Gettysburg

Chapter Twelve

4:15 AM, JULY 3,1863

THE ANTRIM, TANEYTOWN

"General Longstreet." A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment It was Alexander, his artillery chief.

"General Lee is awake. He wants you, sir."

Pete sat up on the blanket that he had spread out on the floor and stood up, stockinged feet hitting the cool, polished wood. All was quiet in the house, the pale glow of moonlight shining in through the high windows, casting soft blue shadows across the room.

Alexander motioned toward the parlor, across the hallway, where the gentle glow of a coal-oil lamp flickered. Whispered voices echoed. Leaving his comer of the dining room, where he had fallen asleep on the floor, Longstreet stepped out into the main corridor that ran down the length of the house. A dozen or more men were sprawled out several snoring loudly. A private quietly tiptoed down the hallway, carrying an empty coffeepot heading to the kitchen.

The old man had a firm and fast rule. If they occupied a house, try not to intrude too much. The upstairs was off-limits, the fine feathered beds being used even now by the owner and his family. It was amazing the number of men in the house, the hundred or more camped outside, and how quiet it was. The sleep of exhaustion, Pete realized. How the old man had the energy to be up now was beyond him. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. By the reflected moonlight, he saw it was a little after four. Lee had grabbed only three or four hours at most.

He ran a hand through his hair and half buttoned his uniform jacket His mouth felt gummy, sour tasting. How long since I bathed? He couldn't remember. A cool stream, a bar of soap, how nice that would be right now. And fresh clothes, a white boiled shirt, clean socks. God, how I must smell. He had left his boots back in the room, thought about putting them on, and then decided not to.

He crossed over to the parlor.

Lee, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, was leaning over a table, map spread out Walter Taylor was with him and several staff. They looked up at Pete, and he could see the exhaustion in their eyes.

"You sent for me, General?" Pete asked. "What is it? Problems with Ewell?" and he looked over at Taylor. The young man was obviously on the point of collapse, and Pete sensed he had just come in from Gettysburg.

"No, sir," Taylor replied. "I left Gettysburg a little after ten at night. The last of Ewell's divisions, Johnson's, was starting to file onto the road. Stuart was demonstrating hard, and the Yankees still seemed to be in place."

"Then what is it?"

"A courier just came in from McLaws," Lee announced. "They've yet to take Westminster. He's stopped on the outskirts."

Pete said nothing.

"I understand you ordered him to take the town by dawn."

"Yes, sir, I did. If he stopped, there must be a reason."

"The courier from McLaws reports that a civilian came into McLaws's lines from Union Mills" As he spoke, he pointed to the map, and Pete leaned over to study the position.

"This civilians report, we have to give it the most serious consideration," Lee reported. "He claimed Stuart slept in his house on June thirtieth and agreed to stay in our camp, under guard, until Stuart would verify his veracity. He claims

Sedgwick's entire corps force-marched through, heading to Gettysburg on the morning of the second."

"That's good news at least," Pete offered. "It means Sedgwick must have marched twenty, maybe even thirty miles yesterday. His men are exhausted and now in Gettysburg. That accounts for all their corps."

"But Hancock is moving back down the road to Westminster," Lee replied.

Pete nodded.

"We had to expect they'd move sometime."

"I was hoping for eight to twelve more hours, but then again we were lucky to get this far without interference."

"Meade is no Burnside or McClellan," Pete said. "He's cautious, but he will react correctly once he's sure of the threat"

"This civilian reports that a courier came into Union Mills shortly after one in the morning. He reined in, asked for directions, and this civilian claims that he overhead the courier saying that the Union army was pulling back from Gettysburg, with Hancock in the lead, heading toward Westminster."

Pete nodded. It usually wasn't like Lee to kick up a fuss over the report of a lone civilian, especially one who was not a Virginian. But at this moment it had to be accepted.

"McLaws believed the report and sent it by fast rider back to me. He's asking for orders, afraid that he'll get tangled into a fight in Westminster. He reports thousands of troops there, including cavalry and some heavy artillery. He's concerned that he'll get engaged, and then Hancock will hit on the flank."

Pete shook his head.

"Hancock won't be there until well after dawn, if at all."

"We must assume they are stirring, General Longstreet. That had to be expected all along, and in fact we want them to."

"Yes, sir, once we've seized a good position."

'I want you to go up and straighten things out yourself."

"Yes,sir."

"McLaws also reports a vast supply train in Westminster. I want that seized. Then we can leave our wagon trains west of the mountains. We can send them back as far as Falling. Waters on the Potomac River for safety. That will free us up to move much more quickly. We will defeat the Union army using their own supplies."

'I’ll leave at once."

"And another thing, General."

"Sir?"

'Talk to this civilian closely. He claims to know the area. The report is that Meade was considering a defensive line along this creek," and again Lee pointed at the map. "Pipe Creek is its name. Several of my staff talked with sympathizers in town here, and they said the same thing, that there were rumors, or they had overheard conversations, that Meade wanted to draw us down here to fight If that is true, that meant he must have picked out a good position."

As he spoke, Lee traced out the creek that flowed north of Westminster and then curved south, just to the east of Taneytown.

"Apparently Meade sent Warren and Henry Hunt to survey it just before things started at Gettysburg. Our supposed friend stated that he watched Warren sketching a map and overheard a statement by Hunt talking about good fields of fire."

Pete nodded. The chief topographical engineer for the army and head of artillery surveying a defensive line? Both of those men knew ground. Given the right spot Hunt was usually brilliant with gun deployment and Pete had sensed his hand in the defense of that accursed Cemetery Hill only two days ago. Any ground they liked was worth looking into.

"I'll push McLaws in, then start moving people here," and Pete traced his finger over the map toward Union Mills. "I'll try and take a look myself, and men send a message back if this is the defensive line we want. What reinforcements can I expect?"

"I'm keeping Hood here," Lee announced. "He's

deployed north of town here, and there's been some skirmishing reported. It looks like Fifth Corps is approaching."

'That splits my command to pieces," Pete said. "McLaws on the right flank, Hood here in the center, and Pickett still twenty or more miles away."

"I know, but it can't be helped. I'm passing Hill's corps up to you. You will take direct command. I've already sent an order to that effect. Hill is too sick to continue."

"The entire corps?"

"Yes, that will give you at least four divisions to secure the right I think Meade will make his main thrust coming down the road to Baltimore. It's the shortest route back to their lines around Washington. They will look to turn our flank there, then slip around and into position. We must not allow that to happen.

"Ewell will file in here by midday, though his men will not be in shape to fight until rested, having marched all night If possible, I will forward up additional troops from him as well. I'll be in direct control here for now."

