors come dawn."

"I don't push you now, and we have to attack there tomorrow, you won't have a thousand left come sunset" Pete whispered. "It's the good ground. It's always about the good ground. Who gets it first holds it and makes the other man attack. I'd rather have your men half-dead from exhaustion, than dead forever up here in Maryland."

McLaws lowered his head. "What about the road north of here, the one going straight to Gettysburg."

"There's nothing on it yet. As Hood comes up, I'll have him cover that approach."

'Three hours, at least give 'em that chance to cook up a decent meal, find clean water, sleep a little bit"

Pete shook his head. "Give 'em three hours, and they'll stiffen up and be useless. An hour, then march. I want you on the road by dusk."

"Why then?"

"I want those retreating Yankee cavalry to see you. I don't know what they have in Westminster, but I'm willing to bet it will be like Second Manassas, maybe a couple of good regiments, but the rest of 'em units assigned to guard detail because their commanders feel they can spare them. Hell, we do the same thing. We pick the unit we feel is used up or can't be relied on anymore to guard the wagon trains. It'll be a scratch command down there, and it will fall apart the moment you push it

"You on the road, heading straight at them"-Pete forced a smile-"it just might spook them."

"And suppose those Yankee cavalry are waiting?"

"You'll have a hundred or so mounted in front to feel out any traps. But I think they're played out. John Buford is dead."

"Damn," McLaws whispered. "I didn't know that"

"You marched past his body back at the bridge. We captured Gamble; looks like he'll lose an arm. The fight is out of them. They'll give back, falling into Westminster, and, General, I want you in there by dawn."

McLaws finally nodded in agreement

"Good. My headquarters will be here until General Lee comes up. I'll try and come up to you in the morning. Take the town; block the roads coming down from the north."

"The north?"

"That road that heads north, goes straight through the village of Harney and then on to Gettysburg. Apparently a fair part of the Union army moved up it yesterday. They just might turn around and come straight back down. If so, Hood will have to block it until the rest of the army comes in and can be passed along to you. So until that happens, you, sir, will be the lead on the right, while Hood holds the center here.

"Sooner or later Meade will wake up. And when he does, General, I want you on there, dug in and ready."

McLaws saluted and started to turn.

"They just might be on the edge of a panic," Longstreet said. "If so, fuel it, get them running. Get them running."

7:45 PM, JULY 2,1863

TANEYTOWN-HARNEY ROAD, THREE MILES NORTH OF TANEYTOWN

He let his horse gulp down water for a minute, dismounting with Warren, kneeling down into the cool stream to splash his face with water, then taking a canteen, filling it, and half draining it.

Even as he did so, Henry looked around warily. It was the same place he had stopped only the day before, riding north to Gettysburg. He knew that for certain because the dead trooper, who had been in the back of the ambulance when he had stopped here on the way to Gettysburg, was lying by the side of the stream. He tried, not to notice him, though the scent of his body hung heavy in the evening air.

They had begun to pass cavalrymen from Buford's command a half hour ago, small scattered detachments from half a dozen regiments, the men moving slowly, dejected, talking of a terrible fight along the road half a dozen miles away. He had let most of them go, telling them to stay the hell off the road and let the infantry, pass. A dozen or so, who still seemed game, he had drafted as an escort. The men were on the far side of the creek, obviously nervous, carbines unsheathed.

A broken unit always made a minor setback sound like a defeat and a defeat a disastrous rout. These men were talking about thousands of Rebs. Whether it was true or not, he sensed they'd know in a few more minutes, and his gut instinct was to be ready.

Standing up, he pulled out his revolver, half-cocked it, checked the spin, making sure percussion caps were in place, then gently let the hammer back down. He mounted, looking over at Warren, who was already mounted and waiting.

He followed Warren's lead, splashing up the opposite bank. The waiting troopers, led by a grim-faced lieutenant with a cheek laid open by a shell fragment or bullet, spread out as they went down the road. They were very good, moving cautiously, a couple of men on the road, the rest filtering into the trees, meadows, and cornfields to either side of the lane. Several of them would move forward a hundred yards, pause, look around, then motion the rest up, who would leapfrog forward. And then the ritual would be repeated again.

