4:00 PM, JULY 3,1863
THE WHITE HOUSE
The heat in the room was oppressive as Lincoln came in and nodded an acknowledgment to the men standing; he motioned for all of them to sit down. Directly across the table from him was Stanton, still struggling with his asthma attack, face ashen. By Stanton's side was Secretary of State Seward, on the other side Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy, and finally General Halleck.
Before Lincoln even spoke, Stanton pushed over the latest telegrams, and Lincoln scanned through them.
"This one from General Haupt," Lincoln said. "That confirms it The Confederates have seized our base of supplies at Westminster."
"Yes, sir," Stanton replied.
"I want to see Haupt"
"He's trying to get down here now," Halleck interjected, "but the situation in Baltimore is difficult"
Lincoln nodded, adjusting his glasses as he went through the messages that reported rioting, a wrecked switch blocking the line that might be the act of Confederate cavalry, and now a report from New York that there were threats of a riot over the draft, which had just been instituted.
"I have a delegation of congressmen and senators waiting downstairs," Lincoln finally said. "What am I to tell them?'
'That Meade is reacting in an appropriate manner," Halleck replied. "The military can handle this."
"Can it?" Lincoln asked sharply, fixing Halleck with his gaze. "Do you know, at this moment, what General Meade is doing?"
Halleck's features went flush, and he cleared his throat "Mr. President, you have the same communications that I do."
"And they tell me nothing," Lincoln replied. "So, may I ask how do you know that Meade is acting in, as you say, 'an appropriate manner'?"
"Sir, he is a good officer, well trained. He will know what to do."
"And that is?"
'To move on Lee and block him from advancing on Washington."
"He won't advance on Washington," Gideon Welles interjected.
"May I ask how the navy is aware of this?" Stanton retorted.
"Because he can't; that's how I know."
"Pray, enlighten me," Stanton snapped.
Lincoln extended his hand in a calming gesture as Welles, bristling, leaned forward, ready to take the bait
"Go on, Mr. Secretary," Lincoln said softly, "I want to hear your reasoning."
"Thank you, sir," Welles replied, turning away from Stanton as if he didn't exist "The Army of the Potomac is still a viable force, even if they have been surprised, flanked, and cutoff."
"We don't know if they were surprised,'' Halleck interjected.
"General, please let the secretary speak," Lincoln said, and Halleck fell quiet
"Simple logic dictates that Lee cannot march south on us with such a potent threat in what will now be his rear. Second, it is fair to assume that though he has seized Westminster, it will take hours, perhaps days, to sort out all the supplies taken there, if he has indeed seized those supplies intact, though reports from Haupt and from Baltimore indicate a vast conflagration is consuming that town."
Halleck raised his head as if to speak, but a glance from Lincoln silenced him.
"Finally, you have two forces here in Washington. A garrison of over twenty thousand men behind heavy fortifications, and my own forces as well, several ironclad ships and more available by tomorrow morning, which can be brought up from Fortress Monroe, along with the garrison there, and the naval yards at Hampton Roads."
"What good is a navy for Washington?" Stanton snapped.
"If the government has to be evacuated, you'll thank God one of my ships is here to take you off," Welles replied sharply. "But beyond that last extremity, the guns available can, if need be, sweep all of this city. Lee will know that He knows, as well, that it is the Army of the Potomac that must be his first goal. That should be our focus now, and frankly, sir, you can tell the members of Congress that if they are truly afraid, they can go to the navy yard and my men will protect them tonight"
Lincoln could not help but smile, and he nodded his thanks. "Mr. Seward, you have been quiet sir," Lincoln said, now turning to the man who he knew, even after two years, still felt that the presidency should be in his own hands rather than that of a Midwestern lawyer.
"I agree with Gideon, sir, but there are other considerations, political and international ones."
"Goon."
'If General Lee can achieve a true triumph of arms on Northern soil, the destruction of the Army of the Potomac, the threat or even the seizure of Washington might be moot We have to be concerned about the potential for major riots over the draft in New York and Philadelphia. The combination of those {actors might embolden Napoleon III to do something rash."
"Such as?"
"An attempt to break the blockade."
"I'd like to see him try," Welles interjected.
"We are not dealing with someone who is totally rational here," Seward replied calmly. "The emperor of France is caught up in Mexico with this absurd attempt to put a Hapsburg on die throne there, to create a dream of a Catholic empire, as he puts it"
"He's half-insane," Stanton snarled.
"Precisely the point" Seward replied. "We are not dealing with someone rational. Oh, the English will make noises, but they will not act knowing we could sweep Canada off the map if we so desired. Besides, Parliament will not support an effort that also includes supporting slavery. But Napoleon may think he has little to lose. Up to now he would not recognize the Confederacy unless Britain did so as well, but a victory by Lee could change that He won't try for Charleston or Wilmington, but Texas, being on the border with his war in Mexico, that might be different I could see him attempting to force the blockade at Brownsville and thus triggering a fight
"He knows that if and when we win our struggle here, we will indeed move to oust the regime he is setting up in Mexico. He is counting on a Confederate victory. If at this moment he can create a debt from the Confederate government by recognizing them and offering much-needed supplies, it will serve his purpose. All he is waiting for is an excuse."
"And a victory against Meade might do that?" Lincoln asked.
"I think so."
Lincoln nodded and looked back down at the telegrams. "What you raise needs to be seriously considered, but I think we should focus now on the moment and not a potential that might not develop for months, if at all."
Lincoln looked back at Stanton. "Do you concur that for the moment Washington will not be threatened?"
Stanton coughed, struggled for breath, and all were silent "In general, yes. But that is not to say that Stuart might not be here soon. He could ride from Westminster to Baltimore in half a day, from there to here in just one more day."
"We don't know Stuart is there," Lincoln replied. "Haupt reports only infantry."
"I can't imagine Lee leading his attack only with infantry," Halleck said. 'It's against all standard doctrine."
"Perhaps Lee is ignoring doctrine. He has done so before."
"Lee is a professional, sir. We of the military spend years studying so that it is done right"
Lincoln sensed a veiled rebuke from Halleck. Like so many of the generals of his army, they were ready to blame any failure on civilian interference.
