blow. After that to try and take Washington. That had been decided this day.
What next? Hold in place and hope they attack? They would be fools to do so until their strength was again overwhelming. Pull back up into central Maryland, toward Frederick perhaps? That would significantly shorten his lines of communication, but for the moment that was not a major concern. The windfall at Westminster, and the richness of the surrounding farmlands, could support them right into early autumn. Try for Baltimore? It would extend him, widening his flank to the north, and leave in his rear a gathering enemy strength in Washington. His instinct of the moment was to draw back toward Frederick, but he was not yet ready to give that order.
He could not decide that tonight, not after this bitter day.
'We'll talk again at dusk tomorrow, gentlemen,' was all he could say. 'I think we all need a day of rest.'
One by one they saluted and stepped away from the table. He could see that Pete wanted to continue the conversation, but a gentle shake of his head was signal enough. Pete saluted and withdrew until finally only Walter was left
'Sir, your bed is ready,' Walter said. 'May I suggest some sleep.'
'In a little while, Walter.'
Walter made as if to argue. The general touched his aide lightly on the arm.
'I think, Walter, I'm going to order you to bed. You can see to your duties before dawn.'
'Yes, sir.'
Walter knew better than to press the issue. He touched the brim of his hat and withdrew.
Alone, at least as alone as he could ever be with this army, Lee sat back down but then, after a restless moment, he stood up and walked out of the grove. The ever-present troopers who served as his escort stirred.
'Just walking,' Lee said. 'Stay off your mounts, let them rest at least'
A sergeant with the detail saluted, called for a dozen men, but then kept them back at a respectful distance.
Lee slowly walked up the slope. The tangled grass, brambles, and corn had all been trampled down in the assault, the debris making his footing somewhat difficult As he went along he could see dozens, perhaps a hundred or more lanterns, now pale and ghostlike in the light mist that was rising, ambulance crews and stretcher parties sweeping the ground for the fallen.
In the faint glow of starlight he finally saw the outline of the fort, easy to pick out by the lanterns atop it, several signal flares sputtering on the breastworks, casting a sharp, metallic light.
He could hear distant moans, cries, a hysterical shriek, 'Don't touch me! Don't touch me!' He lowered his head.
'Merciful God, forgive me my many faults,' he whispered. 'Grant repose to those who fell here this day. Grant peace to the families of the fallen, and lay Your gentle hand of peace upon those who suffer this night Forgive us, Oh Lord, for what we have done to each other this day. Amen.'
He looked back up at the fort Beyond it he could see the unfinished dome of the Capitol, the lights of the city. For a moment he wondered if a more distant light was the front porch of his own home, but knew that was fanciful illusion, though the thought of it caused his eyes to sting. He turned and walked away.
Lincoln slowed his pace as he walked into the fort. Now he was seeing it up close for the first time. Torches flickered on the parade ground, which had been turned into a temporary hospital, the men waiting for the ambulances that would take them back into the city and out of harm's way if the battle should resume tomorrow.
It was a enamel house, thick with the stench of torn flesh, vomit, excrement, gun smoke, with the faint whiff of ether and chloroform. He wanted to shut out the sound of a surgeon at work, taking a man's leg off, operating on a rough plank set up on sawhorses right out in the open, two assistants holding lanterns to either side of him.
He spared a quick glance; the surgeon did not even see him, so intent was he on his work, struggling to loop a string of catgut around a hemorrhaging artery. A male nurse, middle-aged, white-flecked beard, was beside the surgeon, ready to hand over more looped strings of ligatures. The man looked somehow familiar, and their eyes met It was the poet he had heard so much about and read. The poet smiled, and the gesture was strange until he realized it was a look of encouragement, an almost fatherly gaze. Lincoln nodded and turned away, fearful that if he actually saw the operation in its entirety, the leg dropping off, he would become ill.
He carefully stepped around the wounded, most of them so preoccupied with their personal hells that they did not know who was walking past them. To the east side of the parade ground there was a long row of still forms, the dead; a couple of orderlies staggered by, carrying a body away from where the wounded were spread out. They dropped the body and went back, walking slowly.
He saw a knot of officers gathered on the parapet, and approached. One of them turned, whispered, and the others came about, coming to attention. He recognized Heintzelman in the middle of the group, arm in a sling.
He had not held much confidence in this man, and still had doubts as to his fitness to manage an independent command, but Heintzelman had proven in the moment of crisis that he had courage, personally going back in to lead the countercharge, getting wounded in the process.
Heintzelman fumbled for a second to salute, grimaced, letting his right arm drop back into the sling, and then saluted with his left hand as Lincoln carefully ascended the steps to the gun platform where the officers were gathered around the thirty-pounder.
'They're still out there, bringing in their wounded,' Heintzelman said.
The president didn't need to be told. The ground before him at first glance looked like a summer meadow covered with fireflies. The lanterns swung back and forth, bobbing up and down, some not moving, resting on the ground, casting enough light to reveal a stretcher-team bending over to pick up their burden. Ambulances were lined up alongside a row of torches, men being lifted into the back. Cries of anguish echoed across the field.
Bright flares were set along the top of the fortress wall, illuminating the moat below and the wall of the fort. Men were sloshing through the muck, pulling out bodies, dragging them up the opposite slope.
'Sir, perhaps it's not wise for you to be this close. Those are rebs working out there,' Heintzelman whispered.
A bit surprised, Lincoln suddenly realized they were indeed rebels, not thirty feet away, moving like ghosts in the dark. One was humming a hymn, 'Rock of Ages,' as he helped to pull a wounded man up out of the moat. But his hymn was all but drowned out by the low, murmuring cries, sounding like the damned trapped in the eternal pit below.
'I'm safe here,' Lincoln replied softly. 'General Lee is scrupulous about a truce, his men will honor it'
'Sir, I took the liberty of loaning them twenty ambulances with teams; they were short'
'Short?'
'One of their doctors told one of my staff that their army was bogged down on the roads, leaving all their baggage and nearly all their artillery behind. The ambulances were left behind as well. They only had a few dozen with them.'
'It was right of you to do so, General.'
It was an interesting bit of intelligence, explaining perhaps why they had not attacked with more strength.
'I also sent over several wagons of medical supplies. We've got warehouses full of ether, bandages, medicine; I just couldn't stand to see brave boys like those out there suffering needlessly now that they are out of the fight'
Surprised, Lincoln looked over at the general and nodded his approval.
'You did the proper thing, General, and I thank you.'
He stood silent and no one dared to interrupt.
'If they want more time after dawn, do not hesitate to give it to them. The same stands for ambulances and medical supplies. I will not have wounded men out there suffering.'
'Yes, sir,' Heintzelman lowered his head, 'and thank you, sir.'
'Thank you?'
'This morning, sir. What you did on the road. The entire army is talking about it.'
Lincoln felt himself flush. He had done nothing out of the ordinary and he was still a bit shocked by the terror