Twilight was setting in, the western sky a dull, shimmering red, a dark, haze-shrouded sun slipping below the horizon; flashes of heat lightning, or was it gunfire, sparkled to the east

They reached a broad, open plateau. Henry remembered it. Taneytown was just a mile or so off. The lead trooper out ahead stopped, leaned forward slightly, then held his hand up.

Henry nudged his mount the poor beast breathing hard as it slowly went up to a trot Warren by his side. They came up to the trooper's side. The lieutenant already had his field glasses out Henry looked over at him in the twilight The glasses were high quality, beautiful brass trim work, the man dressed in what was obviously a tailored uniform. Dandy or not he at least was here rather than safely back home in some countinghouse or law office in New York, angry about the retreat glad to have fallen in with someone from headquarters who wanted to find out what the hell was going on.

"There, sir," the lieutenant whispered, and he pointed, even as he passed over his field glasses.

There was no need for them though. Clouds of dust were boiling up from a road, most likely the main pike between Taneytown and Emmitsburg. In the fields north of town hundreds of campfires sparkled, troops swarming around them.

Far closer though, not a quarter mile away, a skirmish line of Reb infantry was deployed, advancing toward them.

A flash of gunfire, the report of the rifle echoing even as a bullet hummed overhead.

"Infantry, lots of it" Warren announced.

"As we told you," the lieutenant replied, a bit of a sarcastic edge to his voice.

"Son, we had to see it for ourselves," Warren replied soothingly. "Those were Meade's orders. I never doubted you."

A couple of the troopers escorting them dismounted. Drawing his Sharps carbine, one of the troopers levered up his rear sight, squatted down in the middle of the road, and took careful aim.

‘Not yet," Henry said.

Annoyed, the man looked up at him.

It was getting dark, but the field glasses revealed a lot Troops were marching through the town, visible through side alleys and where the road they were on finally intersected with the main road in the middle of the village. He caught a glimpse of what looked to be a field piece crossing the intersection.

Another bullet snicked past and then another, this one kicking up a plume of dust in the middle of the road, Warren's horse snorting and backing up.

"Damn it sir, they're getting close," the lieutenant announced.

"Open up on them," Henry, replied.

The trooper sitting in the middle of the road fired first followed a few seconds later by several more, one of the men catching Henry's eye, silhouetted by the western twilight, poised in the saddle, horse absolutely still as the man took careful aim, a bright flash of light erupting as he squeezed the trigger. He watched for several seconds, cursed under his breath, and then levered the breech open, reaching into his cartridge box for another round.

"A division at least," Warren said, "and looks like they're continuing east toward Westminster."

"Can't see their colors though," Henry replied. He looked back to the lieutenant.

"You said you were fighting Hood?"

"Yes, sir. We caught a couple of them before we got flanked. It was Hood's division."

"Wonder if that's them in the town?" Warren muttered.

"You want me to go down and ask?" the lieutenant interjected.

Henry looked over at him. The youth wasn't being sarcastic; he was trying to make a joke, and Henry nodded.

"It's more than Hood" Henry offered "The battle with you at the river was mid-afternoon. Take a couple of hours to get everyone reorganized and on the road What's down there now is the next division, pushed through, continuing on. Hood will come up later. Or maybe the next division has already moved on, and that's Hood coming in to occupy Taneytown."

"We're being flanked," Warren interjected. "By God, he's done it to us again. Longstreet's corps, and I'm willing to bet Hill is right behind him. Back at Gettysburg Ewell is just demonstrating to keep our attention. As soon as it gets dark, he'll pull out as well."

"I could have told you three hours ago we were facing the head of their army," the lieutenant offered and this time there was a bitterness to his voice. "Just like yesterday, bur we didn't have Reynolds this time to come in as support Damn, if we'd had the ammunition, a brigade of infantry, and a couple of batteries, we could have held that bridge till hell froze over."

The skirmishing was picking up. A ball slapped dangerously close, passing between Henry and Warren.

Warren turned his horse.

"The line we surveyed yesterday, Henry. Do you think they know about it?"

"If not Longstreet will figure it out real quick. He has a damn good eye for ground."

"I'm figuring the same."