Pete looked back down at the map. Things were getting a little unorthodox. All three corps were jumbled up and split apart. The last time they had tried a maneuver of this scale was Second Manassas, and both corps had remained intact

What Lee was suggesting here was an ad hoc division of command, Lee directly controlling the center and left and Longstreet the right.

"A long front ten miles or more between Taneytown and Westminster," Longstreet offered.

"I know. Their response will be toward one flank or the other. If aggressive, they'll try and cut us in half here. If more concerned about regaining their base of supplies and protecting Washington, it will be toward Westminster. I suspect it will be the latter. Take that town; get Hill's men in position; see if that civilian's report is accurate.

"While you attend to that I'll have people out surveying the land in between along the south side of this creek.

"If all is secure here, I'll pass Ewell's command down to you as well, or at least give you Pickett by the end of the day. If their main assault comes in this direction,! want you to hold Westminster nevertheless, and I'll send down what I can."

Pete said nothing for a moment and just studied the map. The first hard stage of marching was over. Now it was time to secure the base and then find a good place to hold. If Warren and Hunt had been out exploring this ground, they had found it and would know it He had to get it first

Saluting, Pete left the room and then paused to look back. Lee was still leaning over the map. He caught Taylor's eye. "Get him to sleep," Pete whispered, almost mouthing the words, and Taylor nodded.

Alexander was out in the corridor, holding Pete's boots and a cup of coffee. "Let me help you get these on, sir."

Pete nodded his thanks and sat down, cradling the china cup filled to the brim with the warm brew as Alexander knelt to help him.

"Guess I'm coming with you?" Alexander asked hopefully.

'That you are, young sir. Get outside and round up the rest of the staff; they're going too. I want to move within ten minutes."

Alexander grinned. "I've already called to have our horses saddled."

At forty-two, Pete felt very old. Sighing, he stood up and walked out the door. The horizon to the east revealed the first faint glimmer of dawn of July 3,1863.

5:45 AM, JULY 3,1863

WESTMINSTER

Never had he seen such wild insanity. The main street of Westminster was packed solid with hundreds of wagons, tangled together so tightly that nothing could move. Several wagons were upended, mules still tangled up in their harnesses frantically kicking at each other in their desperate struggle to escape. Most of the wagons were abandoned, drivers having run off, joining in the uncontrollable-stampede heading east

He edged his mount along the narrow sidewalk, his horse nervously stepping over a body sprawled in front of a tavern that had been looted. The man had been shot in the back, a broken bottle of whiskey by his side. A civilian stood in the doorway, an old shotgun cradled in his arms.

Haupt nodded and said nothing. The civilian ignored him.

All order, all control had broken down during the night. How and why it had started he still didn't know. Suddenly hundreds of wagons had begun jockeying to get on the Baltimore Pike, drivers screaming that the Rebs were attacking. He had tried to send a scraped-up detail of men to stem the tide; but it was far too much, and most of them had simply joined the stampede.

Then the wagons still parked to the west side of the town had come pouring in, a wagon loaded with cartridge rounds upending and igniting. The thousands of rounds going off had truly enhanced the terror, flames leaping to a second wagon loaded with artillery shells and several hundred pounds of powder. That had exploded in a massive fireball. Several houses had caught on fire and burned, casting a lurid light on the mad scene.

The houses were still smoldering, a detail of civilians wearily carrying buckets to keep it from spreading. They looked at him coldly as he rode past.

In the early light of dawn, he surveyed the madness: the carnage, burned-out wagons, dead animals, another dead man, this one a cavalry trooper.

To the west he could hear the steady rattle of musketry growing closer.

A mule driver, terrorized, was still with his wagon, stuck in the middle of the street behind an upended load of rations, hemmed in on both sides and to the rear by more wagons, all of them abandoned. In his madness the driver was lashing out with his whip. There was no place for the poor tormented mules to go, and they screamed pitifully as their driver continued to lash them, crying out for them to move.

Herman drew his revolver, disgusted with the spectacle. "Goddamn you, stop that!"

The mule driver looked at him, eyes filled with fear, and continued to lash the bloody backs of the mules.

Herman cocked the revolver, aimed it over the head of the driver, and tired. He re-cocked the pistol and now pointed it straight at the driver's head.

The driver stopped the whipping, looking at Herman with a blank stare.

"Drop that whip, you damn coward."

The man did as ordered.

"Get down off that wagon and do one of two things: either find a rifle and get up on the line or go join the rest of your friends and get the hell out of here. But so help me, you raise that whip again and I'll blow your brains out"

The driver was off the wagon and, uttering a strange animal-like moan, he started to run, heading east away from the fight

The mules looked over at Herman, their backs lashed open. He was tempted to put them out of their misery but couldn't bring himself to do it. He rode on, heading up the slope, the rattle of musketry growing louder.

As he rode he turned and looked back. The street was choked, impassable. He shifted in the saddle, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the message that had come in an hour ago.

Headquarters, Second Corps, Army of the Potomac Near Gettysburg 2:00 AM, July 3,1863

To the commander of the garrison at Westminster Sir, my corps is now on the march, having departed

Gettysburg shortly after one this morning, and shall

approach Westminster via the road to Baltimore. I implore you to hold your position regardless of loss. I shall come to you with all possible speed.

Hancock

If anyone would come with "all possible speed," it was Winfield. If he had been in command of this army, there would have been no delay yesterday afternoon and evening.

But where was the cavalry? One good division right now could make all the difference. Instead, there was nothing but this scratch command and thousands of mule drivers running like madmen in every direction.

As he looked at the nearly impenetrable pileup of wagons clogging the street, a cold voice within told him it was over, to round up a crew, send them down the street, shoot the mules, and start setting the wagons on fire-and try to get out with what he could.

And yet Hancock had said he was coming.

He hesitated to leave his headquarters down at the depot, hoping that somehow, just behind the message that was over three hours old, perhaps Hancock himself just might come riding in with an advance guard.

No, it was twenty-five miles to Gettysburg, a ten-hour march for a corps moving fast, very fast

To the west the sound of fire was picking up. So they were pushing in at last. Hell, a guard of old ladies armed with brooms could have swept them out of there during the worst of the panic.

With dawn breaking, the Rebs had to feel confident now, could see what was ahead, the mad confusion in the town, and would push straight in. He could imagine them over there. The sight of thousands of wagons, the piles of supplies stacked up around the depot these would whip the rebels into a frenzy.

A wounded cavalry trooper came limping down the street blood squishing out of his boot

"How is it up there?" Herman asked.

"Won't hold much longer, sir. Goddamn infantry with us, they're just melting away. If we still had Buford, all the ammunition down here, we'd give 'em a hell of a fight but not now."

Herman nodded, reached into his breast pocket pulled out a notepad, and hurriedly scribbled on it.