"Well, apparently Lee did it right today," Lincoln replied softly, "with or without cavalry in the lead. But I am not interested in a debate over your doctrine, General Halleck; I want a clear understanding of what orders should be issued to Meade, if any."
Stanton and Halleck looked at each other, and Lincoln could easily tell that these two had been talking long and hard about this prior to the meeting.
"He has to attack Lee at Westminster" Stanton announced. "He must cut through and re-establish contact with Washington, to impose his forces as a barrier against attack on Baltimore and Washington."
"But I just heard a fairly cogent argument from Secretary Welles that Lee will not march on Washington first"
"Are you suggesting then, sir, that Meade do nothing?''
"No."
"Then what sir?"
Lincoln shook his head wearily and looked out the window for a moment "He must preserve his force at all cost but then, at the same time, so threaten Lee as to prevent him from maintaining a prolonged operation in the Norm."
"Then that means attack, sir," Stanton replied sharply. "With luck, Lee is not yet concentrated at Westminster. He might be able to cut off the head of Lee's advance, then swing into a favorable position closer to us."
"Is the Army of the Potomac the imperial guard of Washington or is it an army intended to fight and destroy Lee?" "Sir?"
"Answer me that, please."
"It is the main army of our efforts in the East, sir."
"Then it must be used wisely and not sent into a headlong attack simply to get back here. Gentlemen, I pushed for that attack at Fredericksburg, and I will live with the price of that, the terrible memory of that tragedy and those unnecessarily lost young men to my dying day. I think the order to Meade should be one of latitude, to make offensive actions as deemed necessary, but not to rush headlong into an assault solely to regain contact here."
He paused for a moment
"If need be he can even fall back on to the Susquehanna, there to re-establish supplies. His presence there will prevent Lee from moving on us and also prevent Lee from threatening Philadelphia or Harrisburg."
Stanton looked at Halleck, and the two were silent
"Are we in agreement then, gentlemen?"
Welles and Seward nodded.
Lincoln took a sheet of paper and quickly jotted down a note, which he then pushed over to Stanton.
"I am ordering General Meade to act on his discretion, but to ensure, above all else, the cohesiveness of his forces, to threaten Lee, but not to seek a headlong assault unless certain of its outcome."
'To be certain in anything, sir," Stanton replied, "that sir, is impossible in war."
"You know what I mean," Lincoln replied. "I do not want him to act rashly at this moment He must be off balance. He might assume that we are here screaming for him to counterattack. I want him to understand our thinking, to move with some prudence and judgment"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else, gentlemen? I must attend to that delegation from Congress."
"None, sir," Stanton replied, and the others nodded.
"Then if you will excuse me."
All stood as he left the room. Seward and Welles quickly followed, leaving Stanton and Halleck alone.
"You'll take this over to the Treasury Department," Stanton said, passing the note to Halleck. "Send it to Baltimore. See that it gets routed to a courier who has a reasonable chance of getting through, perhaps up to Hanover."
"Anything else, sir?"
Stanton sat silent for a moment, a shudder passing through him as he fought to draw in a breath of air. He took another sheet of paper and started to write then passed it over to Halleck.
"Send this as well," he said, "and make sure it is postdated after the president's."
Stanton left the room, and once the door was closed Halleck scanned the second message.
From Secretary of War Stanton
Sir,
In accordance with the president's orders I am adding as well that while the preservation of your forces is of the first and foremost concern, I must still strongly urge you to act by any means possible to ensure the safety of Washington and Baltimore, using whatever means at your disposal to prevent the advance of General Lee's forces in this direction.
Stanton
6:30 PM, JULY 3
UNION MILLS
The evening was hot, oppressive. Henry Hunt looked to the west, shading his eyes against the blood red sun. Thunderheads were building to the southwest, die clouds of heaven mingled in with the haze of smoke from over toward Taneytown.
Word was filtering in of a brutal fight, most of Fifth Corps annihilated, tangling with three divisions of the Army of Northern Virginia. Strange, though, two of the divisions were Longstreet's corps, yet Hancock had sworn that old Pete was directly across from them.
Raising his field glasses, he scanned the Confederate line under construction along the south bank of Pipe Creek. It was a chilling sight, watching an enemy army dig in, thousands of puffs of dirt popping up, then falling, as troops labored away using bayonets, canteen halves, shovels if they could find them, even their bare hands.
The entrenchment rimmed the crest of the hill, the new fortification line a raw slash of earth across pastures, corn and wheat fields, following the contour of the hills and ridges facing Pipe Creek.
A second line was beginning to form farther down the slope, an advance position that would protect troops firing straight across the open ground over which the Army of the Potomac would have to advance before hitting the base of the opposite slope. The only disadvantage, it was a hundred feet or more lower than where he'd planned to place his guns. He could fire down into it, and perhaps break it apart, if they did not dig in deep enough during the night
The lumber mill, blacksmith shop, outbuildings, and the miller's house alongside the main road to Westminster were still burning. The compound had been hotly contested ever since Hancock's midday assault the issue finally being resolved when a rebel battery put a couple of dozen shells into them. The civilities, of course, were first observed, with a flag of truce offered to get the miller and his family evacuated. They chose to come across the creek and into the Union lines. The irony was that one of their kin across the road, whose house had been torn apart for lumber by the Confederates, had supposedly acted as a guide for Longstreet
"How are you, Henry?"
Henry turned and offered a weary salute as Hancock rode up, trailed by several staff. With a groan, Hancock dismounted. Henry noted that for once the dapper general's shirt was stained and dirty, his blue jacket open, vest gone. The heat, the exhaustion of the day, were obviously getting to Hancock as well as his men.
"General, how are you?" Henry asked, offering a salute.
"A bad day, Henry," Hancock sighed. His chipper attitude was gone. He had fought a hard fight and didn't like to lose. He knew, as well, there'd be an even grimmer fight come tomorrow.
Union infantry directly in front of where the two stood were half-heartedly digging in, their officers not pressing them too hard. They had, after all, marched nearly twenty miles, gone into a failed assault, and were suffering now in the early evening heat. They knew, as well, that short of some insane miracle, the Rebs would not be so courteous as to attack, so the digging in struck many as busy work without purpose or profit
Hancock, without waiting for permission from Meade, had asked for a truce an hour ago in order to clear the wounded and dead from the field. The truce would end at sunset and the last of the ambulances that had lined the road were coming back through the lines, bearing their grisly cargo to the hospital area set up on the far side of the ridge behind them.