"Lieutenant pull back slowly, keep an eye on things. You've got a division of infantry coming up. They should be approaching in another hour or so. I'll tell them to deploy on the far side of the creek, but there isn't anything they can do tonight. You help them get a feel for things. General Hunt and I are going back to headquarters."

"I got maybe a hundred rounds left for the men with me," the lieutenant replied.

"Then use them wisely" Warren replied.

The two started off, moving at not much more than a steady trot

"Do you think Meade's already moving?" Henry asked. "By God, if they're advancing on Westminster, we've got to get troops in there by dawn."

"Sedgwick just marched his entire corps up from there, thirty miles straight. If he pulled the rest of Fifth off the line while we were coming down here, he just might make it by dawn."

"Do you think he did that?" Warren said nothing.

As they crossed back over the stream, Henry looked again at the dead trooper lying in the shadows. He wondered if someone would finally get around to burying him. Behind them, the lieutenant, with a dozen men and a hundred rounds, slowly gave ground in the opening shots of the battle for Taneytown.

11:00 PM, JULY 2,1863

WESTMINSTER

"Are you certain about this, Major?"

Gen. Herman Haupt commander of the U.S. Military Railroads, looked up at the begrimed officer standing before him. The flickering of the coal oil lamp hanging from the ceiling of the tavern made the cavalryman look deathly pale.

"I'm certain of it, sir. There's Confederate infantry on the road not five miles from here. I saw them with my own eyes. Column of infantry, moving slow but moving, skirmishers deployed forward. I was up in a barn about a hundred yards off the road. We'd pulled in mere to look for some fodder for our horses and rest a bit Next thing I know, the road is swarming with Rebs."

"A brigade, a division, a corps?" "I didn't stay around to count them, sir. I took my men and we got the hell out of there."

Haupt nodded, looking back down at the map traced on a scrap a paper spread out on the bar.

The first word that trouble was brewing had come in just before six, a lone trooper, absolutely panic-stricken, riding down the main street shouting that the Rebs were coming. He had the man arrested, given a drink to calm him down, and the shaken boy claimed that there had been a vicious fight west of Taneytown. Buford was dead, Gamble dead, and the entire division routed.

By eight, more troopers were coming in; enough information forming that Haupt had finally sent a dispatch rider back to Baltimore bearing a report that there had been an action of at least division-level strength. He then called an officers' meeting, which had proven to be chaotic. There was no real system of unified command here, with units from seven different corps assigned to guard duty. He had over ten thousand men here, including the heavy artillery units sent up from Washington, but each of them answered to a different commander, and they were not all that enthusiastic about taking orders from him, an unknown. Several of the regimental commanders openly called for an immediate evacuation. The meeting ended with him ordering them to get their troops ready for a fight and deploy to the west side of town.

Now more and more defeated cavalry troopers were coming in, singly, in small bands, and this major with a hundred or so men.

He looked out the window and could feel the beginnings of panic. Civilians were again out in the street; men were gathered in small knots talking, obviously agitated. It wasn't looking good..

Until this hit, everything had been going according to plan. The third convoy of trains had come up early in the evening, been unloaded, and sent back. Another convoy was due at two in the morning. So far he had unloaded over fifty carloads of rations, rifle and artillery ammunition, shoes, medical supplies, including dozens of oversized hospital tents. Wood was stockpiled, the bucket brigade to water die engines was working, and several hundred laborers had built a fairly adequate platform for unloading and half a dozen roughshod, open-sided sheds to store ammunition and rations.

Now what?

I have no orders to evacuate. In fact, I can't If I do that it will leave the army dangling twenty-five miles away at Gettysburg, cut off, with only the supplies in their haversacks and the field ammunition trains.to support them. I've got nearly five thousand wagons here, waiting to start the convoying of supplies up to the front once the order is given. Try to pull those out now in the middle of the night and it will trigger a panic.

He looked back down at the map. Lose this and the army is cut off. He looked back up at the major. "Get some rest, but report back to me at dawn."

"Where, sir?"

"Why, here of course."

"Didn't you hear me, sir? You got Rebs, thousands of them, not three hours' march away." "I know that I believe your report." "And what's to stop them?"

