Potomac has been defeated, perhaps destroyed…' and his voice trailed off for a moment When he started to speak again, his voice was tight as if near to breaking. 'Can we rebuild?'
Herman looked into the man's eyes, shocked by this momentary display of heartfelt anguish. His heart went out to this man who carried the burden, who in fact tomorrow could simply announce that all was over, that the killing would stop… but in so doing the Republic would forever be cut asunder.
'Sir, by the day after tomorrow I will have a bridge across the river at Harrisburg, supplies sufficient for fifty thousand men stockpiled, at least a battalion of fresh artillery brought up to defend the crossing. The rail network from Harrisburg is a good one. I can call in trains from New York, Pittsburgh, Reading, and Philadelphia. That sir, is our strength, the mere fact that I can do that As long as there is the will to fight sir, I will provide the tools to do it'
'As long as I have the will,' Lincoln said, turning away to gaze out the window.
All outside was silent The celebration of the Fourth, the firing of the hundred-gun salute in Lafayette Square across from the White House, had been canceled, the troops on alert those guns now deployed around government buildings, two batteries' worth on the grounds of the White House.
Lincoln finally turned and looked back at Haupt 'Good luck in Harrisburg, sir, and thank you.'
'Thank you, Mr. President' and Herman took the president's hand, Lincoln's grip warm and powerful.
'General Haupt, you provide the material, and I will provide the will.'
11:00 PM, JULY 4,1863
LITTLESTOWN
Gen. Robert E. Lee walked into the church, taking off his battered straw hat It was a Lutheran church, simple in its design and appointments. Flashes of light outside briefly illuminated the stained-glass windows. The distant roll of thunder and of gunfire was continuous. He tried to block the noise out of his mind.
Lee turned and looked at Walter, who had walked up to the altar and, after struggling with several damp matches, finally managed to strike a light touching the flame to the two candles.
Lee nodded his thanks. 'I'll be along in a few minutes, Walter.' 'Yes, sir.'
The door to the church opened, several staff coming in. Lee said nothing as they approached.
'Sir,' one of them cried, 'Generals Johnson and Hood beg to report that they can no longer keep track of the number of prisoners. Pickett just sent back a report that he will push on toward Gettysburg as long as one of his men can march with him. He's taken twelve colors and more than a thousand prisoners from the Fifth Corps. General Stuart sends his compliments as well, sir, and will block every road as ordered.'
'Any word from General Longstreet yet?' Lee asked. 'No, sir. But we can see the flashes of gunfire from his columns. They are pushing the Yankees straight into us.' Lee said nothing. 'Sir, are there any orders?' Again a moment of silence. 'Sir?'
Lee looked at the three with a sense of infinite weariness. They were really nothing more than boys, filled with that strange exuberance that sometimes comes after a battle, exhaustion not yet laying them low.
'Repeat the orders I've already given,' Lee said softly.
'Show mercy now. The time for killing is over. Show mercy.' 'Yes, sir.'
Walter stepped between the messengers and Lee, gently turning them about One of the men stopped and came up to Lee, extending his hand. 'Please forgive me, sir,' the lieutenant gasped, 'I just want to be able to one day tell my grandchildren that I shook your hand this day, this most glorious Fourth of July.'
Lee nodded and briefly extended his hand, forgiving the boy his bad manners.
Tears came to the boy's eyes. 'God bless you, sir,' he stammered and men, embarrassed at his impetuous act he fled.
Walter looked back and Lee just motioned for him to leave and close the door.
Alone, Lee sat down in a pew, and leaning forward he clasped his hands, resting his forehead upon them.
Walter Taylor stood outside the church, arms folded, guarding the door. A small crowd had garnered, curious civilians, wounded soldiers, staff, even a few Union prisoners, disarmed, standing in the rain.
He waited and as the minutes passed, he finally became concerned. Throughout that long day he had watched his general almost like a child, now an adult keeping a watchful gaze over an aging parent Three times during that final drive into Littlestown, he had been compelled to hold the general back, for the fire was in him as he drove Pickett forward, directing the battle, reeling from exhaustion as they finally broke into the town and gained the road that cut off the Union line of retreat
Finally, after a half hour of waiting, he felt a flicker of fear. Motioning for the cavalry escort to block the door, he slowly opened it and stepped back into the church.
There was a terrible flash of terror. Lee was slumped over, head resting against the next pew. Taylor carefully walked up, about to cry out In the candlelight Lee looked so deathly pale.
He stood by the general's side, not sure for a moment what to do. 'Sir?' he whispered. There was no response.
Ever so gently he reached out, touching Lee on the shoulder, terrified that when he did so Lee would just simply collapse.
Leaning over, he finally heard a gentle respiration.
Walter stood there for a moment and then began to weep. Taking off his rain-soaked jacket, he balled it up, placing it on the pew by Lee's side. Ever so gently he put his arms around his general and eased him over on his side, the jacket now a pillow. Stepping next to the pew, he lifted the old man's legs and carefully stretched them out.
Lee stirred for a moment 'Roonie,' he whispered.
'He'll be all right sir,' Walter whispered back. 'Your boy will be all right'
Lee did not stir, lost in exhausted sleep.
Going up to the altar, Walter blew out the two candles. Sitting down in the pew across from his general, Walter Taylor kept vigil throughout the long night.
And thus the Fourth of July, 1863, came to an end.
8:00 AM, JULY 5,1863
LlTTLESTOWN
It had been a long night the longest of his life, General Longstreet at the head of the column of Pender's division, led the way up the main street of Littlestown. The road to either side was packed to overflowing with troops, both Confederate and Union. The men of Johnson's division cheered his approach, and at that moment it touched him profoundly.
These were the veterans of Stonewall, and across the last year-since the Army of the Valley had fallen in with the ranks of what would become the Army of Northern Virginia-he had always sensed a certain haughtiness on their part, that they saw their leader, 'Old Jack,” as the superior of Lee's two lieutenants.
That was gone this morning. Men saluted at his approach, then took off their hats, shouting and waving. Behind him the mud-spattered boys of Pender marched with a jaunty swagger, returning the cheers. A group of Hood's men, drawn up in a small column, each of the men carrying a captured battle flag, fell into the line of march to resounding cheers.
The disarmed Union prisoners, part of a long column of troops now being marched back toward Westminster, had been pushed to die side of the road. They looked up at him, some with open hatred, most with that vague, shocked, distant look of troops who had seen and endured far too much. An officer in their midst stepped forward a pace and saluted.
Pete hesitated, looking down. It was Maj. Gen. Abner Doubleday, left arm in a sling, a comrade from an eternity ago, a fellow graduate of the class of 1842.
'Abner, sorry to see you're hurt,' Pete said. 'How are you?'
'That was you I faced yesterday at Union Mills, wasn't it, Pete?'
'Yes, Abner'
'A long way from West Point now, aren't we?' 'Yes, Abner.'