Henry looked again at Hancock and saw that what he had first taken to be dirt on Hancock's shirt was, in fact dried blood, as if someone had grabbed hold of him and then let go.
Hancock, noticing Henry's gaze, looked down. "One of my brigade commanders-Webb. Held him as he died." Hancock's voice trailed off.
Henry looked over his shoulder to one of his staff and motioned. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, tossing it over. Henry handed it to Winfield, who took a long drink.
"Thanks, Henry."
"Losses?" Henry asked.
"Fifteen hundred dead and wounded," Hancock sighed.
"I wonder now if I should have pressed it. We might have been able to flank them."
His voice was edged, pitched a little too high. Exhaustion and shock were hitting him, Henry realized.
"It was at least an hour after I called it off before we saw more of their troops come up. If I'd had another division in reserve to exploit the break, I think I'd've continued the assault regardless of loss. It was just that I had no reserves. I needed all three divisions to try and turn the flank."
He lowered his head.
"Damn. Fifteen hundred men. Goddamn, what a waste." "You didn't know that then."
"I do now, Henry. I do now. Looking at them over there now, digging in like that, it puts a knot in my gut when I think my boys will have to go in against that tomorrow."
Henry did not reply. Whoever was directing the build-up on the other side of the creek knew his business. Henry had been surveying the position for over two hours, and nowhere could he see a weak spot, a fault, some uncovered defilade for advancing troops to exploit Across two miles, it was a covered front. Throughout the night they'd most likely extend it farther in both directions. This line was beginning to look just as tough as he thought several days earlier when he had surveyed it from the other side. Except now it was Confederate troops digging in on the good ground, and Union soldiers who would be going down into that wet valley and climbing the hill. Exactly the opposite of what he had envisioned when first he had surveyed this valley for Meade. "How many guns you bringing up?" Hancock asked.
"Every one. I plan to have two hundred and fifty pieces in place by tomorrow morning. A massed battery here with a hundred and twenty rifled pieces, the Napoleons farther down the slope, and to the right a quarter mile for close-in support Meade's authorized me to have control of corps artillery as well in terms of initial placement."
Hancock shook his head.
"Sickles for certain won't like that"
Henry wanted to say the hell with him, but knew better.
"Once it gets dark I'll start moving my pieces into place. Some of them are still halfway back to Gettysburg though and might not be up here till dawn."
Hancock nodded wearily, gaze still locked on the opposite slope. "Goddamn, they're digging in hard," he whispered.
Henry left him to his thoughts, mounting up to ride on, carefully picking the spot for tomorrow's fight
7:30 PM, JULY 3,1863
FRIZZELBURG (FIVE MILES WEST OF WESTMINSTER ON THE TANEYTOWN ROAD)
'Sir? General, sir, we're here."
Startled by the gentle touch on his shoulder, General Lee sat up, momentarily confused. He saw Walter Taylor, silhouetted by the twilight to the west, leaning over him. "Where?"
"I think it's called Frizzelburg, sir," and Walter chuckled softly. "If someone tries to pin that name on this battle, sir… well, I hope you call it something else."
Lee smiled and stifled a yawn. The canvas sides of the ambulance had been pulled down in order to give him some privacy on the ride down from Taneytown. He barely remembered leaving the burning town after sending a swift courier ahead to arrange a meeting with Longstreet.
"Are you feeling all right sir?" Walter asked.
'Tine, Walter, just fine."
It was a lie of course. What happened after the Texans had rallied and then, moments later, Pickett had come crashing in on the flank was a blur. He remembered Walter riding up, triumphal, exclaiming that hundreds of prisoners had been taken and the Union troops were falling back in disorder.
Shortly after that he passed out He remembered awaking on the broad veranda of the Antrim, anxious staff gathered round, a doctor leaning over him, listening to his heart through a hollow wooden tube. For a moment there had been a sense of panic, that the attack he had suffered during the winter had come back.
"Heat and exhaustion," was the doctor's prognosis, along with an order for a day of bed rest in a cool room.
Absurd.
He agreed to two hours of rest, a sofa being dragged out of the Antrim and set up on the porch so that he might have a cooling breeze. A drink of cool lemonade made him nauseous, but he managed to keep it down, and then reluctantly took a glass of Madeira on the doctor's orders to settle his nerves.
The battle was turned over to Ewell, who pressed the enemy back onto the road to Littlestown before the fight simply gave out, both sides equally exhausted after a six-hour struggle in the boiling heat
Yet another half victory, he thought. We should have completely enveloped the Fifth; now they will have the night to dig in, perhaps be reinforced. Yet again he sensed that Ewell had not pushed when he should have.
The doctor and Walter had strongly objected to his desire to come down to Westminster-to meet with Longstreet, but it had to be done, though he was glad for the compromise of riding in an ambulance and the suggestion that Longstreet come part of the way to meet him here.
Walter unlatched the back gate of the ambulance and offered a helping hand, which Lee refused. He must not let the men think he was weak. Before sliding out, he buttoned his uniform, wiped the sweat from his brow, and put on his hat, a straw flattop with a broad brim, the one concession he had publicly made to the heat
As he stood up, the vertigo returned and he swayed for a few seconds, reaching out to rest a hand on the wheel of the ambulance and then withdrawing it Too many were watching. The men must not have the slightest doubt the slightest fear as to his well-being. Too many men had died back at Taneytown to protect him, and too much now depended on the men believing in him. They drew their strength from his strength, and there could be no doubts in a battle like this.
Staff and some cavalry were setting up a large wall tent on the front lawn of a small church. Several pews had been brought out and set in a horseshoe around the front of the tent. Smoke was curling up from a blacksmith shop alongside the church, a team of artillerymen working to reset the rim on a wheel. At the sight of Lee, they stopped their work and stood in respectful silence.
Lee recognized Porter Alexander, Longstreet's chief of artillery, and Porter saluted.
"I came on ahead, sir," Porter said. "General Longstreet is coming here as fast as he can."