"You, Major, for one. The troops I have here in town. Besides, Meade will have a corps down here by morning." "Really?" "Of course."

He fixed the major with his best poker gaze. He had sent two dispatches up to Meade this evening, the last one going out an hour ago with the report that Westminster was threatened. All that had come back so far were reports dated from late in the afternoon, reporting back to the War Department routine dispatches that said precious little other than, that Lee seemed to be skirmishing but not yet fully attacking at Gettysburg.

He could only hope that by now Meade had stirred himself and was sending something down this way by force march. But to say anything different… not now.

The major nodded and wearily left the tavern. Herman watched him go, then called for an orderly to go back out and round up all the unit commanders yet again. Troops had to be deployed, dug in, streets barricaded, supply wagons moved to the east side of town.

Even as he started to give orders, the cavalry major was back out on the street, getting on his mount A sergeant holding the bridle, looked up. "So what did he say, Major?"

"Darn, fool plans to defend the town rather than evacuate."

"Our orders, sir?"

"Find a place to camp. We report to him at dawn."

"Shit sir. The whole Reb army will be here by morning."

"I know, Sergeant Let's get the men rested, then find some ammunition. There's gonna be one hell of a battle here come dawn."

"For what? So we can get killed come dawn? Goddamn generals have done it to us again." "Enough, Sergeant. Enough." The two rode off.

Dick Hansen, a mule driver with Third Corps, his wagon loaded with thirty boxes of.58-cal. rifle cartridges, was leaning against the side of the tavern soaking up every word. He had slipped into town after dark, dodging around the provost guards and laborers, looking for a drink, just a single damn drink. It had been three long days since he had tasted a drop. The tavern, of course, had been a draw, even though such places were always lousy with officers. And now this.

Rumors had been drifting through the vast wagon parks since mid-aftemoon. Meade was dead, the army defeated yet again; then someone reported he had climbed a church steeple and seen smoke off to the west Now those cavalry boys riding in, all lathered up, scared half to death.

So now he knew… and he'd be damned if he got killed just because some goddamn general wanted to make a name for himself. He'd seen battle once, at Fair Oaks. The humiliation of being drummed through the camp, the sign declaring that he was a coward hung around his neck, the taunts of the bastards for his having excused himself from certain suicide by running away, didn't bother him all that much. Let them get killed. In fact, he later heard most of them had gotten killed at Antietam..

Lousy bastards deserved it Service with the supply trains, which his captain had sent him to, that's where a man of intelligence should be anyhow. Good rations in the wagons, always a chance for a bottle, even for the girls who trailed along behind the army, though such pleasures did eat up most of the pay of twelve damn greenbacks a month.

And twelve dollars a month wasn't enough to stay here. Not with those wolves coming this way. He'd seen them once, not much better than animals the way the Rebs came charging in. And by God, that's what they would do here come dawn.

Dick Hansen slipped away into the dark, dodging through back alleyways, finally reaching his wagon. The mules, stinking lousy beasts, were hitched up. Let the others unhitch theirs, but not Dick Hansen. Something told him it was going to get hot, so he had left them in their harnesses throughout the day, ready to go at a moment's notice.

He climbed up onto the rough seat and untied the reins.

"Come on, you sons of bitches," he hissed.

"Hey, Hansen, what the hell are you doing?"

It was Ben Fredericks, another driver with First Corps, his wagon parked next to Dick's. Ben, sleepy-eyed, was peeking out from the tailgate.

"We're ordered back to Baltimore," Dick announced.

"What?"

"Whole goddamn rebel army is coming this way!" Dick shouted. "I was down at headquarters. Orders are coming out now for us to get the hell outta here."

"What the hell you say, Hansen?"

Shit It was Sergeant Vernon, supposedly in charge of their detachment coming out from behind his wagon parked behind Fredericks's.

"You heard me, Sergeant A whole rebel corps is marching right this way."

"From where, damn it?"

"That road going west Taneytown, I heard. They've licked the army, and we're ordered out of here." 'I ain't heard nothing."

'Well, you just heard it from me, Sarge, and I'm following orders!

"Come on, you sons of bitches!"