"This is a pass for the last train out Get yourself on board"

He passed the note down to the cavalryman, who forced a weak grin and saluted. "Didn't relish the thought of winding up in Libby Prison."

'Trooper, you're worth saving," and Herman looked back with disgust at the pileup clogging the street

He nudged his horse and rode to the crest of the hill at the west end of town.

A mix of cavalry troopers, infantry, and at least a few wagon drivers was drawn out in a rough line, crouched down behind trees, pressed up against the sides of the last houses in town, some of the men up in the buildings, firing from the second floors. Bullets were snicking in, bits of clapboard exploding in splinters, fragments of brick puffing out A shell screamed in, breaking the window of a house, detonating inside with a flash.

He had ordered up the heavy four-and-a-half-inch guns, two batteries, twelve beautiful heavy guns, posting them to hold this crest, and finally he spotted them, gunners working feverishly, one of the guns recoiling with a throaty roar.

He rode toward the batteries, and as he did so he crested the hill.

The sight was a shock. Barely 250 yards off was a heavy battle line of Rebs, emerging out of the smoke and early morning fog. These weren't skirmishers probing and fumbling in the dark. With the light of dawn they were no longer. hesitating. They smelled victory; they saw die prize ahead.

"Sir, will you get the hell off that horse!"

He saw the battery commander coming toward him, crouched low.

Herman didn't argue and dismounted, the battery commander grabbing him by the arm, pulling him behind a Umber wagon. The protection chosen didn't give him much confidence. There were several hundred pounds of powder in the Umber.

Five guns of the first battery fired a salvo, followed seconds later by six more guns, positioned a hundred yards to the right, a cheer bursting from the gunners as the deadly spray of canister tore into the advancing rebel line, dropping dozens of the enemy.

The enemy advance slowed, came to a stop, and hundreds of rifles suddenly rose up and then dropped down level.

"Get down!"

The volley ignited. It sounded like a swarm of angry bees rushing overhead, around them, a ball ricocheting off the wheel of the limber. Half a dozen horses, still harnessed to the battery's limber wagons, started to kick and scream or just collapsed.

Ramrods were withdrawn all along the rebel line, men working to reload. Gunners were back up around Herman, scrambling to load as well. The Rebs went into independent fire at will, and within a minute a storm of.58-cal. minie balls was whistling in. It seemed as if the entire rebel brigade out there was concentrating on this one position. The men with the guns began to drop.

A rebel battery was revealed by the puffs of smoke, the flashes of light barely visible in the fog, shells streaking in.

"I could use some more infantry support," the battery commander cried, even as his six guns recoiled sharply, sending another storm of canister into the enemy line. More canister went downrange from the second battery. They were doing it right, not engaging in counterbattery, but working to keep the infantry back instead. I don't have any more."

"A couple of the regiments up here, they're doing their

job, but most of the rest are melting away or already disappeared with those goddamn wagon drivers."

"How long can you hold?"

The major stood up straight, slowly scanning the enemy line, ignoring a spray of splinters that tore up from the top of the limber wagon as it was scored by a bullet

"They'll finally go for the flanks, lap around us. Half hour, maybe an hour. They won't come straight in against my guns, damn them."

Herman actually smiled. This man and his heavy artillery, which threw twice the weight of the lighter field pieces, were actually itching for a fight He most likely had been stuck in a garrison around Washington since the start of the war and been moved up here only because someone back at the War Department liked the idea of some heavy artillery posted somewhere else.

As luck would have it the last convoy of trains that had come up at two in the morning actually had a few hundred rounds of 4.5-in. canister rounds on board, the battery commander sending down fifty men to haul the rounds up by hand, since it was impossible to move a caisson through the streets.

"Where's the rest of the army?"

Herman told him of Hancock's urgent appeal.

The major shook his head.

'It'll be damn near noon before they get in. You're asking the impossible. We'll be flanked within the hour."

Then we fall back into the town, fight them house to house. Your men have hand weapons. There's no way we'll be able to move your guns out So when it finally hits, spike your weapons, smash or take the rammers with you, and men fall back into town. I'm passing the same order to the infantry. We hold the town."

The major shook his head but smiled. "You're not a line officer, are you, sir?"

"Railroad man."

"Goddamn. Wish we had more railroaders running this army."

"McClellan was a railroader."

The major spit on the ground. "Well, every business has some bad apples."

"Just hold as long as you can, Major. I'm going to see the other officers on this line to pass the word."

Leading his horse and trying not to crouch too low and thus look absurd, Herman started to walk away, then looked back. "Major."

"Sir?"

"If it falls apart, get yourself back to the depot. I'm taking the trains out, if we can't hold. I want as many of your men as possible, and you, to go with me."

The major forced a smile. "Sir, I have a bad feeling about today, a dream last night, you know the kind. But thanks."

Herman left him to his work and his nightmares and started down the line, shouting encouragement to the small detachments of Buford's cavalry who were still game, having rallied during the night around a sergeant, captain, and even the colonel of the Eighth Illinois, whose arm was wrapped up in a bloody sling. The half a hundred men gathered round him were mostly armed with the precious Spencer repeating rifle. A supply of ammunition had been found, boxes of it were stacked up behind an overturned wagon, and the men were pouring it in, fifty troopers with the firepower of an entire regiment. They were fighting like true professionals, hunkered down low, taking careful aim.

The weapon in their hands wasn't a carbine; only now was the factory starting to make the lighter weapon, these men had purchased, with their own money, the standard long-barreled weapon and now were putting it to damn good use.

One of the troopers looked back at Haupt. "Just keep the ammunition coming, and we'll hold them all day, sir!"

Herman nodded and continued on.

"Hold until they flank, then into the town," he kept repeating.

We've got to hold. Hancock is coming.

6:15 AM, JULY 3

DUNKARD CHURCH NEAR WESTMINSTER

"General, why have you not taken that town?"

It was obvious to all the staff gathered around General McLaws that Longstreet, who had just ridden up, was about to explode. They edged back from the confrontation.

McLaws stepped down from the entry to a small Dunkard church facing the main road from Taneytown. The sight of the building caused a flash of memory for Pete. A Dunkard church had been the center of fighting at Sharpsburg. They were a pacifist sect. Ironic, we keep bringing battles to their doorstep.

"Sir," McLaws said, obviously taken aback by Longstreet's sudden appearance. "As I tried to tell you last night, my men are exhausted. We had no good maps, there were bands of Yankee cavalry all up and down the road, but we're getting a grip on it now."

"Show me," Pete said coldly.

Together they moved along the edge of the road, which was packed with infantry still in column, the men slowly shuffling forward, the brigade shifting from column to line of battle just back from the top of the hill. Two batteries were atop the crest, hard at work as Pete and McLaws rode into position.

