Gettysburg

Chapter Seven

4:00 AM, JULY 2,1863 HERR'S RIDGE

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

"Sir, I think you should see this."

John Williamson drifted in the half-real world of waking and numbed sleep. He tried to ignore Hazner for a minute, to hold on to just one more precious minute of rest, the opiatelike sleep of complete exhaustion, devoid of dreams, of nightmares, of all that he had seen.

"Sir." Sergeant Hazner roughly shook him, and John sat up. Hazner was crouched before him, a dim shadow in the moonlight

"What is it?"

"Over there by the road, sir. Something is up."

John turned, fumbling for the glasses in his breast pocket. The world around him was hazy, wrapped in early morning mist and smoke drifting from smoldering fires. The air was rich, damp, carrying the scent of crushed hay, and that other smell, the smell of a battlefield. Where the battle had started, dead men and horses scattered about their campsite alongside the pike were beginning to swell.

The camp was quiet at least nearby, but he could hear low moans, cries from a nearby barn, bright with lights. Even as he put his glasses on, two stretcher bearers staggered toward him, carrying their burden, who was babbling softly, lost in delirium. Even in the dark he could see that the stretcher bearers were Yankees, white strips of cloth tied around their arms to indicate they were prisoners who had given their parole and were now pressed into service.

One of them looked over at John. "Vere the hospital? Ve lost?"

It took him a moment to understand what the Yankee was saying. His accent was thick, German from the sounds of it

John pointed toward the barn. The Yankee nodded his thanks and pressed on.

John spared a quick glance down at their burden. In the soft glow of moonlight the man they were carrying already looked dead, his features ghostly white, dark, hollow eyes wide with pain. Since he was wrapped in a blanket it was impossible to tell which side he was on.

Across the gently sloping valley below, lanterns bobbed up and down, like fireflies drifting on a summer night The rising mists gave it all a dreamlike appearance, of spirits floating in the coiling wisps of fog. A lantern or candle would stop, hover for a moment and then move on. He watched as one knot of men stopped, lantern laid down on the ground, men gathering around, one going down on his knees and covering his face, while comrades gently picked up a body to carry it off.

Around him all was still, what was left of his regiment lost in druglike sleep. A man cried out softly, tossing, and sat up, breathing hard. Embarrassed, he looked about caught John's gaze, then looked away, lying back down.

Fires had burned down to glowing embers, thin coils of smoke rising straight up, mingling with the damp night air.

"I think that's your friend, Colonel Taylor, over on the road," Hazner whispered, touching John on the shoulder and drawing him back.

"So?"

"Well, sir, if he's out and about back here behind the lines at this time of the morning, that tells me something is up."

"And you want to know what it is." John sighed. "Is that what you woke me up for?"

"Well, sir, I don't have the social connections you have."

"Goddamn, Hazner. Can't it wait till morning?" 'It will be that in another hour, sir. I was about to get you up anyhow."

Every joint of his body ached in protest, and he was tempted to tell Hazner to go to hell and lie back down. But the sergeant was right. If something was up, it'd be good to know it now.

After the bloody assault of the afternoon, the regiment had gone into reserve. He had watched the final assault go in against that damn hill on the far side of the town, a charge that had gone down into flaming ruin, wiping away the sense of triumph. Perhaps the regiment would be ordered up, and the thought of that knotted his stomach. Not another charge, not like yesterday, God forbid, never another charge like that

He looked to the road and saw that it was indeed Taylor, half a dozen staff with him. They were dismounted, gathered in a tight circle, one of the men holding a lantern over a map that was pressed against the flank of a horse. John moved toward them, feeling a bit nervous about intruding, but Hazner had set him on a course and he could not turn aside, for now his curiosity was up as well.

As he approached, Walter looked up. "John?"

"How are you, Walter?"

"Good to see you're still alive."

"Same for you."

There was an awkward moment and John felt he should withdraw.

"A hard night" Walter finally offered. "How did it go up there?'

"They held the hill. We lost a lot of good men, and now the Yankees are digging in. You can hear them up on that hill moving more men in."