He cracked the whip over the ears of the lead mule, and the six whip-scarred beasts lurched forward, squeezing between two parked wagons, heading out across the field, weaving their way around hundreds of other wagons.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The cry echoed and reechoed across the field.

"Army's beat, Rebs are coming here by dawn, and we're pulling back to Baltimore. You all better get moving right now!"

And the panic began.

11:30 PM, JULY 2,1863

THE ANTRIM, TANEYTOWN

"General Longstreet, it's General Lee."

Sprawled out on a sofa in the front parlor, Longstreet came awake. Someone had draped a comforter over his body, and he pushed it back. Embarrassed, he sat up.

I wasn't supposed to do this, Pete thought Not with men still on the march. All he could remember was coming into the house, speaking to the owner for a moment assuring him that his property would be respected and all that was needed was the parlor.

He had sat down, just to take a moment-to collect his thoughts.

"How long have I been asleep?" Pete asked. "About four hours, sir. We kind of figured you needed a bit of a rest"

"You shouldn't have done that" "Sir, you needed it"

It was Alexander, his young acting chief of corps artillery, leaning against a table brought into the middle of the parlor, several of his staff gathered around the maps spread out on it There was the smell of coffee in the air and fresh baked bread.

"Good hosts," Alexander said, coming over, offering

Longstreet a fine china cup filled to the brim with coffee and a piece of buttered bread.

Pete nodded thanks, drank down a mouthful of the scalding brew, and then consumed the bread.

"Where's General Lee?"

"He's in the town, sir. Someone just rode in to report. I sent an orderly up to guide him here."

Pete nodded, standing up, suppressing a groan from the ache in his back and lower legs.

"What happened while I was asleep?" Pete asked.

"Nothing to worry about, sir. A rider came in from McLaws about a half hour ago. He's halfway to Westminster, reports no resistance. Hood's division is here; they're deployed out north of town blocking the road from Gettysburg. A bit of skirmishing there a couple of hours ago, a few cavalry stragglers. A report that some Yankee infantry is on that road on the other side of a creek a couple of miles north of town."

"Infantry? How much. Who?"

"Not sure, sir. It was dark. But they're there."

"Hill?"

"Head of his column is coming in now. Pettigrew, he's commanding Heth's division. They're filling in on the right of Hood and going into camp. Pender is behind them."

A commotion outside stilled their conversation. Pete looked out the window. It was General Lee, staff trailing behind him, dismounting.

Pete stepped out of the parlor. The wide double doors of the mansion were open, torchlight outside casting a warm light on Lee, who stiffly dismounted, patting Traveler on the neck before letting an orderly take his beloved mount away.

Pete went out onto the porch and saluted as Lee ever so slowly came up the steps.

"General, it does my heart good to see you," Lee said.

The way he said it caused a flood of emotion inside of Pete. He had always respected Lee, admired his audacity, even though he had not agreed, at times, with how that audacity was played out But the way he said, It does my heart good," touched him. He knew it was real.

Pete extended his hand, helping Lee up the last step. The clasp held for a second. Lee, several inches shorter, looked up into Pete's eyes. "You should be proud, sir, in fact the entire South will be proud of what your boys did today."

"You were the one who gave the orders," Pete replied, suddenly embarrassed.

"A day ago, at just about this time, I was ready to attack at Gettysburg yet again. I realized, though, that your words, your advice, were correct If ever someone writes a history of this army, they will cite this march as one of the great feats of this war, sir."

"Ewell and Stuart?" Pete asked, features red, wishing to change the subject

"I received a report an hour ago from Taylor. Two of Ewell's divisions were on the road after dark. The last is to pull out by midnight Stuart will stay in the Gettysburg area through tomorrow, demonstrating to their front and right"

"We need to concentrate our army now, sir," Longstreet said. "We are in a dangerous position at the moment. Those people are concentrated and rested. We are strung out yet along thirty miles of road and tired. We must bring everything together tomorrow."-

As they spoke, the two walked into the parlor, Pete's staff respectfully coming to attention. Lee gazed at the map for a moment, nodding approvingly, asking about the Union deployment north of Taneytown and the latest report from McLaws.

Finally he went over to the sofa that Longstreet had been dozing on and sat down.