"Thank you, Colonel. And all is well with you?"
"Yes, sir. A tough fight today, but we did well."
"I am glad to see you are well."
Porter nodded. Looking into Lee's eyes, he started to say something and then just simply smiled awkwardly.
A black cook was already tending the fire burning before the tent and circle of pews. As Lee approached, he stood up, offering a cup of tea in an earthenware mug, which Lee gratefully took, nodding his thanks.
He sat down on one of the pews and then caught the attention of a cavalry captain, who seemed to be in charge of the detail setting up camp.
"Captain, did you get permission to borrow these pews and tables?"
"Sir?"
"Permission from the minister or sexton?"
"Sir, ahh, I couldn't find them."
"Then please do so and at once. Otherwise, take them back in. We do not steal from churches."
The captain looked around exasperated, then sharply motioned for a sergeant and a couple of privates to find the minister. They ran off.
Lee stood up and walked over to the blacksmith shop. The artillerymen came to rigid attention at his approach.
"Stand at ease, men."
The artillerymen drew back, looking nervously at each other.
"Were you in action today?" Lee asked. "Yes, sir," a corporal replied, his skin so fair that it was blistered and peeling from the harsh sun. "Where?"
"Sir, in front of Westminster. One of our guns got this here wheel knocked off by a shell. Cap'n sent us back here to get it fixed since we can't find our forge wagon."
Lee, half listening, nodded.
Hie smell of the forge was somehow comforting, clean charcoal, hot iron; it triggered a memory, but he wasn't sure what of; of childhood perhaps. It was soothing somehow.
He could see that he was making the men uncomfortable by his presence, and saying, "Carry on," he turned away, walking, sipping the tea that was flavored with honey, breathing in the clean air of a hot summer evening, rich with the smells of pasture, fields, and woods.
Twilight was deepening. All was quiet except for the movement of a column of troops on the road nearby. The men moved slowly, no banter or high spirits. They were exhausted, staggering on, turning north to move up toward the frontline.
Since he was standing in the shadows, they did not notice him. He was grateful for that. It gave him a moment to be alone, to clear his thoughts.
What I did today bordered on madness. It was madness, he realized. If I had led that charge, I most likely would have been killed. If I die now, in battle, or from something else, such as my heart, it might doom our cause. The burden of that realization was always something that struck a chord of fear within: the frightful responsibility of all this.
For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth, and to another, Come, and he cometh…
As a boy I thrilled to hear the stories of Washington, my father beside him, he thought I never realized the burden, the weight bearing down on Washington's soul that if but one mistake was made the dream of the Republic would die.
And the men, merciful God, the men. That sergeant I could have drawn my revolver, pointed it at his head, and still, for my sake, he would have hung onto the bridle, letting me kill him before he would let go, doing that to protect me.
He lowered his head. "Do not let me fail them, O Lord," he whispered. "For their sake, not mine, let me not lead them astray."
A pot clattered behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. The black servant had accidentally spilled a coffeepot A couple of the men laughed, one in a whisper vilely swore at the cook, and the poor man lowered his head.
And what of him? Is this the reason we fight? To keep him in bondage? If so, what would God say of our cause?
He pushed that thought aside. He had reasoned it out long before; at least he thought he had. When this war is over, then perhaps this scourge upon our souls can be addressed. Those around him at headquarters knew it was a subject not to be discussed; the higher ideal of fighting for the Constitution, for the right of states against the usurpation of the central government was the cause. Yet in his heart he knew that for some, especially the wealthy planters and men of ignorance who could only feel superior when another was suppressed, slavery was indeed their root cause; and in the end that root would have to be torn out
He shook his head. He had to stay focused; to ponder on such imponderables would take what little strength he had, divert him for all that must be done; otherwise, yet again this sacrifice of the last three days, on both sides, would be. in vain.
He looked eastward. There was a glow in the darkening sky. The reports of what had happened in Westminster were frightful. Half of the village had burned to the ground, dozens of civilians dead or injured in the conflagration. Burning along with it he was told, were millions of dollars of precious supplies. Yet even then, in spite of the destruction, millions more had been captured. The Union army was so well supplied that even the leftovers seemed amazing to the men of the Army of Northern Virginia.
Two of McLaws's brigades were still sorting it out, but reports were that over two thousand wagons had been captured along with their teams and the contents within those wagons, limbers, ambulances, and carts. A quartermaster with McLaws had sent up a written report that Taylor had read off to him just before they had left Taneytown: a pontoon train; 50 wagons loaded with precious shovels, picks, and other tools; 250 wagons of rifle ammunition; 200 limber chests of artillery ammunition; wagons loaded with boots, uniforms, champagne, medical supplies, canned milk, tobacco, cartridge boxes, belts, socks, a virtual cornucopia for his army, which just three months back was on the edge of starvation because less than half a dozen trainloads of food a day could be delivered to the front lines at Fredericksburg.
To think of all that was destroyed and yet so much remained to be taken, a treasure trove far exceeding what Jackson had taken the summer before at Manassas.
And they will replace it, he thought. The only question left, the only way he knew he could win, was to break their resolve here, to deal them so shattering a defeat that though they could make the weapons of war, there would be no one left with the moral strength and will to wield them. That was the only way victory could be achieved, though it would mean that many a boy on the other side of the stream dividing them that night would be dead by tomorrow.
He thought of the week before Chancellorsville, a cool spring evening, and how a Yankee band serenaded his men, until both sides stood along the banks of the Rappahannock, laughing, sharing songs, and then all together singing "Home Sweet Home," most of them dissolving into tears.
We must win the war, but in so doing we cannot shatter the peace, so poisoning the common well of our shared heritage that the hatred on both sides will burn for a hundred years. Win or lose, if this war continues, that might happen nevertheless. That is yet another reason it has to end here,
he thought
Win it here. I must steel myself for that, even if it kills me a day later, as I thought it might this afternoon. Defeat them and in so doing save lives and bring this brutality to a close before it consumes us all, North and South.
The twilight deepened Flashes of light on the western horizon caught his attention. He stiffened and focused toward the west, and then he relaxed; thunderstorms, not gunfire.
