Gettysburg

Chapter Nine

11:00 AM, JULY 2,1863

FAIRFIELD ROAD EMMITSBURG

"General Longstreet?"

The courier was edging along the side of the road, pushing his way around a battery, standing in his stirrups, and looking toward Pete and his staff. The day was getting hot; the courier's horse was lathered, the animal blowing hard, the lieutenant's face covered with dust, traced with rivulets of sweat streaking his forehead.

Longstreet nodded, motioning the boy over. Excited, the courier drew up alongside the general and saluted. "Message from General Robertson, sir," and the boy handed the paper over.

Pete, swinging one leg up over the pommel of his saddle, opened the message and quickly scanned it.

"Robertson has Emmitsburg. Pete announced, looking back to his staff. "They took the signal station up behind a Catholic convent, St Mary's College," and he paused, looking at the time on the note, "thirty minutes ago."

There were nods of satisfaction.

"Did the signal station get any messages off after we came into view?" Pete asked, looking back at the courier.

"Not sure, sir. They was waving them flags something fierce though as we came through the town. Some mounted boys up front got up there quick and took 'em prisoners."

"Anything else in the town?"

"No, sir, just some stragglers. General Robertson said

that it looked like a whole hell of a lot of Yankees were there yesterday though. Stragglers from First and Eleventh Corps, he said."

Pete nodded, pulled a pencil out of his breast pocket, and flipped the message over.

Secure road south and north of town; push out pickets. Clear your men from the road. Law's brigade will start toward Taneytown.

Signing his name, he handed the message back. "Where is General Hood?"

"Sir, I heard he was reconnoitering east of the town. Moving toward the bridge over Monocacy Creek."

"Get back to Robertson; tell him I'm coming up shortly," and he nodded a dismissal.

As the boy pushed back onto the crowded road, Pete turned to his staff. "One of you stay here in case any more couriers come back looking for me. One of you go back up the road as far as Fairfield, keep them things moving, keep them moving. I'm going up to join General Hood and can be found on the road to Taneytown."

Wearily swinging his leg off the pommel, he slipped his foot into the stirrup and urged his mount to a slow trot. The road was narrow, coming down out of a low ridgeline that cut across the road toward Emmitsburg. The battery that had just rumbled past had come to a stop, and pushing around it, he swore at the sight of an ammunition wagon blocking the way ahead. The driver and half a dozen men were squatting down looking at the rear axle, the left rear wheel splayed out at a drunken angle… apparently a lug nut and the wheel had come loose.

"Damn it!" Pete snarled. "Don't just sit there staring; get some men and, if need be, heave that damn thing off this road. You're blocking the entire column!"

"Ah, sir, we can fix this in ten minutes."

"I don't have ten minutes! Heave it off the road now!"

The men saluted and as he rode on he heard one of them whispering that "Old Pete" was in a bad temper.

Damn it, I am in a bad temper! he thought angrily. Two or three breakdowns like that could delay a column for an hour or more. If this was going to work, they had to get into Taneytown before Meade began to shift He had to assume that the signal station had sent a warning, that even now staff officers were galloping about Meade's headquarters, heading out to the various corps. Fifth and Sixth Corps were still not clearly accounted for. If they were coming up from Westminster or Taneytown, they could be turned around in fairly short order, and the race would be on.

The rear of Law's brigade was ahead of him, swinging down out of the pass, keeping a good pace. An orchard opened up to his right and he edged his way off the road and into the rows of peach trees. The trees nearest the road had already been stripped by the passing column, but in the middle of the orchard the fruit was still untouched. As he moved up to a slow canter, he reached out and snagged one from an overhanging branch and bit into it grimacing slightly. The fruit was still hard, not quite ripe. In Georgia they'd be ripe, and he thought for a moment of his boys-a summer evening, picking peaches for a cobbler-and forced that away. They're dead. Don't dwell on that now. My babies are dead and gone from the typhoid.