Nothing needed to be said. The staff withdrew out into the corridor, the last man out extinguishing the coal-oil lamp — on the table. Before they had even closed the door, General Lee was asleep.

The men looked at Pete, and he could see they were gazing at him in "that way," the look usually reserved for Lee or for Old Jack.

Longstreet nervously-cleared his throat and walked back out on to the veranda. Fishing in his breast pocket, he pulled out a cigar and struck a Lucifer, puffing the cigar, exhaling sofdy.

The almost full moon was high in the Southern sky. It was a good night, a very good night

11:45 PM, JULY 2, 1863

HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, GETTYSBURG

"We move starting at four in the morning," Meade repeated, looking up bleary-eyed at Henry and Warren. "But sir, by then they'll be in Westminster." "I just got the latest dispatch from there sent up by Haupt It gives no indication of that other than some cavalry from Buford drifting in, reporting the action at Monocacy Creek."

"And that dispatch was dated three hours ago, about the same time we were in front of Taneytown. A lot can happen in those three hours."

Meade sat back in his chair, taking another sip of coffee. "Sedgwick's men are in no shape to march. They covered damn near thirty-five miles today. The only other unit in reserve is Fifth Corps. I've already dispatched one division; the other two will join them by seven in the morning.

"We're leaving First and Eleventh here. They're fought out anyhow, and besides, there're over five thousand wounded here to cover. And someone has to watch Stuart and Ewell, our own cavalry is in such disarray. That leaves Second, Third, and Twelfth Corps, which I'm sending down the Baltimore Pike toward Westminster, and they have to be pulled off the line and shifted over. Try to do that in the middle of the night, and it will be chaos."

He looked down again at the map. "No, no, we try to move them now, they'll be exhausted come dawn and not more than five miles on the road anyhow, with twenty more to go. Let them rest; they'll need it"

Henry could almost feel a sense of pity for this man. He knew that something inside was tearing at him, the realization that if he had reacted immediately, when that first courier had come in, an entire corps could already be approaching Westminster, with Fifth Corps hitting Taneytown.

What would history say of those lost six hours? Wasted, wasted on a damn staff meeting that had dragged on for over two hours of bitter arguing. One of Hancock's orderlies had filled him in on it Hancock shouting that they should move now, Sickles arguing that his corps should storm straight across that ridge he had been obsessed with all day, Howard saying it was a trap for them to stay put and Sedgwick so exhausted he had fallen asleep in the corner.

By the end of the meeting, a couple of dozen stragglers from Buford had come in, grim evidence of what was going on to the south. At that point it was already getting dark, and yet in spite of the evidence, Howard kept pointing to Seminary Ridge, the hundreds of campfires flaring to life, and there had been more hesitation.

Finally he had decided, at nine, that the army would move, its primary axis dropping back on Westminster, with a secondary thrust toward Taneytown, but to do so at first light Seventy-five thousand men, hundreds of wagons, over two hundred artillery pieces were concentrated on just a few square miles of ground. Moving that in the dark would be madness; starting it six hours ago, it could have been done.

And those six hours were gone forever, wasted, and Meade knew it

"If they take Westminster, we're cut off from Washington," Meade whispered. "They'll go insane down there. Halleck, Stanton, the president all of them will be screaming for me to attack."

"Lee won't turn on Washington," Warren offered, "not with us in his rear. He'll have to face us."

''Will he?"

"He wouldn't dare make that move. We've still got over twenty thousand troops garrisoned in Washington behind the heaviest fortification system in the world. He'd never go up against that not with us coming down behind him."

"So he'll dig in along Westminster?'' Meade asked.

The tone caught Henry off guard. He was not used to Meade asking for advice, for support He was obviously rattled, ready to drop with exhaustion, suddenly frightened by the prospect of all that was unfolding. It frightened Henry. That kind of mood is contagious. It starts with the commander, and then spreads like a plague down the line. It was like that at Chancellorsville and at Second Manassas, the last hours when Pope fell into a panic.

"It's a tough position," Henry offered. "There're two things to hope for though."

"And that is?"

"Get there fast sir. They most likely will attack Westminster by dawn."

Meade lowered his head.

"Herman Haupt is in command down there," Warren offered. "He's got somewhere around ten thousand men. He might very well put up a hell of a fight If he does and the lead column pushes hard enough, it can still be retrieved."