Morning fog and smoke cloaked the open valley. Just beyond the next ridge he could see several church spires and a column of smoke slowly rising straight up in the still morning air. Flashes of gunfire rippled along the next ridge, suddenly counterpointed by nearly a dozen flashes of light Seconds later a deep rumbling thump rolled over them.

Pete cocked his head; the sound was a bit different

"I know," McLaws said. "Looks like two batteries of twenty pounders dug in as tight as ticks on a dog along that ridge."

"Their support?"

"Dismounted cavalry, what's left of Buford's men. There're a knot of them armed with those damn repeating rifles. Playing hell with us. They also have some infantry."

"Infantry? Who?"

"Not sure yet but seem disorganized. Prisoners we picked up during the night; some were from Sixth Corps, some from the First and Second."

"Second? How many?" Pete asked, now anxious.

"Just a few. Said they were part of the wagon guard detail."

"You certain?"

"Just telling you what was reported to me, sir." "Alexander?'

"Here, sir," and his chief of corps artillery came up. "Get the map out."

As Alexander reached into his map case, Pete carefully surveyed the line ahead. A single brigade was advancing, spread out across a quarter mile of front Stalled in front of the guns, beginning to lap around the flanks. But there wasn't enough weight

"You should be hitting him with everything, damn it This is what Heth did two days ago. If he'd gone in all at once, he'd've taken Gettysburg before Reynolds came up."

"Sorry, sir. But like I said, it was damnable confusion on that road. Brigades, regiments all tangled up. It took half the night to straighten everything out"

"It was damnable confusion for them, too!" Pete snapped, pointing toward the town.

"I've got a second brigade deploying now behind us,' Semmes's brigade. That's Kershaw up on the line."

"And the rest of your men?"

"I have Wofford's brigade deploying out to flank the town to the south. He's reporting back that you can barely see what's ahead; it's thick with wagons as far as you can see. And, sir, I ordered Barksdale to swing his brigade around to north of the town. Cut across that road to Baltimore."

"What?"

"The road north of town, sir. I have men moving on it" and McLaws hesitated. "Isn't that what you wanted, sir?"

Pete grunted and nodded even as Alexander unfolded the map and handed it over to him.

"You did something right" Pete offered coolly.

"There're supposed to be thousands of wagons down there, trains, too," McLaws interjected.

"I want that road, I need to find ground we can hold, and I want that damn town. If we get the wagons with the supplies, so much the better."

Don't get diverted the way Stuart did when it comes to supply wagons, he thought Lee wants the supplies, so do I, but getting the defensible ground is the important thing.

He studied the map for a few seconds.

"You have someone who can guide me to the Baltimore Road?’

"That civilian," and McLaws nodded to his staff officers. A lone civilian, middle-aged, prosperous looking, with a good horse, was sitting among them, chatting amiably.

"What do you think about him?" Pete asked.

"Everything he's saying seems to hit center. Described Stuart to perfection, his staff, and willing to wait here till Stuart comes in. Says we can shoot him if he's lying."

Pete studied the man for a moment As if sensing he was being watched, the civilian looked up and nodded.

"Detail off a couple of your staff to ride with us and keep an eye on that man. Give me some of the men from your company of cavalry as well. If he leads us astray, or makes a dash for it" Pete hesitated, "well, I'm not saying shoot him, but make it damn uncomfortable for him."

McLaws went over to his staff, and Pete looked at Alexander and then back at the rest of his staff, who were easing their way through and around the brigade that was forming up behind them.

"I think General McLaws has things in hand here," Pete said, his voice low. "I want to go north and east Look at that road, see the land up by Union Mills. If Hancock is coming down, that might very well be the place to meet him. Not here. This town is flanked by hills. It's a trap."

McLaws came back with several of his staff and the civilian.

"Mr. William Shriver, this is General Longstreet." The civilian bowed slightly, though in the saddle. "I recognized you, sir." "How?"

"Why, from the illustrated papers of course." "The report you gave. About seeing two Union officers around Union Mills two days ago."

"Yes, sir. A General Warren and a General Hunt, I believe, sir."

"Describe them, please."

Shriver offered a quick description and Pete nodded. It seemed close enough.

"Why are you helping us?" Pete asked.

"I have six sons serving with the Confederacy, sir. They're with the First Maryland, Johnson's division, and with the First Maryland Artillery. We of Maryland are behind the Cause, sir."

"Didn't seem that way last time we came up here to Sharpsburg."

"I'm sorry, sir, if some of my neighbors reacted thus. But I can assure you of the truth of my report"

"For your sake, let's hope so."

The man did not seem to be insulted by this questioning of his honesty.

"I understand your need for caution, sir," he replied.

"The quickest way to Union Mills without getting too near this town?"

"I know a way."

"If we wander into Yankees, sir," Alexander interjected sharply, "I will make it a point of holding you responsible." He casually let his hand drift down to his holster.

The civilian laughed, though it was forced and a bit nervous.

"There're Yankees wandering all over here, most of them cowards and running away. The roads east and south of here are supposed to be packed with them. I can't promise you, sir, but if we do meet Yankees, toss me that revolver, and you'll see me make a fight of it as well."

Pete smiled slightly. "Fine then. Now let's move."

Pete looked back at McLaws and motioned him over.

"Next time, General," Pete said softly, so that no one, and especially the civilian, could hear, "when I say I want something taken by dawn, I expect it to be taken by dawn and not two hours later. Do we understand each other?"

McLaws nodded nervously and saluted.

"Now get in there and take that town. Once you do, send another brigade up the road toward Union Mills. I'll most likely be there."

With staff and the small cavalry escort, they now numbered several dozen, and as the cavalcade started off Pete looked back. The Second Brigade, which had been forming up, was sweeping up the slope, battle flags held high, heading straight toward Westminster. McLaws, sword drawn, was out front, urging them on.

6:40 AM, JULY 3,1863

NEAR HARNEY ON THE GETTYSBURG-TANEYTOWN ROAD

Gen. George Sykes, new commander of the Fifth Corps, who had taken over the corps after Meade's elevation, surveyed the map spread out on the table before him. Raising his field glasses, he again tried to examine the ground ahead that was cloaked in morning mist

He looked over at Warren and shook his head. "I can't see a damn thing."

General Crawford, the divisional commander who had led the probing assault at dawn, nodded his head in agreement

"We came up out of the low ground just ahead and got hit on front and flanks. They're out there, sir. A division at the very least."

Sykes looked back down at the map. He was an old professional, a graduate of the class of 1842 from, the Point a veteran of Mexico, and most recently in command of the division of regular army troops that was part of Fifth Corps. On the road behind him that same division was now filing in from Gettysburg after a hard, six-hour march through the night

He studied the map sketched out by Warren, and then fixed his gaze on a cavalry captain, one of the survivors of Buford's command who had fallen back into the lines of Fifth Corps after yesterday's bitter defeat at the bridge.

