have advanced, combined with the garrison in Washington outnumbering Lee at more than two, perhaps even three to one with rifles in the held.
There was no sense in wasting thought on it now. All of that was now out the window. He would have to start afresh as of this moment.
Regardless of its leadership, Grant had no doubt that the Army of the Potomac was a hard-fighting lot All the rivalry between East and West aside, they were men that could sustain ten, fifteen thousand casualties in a day, something that he had seen only at Shiloh, and then turn around and do it again. Approximately forty-five thousand men. If given good ground and an open fight, one that Sickles did not bungle, they just might make a damn good accounting of themselves. But only if Sickles did not bungle.
Of course he'd send the order out to recall. There was a chance he could reach Sickles before nightfall, and under pain of relieving him from command pull him back from this folly. But he knew in his heart that that would be an exercise in futility. The man was too crafty. Grant knew that no general was entirely above playing the game at times, making sure a dispatch was lost or a telegraph line cut yet again.
No, he would have to recast all on the assumption that Lee and Sickles would meet, maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon, definitely within two days.
He stepped back into the tent.
'Ely, write up a telegram of recall.'
'Send it on the open wire?'
Grant hesitated.
No, he couldn't do that. It'd be in every paper in the country within two hours, revealing dissension in the ranks, confusion, and could even trigger a panic. If Stanton had directly ordered Sickles to advance, especially based upon information of which Grant was not aware, perhaps if Lee had indeed attacked and Grant sent a recall, it would bring into the open a confrontation that Lincoln would have to address on the spot If Washington was on the verge of falling and he ordered Sickles back, it could be a disaster, even though he knew the chance was remote.
He shook his head.
'No, Ely. No telegram. A sealed dispatch. You are to take it personally. I will draw it up.'
'Are you going to fire him?' Ord asked.
Grant looked over at his old friend, who should have known better than to ask. Ord said nothing and just shook his head.
'General Ord, let's get this fracas with Hampton wrapped up. I want you to see to it; I don't have time now.' Ord nodded, saluted, and left, McPherson following. He sat down and began to draft the dispatch, knowing it was already a useless exercise. And in his mind, he began to contemplate how he, and the army gathered around him, would respond as well.
General Lee looked to the west, to where the sky beginning to shift to gold and scarlet Already the days were turning shorter and, he realized, in another month the first touch of autumn would be in the air.
The afternoon heat was beginning to abate, the first cool breeze of twilight wafting along the road, which was packed solid with troops as far as the eye could see.
The men marched now with grim purpose. Orders had been given. They finally knew what they were doing, and he could sense that many of them were relieved. They had come down this same road only days before, for some the fourth time now that they had passed up and down it over the last month. In the march south, many had dreaded the thought that they were marching to a frontal assault on some of the heaviest fortifications in the world. He had not been able to share with them his thoughts and plans, that the march had been nothing more than a maneuver, a feint, to bring out the Army of the Potomac. Their efforts, their exhaustion, their marching under the hot sun of August had achieved for him that goal.
The wiser of them had undoubtedly figured it out long ago, and those not so wise would now boast that they had known from the start And now they were marching again, forewarned that this pace would continue through the night. Fifty minutes of march and ten minutes of break, hour after hour, with two hours' rest just before dawn, then back on the road yet again.
He thought for a moment of Jackson. This was the type of maneuver that Jackson relished and that a year ago was a forte that only he could claim. But in the last seven weeks that spirit had moved into the rest of the ranks, even to Old Pete, who at this moment was at the fore of the column a dozen miles up the road. His corps had been farthest back from Washington, placed there in anticipation of this moment. They were to spring forward, prevent Sickles from gaining Baltimore and the potential fallback position of the harbor, where the Union navy could support him. Then they were to pin him in place, then hold him till Hood came up on his right flank and Beauregard was properly deployed to spring the trap.
He knew Longstreet would see it through, a march to add another laurel like the one gained in the march from Gettysburg to Union Mills.
The road ahead drifted down into a darkly shaded hollow cut by a shallow, meandering stream. He drifted from the side of the road, the troops pressing on, passing over a rough bridge that had been built during the agonizing mud march of the month before. The stream was again a meandering trickle, thick, high grass and weeds bordering its banks.
The air in the hollow was damp, cool. Fireflies weaved and danced above the meadow grass. He let Traveler edge into the stream, loosening his reins, his old companion drinking deeply.
Alongside him, in the shadows, the bridge rumbled with the passage of troops, the closely packed column moving at a relentless pace, few of the men recognizing him.
This river of strength flowed by him, tens of thousands of his boys, his men, this flower of the South, these victors of so many hard-fought battles. And tomorrow they would go in again; none needed to be told of that
He watched them in silence, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. The tears came unbidden, surprising, as if waiting in the damp coolness of the stream to embrace and overwhelm him.
Voices, hundreds of voices, filled the night, mingling together, overlapping, rising and falling, snatches of conversation as they approached the bridge, then disappearing as they marched over it and beyond…
'Gonna be a real fight tomorrow and you'll see 'em run … tell you I'm worried; her last letter said the baby was
due and I ain't heard a word in eight weeksDid you see
his face when Jimmie threw down them three aces?… It's been four months since I even kissed a girl and it's driving me just crazy…. Ma said they buried Pa next to my little sister…. Next war, I'm joining the navy I tell you….'
And thus it continued as they passed.
He took off his hat.
'Oh, merciful God,' he whispered. 'Guide me with Thy infinite love and mercy. Help me to do what is right. Help me to lead these men yet again. If battle comes tomorrow, I beg Thee to let it be swift and to bring this war to an end. Please, dear God, guide all those who fall into Thy infinite and eternal love. Comfort those who shall lose their loved ones. Guide me as well as Your humble servant to fulfill Your judgment and let the scourge of war soon pass from this land.
'Amen.'
Traveler was done drinking; his head was raised, looking back at him, and Lee felt a flood of warmth for his