"Put Hancock in the lead," Henry offered. "His troops are almost astride the Baltimore Road. Get them moving now."

"That will leave the center open," Meade replied.

"It's no longer the center," Warren responded forcefully. "Put Hancock on the road now, then Sickles as planned, followed by Twelfth Corps; Sixth in reserve ready to move either toward Westminster or Taneytown. The Fifth hits Taneytown, perhaps severing their line of advance."

"And if Haupt can't hold Westminster?''

"The second hope," Henry interjected, "is that if they have taken Westminster, it will most likely only be a division at most. They'll be exhausted, troops strung out from Emmitsburg to Westminster, with die head at Westminster. They might not have time to survey the ground up around Pipe Creek. Hancock forces the creek and deploys. We cut off their head at Westminster. We'll then be astride our base of supplies, with Lee strung out We then start pushing west, rolling him up, and meeting the Fifth Corps in Taneytown."

"You think we can do that?"

Meade was indeed exhausted, Henry realized. No sleep. for two days, suddenly overwhelmed by the full realization that Lee had again done the unexpected. He needed sleep.

I do too, Henry thought I can barely stand.

Worn down and demoralized, Meade could only nod.

"Fine then. All right send someone up to Hancock. It's almost midnight now. Tell him I want his corps to quietly pack it up, to start moving at two in the morning. Tell Howard to then detach a brigade, push them down to fill in along Hancock's line."

Warren and Hunt looked at each other. They'd won their point

"Get some sleep, sir," Warren offered.

There was no need to give the advice though. Meade's head was resting on the table. He was out

The two stepped out onto the porch and spotted a young orderly sitting on the steps. It was Meade's son, new to the staff.

"Your father," Henry said softly, "get him into bed and make sure he gets at least four hours' rest"

The boy, who had been dozing, came awake, nodded, and went inside.

Henry pulled out his watch. By the light of the moon, he could read it… midnight

"I'll take the orders up to Hancock," Warren offered. "Get some sleep, Henry. Tomorrow's going to be a tough day."

Henry didn't need to be told. He stepped off the porch. His orderly had unsaddled Henry's horse and spread out a blanket the saddle as a pillow.

Henry nodded his thanks and collapsed on the ground.

The last minutes of July 2,1863, ticked down for Henry; and in a few minutes he was fast asleep, falling into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

11:50 PM, JULY 2,1863

NEAR TANEYTOWN

John Williamson sat down on the cool, damp ground with a stifled groan, leaning back against the trunk of an ancient oak. The campfires around

him were beginning to flicker down. The men had been given a few hours to cook a hurried dinner, a short rest, and then orders to be ready to march long before dawn.

Hazner was by his side, curled up on the bare ground, a tattered quilt his blanket, haversack a pillow. He was snoring away contentedly, and John envied him his oblivion.

The march had been grueling, John and Hazner assigned to the rear of the regimental column to prod the men along, and when necessary to sign off permission for men too exhausted, or sick, to fall out of the line of march. Between yesterday's battle and the stragglers, the regiment was down to less than half of what it had been only three days ago.

He tried to close his eyes, to sleep as Hazner did, but couldn't Finally he reached into his haversack and pulled out a small leather-bound volume. Elizabeth had given it to him on the day he left for the war, and the mere touch of it made him smile, remembering how she had kissed the book before handing it to him, asking him to write often, that it would be the way in which they could still touch each other. She had fancied him to be a writer, and the thought of it made him smile. She who loved Scott Hugo, and Dickens fancied that perhaps he would become such as well.

He opened the volume up and skimmed through it The first months of his journal were filled with pages of neatly written notes, vignettes when the world still seemed so young and innocent… a snowfall in camp and how the boys from the hot bottomlands of Carolina had frolicked… the first shock of battle before Richmond… the strange night after Fredericksburg when the Northern Lights appeared*-a sign of the Norse gods gathering in the souls of the slain- and then long weeks of nothing, just blank pages.

He fumbled for a pencil in his haversack and rested the volume in his lap, looking off across the fields, the shadows of men covering the ground, the warm, pleasant smell of wood smoke and coffee, so reminiscent of a world of long ago.

