up his notebook. Henry passed the canteen back over.
'Pipe Creek,' Warren said, 'if it's going to be anywhere, I hope it's here. Whoever holds this land will win.'
As the two turned to ride on, Henry paused, looking off to the north. He wasn't sure, but there seemed to be a tremor in the air… artillery fire. He waited, head raised; again a distant, flat thump, more felt than heard. He looked over at Warren, who nodded in agreement They waited for a moment but all that greeted them was silence, and finally they rode off to the east
JULY I, 1863, 9:00 AM
NEAR CHAMBERSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
'Battalions, forward march!'
The colonel shouting the order sat ramrod straight astride his mount, sword drawn, the tip of the blade resting against his shoulder, obviously nervous that the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia was watching. The young officer's voice echoed across the orchard, picked up by company captains, rippling down the line. He raised his sword and saluted as the column moved onto the Chambersburg Pike and headed east toward the South Mountain gap.
Lee returned the salute, reining in Traveler, and moved to the side of the road, clearing the way for the brigade of Georgia troops that were filing out of the orchard. A lone fifer at the front of the column valiantly tried to play 'Dixie.' The boy looked over at Lee, turned bright red, and completely fumbled the tune, a ripple of laughter echoing through the column at his discomfort
Lee smiled and touched the brim of his hat in salute to the boy who, crestfallen, looked as if he was about to burst into tears.
'Don't you worry, General, we can fight a heap better than Jimmie can play,' a wag shouted from the middle of the column.
A piercing cheer erupted, the men raising their caps in salute as they passed Lee.
'They're in good spirits this morning.'
Lee nodded, looking over at Pete Longstreet who was riding beside him. 'They're ready for what has to be done,' Lee said quietly, watching as the column passed before him. 'In spite of the hard marching of the last three weeks, the men look healthier, they're living well off of the land up here.
'You saw the report I sent over to you last night from Harry Heth?' Lee asked, looking back at Longstreet
'The contact his division made with Yankee cavalry last night near Gettysburg? Yes.'
'And?'
'If Stuart was where he was supposed to be, we'd know more about what's down this road,' and as he spoke Pete gestured to the east
'That's what we'll find out today,' Lee said. 'It might be nothing more than a forward screen, backed up with some militia.'
'Or it could be the entire Army of the Potomac concentrating there. We're still spread out sir.'
'We won't be by the end of today,' Lee replied sharply. 'We are at Cashtown, as planned. If the Army of the Potomac is indeed coming up, as your spy reported, Cashtown is very defendable ground. And don't worry about our young prodigy. General Stuart will be reined in; I've sent couriers put to look for him.'
Longstreet said nothing, but Lee could read the doubt in his eyes, the caution that hung over 'the Dutchman.' In the past it has always been a good balance, the impetuous Jackson, ready to leap off into the unknown, Longstreet the opposite, forever preaching about defense. But Jackson was gone. Longstreet was the senior of the corps commanders now and had to be pushed to show more audacity.
The column continued to pour out of the orchard and onto the road, and Lee felt a thrill at the sight of them. They were typical of the hard-fighting Army of Northern Virginia. Many wore gray four-button jackets, some were dressed in whatever could be found or sent from home. Butternut brown was fairly common, the wool spun, woven, cut stitched, and dyed by loving hands. Some wore butternut pants as well, but a fair number had on sky blue trousers, taken from Yankee prisoners.
Most of the men had shoes, yet again captured, though more than one boy was barefoot this morning. On the soft dirt roads of central Virginia on a summer day this hadn't been a problem, but this road was a main pike, and as it cut through the South Mountain Range there were sections that had been macadamized with crushed limestone gravel so the going would be tough on bare soles.
In this, the third year of the war, the men passing before him were tough, lean, hard survivors who knew their business. They were stripped down for summer campaigning: a blanket roll over the left shoulder maybe containing an extra pair of socks and shirt, perhaps a Bible stuffed in a breast pocket, a haversack that for once was bulging with rations, a cartridge box with forty rounds, and a good Enfield.577-cal. rifle on their shoulders, in total not more than twenty-five to thirty pounds of equipment
Headgear in this army truly was a mark of individualism. A few wore kepis, mainly the officers and NCOs; most had on slouch caps, broad brimmed, dirty, sweat stained, more than one on the point of falling apart. A man in the middle of the column was wearing a tall stovepipe, which he courteously removed as he passed, and directly behind him was a redheaded, bucktoothed lad wearing a woman's bonnet the men around him grinning as he took it off and tried to hide his joke before Lee noticed.
They looked up at him eagerly, eyes bright, some doffing their hats in respect others saluting, the bolder ones calling out his name, a few asking if the Yankees were up ahead.
It had rained during the night. The air was heavy, damp, coiling wisps of fog trailing up from the mountain range just to the east The air was rich with morning smells, crushed hay, peaches, and cherries ripening in the orchards. Mingled in, of course, was the smell of the men passing, a rank mixture of scents that every army throughout history cloaked itself in.
Lee edged Traveler onto the road and broke into a smooth canter. Traveler, well rested and well fed for a change, took the pace eagerly. They passed the head of the Georgia column, and this time the fifer boy held his tune.
Next on the road was a battery of three-inch rifles, four guns, battery horses looking like they had just been 'requisitioned' from a farm, leaning hard into the ton and a half of gun and caisson. The battery was from Virginia, and he looked at the faces of the boys, wondering if any were the sons of old friends or neighbors from long ago.
The road ahead pushed up through the gap in the South Mountain Range, orchards and split-rail fences flanking the pike, giving way to woods filled with stately old elms and chestnuts that canopied the road. The day promised to be warm, but here in the pass the slanting rays of the morning sun, poking out from a scattered bank of rain clouds, had yet to take off the chill. It was pleasant, like stepping into a dark springhouse on a hot day. Moisture from a shower still clung to the leaves and branches that arced overhead.
The pike was filled with his army-too many men, in fact, for this single road-and at times they were at a standstill, leaning against rifles, waiting for the traffic to clear up ahead. Their spirits were good, though. The day was still young, and they were an army used to triumphs, now moving deep within enemy territory. The world around them was new, fresh, untouched yet by the ravages of war, and thus a world to fill them with curiosity and interest.
But after passing more than a mile of troops frozen in place, Lee felt an increasing frustration. He wanted this army moving, concentrating, not locked in place, and finally he waved for his aide, Walter Taylor, to come to his side.
'Get a courier forward. I want to know what the delay is up ahead, and tell whoever is responsible to clear the road and keep this column moving!'
Salutes were exchanged, and an eager young boy, delighted with his task, set off at a gallop, knowing that thousands of eyes would be upon him, that he bore an order from Genera] Lee, and perhaps the fate of the Confederacy rested on the safe delivery of the message.
Edging around the stalled columns, Lee and his entourage crested the top of the pass and started downslope, the column ahead still mired in place.
And then he sensed it