"The ground around that bridge," Sykes asked, and as he spoke he pointed to its position on the map. "Defendable, if we seize it?"

"Yes, sir. If we had been fresh, backed by artillery, and with sufficient ammunition, we could have held it all day."

Sykes looked back at Warren. "What do you think?"

"We can't do both," Warren replied, shaking his head.

"I agree," Sykes said. "Our orders are to take back Taneytown. But that was given last night, and Meade is now at least twelve miles away. If I thought the bridge was more practical, I'd go for it"

The cavalry captain stirred, clearing his throat nervously. Sykes looked up at him. "Go on, Captain."

"Sir, the ground around Taneytown, it's wide open, almost a flat plateau. In fact the town is down in a bit of a valley."

"Meaning it would be hard to defend except in a stand-up fight"

"Sir, once you take it, then what? Yesterday that road was packed with Rebs clear back beyond Emmitsburg. It most likely still is. Take the bridge, and you plug 'em up that way."

"In other words, go for the bridge rather than the town," Sykes replied.

"I'm just a captain, sir," the cavalryman said cautiously.

Sykes smiled. "Appreciate the comment captain. The question is, what is our mission here?"

'Take Taneytown."

"No, it's to cut Lee's column off from Westminster or at the very least delay it"

He looked up and pointed to the distant cloud of smoke that was visible above the early morning haze.

"It's obvious the head of their column has seized Westminster," Sykes continued. "The fires are most likely our supplies burning, gentlemen. We all know Meade. He commanded this corps before I did. He's going to focus everything he has on taking that town back."

As he spoke he traced a line on the map from Gettysburg to Littlestown and from there on to Union Mills. His finger paused over Union Mills.

"That's the ground you surveyed, isn't it, Warren."

"Yes, sir."

"From what you've told me, it's an ideal position to cover Westminster, but it's ground that starts east of Taneytown and then arches northeast to Union Mills."

Warren nodded.

"That's why we move on Taneytown rather than the bridge. We are now Meade's flank and not an independent command," Sykes announced.

He was silent for a moment, looking back down at the map again as if meditating. All around him were quiet, the only sound the steady tramp of the column marching along the road beside them, and from ahead the final sputtering of fire as the last of Crawford's men fell back across the creek after their dawn repulse.

"His whole army might already have passed," Sykes said, "but I doubt that Lee's goal is Westminster. If we swing to the southwest and cut the bridge, we'll be advancing at a right angle to where we should be going, which is straight at Taneytown. If I were Lee, I'd let me do it The troops beyond the bridge, if there are any, engage and hold us while the rest of his army continues eastward. We'll cut off only part of the tail. I want to cut him right down the middle, and that means Taneytown. That's what will really help Meade in this situation.

"If we hit Taneytown, he's going to have to make a fight of it. The report is that Hood is in front of us. We hit him hard enough, whatever is in that town will have to turn to fight us. And yes, whatever is on the far side of the bridge will hit us as well. We might tie up three, perhaps four divisions of theirs in the process."

"A tall order," Warren whispered.

Sykes looked around at the division and brigade commanders who had come in to receive their orders and were standing silent some of them obviously nervous with the way the conversation was going.

"Gentlemen, this campaign might very well decide the fate of the Union," and as he spoke he pointed toward the smoke over Westminster, which was beginning to expand and spread out

"Lee has Westminster. The Army of the Potomac has been flanked, and we are cut off from our line of communication and supplies. Meade will be forced to attack, maybe as early as this afternoon, most definitely by morning tomorrow."

No one spoke.

"I want a concentrated attack on Taneytown, straight into the town. That will draw the rear of Lee's army back to us. It has to. Two, maybe three of his divisions will be tied up by us. It will tie them up for most of the day, and we might even bleed some of them out. It could very well delay Lee and give General Meade his chance."

He hesitated for a moment. "The fate of the Union rests here now. I am prepared to risk losing this corps if by doing so we give Meade a chance and thus save the Union."

The men around him nodded gravely.

"There'll be no glory in this, gentlemen. It will be a bloody stand-up fight. Crawford will be on the left, Ayres with my old division of regulars, you're in the center, and Barnes on the right Get your staffs moving to lay out the deployment and try to keep it concealed as much as possible from the Rebs."

He pulled out his pocket watch and snapped it open. 'It's a little after seven. It will take at least two hours more for the rest of the corps and our artillery to come up. An hour beyond that to deploy, so we go in no later than ten. The massed batteries will fire two salvos; that will be the signal to begin.

"Advance on a two-brigade front one brigade in reserve for each division, and aim straight for the town. Once in, fully expect to be overlapped on the flanks as Lee pushes in what he has. That's what your reserve brigades are for. Once we get into Taneytown, we dig in and hold on, and make 'em pay for it"

A couple of men grinned.

"If anyone can do it, we can," Romeyn Ayres, who was in command now of Sykes's old division of regulars, announced proudly.

"Get back to your commands."

The men saluted and started to mount up, leaving Sykes and Warren alone for the moment

"You don't like it do you?" Sykes asked.

"It's that bridge to the west Suppose they still have another division over there, maybe even two. Your right will be wide open, and they'll turn your line."

"Send a brigade down there and they'll get flanked same as Buford. And I can't afford a division. I want my command concentrated for this attack. I don't have enough to do two things at once. It's a risk we have to take for the Union."

"So your plan is to just draw them in on you and slug it out"

"Something like that"

Warren shook his head and smiled. "Mind if I stick around."

Sykes forced a smile in return. "Thank you. I'll need you, the corps will need you, before the day is done."

6:45 AM, JULY 3,1863

NEAR UNION MILLS ON THE BALTIMORE PIKE

Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock reined in, glaring coldly at the cavalry lieutenant who had cut in front of him, and then skidded his horse to a stop.

"Damn it sir, I'm asking you to stop!" the lieutenant cried.

"Out of my way, lieutenant"

"Sir, I am responsible for you. That's the job of the cavalry company assigned to your headquarters. At least let me scout down to that mill below before you proceed."

"There is no time for that now."

"Sir, if you get yourself killed, then I guess I'm going to have to get killed, too. Because if I don't, my captain will most assuredly kill me if I come back without you."

The young lieutenant tried to meet Hancock's wrathful gaze, but couldn't hold it. He started to blush and lowered his eyes.

"Please, sir," the lieutenant asked, and there was a bit of a quaking to his voice. "We're six miles, maybe more, away from the head of your corps. It's just you, me, ten of my men, and your aides out here alone."

Hancock spared a quick glance back over his shoulder. The rest of the men, not as well mounted, were just rounding the bend of the road at a full gallop.