"So that means we attack again come dawn?" John struggled to control the pitch of his voice, offering the words casually, as if discussing a distasteful chore that he simply needed the light of day to accomplish.

Walter sighed. "John, you know I can't discuss that with you."

"I know, Walter. But if my men need to get ready, I'd better see to it"

An approaching horseman, coming from the west, stilled their conversation. John recognized the rider as one of the young couriers on Lee's staff, a cheerful lad still filled with a starry-eyed dream of glory. The boy's mount was exhausted, blowing hard, covered in lathered sweat. The boy reined in before Walter and saluted.

"Sir, I was sent back to tell you that the road is clear all the way down to Fairfield, and that scouts have been posted in that town. A patrol led by Major Hotchkiss is moving toward Emmitsburg but has encountered nothing so far. At least one brigade of Yankees marched through Fairfield early in the evening, just after dark, coming up from Emmitsburg, but turned east toward Gettysburg, moving on the road that comes out near the rocky hill south of town."

"How do you know that?"

"We captured a few stragglers, sir. Third Corps."

"But the road we want is clear?"

"At least to Fairfield, sir. One of the stragglers said there was nothing behind them."

"Did you hear him say that?"

"Yes, sir. But any man that would talk like that I wouldn't trust sir. No honor in a man who would say that to someone on the other side."

One of Taylor's followers snorted disdainfully.

"No honor in any of them bastards."

"Lieutenant Jenson, go tell that to the Yanks still holding the hill," Walter replied softly.

"Did you see General Longstreet on the turnoff to the Fairfield Road?" Taylor asked.

"Yes, sir. I passed the word to one of his staff. They said he was trying to get a few hours' sleep before setting off."

"Jackson would already be moving," Jenson whispered.

Walter turned and looked sharply at his companions. "I will not tolerate that" he replied sharply. "If the general were here, you wouldn't have dared say that"

John watched the interchange. Jenson lowered his head

and muttered an apology. John could see that Walter was exhausted, leaning against his horse for support Hazner approached, bearing two cups of coffee, and with his usual good sense he held one out to Walter, who gratefully took the steaming cup while John took the other one. Such a gesture meant that John could linger for a few more minutes and perhaps find out what was brewing.

The first sip was hot and when it hit his empty stomach, John gagged. He'swallowed down the bile, took a deep breath, then another sip, which settled the rebellion. Walter half drained the cup and set it back on an upright fence post Then he looked up at the courier.

"Good work, Vincent General Lee is asleep. His headquarters is the house across from the seminary. Report there, but don't disturb the general. Like Longstreet he needs some rest too."

"Yes, sir." The boy saluted and tried to urge his mount up to a gallop, but the poor exhausted beast would only give a slow trot as he set off down the road.

Walter looked back at John.

"Emmitsburg, that's off to the south of here, isn't it?" John asked. Walter smiled.

"Just relax, John. It won't affect you for hours. Go back and get some sleep."

Jenson, who was standing behind Walter, turned and, looking back toward the town, stiffened. "Sir, I think that's General Lee approaching."

All turned. John saw Lee, riding alone, coming out of the mist cloaking the road and stopping to take Vincent's report Again, for John, it had a dreamlike quality. The wisps of fog and smoke drifting, the outline of the seminary up on the next hill, light shining from the windows, and beyond, die glow of distant campfires from what must be the Union lines.

Here and there in the surrounding fields, men were standing up, rising like apparitions from out of this place of battle, watching as Lee approached. The world was still, as if the thunder of the previous day must now be paid for with a vow of silence. The only sound was the soft clip-clop of Traveler's hooves.

Walter stepped away from the group as all stiffened to attention. "Sir, I thought you were asleep," Walter said.

"I wanted to check on things and see General Longstreet off."

"We're working on it now, sir. Sir, you really should get a little more rest."

'Time enough later, Walter. Vincent told me the road is open."

"Yes, sir. Scouts are pushing down toward Emmitsburg."

"The way is clear and can't be observed?"

