midmorning tomorrow the roads should be dry enough to swing his massive artillery reserve, usable guns captured at Union Mills, and his regular artillery train on to the roads as well. He could have them in position to bombard Baltimore's defenses by nightfall.
The march would be a leisurely one, only thirty miles in two days, nothing at all like the blistering pace of the previous campaign. Officers had been told not to push the men hard, keep a standard pace of two miles to the hour, with ten-minute breaks. Forage parties were to move ahead and, following proper custom, offer payment vouchers for any supplies taken. His general order of the previous evening had emphasized that yet again. They were here to entice Maryland into the Confederacy, not to come at bayonet point, strip away its rights, and then rob it, as the Yankees had done throughout Virginia.
He hoped that Baltimore could actually be taken without a fight. Once his lead division was in place, a message would be sent in to the mayor offering full protection to the city if the civil authorities would surrender without a fight. He knew the army garrison would most likely refuse, but directing his appeal to the civilians might help win their support when they pushed in.
The band, now standing in a field at the edge of the village, broke into a cheery polka. Longstreet looked over at them with displeasure.
'Rather see them carrying rifles. Better use of those men than their tooting away like that; they can't even carry a tune.'
'They're hospital orderlies when the fight is on,' Lee said soothingly, 'and besides, the men do like them.' Longstreet shook his head.
'I'm going to push on, sir, move up to the head of the column. My staff will be back here to keep an eye on the crossroads.'
'I'll ride with you then, General Longstreet.' 'A pleasure, sir.'
He looked over at Longstreet and felt a surge of approval. Old Pete was now the aggressive one. The victory at Union
Mills, with praise heaped upon him for the brilliance of the flanking march throughout the South, was overshadowing the legend of Jackson at Chancellorsville. This last campaign had transformed the man. He was more confident, aggressive in movement, hard-driving the way Jackson had been.
Hood would still bear watching. Like Ewell and Hill before him, he was new to corps command. He was a brilliant division commander in the field, but his fumbling before Fort Stevens, though by no means entirely his fault, meant he was still not up to corps command. Lee had given him the Annapolis assignment for two simple reasons. First was the route of march. He wanted Pete's greater striking power to hit that major city. Pete had to clear the road up here to Lees-borough before Hood could even begin to move. Hood's actual fighting strength was barely half that of Longstreet's, with two of his remaining divisions under strength and a third division detailed off to Virginia. His Fourth and Fifth divisions, Pettigrew and Perrin, were being left behind for now. Annapolis was obviously suitable for Hood's smaller formation.
The second reason was that it would give Hood a chance at a semidetached command in an operation that was not all that crucial. If he won, it would reinforce his confidence and serve as a good test If he failed, it would reveal his faults, which, if serious enough, would mean he would have to be relieved; yet such a defeat in and of itself would not be a threatening or terrible blow.
The two generals rode on, the day an absolute delight. An actual coolness was in the air as the last vestiges of the storm raced south-eastward, the trees swaying, leaves rustling in the breeze. The fence rails flanking the road were piled high with weeds and honeysuckle. The pastures beyond, though empty of cattle and horses, were rich, the tall grass flattening down before the wind.
Several children were sitting atop a fence, wide-eyed as they approached. One of the boys, standing, balanced himself, saluting. Smiling, Lee saluted back. Two girls, giggling and blushing, stood at the gate to a farmhouse, both of them waving National Flags of the Confederacy. This time Long-street tipped his hat, as did Lee. An infantryman, sitting on the side of the road, barefoot, nursing what looked to be a broken ankle, looked up balefully as the two approached.
'Sorry I can't stand and salute, sirs; it's broke. Fell out of a tree picking peaches.'
'An ambulance will be along to see to you,' Lee said in a kindly voice. 'But next time, son, don't go foraging like that Take it as a lesson.'
'Give it to 'em in Baltimore, sir,' the boy shouted as they continued on.
'They weren't supposed to know where we were heading,' Longstreet said, apologizing.
'No matter, any man who knows his geography can figure it out now. If we'd turned west at the Rockville Road, it would've meant western Maryland or back to Virginia. That's why their spirits are up; they know we're not retreating.'
He caught a glimpse of the president's carriage just ahead around a gentle turn in the road, guards trailing behind.
He slowed his own pace, not wanting to catch up quite yet
'Strange to have him marching with the army,' Pete said. 'To be expected now.'
'I could tell he wanted Washington. In fact, he assumed he could ride straight in.'
'God willed differently.'
'I don't think he likes God's will,' Pete replied.
Lee did not respond to what could be considered to verge on blasphemy.
'Frankly, I wish he had stayed back till we finished the job,' Longstreet persevered.
'I will admit the thought,' Lee replied. 'However, Mr. Benjamin's arguments for taking Baltimore were cogent and persuasive.'
'It's just that we should be clear to do our job without someone second-guessing our decisions, or, for that matter, countermanding them.'
'I don't think the president will do that. He is an old military man himself, remember. He will stay back and only observe. He'll leave the job to us.'
'I hope so, sir.'
'Let's not be troubled by it now,' Lee replied soothingly. Catching up to the rear of the president's cavalcade, Lee reined in, and returned Old Pete's salute as his second in command spurred his mount and continued on.
It was a most pleasant day, and for the moment he rode alone, glad to not be noticed, glad to just enjoy the cool, windswept afternoon.
The train glided into the station, bell ringing and whistle shrieking. A full brigade, his old Excelsior, was drawn up along the siding to greet him. Though standing at attention, the men let out a tumultuous roar of approval as he stepped out on to the back platform, eyes sparkling with delight.
Gen. Dan Sickles had returned to his beloved Army of the Potomac.
The brigade broke ranks, swarming around the train. Grinning, he waved for them to gather in, ignoring this breach of discipline. Scarred battle flags were held aloft and waved overhead, the cool evening breeze rushing down the Susquehanna Valley causing them to snap and flutter. He held up his hands for them to be silent, but the cheering continued, climaxing with a rousing three cheers for 'Old Dan!'
Finally they fell silent, looking up at him, some with visible tears in their eyes.
'My comrades, my friends,' he began, and for a moment his voice choked, so he lowered his head. A bit of it was required melodrama, but in his heart, it was real as well. These were the men he had recruited back in sixty- one, and how few of them remained. How many ghosts now stood around them. He truly loved this brigade, and he would see that now it was done right, that they would be led to the victory they deserved. He raised his head again.
'As you know, yesterday I was appointed to command of the Army of the Potomac.'
Again three cheers greeted him and he basked in the glow of it.
'And yet I must now ask. Where is the Army of the Potomac?'
His words were greeted with silence, many of the men standing stock-still, some lowering their heads.
'Where are our gallant comrades of the old reliable First Corps? Our brothers of the Second Corps, who we watched go bravely forward at Union Mills? The men of the Fifth? The Eleventh, which, better served, could have