Hancock nodded, and the lieutenant sighed with relief.

"Hear that?" Hancock asked, turning slightly.

The lieutenant nodded. It was artillery… distant, maybe two miles, maybe four or five. Hard to tell.

The valley below was lush, covered in a heavy mist; the treetops on the opposite slope a half mile away were poking up out of the fog, illuminated by the long, slanting light of the morning sun. The air was rich with the heady scent of a summer meadow at dawn, a mixture of wildflowers, grass, warm water.

It was quiet, peaceful, except for that distant thunder.

The staff finally caught up, reining in, the lieutenant shouting for his troopers to head down to the mill, its roof a sharp, dark line standing out in the morning mists.

The men set off at a trot, the lieutenant in the lead.

Hancock smiled. The boy had guts to stand up to him like that And he was right Get cut off by some Reb cavalry out here, my corps still miles away. Goddamn stupid way to get oneself killed or captured.

If I'm going to die in this, let it be with my men, out in front leading a charge, damn it! And as he looked out across the valley below, he wondered for a moment Might this be the ground where we finally decide it?

This had to be Union Mills and Pipe Creek. Warren had described it to him just before he left. High ground on both sides. Mill on the east side of the road with a good bridge beside it Stream dammed to the east; ground marshy to the west. Hills nearly bare except for occasional woodlots, the wood having all been harvested off long ago for lumber to be cut by the mill and as charcoal for the smithy. Farmhouse about a half mile to the west down by the creek!

He looked carefully, and in the mists could just see it, a coil of smoke rising from the chimney.

Good fields of fire, Henry had said. Damn, this had to be it

"Sir, we're getting the all clear."

Hancock looked up. A shadowy figure was up on the opposite slope, just above the slowly undulating wisps of fog coiling up from the damp bottomland, waving his hat back and forth.

Hancock spurred his mount and started down the road, which curved across the face of the slope and then leveled out They clattered over the bridge, mill on their left All was still. No one was working this morning.

The road pitched up sharply, and Hancock eased back on his horse, letting it slow to a trot. No sense in winding him out now.

The lieutenant and his men were at the crest of the hill, reined in, one of the men pointing. Hancock came up to their side.

Thick columns of smoke filled the sky to the southwest The thumping was louder. Half a dozen civilians were out, standing by the side of the road, and-Winfield rode up to them. "Is that Westminster?" he asked.

'It was burning during the night; you could see the flames!" a young boy shouted.

"Is that Westminster?" and this time he was a bit more insistent focused on a middle-aged woman wearing a plain dress of dark gray.

"Yes, sir. It's Westminster."

"The sound of gunfire, how long has that been going on?" "All night long. A couple of big explosions and then the fire. Just about an hour ago, it started getting louder." "How far is it to the town?"

"About four miles, maybe five." Winfield looked over at the lieutenant 'Think you can get through?"

"Well, sir, that does depend on whether the Rebs are to the north side of the town or not"

"Supposedly General Haupt is down there in command. I want him to know we're coming up."

"Look! Is them Rebs?" the boy shouted, pointing off to the west

The lieutenant turned in his saddle. Hancock looked to where the boy was pointing.

A small troop was cutting across a field about half a mile away.

"That's Grandpa on the white horse!" the boy cried.

Hancock looked back over at the woman. She said nothing, but lowered her eyes.

"Your granddaddy with the rebel army, son?" Hancock asked.

"Sure is! My pa and all my uncles joined the army a year ago. My grandpa went out to warn them last night. He said you Yankees were going to get whipped. General Stuart himself visited our house, and Grandpa went to fetch him back along with the whole rebel army."

The woman looked back up, eyes cold, her arms going protectively around her grandson, pulling him in tight against her side.

"Madam, you and your boy have nothing to fear from me," Winfield said coolly, almost insulted by her reaction.

"It's Rebs, sir," the lieutenant announced. "Looks like some staff, a few troopers."

The approaching group had obviously spotted them, slowed, and were spreading out He caught a glint of reflected sunlight someone with field glasses raised.

Winfield took out his own field glasses and raised them, focusing.

The rebel officer with field glasses raised slowly lowered them.

"Longstreet" Winfield whispered. 'It's Pete Longstreet"

"Want to try for them, sir?" the lieutenant asked "We've got about the same numbers."

He stayed focused on Pete. Several of the troopers with him had revolvers and carbines drawn.

Now that would be something, wouldn't it? Hancock thought. Two generals charge each other and have it out, like princes of old jousting in front of their armies. Certainly would make the cover of Harpers' Weekly. The thought almost had a romantic appeal.

He chuckled sadly and shook his head

"Those days are gone forever, Lieutenant They'd drop half of us before we got across that field. Your dreams of a cavalry charge and dueling knights are long finished."

He lowered his glasses for a moment and looked over at the lieutenant who was obviously upset by the put-down of the cavalry.

"No offense, son. Several of them boys have carbines. If I was Pete, I'd just pull back and lead us into them woods. For all we know, a whole brigade of Reb infantry is in there. Then where would we be? Dead or on our way to Libby Prison."

"Yes, sir."

He raised his glasses again. Pete's glasses were up as well. Unable to resist the impulse, Hancock waved and a second later Pete responded with a wave.

"Damn war," Hancock sighed and he lowered his glasses, putting them back in their case.

"You're right about the infantry in the woods, General," the lieutenant announced in a whisper and pointed

A hill beyond where Longstreet was, a mile or so farther back, a dark smudge was moving, a column of infantry.

"Damn all to hell!" Hancock snapped. He looked over at the woman, realizing he was swearing in front of a female, but he didn't offer an apology.

The rumble of gunfire from the town was increasing. Suddenly there was a deep rolling boom and a second later a spreading cloud of smoke appeared beyond the hills.

"Something blew," one of the troopers whispered "and it was damn big."

"They're taking the town," Hancock sighed. "Still want me to try and get through?" the lieutenant asked.

What good would it do now? Winfield thought Tell them we're too late? Tell Washington the army was now cut off? "No, son, stay with me."

"Then I advise, sir, that we pull back to the other side of the creek. "I've got only ten men, but we could give them a fuss if they try and come over the bridge."

"He won't come over the bridge."

"Sir?"

"That's General Longstreet Lieutenant He'll dig in right here, right where we are standing. And then it will be we who will have to come back over that bridge.

"He's got the good ground now."

Winfield turned his mount and looked down at the woman and boy. "My compliments to your husband, madam. He guided General Longstreet well this day."

She said nothing, her arms still around her grandson.

"Remember this day, son. When you're an old man, you can tell your grandchildren about it Now take care of your grandmother."

He looked back at the woman. "I advise that you leave your home."

"Why? Are you going to burn us out?" she asked defiantly.