A first hint of coolness wafted around him, drifting across the fields, a gende breath of wind carrying the scent of fresh-mown hay. He sighed, letting the moment settle his nerves.
"General Lee?"
It was Walter, coming out of the shadows. "Yes."
"General Longstreet is coming in." "Yes. Thank you, Walter."
He headed back toward the tent The cavalry captain stepped before him and saluted. "Sir, the minister for this church; we found him."
Lee nodded.
"And?"
"He gave us permission, sir. Said he was a Southern man and would be honored."
"Thank you, Captain, and in the future, always check first When we are finished here, make sure everything is returned to its proper place."
"Yes, sir."
That detail taken care of, Lee went back to the fire in front of the tent and settled down on one of die pews. The straight hard back of it was somehow comforting, a reminder of more peaceful times.
He caught the eye of the cook and handed back his earthen mug.
"It was very good. Could you please pour another cup? And I think General Longstreet will want one as well." As he spoke softly, he looked sharply at the trooper who had sworn at the cook. The trooper dropped his gaze and turned away.
Taking the refilled mug, Lee stood up as Longstreet approached, trailed by his staff, all of them dust-covered, hollow-eyed. The two exchanged salutes, Longstreet taking the mug offered by the cook, who nervously withdrew.
'Tell me everything, General," Lee said, motioning for the two of them to sit down on one of the pews by the fire.
Longstreet all but collapsed and leaned back for a moment, stretching, looking up at the sky. "Hancock attacked at midday. Almost overran our position, then withdrew. If he had pressed harder, he might have taken it. I only had two brigades up at that point; he hit with all three of his divisions."
"Winning with those odds; then it must be an excellent position," Lee interjected. Longstreet nodded.
"It seems that a couple of officers with Meade's staff had surveyed the ground on the morning of the first Meade was thinking of establishing his line there before he got drawn into Gettysburg."
"Which officersr
"Gouvenor Warren and Henry Hunt" Lee smiled sadly.
"I remember Hunt from New York. Very good man."
He fell silent Yes, Hunt knew good ground. Malvern Hill a year ago was proof of that
"I've had my people out examining the south bank of the stream all day. Before coming here I rode most of it myself. Sir, it's highly defensible. The creek, locals call it Pipe Creek, is open bottomland, in some places a quarter-mile wide and flat The land slopes up sharply on our side. The right flank is very secure. There's a millpond blocking the approach, and then the creek curves back to the south and southeast with a very high ridge looking down on it Most all of the countryside is clear cut to feed several mills and forges along the creek. Open fields of fire along most of the front
'The other side, they have some advantage. At a number of points the land on their side is higher, fine positions for massed batteries."
"The range?"
"Eight hundred to twelve hundred yards at a couple of points."
Lee nodded.
"I didn't get across the creek, but locals tell me that there's a fairly decent road behind the ridge, perfect for them to shift troops to one flank or the other and to keep men concealed until they attack."
"And you believe they will attack?"
Longstreet took a sip of the tea and set the mug down on die ground. He leaned over, hands clasped, gazing at the fire. "They have to."
"I have my reasons to believe so, General," Lee said. 'Tell me yours."
"Meade will be forced to. We trumped him these last two days. He's new in command. Communications with Washington are most likely still down for him, though a courier might have slipped past Stuart by now and gotten in. If so, that courier will describe what is most likely a mad panic in Baltimore and Washington."
Longstreet chuckled sadly and, lifting up the mug, took another drink.
"First off, he'll be ordered to break through at any cost, an order he cannot deny or refuse. Second, he is new in command. If he allows us to achieve what we did without a fight, he'll be branded an incompetent and a coward. If he turns back, retreats toward York or Harrisburg, he will definitely be branded a coward and relieved of command. Therefore he will attack."
"What would you do if you were Meade?" Lee asked.
Again the sad chuckle. "I'd retreat"
What would I do? Lee wondered. There was a flash of arrogance, a sense that he never would have allowed this to happen in the first place. Then again, I did attack frontally at Gettysburg two days ago and was within a hairsbreadth of doing it again the following morning, until Pete talked me out of it. Don't be so quick to judge.
"I believe he will attack come dawn," Lee said.
"I do too."
"What will he have?"
"I know that Second Corps is there. Additional troops were spotted on the flank of Second, a skirmisher reporting he recognized Slocum commanding the Twelfth Corps riding along the line."
"The Fifth attacked in front of Taneytown today" Lee interjected.
"I heard."
Longstreet looked at him, and he flushed slightly. Most likely word of the incident with the Texans had spread.
"I understand Pickett did it right this time."
"Masterful," Lee replied. "If it hadn't been for one regiment holding out, diverting Armistead, we might have bagged the lot."
"Sir, that still leaves four of their corps unaccounted for."
"Where you are, the road toward Westminster, that's where you will see them next."
"You mean Union Mills."
"Yes, where the road crosses Pipe Creek. That's what he'll drive for."
"You expect everything then on that flank?" Longstreet asked, cradling the mug of tea and then taking another sip.
"Yes."
"What about Taneytown?"
"If his intent had truly been to try and cut our flanking march, the time to act was this time yesterday. Meade sent down only one corps, and I suspect that the commander of that corps took upon himself the responsibility of hitting as hard as he did. If he had been backed up by another corps, he'd have cut us apart today.
"No," Lee continued, 'Taneytown is not his focus. It's Union Mills."
'Tomorrow then?"
"Five corps most likely. Maybe one in reserve or back even at Gettysburg. The last report from Stuart, dated at noon today, reported a mass movement of troops on the road from Gettysburg toward Westminster. But some infantry, Stuart identified it as Eleventh Corps, remains at Gettysburg and still holds the high ground there." "And what of Stuart, sir?"
"He's doing his tasks as ordered. He continues to shadow Gettysburg, but reports, as well, that he has heavily engaged the Union cavalry on the road from Gettysburg to Hanover. The results are not conclusive, but at least he is keeping them occupied, which is all he need do at the moment."
Lee turned and looked off.
"At dawn," Lee said, his voice now cool, eyes half-closed as if he were looking off into some distant land, "they'll open with a barrage, every gun they have. Under cover of that, they'll advance. It won't be piecemeal, as at Fredericksburg. I suspect Meade is still bitter about that fight, how he almost broke through when commanding his division there but wasn't backed up. Meade will have time to think about this, and he will come in with everything at once. His goal will be to overwhelm with sheer numbers."