He rode on, half consuming the peach and then tossing it aside. The orchard gave way to a wheat field. It took a moment to find an opening in the split-rail fence. The wheat brushed against his boots, heavy golden stalks ready for the harvest. In fact part of the field had already been cut, but no one was working the field today. Not with a war on.

He hated trampling down the hard labor of another. There were more than a few who these last two weeks were taking pleasure from it, making the Yankees feel what a war is like, the men said; but his nature rebelled against such wanton destruction and vandalism. Someday this war was going to be over. If we win, we have to be neighbors once more.

As he reached the bottom of the field he saw the farmer standing by his barn, a portly wife clinging to his arm. Pete tipped his hat, and she offered a wan smile. The farmer just glared at him, saying nothing.

The path from the barnyard led back down to the main road into Emmitsburg, and he followed it The street was packed with troops, men of Law's brigade. The village was typical of the region, small two- and three-story houses, packed together tightly, their front steps right on the walkways flanking the roadway. Windows were open, curious civilians peering out at the flood of men pouring down their „thoroughfare. A tavern had a provost guard outside its door. The troops streaming past peppering him with jests and more than a few barbed comments about good infantry going thirsty while officers lingered inside. He was tempted, just for a second, to actually stop and go in, to see if any officers were indeed malingering within under pretense of securing contraband liquor. The guard nervously saluted as Pete continued on.

The road curved down a gentle slope, past a church that had a Union hospital flag hung from a window. The doors were open and he could see a surgeon at work. Some casualties from the previous day's fight had most likely been moved down here during the night A dozen soldiers, a mix of Yankees and his own, were on the steps of the church, one rebel boy moaning, holding a crushed foot up in the air, blood dripping from his smashed boot Several others were obviously sick, one an old man with a waxy pallor and blue lips, wearing a tattered uniform, a soldier from the Texas Brigade.

Several of the Yankees saluted, and Pete returned die gesture as he pressed on. Directly ahead was the intersection with the Gettysburg-Emmitsburg Road. A regiment in open order was deployed in a field north of the intersection, slowly pushing up along either side of the road in a heavy skirmish line. As he reached the junction, he spied Robertson, commander of the lead brigade in the march. Robertson was standing to the side of the road, talking with his staff.

Behind him, in the fields to the south of town and below the convent, the Texas Brigade was deployed, guarding the approach to the south.

"How are things here?" Pete asked.

Grinning, Robertson saluted.

"No real trouble so far, sir. Skirmish to take that signal tower," and he pointed up to the high ridge behind the convent "Gotta figure we just knocked on the back door of the Yankees."

"Why is most of your brigade off that way then?" Pete asked casually. Robertson was a good officer, who knew his business.

"A couple of the stragglers we picked up"-and he gestured to where half a hundred Yankees were sitting glumly in an open field, guarded by several mounted provost guards- "one of them said there was a brigade of Yankee cavalry south of here and coming up this way."

Pete nodded, shading his eyes as he scanned the road to the south. No dust on the road, no sense that anything was coming, but still a brigade of Yankee cavalry slamming into their line of march could play havoc; even a brief delay at the crossroads here would reverberate clear back to Gettysburg, bringing the entire march to a halt He silently cursed Stuart Rather than rounding up headquarters details and mounted staff to push the head of the column, it should have been a full division of Stuart's troopers securing the way.

"General Hood?"

'Talked with him about a half hour ago, sir. He's heading east with his staff to scout the bridge at Monocacy. He should be at the front of Law's brigade. The head of their column should be a couple of miles down the road by now."

Pete nodded, gaze still looking south, then turning in the saddle, he studied the road northward. All of the wheat and corn in the fields to either side of the road was trampled down, hundreds of burnt circles marking campfires, clear evidence that a lot of men had been through here in the last couple of days.

"So far though," Robertson offered, "it looks like every one of them Federals hightailed it up to Gettysburg yesterday. Other than that sorry bunch sitting over there, a couple of surgeons and the Signal Corps unit, there was nothing here."