"No, madam. We don't do that at least not yet You're going to be in the middle of a battlefield though before too long, and it's going to get very hot around here."

He started back down the road and turned to the young lieutenant "Ride like hell, Lieutenant Get back up to my corps and tell them to move on the double. We are now in a race with Longstreet."

The boy galloped off. Winfield looked back one last time at Longstreet and waved. Spurring his mount General Hancock headed back across the bridge.

7:15 AM, JULY 3

UNION MILLS

Pete watched as Hancock disappeared around the bend in the road.

"My family, sir, I'd like to get to them," Shriver said, for die first time showing real fear.

"Don't rush. Let them get back across the river."

"My family is in jeopardy, sir. Do something. I've helped you; now do something."

"That was General Hancock, Mr. Shriver. And I can assure you, sir, he is a gentleman."

Pete fell silent for a moment Yes, so many over there were gentlemen. Reynolds was. So was Buford. Will I be killing Hancock now? How would Armistead, who commanded a brigade in Pickett's division, react to that Armistead talked often of Hancock, their friendship before the war when stationed together out on the coast of California.

Damn war!

Shriver was still obviously concerned.

"Sir, General Hancock would lay down his life to protect your wife and family, even knowing the invaluable service you've just given us this day. So please relax. Let's wait for our infantry support to come up, and then we'll go forward."

"Are you certain?"

Pete looked over at the man, and the civilian fell silent and lowered his head. "My apologies, General."

"None needed. You don't know the army, our old army. We trained together at West Point and we live by the code of honor taught there. We might be fighting against each other now, but we still live by that code."

"Look at that place!" Alexander exclaimed, interrupting the two.

Pete turned his attention back to the task at hand. Alexander was pointing to the north.

"Looks like those hills slope down nicely to the creek.

Ground on the far side might be a bit higher, but far enough back and not too much higher to give them an advantage if we dig in first."

"These ridges," Pete asked, looking back to Shriver. "Do they flank this creek like this in both directions?"

"Yes, sir. For miles to the west. You can't see it yet, but down where those Yankees just rode, there's a mill owned by my cousin, a fairly big pond backed up behind it. Then the stream curves a bit to the south, with a very high ridge on this side facing it.

"Natural flank," Alexander offered, "with a good physical barrier with the pond."

"Over there," one of McLaws's staff announced. "I see them."

Hancock and his small cavalcade were a mile away now, up on the distant slope on the north side of the creek.

Pete smiled. For a minute there he had half expected Winfield to do something rash, a charge. That would have been devilish to deal with. Foolish, medieval-type thinking. Stuart still had it in spades. The men around me, though, they'd expect me to respond in kind and not simply pull back, whispering I lacked stomach if I didn't draw a saber and ride out to meet him. Damn, war certainly brings out the stupidity in man.

He shaded his eyes? The morning sunlight was burning through the haze, making it hard to see.

Hancock had reined in, his small escort dismounting.

So you wait there, Winfield. Wait and watch. Now, who can get the most here first?

Pete looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Barksdale's brigade coming on hard, at the double. He had put the fire into them when riding past a half hour ago.

We get a brigade in here first and start digging in.

"Damn all, sir, this is good ground. Best I've seen since Fredericksburg."

"Better," Pete replied.

"How's that, sir?"

"They didn't have to attack at Fredericksburg; it was just Burnside being bullheaded. But once we take that town, cut them off from Washington, they'll have to attack."

The question now, Pete thought, looking back toward the town and then to the approaching column of his infantry who had bypassed the battle, the question is, do we get enough men here first Hancock knows it and by God he will push it We're still spread out all the way back to Emmitsburg. If they hit us hard enough in the middle, they could break our lines. Or Hancock has a corps just behind that bend in the road and could storm across it in the next hour or two.

Too many ifs. Focus on now. Get that brigade up and barricade the crest Seize the town, and get those precious supplies.

A series of explosions rumbled across the fields. Longstreet looked back toward the town and the rising columns of smoke that seemed to be spreading out

"My God," Shriver whispered, "it looks as if all of Westminster is burning."

"Most likely is." Pete sighed. I don't have the time to worry about that now, he thought coldly. "Come on, Mr. Shriver," Pete said, "let's get you home to your family."

7:15 AM, JULY 3,1863

WESTMINSTER

Herman Haupt stood with arms folded, watching as a detachment of men from his railroad command began to upend cans of coal oil on the stacks of boxes piled up under the open-sided sheds that he had so laboriously built only the day before.

The main street of Westminster, which passed directly in front of his makeshift depot was still jammed with abandoned wagons. The last remnants of his command were falling back, running between the wagons, shouting that the Rebs were closing in.

He spotted several gunners, red trim on their hats and trousers, coming around from behind some wagons and then sprinting toward the trains. Herman shouted for them to come over.

"How far away are they?"

"Not a hundred yards, sir. Them cavalry troopers are dying game. Holed up in houses with their repeating rifles, but the Rebs are pouring in fast"

"Get on the trains; we're clearing out"

The men saluted and started to run down the track.

"Where's your battery commander?" Herman shouted.

"Dead, sir. Shot in the head," one of the men shouted back, even as he continued to run.

A sergeant lit a torch with a match and looked over at Herman. "Sir, this fire might spread to those wagons in the street. We got ammunition here. It's gonna be a hell of a mess; might burn down half the town."

"I know," Herman said coldly.

"All right then, sir, but suggest we start the train the hell out of here before I light this."

Herman climbed up onto the cab of the locomotive and nodded to the engineer. The other three trains behind him had already pulled out a half hour ago. Ten flatcars were behind the train. Exhausted infantry, artillerymen, and a few cavalry piled on board.

"Let's go!" Herman shouted.

The engineer opened the throttle, letting the steam rush into the locomotive's pistons. Pressure started to build.

The sergeant threw his flaming torch, the last of the railroad men running out from the sheds, tossing aside the empty cans of coal oil. The fire caught flames dancing across the boxes of rations, piles of shoes, ponchos, tents, barrels of whiskey, barrels of salted beef, barrels of axle grease, boxes of ammunition for Springfields, Sharps, and Spencer rifles, and limber chests filled with canister, case shot solid shot and serge bags filled with powder.

The wheels of the locomotive spun, grabbed, and the train lurched, starting to back out of the station, pushing the flatcars. A few more troopers came running from the main street, cavalrymen, one pausing to take a final shot, and as he did so, he spun around and collapsed. One last man appeared, arm in a sling, Major Beveridge, commander of the Eighth Illinois.

Herman leaned out of the cab, offering a hand. The major took it with his good hand, and Herman pulled him up into the cab, the major gasping, leaned over, gagging, shaking like a leaf.