Lee fell silent and like Longstreet he sipped at his tea.
"We've lost fifteen thousand men so far in this campaign," Lee whispered. "Johnson's division is shattered almost beyond repair. Hood has taken heavy losses as well. We can't afford another day of losses like the last three."
"I know that, sir. But we're dug in now."
"You'll finally have that defensive battle you've talked about so much," Lee offered.
Longstreet looked over at his commander, not sure if there was a touch of reproach in the last comment
"Your placement of men?" Lee asked.
"Two brigades of McLaws's astride the road and to the left Next is Anderson, then Pender, Pettigrew, and Early on the left Rodes is the reserve, with one of his brigades to the right of McLaws.
"Our front is about four miles, the left extending to a bend in the creek, which again refuses the flank; the land below is marshy. It's not as dense a line as I would like, roughly one rifle per foot." "Artillery?"
"Alexander has done an excellent job," and Longstreet nodded toward his artillery chief, who was gathered with the staff over by the blacksmith shop.
"He's warned me, though, that if Hunt brings up all his reserves, it will be hard going with counter-battery. We'll have somewhere around a hundred and twenty guns on the line."
"Supplies?"
"That's the good news, sir. McLaws is overseeing the movement of captured supplies up from Westminster. I believe he sent a list up to you."
Lee nodded.
"We're moving up every captured round we can lay our hands on," Longstreet continued. "Wagons loaded with shovels and entrenching tools are getting the highest priority at the moment. There's plenty of rations as well. We can stay here for a week, fighting a pitched battle throughout and still have supplies left over. In fact we would have more supplies than we have ever had before. The Union army does have its supply system mastered."
"Have one of your people draw up a detailed map for me, then have them go over it with Walter. I want place names clearly marked so there is no confusion. Major topographical features to be shown and the placement of troops indicated.
"Copies are to then go to each division commander. Communicate to McLaws as well that I want the tightest security on Westminster. Property of civilians is to be protected and aid given to those displaced and injured. Any soldier who violates the law will be dealt with harshly, swiftly, and publicly before the citizens of that town."
Longstreet nodded in agreement
"I want a list of those civilians who died. Personal letters of regret signed by me will be sent to each of their families, along with offers of compensation. I'll not have the Northern press blame us for that tragedy or lay accusations of abuse on us."
"The Yankees started that fire, sir."
"Yes, but it is we who now hold that town."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm establishing my headquarters here. That will put me equidistant between the two wings of the army." "Sir, regarding the arrangement of troops." "Yes?"
'Two of the divisions of my corps are on the left I have units from Hill and Ewell mixed in together on the right The placement was haphazard in a way without regard to unit designations."
"You filled them in as needed," Lee replied.
"Yes, sir. There's no way to sort it out now. Its just that…" and his voice trailed off.
In the darkness he took another long sip on the mug of tea, nearly draining it
Lee sighed.
"General Longstreet though it is not official, I have decided, at least for this moment to relieve General Hill of his responsibilities without relieving him of his command."
"Sir?"
"He is sick."
Lee said nothing more, but his distaste for the origin of the illness was obvious in his tone of voice.
'For the remainder of this campaign, you shall command the right wing centered at Union Mills comprised of the divisions just described. Ewell will command the left centered on Taneytown, and Stuart will command the forces north of the Union army."
"Early might not like it" Longstreet offered.
The dislike between Longstreet and Early was a barely concealed secret. Several of the division commanders who had served under Jackson looked upon Longstreet as a slow plodder.
Lee slapped the side of the pew with an open hand. "I don't care who likes or dislikes it!" he snapped. "We are here to win this battle. Everything else, likes, dislikes, vanity, and pride, are to be left behind. If someone disagrees with that, I will hand them their discharge and they can go home. Do I make myself clear, General?" "Yes, sir."
The outburst was loud enough that the staff who had been standing at a respectful distance stiffened, hearing every word. Good, it was theatrics, but at times a general needed to resort to that
"I give you authority to relieve any division commander who does not comply with your orders"-he hesitated for a moment-"as I would relieve you as well, General Longstreet if you did not comply with mine."
"Yes, sir."
He caught the sense of surprise and even a touch of resentment in Longstreet's "Yes, sir." Good, let everyone standing in the shadows hear this exchange as well.
It was something he had realized back in Chambersburg less than a week ago. If this campaign was to be won, ultimately it would be on his shoulders whether it was indeed won or lost He must seize firm control. There could be no moment of hesitation, no questioning, no confusion. An army must have a single sense of purpose and mission, deriving from its commander clear down to the lowest mule driver or cook. If not when the crisis came, someone would shrink back and in so doing ten thousand would die for yet another hollow victory, or worse, a bitter defeat
"Then we understand each other, General?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine then." Lee slowly stood up, indicating that the interview was finishing.
"Ewell will command the left wing of Pickett, Johnson, and Hood. Johnson's division is fought out; Hood took a rough beating as well. Therefore, Pickett will be the vanguard of maneuvers when the time comes."
"Your intentions with him, sir?"
Lee smiled. "I'll decide that in due course, and I may go with him when the time comes. The left is the element of maneuver, and you are the base of maneuver. You must hold and defeat the vast bulk of the Union army when it attacks. After that, we will flank it and force its collapse. Then Stuart will round up the remnants as they flee from us.
'They must not be allowed to reform," Lee said, with a sharp emphasis.
He said no more. He had learned something from Jackson, who was infamous for his sense of security. Ever since the lost orders before Sharpsburg, dropped by either a courier, or perhaps even a general, and recovered by a Union soldier, he was learning to be more cautious. An overheard word, a staff officer boasting in front of a civilian, upon such things battles often turned, as it had, indeed, at Sharpsburg.
"Come tomorrow," Lee said. "Now, General, a suggestion for both of us that I know my young Colonel Taylor would approve of, and that is sleep. We both need our strength for tomorrow."
Longstreet nodded in agreement
"I'll leave Alexander and Venable here to review the map with Taylor," Longstreet announced. "My headquarters will be on the lines above Union Mills."