"Could change damn quick though," Pete responded. "Rest your men, then fall in on the rear of Hood's column once the rest of the division has passed. If there's a fight up ahead, I want your brigade of Texans in it I want to keep my units together as much as possible. But if anything starts to loom up from either direction, you get word up to me quick. I'm going forward, and once into Taneytown I will establish headquarters there. You got that?" '

Robertson repeated the orders, and Pete nodded approvingly.

He looked around again. To the west of the north-south road, it was good ground, perfect for a defensive fight; on the other side, however, the land gave way to gently rolling farmland. If this plan worked, the entire Army of Northern Virginia would funnel through here across the next two days. If the Army of the Potomac should react by coming back down the main road to Gettysburg, they could possibly cut his corps off, strung out all the way past Taneytown.

Then it was going to get dicey. We stretch out If we grab Taneytown and start to move toward Westminster, then we have them. But if they react now, coming south on this road, it will be us who are scrambling.

He looked back to the north.

"If there is cavalry coming up from the south, we can handle it I'm more worried about a damn corps of infantry coming back down this road from the north. Before you push on, get up this road a bit scout it out find a good defensive line to slow them down."

"Yes, sir."

He hesitated for a moment Perhaps I should stay here, at least till I get a full division forward. He looked back toward the town of Emmitsburg. The torrent of troops continued to pour down the main street reached the intersection with the Gettysburg Road, and pressed on eastward. The pace was quick. Hood was doing a good job. The men were moving along sharply. Now that they were out of the pass above Emmitsburg and into open country, we should be able to make close to three miles an hour to the Monocacy Bridge. The road was a good one, a pike surfaced with crushed limestone.

Should I stay here to keep an eye on things?

No. That's what I would have done yesterday. Not today. I can't think that way today. Trust Lee's instincts. It was I who first put this scheme forward; I have to keep it moving. The old man was right Jackson is dead. I have to take his place now. To hell with the myth about Jackson's foot cavalry. Let them see what my corps can do for a change.

He looked over at his staff. The boys were tired. Most had not slept since yesterday morning, and he could see more than one who had that wistful, dogged look in his eyes, hoping he'd declare that here was headquarters and they could grab a few minutes of sleep in the shade.

We do that and it sends a signal to every soldier marching past. Headquarters is here; this is the center; we can begin to slacken the pace.

"Come on," Pete said, "we got some more riding."

None of them said anything. A few were obviously a bit surprised at his determination to go to the front of the march.

Swinging out into the open fields beside the road, Pete urged his mount up to a near gallop, weaving through open pastures, rich land of wheat corn, apples, and fat milk cows. It was getting decidedly hot even as he rode, and he took his hat off for a moment letting the breeze cool his sweat-soaked brow.

Troops marching on the road saw him pass, a few offering a cheer. He wasn't the type that most of the men cheered, no Jackson, but damn it he would show Jackson a thing or two this day. He passed a battery of three-inch rifles, moving at a sharp pace, the road ahead darkened by the swaying column of infantry, the men moving briskly, some of the shorter men pushing along at a slow trot Something must be up, he realized, an order from forward to come along on the double.

And then directly ahead, he heard it, the patter of musketry, puffs of smoke rippling along the far ridge, a low stretch of ground, the crest, open pasture and fields. Whoever was shooting was down in the wheat and com. He slowed for a moment, not sure if they had, in fact, run into Union troops contesting their approach, then saw some men in butternut sprinting from the road, deploying out along the base of the ridge and moving up, arms still at the shoulder.

Coming down from the ridge ahead was a knot of mounted men, one of them John Hood, and Pete angled over toward him, coming on fast, his mount laboring hard, exhaling noisily. John was heading for the road but then swerved at Pete's approach and came straight toward him.

"What's happening, John?" Pete shouted, even as he reined in hard.

"Damn Yankee cavalry, that's what gives. The bridge over Monocacy is just on the other side of that ridge. We were just about on it, and then from the other side, out of Taneytown, we saw them coming up, riding hard, a regiment at least and more on the way."

"Can you force it?"

"I'm doing that right now."