"We were studying that just now, sir," and Walter nodded toward the map still resting against the flank of a horse. "There's some concern about the rocky hill south of Gettysburg." As he spoke Walter drew a line with his finger across the map.

"This ridge here should block that view. That's at Black Horse Tavern, where Hood's division will pass. McLaws is supposed to come down by a different road farther back. As we move through Black Horse, a regiment of skirmishers will deploy along the ridge in front of the tavern to keep back any Yankee cavalry that might come up. With the rain yesterday, dust should be to a minimum."

"Are the men up yet?"

Walter pulled out his watch and opened it, Jenson bringing a lantern over. "It's just about four-thirty, sir? They should be falling in right now."

"Fine, then let's go and see them off."

"Sir, I can attend to that Might I suggest you get some rest sir? I know you haven't had more than two hours' sleep since yesterday morning."

Lee leaned over and put a hand on Walter's shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Walter, but now is not the time for it. The men must see me; they must understand how. important this day is."

Walter said nothing. The staff began to mount and Walter looked back at John. "Not a word. We don't want wild rumors flying around the camp. You know how men out on a picket line will talk with the other side. Orders will come down soon enough."

'I’ll keep it quiet, Walter."

'Take care of yourself, John."

"You too, Walter."

The cavalcade set off, heading west John watched as they disappeared into the mist. Three times now he had seen Lee in the last five days. And thousands had died across those five days.

"A flanking march, that's it" Hazner whispered, picking up the cup that Walter had left half-empty, draining off what was left

"Looks that way."

Hazner looked back to the east "First light" he announced.

It was hard to tell if the glow on the horizon was from the Union campfires or approaching dawn.

"Things have changed." Hazner sighed. ‘I thought we'd push straight in come dawn."

John said nothing, sipping the last of his coffee, chewing on the grinds.

‘I wonder what would have happened if we had. It's not like the old man to break off an action like this," John whispered.

"We'll never know. No sense dwelling on that. It makes a man crazy wondering. Let's just hope it means we stay alive another day and not wind up like those poor bastards in that barn."

"A wonderful thought" John sighed.

"I'm going to get a little sleep, sir," Hazner announced. "You should, too."

"First you wake me up, and now you go to sleep. Thank you."

"Well, my curiosity got satisfied, sir, and now I can rest easy. You heard them talking. Longstreet is off on a flanking march. He'll go slow as he usually does, and that means we can skip getting killed this morning." Without waiting for a reply, Hazner went back to his fire, tossed a few sticks on, and then flopped down on a ground cloth, oblivious to the dead mule that was lying on its back only a few feet away.

If only I could be like him, John thought enviously, to put aside all thought, to sleep next to a dead animal without concern, and awake with a smile, in fact eager for what he calls "the mischief ahead." Whether Longstreet moves slow or not, another fight is still ahead. It's never going to end. It may be mischief for Hazner, for me it's pure terror.

As he rode west Lee's gaze lingered for a moment on an overturned caisson, dead horses collapsed around it One was still alive, forelegs shattered, its lungs working like a bellows. The earth was torn up from the previous day's battle where Pegram had massed over thirty guns to support the assault… dead horses, plowed furrows of dirt from incoming solid shot tearing in, an abandoned limber wagon with shattered wheels. And more dead horses. Poor beasts. The dying horse cried piteously.

"Lieutenant Jenson," Lee sighed, "please put that creature out of its misery."

Jenson angled away from the group, passing through the shattered fence. Lee did not look back as a pistol shot broke the silence.

The regiments that had fought the previous day's battle were camped in the fields to either side of the road, exhausted men, lost in oblivion. Let them rest; it won't be till later in the day that their time will come. A few, unable to sleep, lined the road, watching as he passed… but none spoke. A barn and house to his left were aswarm with activity, hundreds of men lying in the farmyard, around the house, on the porch. Most were silent a few crying; a knot of men were on their knees, hats off, praying over a comrade. Lee took his hat off, holding it to his breast as he rode past

He pressed down the road, moving aside to let a train of ambulances pass, followed by several dozen stretcher bearers, Union prisoners who looked up at him curiously. He nodded and continued on. A cluster of tents, pitched next to the road, was ahead; atop the crest of the next hill, the ridge top poked above the fog like an island in a sea of white moon glow. He rode into the mist flanking the hill, the cool dampness soothing, cloaking him for a moment He entertained a passing fantasy, that he could somehow stay here, let the burden drop away.