He looked back up at Herman and nodded his thanks. The engineer of the locomotive leaned over, offering a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Herman said nothing about this breech of discipline, and the major gratefully took the bottle and finally handed it back after draining off one hell of a long gulp.

"You'll see 'em any second," the major announced, still shaking.

They were a hundred yards back from the depot, slowly picking up speed.

The open-sided warehouses were engulfed now in flames. Herman saw butternut, a lone rebel soldier, step out onto the track and, within seconds, dozens more. They stood watching the fire, several advanced toward the flames, as if getting set to try and put them out, and then they scattered, the engineer chuckling at the sight.

A second later the engineer doubled over with a grunt Startled, Herman looked to his left. Rebs were out in the field flanking the track, not fifty yards away. Looking back, he saw places where they were already over the track, swarming around the wagons jamming the open fields.

He eased the wounded engineer aside, grabbed the throttle, and opened it up full, carefully feeding a bit more water into the boiler to keep the steam up. Now they started to pick up speed.

"Hey, you damn Yankee, stop that train!" Amazingly, a Reb officer, on horseback, was galloping alongside the locomotive, pistol raised.

For a few seconds they were only a couple of feet apart

And then the Reb reined in hard as the train passed over a culvert. The Reb raised his pistol and then simply lowered it and waved a salute.

But this didn't stop the infantry out in the fields from taking potshots. Rifle balls sparked off the side of the engine, another round passing through the cab. Some of the troopers on the flatcars were firing back, but most of the men were simply sprawled out flat, cursing.

And then it let go.

Just as they rounded the curve, a flash ignited in a pile of burning supplies, then another, bags of powder flaring up. There was no real explosion, for there was nothing to contain the rapid expansion of gasses, just a dull whoosh, but the eruptions were sufficient to upend other boxes, tearing them open, exposing more powder, and like a string of firecrackers going off, the detonations spread and then truly started to build in power. Later, when he looked over the shipping manifests, he might be able to give an exact number, but it was safe to guess that at least six to eight tons of powder were going off. The roof of one of the sheds lifted up, peeling back. The sound washed over him, building. And then it just simply flashed, a continual rolling explosion that soared up and out, windows across Westminster shattering, wagons in the street catching fire, and the poor beasts harnessed to the wagons dying.

A dark pillar of smoke rose to the heavens.

Herman said nothing, the major next to him watching it all in silence as well. Even the Rebs shooting at them lowered their weapons, turning to look at the apocalyptic devastation.

The supply depot for the Army of the Potomac went up in flames, but the wagons not caught in the devastation, thousands of them outside of the town, trapped in the panic and then abandoned by their drivers, were now in the hands of the Army of Northern Virginia.

Rounding the curve, Herman left the throttle wide open. He had to get back to Baltimore and from there to Washington.

Somewhere, somehow, a new line of supply, a new depot had to be set up and opened. Millions of dollars in supplies had just been lost, but this was a modern war, a war of railroads, and the factories up north would make it good, replace it, and, he hoped, continue to press the fight… even if it meant creating an entire new army as well.

7:45 AM, JULY 3,1863

TREASURY OFFICE WASHINGTON, D.C.

"Is there anyone here who can give me a clear indication of what is going on?" Abraham Lincoln asked, as he dropped the latest telegram from Baltimore and turned to face Halleck and Stanton.

He had been awakened at five in the morning by one of his staff bearing a copy of the dispatch from General Haupt to Halleck that the Confederate army was in the rear of the Army of the Potomac and advancing on Westminster. Dressing quickly, he had come over to the Treasury Office across the street from the White House. It acted as a nerve center, the vast web of telegraph lines linking Washington to the rest of the world, terminating in an office of clattering keys and bustling messengers.

As he spoke, the telegraphers behind him continued at their work, though more than one was looking over at him with nervous, sidelong glances.

Stanton, always jumpy about secrecy, motioned that they should retire to a small side office, and Lincoln followed, first scooping up the pile of messages and nodding a thanks to the operators.

Stanton closed the door and sighed. He was suffering from another asthma attack, his breath coming in short, wheezing gasps. He looked over at Halleck. "Well?"

Halleck was silent for a moment "I think Meade might have been embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?" Lincoln asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

"You sound like he was caught with his britches down, and the parson's wife has just walked by with the church choir. Embarrassed?"

"For the moment only, sir."

"Only for the moment?" and in frustration Lincoln held up the sheaf of telegrams and started to scan through them.

"Report from Haupt of an enemy division, perhaps a corps or more advancing on Westminster. Report from Baltimore, dated one hour ago, of panic, that Confederate cavalry is on the edge of the city, and that Westminster has fallen. Report from Philadelphia that rebel cavalry is across the Susquehanna and moving east And from General Meade, a report now close to half a day old that there are indications of Lee moving to his left and yet also demonstrating on his right before Gettysburg."

Lincoln let the papers drop on the table that separated him from Halleck. "What are you going to do, General?"

Halleck looked at him, blankly.

There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence, broken at last by a rap on the door. Stanton pulled it open. A rather nervous-looking telegrapher was standing there, holding a slip of foolscap. Stanton snatched it from him and slammed the door shut He scanned the paper, wheezing noisily, shoulders hunched over as he struggled for breath, then handed the paper to Lincoln.

"A newspaper in Baltimore has just reported that smoke from the direction of Westminster has been observed from atop several church steeples. They claim a distant explosion was heard a few minutes ago."

Stanton coughed noisily, handkerchief over his mouth.

"It might mean our supply depot is burning," Stanton offered between gasps for air.

"If that is the case, then what are we going to do?" Lincoln asked.

"There is the good news from Vicksburg at least" Halleck offered. "It should be finished there within the next couple of days."

"That is a thousand miles away" Lincoln replied, his voice soft but filled with frustration. The mere fact that Halleek had mentioned it caught Lincoln by surprise, for there was no love lost between Halleck and Grant It showed to him that Halleck was desperate, grasping for anything to divert attention from what was happening literally at then-back door.

"We have to wait to hear from Meade," Stanton interjected. "We shouldn't react until we have clear and certain intelligence from the commander in the field. We've seen this type of thing before and have survived, discovering later it was not as bad as was at first thought"

"What about Couch in Harrisburg?" Lincoln asked. "Could he advance?"

"Militia," Halleck interjected. "They would be worse than useless against the Army of Northern Virginia."

"Our garrison here in Washington?"

Both Halleck and Stanton shook their heads no.

"That is our final reserve,".Stanton announced.

"So you are saying we can do nothing but wait Is that it?"

Halleck reluctantly nodded. Lincoln looked to Stanton, who nodded as well.

"My God." Lincoln sighed. "I fear we are heading toward a debacle. The Army of the Potomac cut off from Washington, its supply base gone, and all we can do is sit here and wave telegrams at each other."

He lowered his head and turned away.