Even as he spoke, the volume of fire was increasing. A regiment of troops down on the road was moving forward on the double in columns of four, heading up toward the low rise. As the head of the regiment crested the rise, the racket swelled, and he could see several men tumble out of the ranks. The column slowed and then began to deploy into a battle line.

"We're trying to find a ford so we can flank it, but I think they've beaten us to the bridge." "Who is it?" "Buford."

"Damn!" Pete sighed. It would have to be him. A year ago, at Second Manassas, John Buford had put up a hell of a fight and almost delayed Pete's march through the Bull Run

Mountains. Reports were he had done it again yesterday before Gettysburg. Why the hell was he here now?

11:45 AM

GETTYSBURG

"Sir, maybe you should get up." Henry Hunt groaned, raising his hat off his face, squinting up at his orderly, who was looking down anxiously.

He wanted to curse the young lieutenant and tell him to go away. The orderly was holding a tin cup of coffee as a peace offering, and Henry gingerly took it by the rim, swearing softly as it burnt his fingers before he could finally take the handle. He blew on the thick brew.

"What's going on?"

"Some real upset, sir."

He stood up, bones creaking from the effort, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and looking around. All was quiet along the brow of the cemetery. There were occasional distant pops from skirmishers off beyond the wooded hill to the northeast As he faced that way, the thump of distant cannon fire washed over him. The volume picked up even as he stood there.

Are things opening on our right? he wondered. Is Lee trying to flank us there? Around the headquarters, back behind the slope, there was a flurry of activity: staff officers riding back and forth, knots of men talking.

Strange how it worked, so many self-important men around a headquarters, all of them acting as if the fate of the war rested on their ponderings and swapping of rumors. It was like a hive of bees getting riled up whenever something happened.

"What's the upset?"

"Sickles has moved."

"What?"

"You can see for yourself, sir. Apparently he did so without telling General Meade."

The orderly motioned to the west, and Henry followed him, coming out from under the shade of an elm, squinting from the harsh noonday light. Slowly walking up the slope of the cemetery, he sipped the coffee. He hated the feeling when awakening from a midday nap, especially after an exhausting night of work. It was hard to think clearly. You felt sticky, aware of just how long it has been since you had a decent bath, a change of clothes, and a proper meal.

A gun crew was directly ahead, the men standing, pointing off to the south, intent on whatever it was they were watching. As he came up alongside the three-inch gun, he finally saw what they were looking at a mile away… an entire corps of Union troops, flags flying, moving as on parade, sweeping out across the fields toward the Emmitsburg Road. Though long ago cynical about the grandeur of war, he had to inwardly admit that it was a powerful sight

"General Meade galloped out of here a few minutes back, swearing a blue streak," Henry's orderly said. "Everybody saw it"

"Better get down there," Henry sighed. The orderly, who had been leading Henry's horse, handed over the reins. Henry drained the rest of the coffee, tossed the cup on the ground, and mounted.

"There's more, sir. Right after General Meade rode out I was talking with a sergeant with the Signal Corps. He said there was some confusion about the signal station down at Emmitsburg."

"Emmitsburg?"

"Yes, sir. It's been hazy all morning, sir. This sergeant said there was some sort of signal, but they couldn't read it clearly. And then nothing. The station atop that big round hill on our left flank has been trying to raise them, but no response. Seems that there's a bit of worry about it"

"Anything else?"

"Well, there're a lot of rebel cavalry coming in around our right. That's the skirmishing you're hearing."

Henry looked toward the northeast Puffs of smoke rippled in front of the crest locals called Culp's Hill. His orderly was right It was cavalry, dismounted skirmishers. "Infantry?"

You can still see what's left of the Rebs who attacked last night; they're on the far side of town.

Worry about that later. Stuart coming in, and on the right flank, might mean a move. Should I check this out? he wondered.

He suppressed a groan as he spurred his mount to a fast canter. Too damn much riding these last couple of days, enough to bounce your guts out For a brief instant he thought about just turning back to headquarters, finding the shade of the tree that was so comfortable, and waiting it out But two things drove him. If Sickles was on to something down on his flank as well, he'd better go up and see about the deployment of guns… that and he was just damn curious to see what was going to happen.