I let raw emotion take control The last assault never should have gone in. And I could see it in the eyes of those around me, the staff meeting at the train station in that accursed town. No one would say it, but I know they were thinking it. I pushed Ewell's men forward, and now thousands are gone from the ranks.

When I stand before God, will those who fell be in judgment? How do 1 answer for all the blood upon my hands? John Reynolds died near here, supposedly just beyond the hospital barn, a godly man Reynolds.

Out on the frontier, Texas, he remembered how the natives believed that the spirits of the slain lingered at the place where they had fallen.

Does John now linger here? Is his spirit drifting with this fog? The men, Reynolds's valiant men who so manfully held us throughout yesterday morning and afternoon… was this mist not a mist at all, but rather their souls?

He shivered. Pagan superstition, don't let it haunt you now.

John, I'm sorry. This war never should have divided us. Duty, you and I lived for duty. We learned that at the Point, taught it to our cadets in turn. We were trained for this, believed it to be our sacred trust. A soldier must not ask why once he has drawn his sword for his nation. He takes his orders and carries them out unflinchingly; thus it was with the Roman Republic, with the Crusaders, with my own father who rode with Washington.

But… ami now responsible for all this death? For John, for the bodies that are swelling in the fields around me?

He slowed, suppressing a gag as they edged around a dead horse that had been nearly cut in half by a bursting shell, the broken body of a man twisted up in the offal.

"Lieutenant Jenson, find some men, get that poor man out

of that mess, and have them drag the horse off the road. I don't want troops seeing that"

If I start thinking of this now, dwelling on all that this means, it will slow me, make me hesitate. One gets lost in it, the sight of a column of men, buoyant, filled with youthful zeal, marching along the road on a spring morning, their voices rising with the wind, a vast ocean sweeping toward victory, or the lines going forward, the first shock of battle joined, the air splitting with thunder… those are the moments we give ourselves over to the dark god

The duality of man is so apparent then, men like myself who kneel in prayer to the Prince of Peace, who then rise up and go forth, open-eyed, into the red field, filled with mad passion for war and glorying in the moment. It is now, though, that we see the truth in what we do in this darkness before dawn.

No.

And he visibly shook himself, as if trying to cast off a weight upon his shoulders.

Not now. Long after this day is over I can dwell on my sins. I must stay the course with all my strength; to do otherwise is a betrayal of all who have already lost their lives, leading us to this moment.

Traveler's pace slowed as they went up the slope, the mist thinning. He stopped and lowered his head and took his hat off.

"John, old comrade, rest in peace. You did your duty as I must do mine. Forgive me if I have wronged you.

"God, give me strength and Your guidance for this.day ahead. Lead me to what is right so that this struggle might come to the end that You decree. Thy will be done.’

"Amen."

Startled, he looked to his left, where voices had echoed "amen" in response to his prayer. Several men stood by the side of the road, infantry, staring at him, all with hats off.

"Good morning to you," Lee said self-consciously.

"General, sir. Heard we were marching south. Are we giving up here and headin' home?"

"Just do your duty, men, and all will be well."

The men, ladened down with dozens of canteens dripping with moisture, saluted.

"We was out fetching water for our company," a corporal announced. "Full canteens, haversacks, and eighty rounds per man. Sounds to me, sir, like a fight coming, sir."

"Return to your company, Corporal. You'll be moving shortly."

The men saluted gravely. The crest ahead was a beehive of activity, lanterns casting dim circles of light. But the sky was brightening; and looking back to the east he could see a band of violet and gold tracing the horizon, the shoulder of Orion, hovering in the morning sky.