"God be with you, General," Lee said.
The two saluted and Longstreet disappeared into the shadows.
Walter came up and Lee quickly reviewed what needed to be done. "I'm sorry, Walter; I know you are even more weary man I."
Walter smiled. "Sir, to be frank, and no disrespect intended, but I am half your age. All of us wish that you would just get some sleep."
Lee nodded; again the weariness.
Without comment he retired to the privacy of his tent His cot was already set up within. He removed his jacket and hat and sat down on the cot with a muffled groan. He tried to struggle with his boots but then gave up, not wishing to call for someone to help. Slipping off the cot he knelt offering his evening prayer, thinking of his boy in a Union prison, his wife in Richmond, his daughter lost and in the warm clay of North Carolina, and all the boys he had seen fall this day, July 3,1863.
Did I do the right thing today? he thought Dear God, I hope so. It could have been more, far more, but then I must know it could have been different, an ending of dreams rather than a hope that it might soon end in victory.
Lying back, he stared at the ceiling of the tent On the outside of the canvas several fireflies had alighted, their soft golden green glow winking on and off. Katydids and crickets chirped outside, mingling with the sound of whispered talking, a horse snickering, a banjo in the distance, and surprisingly, some laughter.
Tomorrow, tomorrow is the Fourth of July, he thought. I hope that is not a bad omen. We break the Union on the birthday of its founding. God grant us strength.
A moment later there was a gentle knock on the tent pole.
"Sir. General, sir?" It was the black cook, bearing a plate with dinner.
Lee was asleep, and the old man quietly withdrew.
8:45 PM, JULY 3,1863
HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, NEAR UNION MILLS
It had been a very long day. Henry slowly dismounted, letting me reins of his horse drop, one of the staff taking the horse and leading it away. Headquarters had been pitched off the pike a mile or so north of Union Mills, half a dozen tents with sides rolled up, coal-oil lamps gleaming. The scent of rain was in the air, a brief shower having dampened the field minutes before.
They were gathered here, Meade, Hancock, Sickles, Slocum, Sedgwick, along with dozens of staff, orderlies, cooks, cavalry guards, provost guards, reporters, even Sullivan the photographer.
Henry was barely noticed as he stepped into the largest tent where the generals were gathered around a table, maps spread out, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey, sweat, and unwashed bodies.
Meade looked up and nodded a recognition. His eyes were deep set, hollow, obviously half-closed with exhaustion.
"Your report, Hunt," Meade snapped.
"Sir, nearly all the guns will be in place by six A.M. Four batteries, however, will definitely not arrive from Gettysburg until later in the morning. The road is a shambles, and it looks like rain, which will make it worse getting them through."
"What can we count on?"
"I'll have nearly forty batteries in place, including those batteries nominally under corps command. A grand battery of a hundred and twenty guns on the heights just above Union Mills, a secondary battery of sixty Napoleons downslope a third of a mile to the right, and then other batteries positioned farther down the line.
"We have an average of two hundred rounds per gun; that's everything, solid shot, case and shrapnel, canister. We have no real reserve anymore."
"I know that," Meade snapped.
"Sir, it means I can offer, at best, two hours of sustained fire, at which point we will be getting dangerously close to depletion, except for canister."
"Can you put enough fire into the point of attack to support a breakthrough?*'
Henry did not reply for a moment.
"Can you?"
"Sir, I can't promise."
"Damn it, Hunt, just give me a straight answer."
"Sir, there are too many variables. I plan to put upward of twenty thousand rounds of fire into a front less than a mile wide. I think that will have a serious impact That's all I can promise, sir."
Meade grunted. He sat back, striking a match on the table leg, and puffing a half-smoked cigar back to life. "Then that's it" Meade said. "Any questions?'
Henry looked around at the four corps commanders standing about the table. Hancock seemed to have recovered from his shock of earlier and was sitting quietly, eyes intent on the map, sipping whiskey from a tin cup. Slocum and Sedgwick were whispering softly to each other to one side, while Sickles stood alone.
Henry could sense the disquiet, a terrible sense that this was not what any of them had dreamed possible only four days ago.
"Hunt, is it possible to get more guns on my flank?" Sickles asked.
"I want everything massed," Meade said, before Henry could reply.
Sickles was uncharacteristically quiet and simply nodded.
The gathering was silent, and Henry looked back at Meade. "Sir, if there is nothing else, to be honest I'd like to get a little sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
"Yes, Hunt, a very long day. You're dismissed."
Henry stepped out of the tent, glad to be back in the open. He looked around, trying to spot where his own staff had gathered, and then saw them alongside a house adjoining the field where headquarters was pitched. He started toward them.
"Hunt"
He almost wanted to ignore the summons. It was Sickles.
"Hunt, a moment of your time."
Henry turned slowly, offering a salute as Dan approached out of the shadow, tip of his cigar glowing.
"What do you think of this?" Sickles asked.
"Sir, my job is to follow orders. I was to position my guns to support a grand assault come dawn, and that is what I've done."
Sickles, hands in his pockets, looked down. "Hancock's badly shaken. It will be his corps that starts the assault. Meade has already given him a direct order that he can't go forward with them. The man is heartsick."
Henry was surprised by the note of sympathy in Sickles's voice.
"Hunt, it's going to be bloody, very bloody. Second and Twelfth Corps advancing side by side, then Sixth Corps coining in behind as the breakthrough force, with First Corps arriving before dawn as additional support We both know that the old Second and the Twelfth are decimated."
Henry said nothing. He had heard the plan earlier, the argument by Sickles to strike to the right if need be to slice down toward Frederick, Maryland, the suggestion sent down by Howard to retreat back to Harrisburg. He had heard all the arguments, the endless damn arguments. And now they had settled on this, a full-out frontal assault come dawn.
If there was a hope, any hope, it was that Lee's men were just as exhausted from their grueling march, the two days of running battles, and the casualties inflicted on them. Combine that with a massive bombardment at dawn, the greatest of the war from the way things were developing, and maybe, just maybe they would break through.
"Hunt it will be a frontal assault across twelve hundred yards of open ground. As bad as Fredericksburg."
"Burnside fed it in piecemeal there. Meade at least knows to do it all at once," Henry replied.