They followed the crest line down along the position held by Second Corps. The men were up, shading their eyes, looking southwest watching the spectacle; and it was indeed a spectacle, long battle lines of blue sweeping across the fields. He weaved his way down onto a farm lane that cut through a woodlot and then came out to a narrow road heading west. The pasture to either side of the road was trampled down, clear indication that lines of infantry had just passed through. He turned onto the road and within a couple of minutes came up on the rear of the advancing corps, men moving forward in a vast formation, the sight of which quickened his pulse. The road was jammed with artillery limbers, batteries assigned to Third Corps; and as he passed, several men shouted to him, asking what was happening.

He ignored their calls, weaving in and out through the formation until his orderly pointed toward the knoll crowned by a peach orchard. The confrontation was already on, Meade and Sickles facing each other, still mounted, staff back a couple of dozen feet away, soaking in every word. He edged up to the group and reined in.

"And I tell you," Sickles was shouting, waving an arm toward the west, "there is something big moving out there, at least a division, maybe a corps going for my flank."

"Goddamn it, Sickles!" Meade roared back. 'I'll break you for this, bust you out of this army. I don't have time for amateur generals running about whenever the whim seizes them."

"Been going at it like this for the last ten minutes," a guidon bearer whispered, coming up to Henry's side.

He ignored him, trying not to be too obvious a voyeur to the confrontation.

"Listen," Sickles replied, lowering his voice, "it's good ground here; half my corps were looking up at this knoll. Beyond that, I tell you we're getting flanked. The signal station tried to communicate that from Emmitsburg, and now we can't raise them at all."

"How in God's name do you know that?" Meade shouted. "We could barely see it yesterday it was so damn hazy. Based on that, a signal station we can't see, and now you're moving without orders?

"Can't you hear the Confederate artillery on the right flank?" Meade shouted, gesturing back to the north. "Lee might very well be moving on our right, and you are overextending the left

"Goddamn you, Sickles! Damn you! You moved up from Emmitsburg yesterday without waiting for orders. Now you're moving again without orders. Are you in command of this army or am I?"

Sickles said nothing.

"Answer me, damn you!"

"You are," and mere was a long hesitation, "sir."

"General Sickles, if you desire to still have your command five minutes from now, you'll listen to me, damn you. Turn your corps around and go back to the position assigned to you."

Dan sighed, looking around at the men watching the confrontation. He wearily shook his head "At least let me send a brigade forward as reconnaissance, that and send a couple of regiments south toward Emmitsburg to find out what is happening, why we can't raise the signal station down there."

"Your heard me, damn you. Every man back to his original position right now."

Dan looked frantically around, like someone cornered in a barroom brawl, hoping for support. All around him were silent. "Order the men back to their original positions," he finally said to no one in particular, his voice filled with weariness.

Members of his staff sat mesmerized, not moving. "Do it!" he roared.

Staff officers turned and moved off. Meade, glowering, looked around and with a savage jerk turned his horse about

"After this is over, by God there will be an inquiry into this, Sickles. I promise you that"

Without another word, the army's commander rode past Henry. Henry watched him go, wondering if he should ask for orders, but figured it was best not to deal with the man at this moment

The confrontation broke up. Bugle calls echoed across the fields, the vast movement grinding to a halt, like a lurching machine that had suddenly seized up. Thousands of voices rose up, expressing the eternal sentiment of soldiers of the Republic, that the damn officers didn't know what the hell they were doing.

' Dan caught Henry's eye, and before Henry could turn away he rode up.

"Can't you talk to him?" Sickles asked, an imploring note in his voice.

"Me? If you couldn't I know I sure can't."

"You see my point, don't you?"

"It's not my place to say," Henry replied cautiously. Sickles was noted as a damn cagey courtroom fighter. The last thing Henry needed was to be cited as having lent support to Sickles's position. Meade's words were not idle ones; they rarely were. Once the campaign was over, Meade would go after Sickles, political friends be damned.

"You heard about Emmitsburg?"

"Something."