"General Longstreet sir." It was Walter, back at his side, nodding toward the tents.

Longstreet was up, standing over a table, map spread out men gathered around him. Lee rode up and all came to attention, formally saluting.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

An orderly took Traveler's reins as Lee dismounted, another man bringing up a cup of tea, which he gratefully took, blowing on the rim before taking a sip.

"Another scout just came in," Longstreet reported. "Jed Hotchkiss reconnoitered down to a hill that overlooks Emmitsburg. He reports campfires along the pike road south of town."

"How many?"

"Not many, a couple of regiments, infantry or cavalry, not sure, sir. Lots of signs, though, of heavy troop movements from yesterday."

As Longstreet talked, he nodded to a copy of Jed Hotchkiss's map spread out on the table. John Hood and a couple of his brigade commanders were on the far side of the table.

"Sure would like to have a brigade of cavalry out in front of us on this," Hood offered.

"You have two companies from my headquarters detail," Lee replied.

"And the rest of Stuart's men?" Hood asked, and again there was that slight note of reproof in another man's voice. The universal challenge of the last week: "Where is Stuart?"

"They'll be coming in on our left flank by midmorning. Their arrival will help to keep those people in Gettysburg from looking the other way."

"Still, sir, it would be nice to have a bit more support. We're up north now. I don't have a single boy with us who knows this country the way we did back in Virginia. I'll be running half-blind."

"Jed Hotchkiss will be with you, General Hood, once you reach Emmitsburg, and he has studied this region for months."

Lee drew closer to the table and set his cup of tea down. "Let me make something very clear to everyone," he said slowly, deliberately lowering his voice, forcing those around him to draw closer. "I will not tolerate any more wishes, any more concerns as to what Stuart is doing or not doing, whether we should have taken that hill last night or not" He paused, looking pointedly at Longstreet "Or any regrets that Jackson is no longer with us. We are in command here. I, and from me to you, down to those boys who trust us with their lives. We must show confidence, gentlemen, as is our duty. Do we understand each other clearly on that gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir," Hood snapped.

Even as he spoke, Lee could see that the light was shifting. He could see Hood's face by the first touch of dawn.

"This will be like Manassas again. A long, hard march with the army split Ewell will hold before Gettysburg, drawing back his left flank onto the ridge west of town. Hill's men will wait until late in the day before setting out General Longstreet this is the day for your corps to show all that it can do. You must move swiftly and without hesitation. This is not a tactical march, sir, of but a few miles, to swing around the cemetery or even around that rocky hill. You must be audacious and move with the utmost speed. That above all, sir, audacity and speed."

He hesitated, but then decided to add one more thought. It was the type of flourish he did not like, since it smacked of theater, but if it kept their focus then he must

"Back on the road a few minutes ago three men asked me if by marching south we were going home. That is exactly what we must think on this day, gentlemen. I do not want another half victory or, far worse, what we had yesterday, though some claim it as a victory. Yes, men will die this day, and tomorrow and the day after. I want those deaths to mean something. I want this army to go home after this, the war ended. We can do that We must do that After this, I want our army to march south, back home, with victory won."

He lowered his head, his voice barely a whisper. "If we fail in this, gentlemen, then we must answer to all those who have already given their lives to bring us to this moment Keep that in your hearts this day."

He looked back up. Hood stood before him, silent and to his surprise several of the men had tears in their eyes.

"Thank you, sir, for this chance," Hood said.

"The South is with you this day, sir."

Hood nodded and looked over to Longstreet "It's nearly five, John, time to start moving."

Hood saluted, hesitated, then extended his hand to Lee. Lee took it. Though slightly uncomfortable with such displays, he knew that Hood needed this final touch, as if seeking a blessing.

Hood mounted and rode back out to the road. Looking up, Lee could see that the column was just about formed, backed up along the road to Chambersburg. No bugles sounded, no drum rolls or fifers. In the still morning air the sound just might carry far enough to the Union lines.

"McLaws and Pickett?" Lee asked.