Sickles shook his head. "Goddamn. I looked at the land around Gettysburg. Maybe this is it I thought Maybe just for once it is us on the high ground and them coming at us. I could see it from atop Rocky Hill, imagine them coming across those open fields with our guns bellowing in their faces. Now, yet again, it's us."
Henry nodded.
"Meade can't do anything else," Henry finally offered.
"I know! There's been no word yet from Washington, but we both know what those damn politicians will scream for."
Henry couldn't help but smile. Sickles, a politician, denouncing his own.
"But it doesn't have to be tomorrow," Sickles said softly.
"That will give them another day to dig in."
"And maybe another day for us to think, to think and then try and maneuver."
"What about Washington?" Henry asked.
"As I said before, the hell with Washington. Lee can't take it; anyone with a brain knows that We slide to the west and break off the action. Lee can't get across the Susquehanna; all the bridges are down, and Couch has twenty thousand men up in Harrisburg."
"They're militia, not worth a damn in a real fight" Henry said.
"Enough, though, to keep Lee from trying to force a crossing. Let him take Baltimore, if he wants the damn place. We slide around to the west cross the Potomac, and start marching on Richmond if need be. Do that and in the end Lee will have to bow to the same pressures that are on Meade right now. He'll have to break off and come after us."
"It will never happen," Hunt said wearily. "The attack goes in at dawn."
"And do you think it will succeed?"
Henry sighed. "I have to believe it will. Give me enough ammunition, and I can suppress their guns. Do that and there's a fair chance with a full assault, of three corps; forty thousand men, hitting all at once, just might break through."
Sickles dropped his cigar and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot "Fine, Hunt," he said dejectedly. "Just keep enough ammunition in reserve to cover the retreat You'll need it"
Henry watched as' Sickles turned and went back to the command tent
What more could he say? That he felt sick to his stomach, that he wished the hell he could just go to sleep and not wake up for a week? Sickles was a corps commander looking to him for advice.
Then again, he could almost feel sympathy for a man who prior to this campaign he had viewed with outright distaste. Sickles was outside the mould. He was vain, self-serving, glory hunting, and yet he loved his men and had the guts to stand on the front line. If there was to be a sacrifice tomorrow, he wanted it to mean something, and not just be another mad exercise in futility. There was nothing for him to offer though.
Henry slowly walked over to where his staff was camped. The boys were all asleep; he could not blame them. They had tied his horse off, brushed it down, and by the soft, glowing fire left a plate with some salted beef and hardtack. He didn't have the stomach for it
Finding his blanket roll, Henry opened it up. Looking up at the sky, he decided to put the rubber poncho on top and lying down on the cool, damp grass felt good, comforting.
A light rain began to fall, but Henry didn't notice. He was fast asleep.
Across the fields to either side of Pipe Creek ten thousand campfires flickered, glowed, and then slowly guttered out as the cool blanket of a summer's night rain drifted down from the heavens. It was not enough to wash away the blood in the pastures around Taneytown or to still the smoldering embers of Westminster, but for the moment it was a comfort after the long days of heat and dust and misery.
Some were still awake. Armistead, looking up at the sky, thinking of the colonel he had tried to save, wondered if that gallant soldier was still alive. At least I am still alive this evening, he thought and curling up under a horse blanket he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Winfield Scott Hancock did not sleep, gazing out from under his tent watching the droplets fall, watching the night slowly pass, wondering what this day of July 3rd had brought and why it could not have been different
George Pickett lost in dreams of glory won and the embrace of a fair lass, slept the sleep of the victorious.
Major Williamson, sitting on the bluffs overlooking Pipe Creek, was wrapped in silence, comrades asleep about him, wondering what the morning would bring and would the day to come be his last
Wesley Culp, a private with Johnson's division, lay curled up on his side near the Taneytown-Emmitsburg Road, clutching his torn stomach, crying softly, as his life trickled out Only the day before he had crept through the lines to visit his family home at Gettysburg, a Northern boy who had somehow wound up in the Southern ranks. Now he was dying here. At least I could have-died on my own land, he thought
John Bell Hood, arms folded, walked slowly through the camps of his division, nodding, offering a few words of congratulations, as men looked up at him. Finally he walked out into the fields, alone, looking north toward the fires burning on the other side. His arm hurt scratched by a ball. It could have been worse though, he realized.
Porter Alexander crawled under a limber wagon, stretching out calculating the numbers in his head, glad for once that there was more than enough ammunition to go around, in fact more ammunition, than he could fire in a long battle; glad as well that the day was over as he closed his eyes.
And thousands more drifted in and out of sleep. Those who were still alive, who might have been dead, and those who were alive and would be dead come morning. From the far reaches of a nation or from just down the lane they had come, these 160,000 boys and men, filled with tragic dreams of glory or with no dream at all other than a realization that they had to be here.
They had flowed over the roads, cresting mountains, leaping rivers, a tidal flow of a nation that still had not resolved if it could, indeed, be a nation. They were unlike any armies in history. Few of them truly hated; none had dreams of conquest of pillage and rape and destruction. Both armies fought mostly for an ideal, ironically the same ideal in the minds of many, and a few fought for a greater vision of all that could be, a dream that transcended the moment and the age they lived in. If they prayed, both prayed to the same vision of God, and even at this moment thousands had that same book open to favorite passages, most of them turning to the Psalms, silently reading while comrades and enemies slept.
Some now wandered the fields near Taneytown, lanterns bobbing up and down in the night mists. And when a comrade was found, more than one sat in silent grief, wondering why, wondering as well if fate had been different might that smiling friend be alive this evening, rather than cold and ready to go back into the earth.
The campfires guttered out All was still except for the muffled calls of sentries, the snoring of exhausted men, the steady patter of rain, and the distant muffled sobs of the wounded. Occasionally a man asleep would cry out stir, and sit up. Looking around, he'd remember that it was but a dream, and then silently lie back down. The nervous who could not sleep sat by die dying fires, staring off into the night pondering, as all soldiers have pondered, the meanings behind all things, the reasons why, the dreams yet to be lived, the fears of what might be.
And so, four score and seven years after the founding of the Republic, July 4,1863, began.