"My dearest Elizabeth," he wrote, hesitated, then scratched me line out No, this is just for myself..

"I am in Maryland tonight" he began again, now writing for himself. "At least I think that is where we are. It gets confusing at times with all the marching. A long one today, twenty miles or more. Tomorrow there will be another fight; if not tomorrow, then the day after.

"Why I am here I can no longer say with any certainty. There was a time, long ago, when I believed, but in what I can no longer say. All I long for is for this to end, to go home, and to somehow leave behind all that I have seen, to forget all that I have felt I feel a shadow walking beside me, filling my nights with coldness. If I live, perhaps there will be a day when we will speak of these times with pride, but will I be there? And if not what will be then said of me? What will you say, Elizabeth, if I do not return? Will you remember me? Will you wait for me across the long years of your life, or will memory fade and one day you will seek warmth, seek love with another?"

He stopped for a moment pencil raised, ready to scratch out the last line. What if I die, and she reads that?

No, let her. Fine for others to hide their fears with noble sentiments, but this is my life, the only one I shall ever have. There is no romance in this agony, and those who speak of glory rarely have seen the truth of it

He looked back down at the page.

"I wish I could fool myself into believing that what I do matters," he wrote. "But does it? Why did this war have to come into my life? Why now? Elizabeth, I would trade, in ah instant, all of this for just a day, a night as it once was, as it should have been for us. I care not for what others speak of, of all the things we now say caused this war. I just long to go home… but I cannot… and I fear I never will.

"I just want to live. If I should survive this, all I ask is for you to stay by my side, for us to grow old together in peace."

"Writing in that book again, sir?"

John nervously looked up. It was Hazner, half sitting up, looking over at him. John hurriedly closed the book.

"Yeah."

"Ruin your eyes, John, writing by moonlight" John laughed shyly but said nothing.

'Writing to her?" 'Wot really."

"Why don't you get some rest, Major. We're goin' to need it come morning."

"Can't get to sleep." George sat up, stretched, and looked around. "Everything — quiet?" "Yup."

"John, you shouldn't think so much." "Can't help it"

"Like I always said, if your name's on the bullet, your name's on the bullet Nothing can change that" "Wish I had your Presbyterian view of life." 'What? You know I'm Baptist." John laughed softly and shook his head. George grinned softly.

"Do you think we'll ever get home?" John asked, and then instantly regretted the question. Though they had been friends since childhood, still, out here the social division between officer and sergeant should have stopped him from ever asking that And yet, though surrounded by these thousands of men, never had he felt so lonely and haunted.

"I guess most soldiers wonder that," George offered. "Even them fellas that marched with Pharoah against Moses, as you read about in the Bible. Just before they got to the Red Sea, I bet one of them asked the man next to him, "

'Hey, think we'll get home for dinner tonight after killing that Moses?"

George laughed softly at his own joke. "Worrying ain't gonna change it"

John said nothing, but he could not help but wonder, were they indeed like Pharoah's army? Was God, and dare he think it, if there is a God, does He stand against us or with us. John stuffed the book back into his haversack and slid down, resting his head against a root of the oak tree.

"Something changed today. I could've sworn we'd go straight into that town," John whispered. "I wonder about that How a general looks at a map, ponders on it, then says,

'No, let us go here rather than there.' You could sense that from Walter Taylor. I wonder if that means that you and I will now live, or…" His question trailed off.

"We're here, John. Just let it go at that You did good yesterday. I heard the men talking about it"

'About what?"

"How you led that charge. They believe in you." "Do your

George chuckled. "Course J do; otherwise I wouldn't scrounge up coffee and borrow money from you. Of course I do. Just that you think too much at times."

John was silent for a moment "George, if something does happen to me."

‘I know," George whispered, "but it won't. I got a feeling

for these things. You'll go home when this is done. Be a judge like your poppa, maybe even a congressman someday, and have lots of children."

John looked at the cold, uncaring heavens. To think of that dream was too painful to bear, and he pushed it away. He wanted to say more, but a moment later he heard Hazner snoring. His friend had drifted back off*.

Alone, John looked at the low-hanging moon as it crossed the midnight sky.