"McLaws sets off in another half hour," Longstreet answered. "He'll move down to Fairfield on the next road to the west Pickett will be sweeping along'the flank of the South Mountain on the other side, heading down to Greencastle. There's a good road there, from the head of the pass straight east to Emmitsburg.

"That is one of my concerns. We'll be moving three divisions, plus artillery, through that one town, all of it funneling into one road down to Emmitsburg."

"It was your suggestion, General, that triggered this move."

Longstreet nodded.

"And the road is better than the one Jackson used at Chancellorsville, far better."

Pete stiffened slightly. Good. Let that rivalry play a bit in his mind this day. He knew that Longstreet held a touch of resentment for Thomas, like an older brother who, though he loved his brother, still was bothered by the attention that seemed at times to be favoritism to a younger sibling.

"You have always been the anvil general," Lee said. "Now you must be the hammer."

"Any more word on their movements?"

"We know for certain that four corps are in Gettysburg. Their left wing, which was in Emmitsburg yesterday, the First, Third, and Eleventh Corps, are all in Gettysburg. That move has unmasked their left for what you have proposed. Their Twelfth has moved in on the right flank, the wooded hill above the cemetery."

"So that leaves three corps unaccounted for."

"Your thoughts?" Lee asked.

"They're most likely coming up hard, marching through the night I don't think Meade will keep, anything back."

"I agree. Though not within the realm of what is proper, still, the truce before that hill resulted in my men mingling with theirs and learning some information. Those people up there were all talking about staying. A doctor helping to move the wounded from before the cemetery gate said that the gunners and infantry were digging entrenchments and gun positions. He also said a couple of Union stretcher bearers claimed that Meade was now on the field.

"I think, General, you will have an open road before you this day. Again, the same as at Manassas."

"Battalion… forward march!"

The command was a distant echo, coming from out of the mist, cloaking the road to the west Lee looked over at Longstreet and nodded-as his companion called for an orderly to bring up their mounts. Lee settled into the saddle and with Pete by his side trotted down the sloping ridge to the junction in the road that led toward Fairfield. The head of the column was just at the turnoff, Robertson's brigade of Texans and men from Arkansas in the lead. Brigade colors were uncased, held up, marking the advance.

At the crossroads the command was given for the column to turn to the right and Lee could sense the ripple of excitement racing down the line. Several men started to cheer, and for a second Lee feared that the cheer would be picked up by thousands of voices. Officers barked commands for silence, and the men settled down.

As the flags passed, Hood and Robertson riding together at the very front of the line, Lee and Longstreet saluted.

"We'll give you that victory, sir!" Hood shouted, and again a suppressed cheer started to erupt

The First Texas strode past long-legged men dressed in tattered gray frock coats, many of them barefoot lean, tough boys born on the frontier, Hood's first command-heroes of the desperate fight in the cornfield of Antietam and the triumphal charge at Chancellorsville. They looked up at him eagerly, some saluting, others doffing their ragged hats.

They were veterans enough to know what was now being done. It would not be an assault forward; this was a flanking march, a march through rich Yankee farmland where the com was already waist high, the winter wheat was ready for harvest and orchards filled with peaches were ripening. It was a flanking march and they were in the lead, ready to set a blistering pace.

Columns were formed up in the fields adjoining the road, preparing to fall into place, couriers riding back and forth, a battery of guns edging up to the road, ready to swing in behind Robertson.

The excitement in the air was electric, for the moment casting aside the dark thoughts of earlier. If only war could be like this, Lee thought Nothing more than mornings of setting off on the march into new lands, confidence and dreams intact and no dark, boiling clouds of smoke and fire at the end of the day. For surely that is where these boys were now marching, into those clouds, and yet they were doing so with light hearts this day.

"Your men look ready," Lee offered, and Pete nodded sagely.

"They didn't see yesterday, last night except for some of the wreckage back here from Heth's attack. They're eager to get into the fight"

Lee looked over at Pete, wondering if there was a note of reproof in what was just said. No, it was just Pete, sanguine in all things, no subtlety or intent other than a calm observation.