They couldn't read the signal, but one of my staff was up there, on the Big Round Hill, and said there was a lot of frantic waving and then nothing. Nothing, I tell you."

"And?"

"Hunt, they're flanking us. You can smell it. The dust in front of my lines; you can see that even now.

"After you left I sent a probe forward and it got savaged. Berdan is damn near dead, and a hundred men lost. If the Rebs were fighting that hard, just a mile in front of me, that tells me they don't want us looking over that next ridge. It tells me we're being flanked."

"So why advance forward, unmasking your left?" Henry asked, unable to avoid getting sucked in.

"Because if they're flanking us, we should hit them first It's the same as Chancellorsville all over again. Hit us, fix our attention, then slip around our flank. I said it at Chancellorsville, by God, and no one listened. And now we're doing it again. Twenty more minutes and I'd've been into them, goddamn it!"

"You should have cleared it with him," Henry finally offered.

"I sent half a dozen messengers to him. Half a dozen and always the same reply, that he had things well in hand "

The battle formations to either side of Sickles were at a halt and now facing about starting the hike back toward the main line half a mile away. Sickles looked around, squinting, features scarlet.

Henry almost felt a moment of pity for this foul-mouthed ward politician turned general. He had been humiliated in front of his entire command. Every soldier, down to the most dim-witted private in the Third Corps, would know about that humiliation within the hour.

"You'd better get back and establish headquarters," Henry finally offered.

"Hunt would you do me a favor?"

"What sir."

"Go south. You've got a good mount Just take that road down to Emmitsburg. You could get there in an hour. Scout it out."

Henry said nothing. Scouting was not his job. It was artillery and Sickles knew that If Meade found out that the chief of artillery had gone off scouting at the request of Sickles, he'd be out of a job.

Dan lowered his head and turned his mount back. "Hunt, this day will wind up haunting both of us for the rest of our lives." He rode off, leaving Henry alone at the peach orchard, except for the orderly, who like all orderlies waited patiently.

Henry nudged his mount forward, the orderly falling in by his side, the young officer knowing better than to say anything. For a brief moment Henry was tempted to detail the lad off, send him down the road as Dan requested. No, one boy wandering off on his own would most likely get lost or wander into trouble and get himself killed.

All the way back to headquarters, and even as he settled back under the elm tree, Dan's words haunted him. The nap was an unsettling one and brought Henry no rest or peace.

1:00 PM, JULY 2,1863

THE WHITE HOUSE

President Abraham Lincoln settled into the chair by the table covered with maps. Sighing, he adjusted his glasses and wearily looked at them, half listening as Edwin Stanton, Secretary of War, droned on about the situation. To one side of the table were the latest newspapers from Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, all of them screaming about the rebel invasion.

"The reports indicate that Lee's casualties last night were substantial," Stanton announced. 'It's a heartening indicator."

"Strange," Lincoln whispered, "we now call the deaths of so many young men heartening."

"It's the most successful repulse we've seen yet of an attack by Lee, in fact the first clear defeat since Malvern Hill a year ago…"

"And do you think he will come on again today?" Stanton nodded.

"Why?"

"It's not like him to back off from an attack."

Lincoln picked up one of the maps brought over from the War Department showing southern Pennsylvania and most of Maryland. Blue and red pencil markings traced out the route of the two armies as they converged on Gettysburg.

"Should we be confident that General Meade will react correctly?" Lincoln finally asked.

"He was chosen by you," Stanton replied cautiously.

"Upon your recommendation."

"He is the only one capable right now. Unfortunately, Reynolds turned it down."

"And now he is dead."

"Yes."

Lincoln nodded, looking back at the papers, one of them dated from Chicago only two days ago. How remarkable, he thought When I came to Congress from Springfield only

seventeen years ago the journey had taken more than a week. Now papers can be rushed from Chicago in just two days. The Chicago paper's top story was a report from Grant's army proclaiming that Vicksburg would fall within the week.

"There is nothing we can do to affect things now," Lincoln said, again looking back at the map. "Let us trust that General Meade will prove himself worthy of the men who serve him;"