'Too bad one of them daguerreotypists isn't around," Walter observed, "this would make quite an image."

Would it? He remembered some of the paintings of Washington, that rather ridiculous one of him crossing the river, or at Yorktown taking the surrender. Would someone, one day, paint this moment? Lee and Longstreet and the flanking march?

Don't think of such vanities. Too many men in both armies do, and it is sinful to contemplate our actions in such a light at this time.

Behind them Longstreet's headquarters staff was breaking camp, dropping the tents, packing up the map cases and gear, loading only the essentials into an ambulance. Tents and other nonessentials were to be left behind, to follow up after the infantry and artillery had passed. The entire column was stripped down for rapid movement He could see that his veterans were traveling light a thin blanket roll over the left shoulder, haversacks stuffed with rations, some men with a chicken or slice of fresh meat tied to their belt and, of course, cartridge boxes packed with forty rounds and an additional forty rounds stuffed into pockets. With each brigade would go a couple of wagons bearing extra ammunition and a few ambulances. The bulky, slow-moving wagon trains with all those vast impedimenta of war would follow later.

"I think it's time for me to get moving" Longstreet announced.

Lee looked over at his old "war horse." There was a fire in Pete's eyes, an eagerness to get moving. "Pete."

Longstreet looked at him, a bit surprised, for Lee rarely used the affectionate nickname by which he was called by nearly everyone else.

"I need to say it one last time. Move with speed. If you must set a mark, then let it be Jackson. Move as he did; slow for nothing. I say that not as a reproach, but simply as an order."

"Yes, sir."

"This, is your plan. You were the one last night who caused me to stop, to think, to remember how we did it before. Otherwise I might have gone straight in this morning. If victory comes of it, I shall let it be known to all that you were the one who conceived it"

"No, sir. I was not thinking so much on this scale. But thank you, sir."

"You keep talking of this new kind of war, General. And in some ways you are right It is all changing, rifled weapons, factories, massed armies of hundreds of thousands. None of that was thought of when I was a cadet at the Point"

"It wasn't for my class either, sir."

"But audacity, aggression still must count You have a hard march the next two to three days. Fairfield to Emmitsburg and from mere to Taneytown. Once there rest but not too long; do not slow down. Once you have secured Taneytown, Hill's corps will be on the road behind you. With Taneytown and Emmitsburg secured, I can shift our line of communications, abandon the road to Chambersburg, and march south to Emmitsburg, bringing Ewell up as well.

"I suspect by then that Meade will be onto us and coming down your way. You must push on to Westminster; that is the key. As soon as Hill starts to come up in support of you at Taneytown, then Westminster must be taken. If you can secure that, we will have their supplies and that good base you speak of, the ground south of Pipe Creek. And then you will have the battle you seek, with them coming at you.

'Pete, you might be facing everything they have and doing so alone until the rest of the army comes up. Yet again, it will be like Manassas, when Jackson held alone for nearly two days."

Longstreet shifted uncomfortably. Jackson had been furious over that action, later stating that Longstreet had come up too slowly and taken too long to deploy out while Thomas held alone, his men reduced to throwing rocks at the charging Yankees before Pete's men finally swept in.

"End this war, Pete. And believe me, with you astride their line of communications, cutting them off from Washington, they will come on with a fury. Hill will push in on your flank at the right moment, with Stuart closing from behind. But I need you to move hard and take the foundation to do it on."

"Yes, sir. It will be done."

Lee hesitated. "End this cursed war," he whispered. "I fear we have but one chance left like this. Our final chance."

Startled, Longstreet stared intently at Lee. He drew himself up and saluted. "Yes, sir."

The ambulance ladened with headquarters gear moved to the edge of the road. The last of Robertson's brigade passed, men of the Third Arkansas. The headquarters ambulance rolled into the road behind their two ammunition wagons. General Longstreet, his staff trailing, fell into the road behind Robertson. Morning fog drifted up from the creek flanking the road. Without looking back, General Longstreet disappeared into the mist

Behind Lee the sun broke the horizon. Dawn of July 2, 1863, had come.