my two brigades dogging them on the two roads leading down to Hauling Ferry.'
'What about Sykes?'
'He is over toward Urbana. About six or seven miles southeast of here. Couch's militia is falling in behind him.' Grant smiled.
The net was indeed closing in.
'Sir, what happened here?' Grierson asked. 'I tell you, coming up these last few miles, I've never seen anything like it before. Hospitals packed with Confederate wounded. Came across thirty or so field pieces, spiked, wheels smashed, abandoned. And good Lord, the smell. What happened?'
The mention of the smell finally got through to Grant.
'Excuse me, gentlemen,' he said softly. 'Must relieve myself.'
He took his mount to the east side of the Monocacy, the ground held so tenaciously by Lee, then by Ord, and then again by Lee. He hurriedly rode up the embankment and dismounted. He walked over to a small tree, branches stripped clean by the gunfire, grabbed hold of it, leaned over, spitting out his cigar, and vomited.
He stood there for several minutes, gagging, vomiting again, each convulsive breath carrying with it the terrible cloying stench of the dead all around him, men lying in the mud, bodies half floating in the water, ghostlike faces looking up at him as if in reproach.
Tears streamed from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.
'Sir?'
Embarrassed, he looked up. It was Ely, holding a canteen. He nodded his thanks, took the canteen, and swished a mouthful, then got sick again. Ely stood by his side.
'It's alright, sir,' Ely whispered. 'It's hit all of us. Sir, nothing to be ashamed of. It's hit all of us.'
Another mouthful spit out, and then a deep, long drink. For a second he wanted to ask if the water was clean, for if it had come from the river he knew he'd vomit again.
'That's it, sir,' Ely said softly. 'Take another. Believe me, sir, all of us understand.'
He drank again and fought against the wish that it was pure whiskey, a quart of it. No, don't think that.
He took another sip, spit it out, and handed the canteen back.
'Thank you, Ely.'
'Of course, sir.'
Ely stood formally to attention, as if the exchange that had just taken place had never happened and would be forever forgotten, something that history would never record, how the victorious general had vomited like a sick child on the field of victory.
He let go of the tree, took his hat off, and, taking out a soiled handkerchief, wiped his face and brow. He nodded, indicating that he was all right. Ely turned and walked away.
Grant returned to his horse and mounted. Only then did the rest of the staff and Grierson cross the stream.
Not a word was said for a moment.
'We must push them,' Grant said at last. 'Grierson, ride with me for a while. Tell me everything that's happened over the last week. Ely, detail off some couriers, get word up to Sheridan. His men are already across. Push Longstreet and push him hard. Not one of them is to escape, not one of them. A courier over to Sykes as well.'
He thought for a moment, the maps memorized.
'Tell Sykes I want him to swing wide. March toward Clarksburg, then due south to the Potomac at Darnestown. He will be our screen to the east, cutting off any attempt by Lee to move in that direction. A courier to Couch as well, that the militia is to follow Sykes and provide support. General Grierson, I suspect that is the route Lee might try to take. Once we are clear of this area, ride with all haste to Sykes with your men, push ahead of him to Clarksburg and down to Darnestown and from there to the canal.
'You know how to move fast, and I want that now. I'm behind Lee and will act as the barrier. You and Sykes are to be the pushers, bringing him back toward me. One of my staff will sketch out a map for you as we ride. Do not let Lee slip off to the east. His one chance is to slip past you and Sykes, perhaps make a lunge on Washington or to find a crossing place further down the river. I expect you will prevent that at all costs.'
Grierson grinned and nodded.
'Better orders than when I rode through Mississippi,' Grierson replied.
Grant nodded. This was the kind of officer he liked and trusted. Grierson would make sure, in what would be a forced march of twenty-five miles or more, that the back door was definitely slammed shut.
'Finally a telegram message to Hancock,' Grant said, looking back at Ely, who was again all business, not an indicator at all of what had transpired but minutes ago. 'Tell him to anticipate that Lee will now try to shift east and to ensure continued blockage of any potential crossing.'
The group set off, riding at a slow trot, weaving around more bodies, past the ruins of the McCausland Farm, the hospital area around Dr. Field's house where McPherson had died, several thousand Confederates wounded around the house.
They rode on as dawn broke, the rain having stopped, coiling mist rising from the fields and woods.
'Push them,' Grant repeated again, like a mantra. 'Keep pushing them.'
Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia Near Barnsoille, Maryland
6:00 A.M.
General Longstreet rode into the encampment, mud splashing up from his mount as he trotted along the road. Troops were encamped to either side, a few had pitched tents, most had just collapsed in the open fields and were now sitting around smoky campfires, cooking their breakfasts.
Lee's headquarters area loomed up out of the mist, flag hanging limp, tents pitched in a half circle, awning canopying the middle, a knot of officers gathered round the.fire. They looked up as Longstreet approached, coming to attention, saluting.
'The general?' Longstreet asked. 'Still asleep,' one of them replied softly. 'He was up most of the night,' another interjected, as if to apologize for the general sleeping so late.
Longstreet said nothing, taking a cup of coffee offered by one of the staff.
Walter came out of a tent and approached Longstreet. 'He's awake, sir, and begs your indulgence. He'll be with you in a few minutes.' 'Thank you, Walter.'
Longstreet sipped on his coffee, looking around at the staff. All were silent. Gone was the levity, the high spirits, the usual gibes back and forth, the sense of confidence. None of them had changed uniforms or had them cleaned in days.
'General Longstreet.'
Lee was standing at the entry to his tent, beckoning him to come in. He did not have his uniform jacket on, nor vest, having obviously just been awakened.
Longstreet went into the tent and sat down in a camp chair Lee motioned him to while he sat back down on his cot.
'Your report, sir,' Lee asked without greeting or the usual polite small talk before getting down to business.
'Sir, I started the withdrawal just after dark. The last troops pulled off the line at around midnight. The head of my column is within two or three miles of here. The tail of it most likely back near the Buckeystown ford. I regret to tell you, sir, there's bad news.'
'And that is?'
'Sir, I abandoned over a hundred guns. The pieces we captured at Union Mills. All of them were spiked and wheels smashed.'
'I expected that,' Lee said. 'They were of use at the moment but are a hindrance now.'
'I thought so, too, sir. That frees up several thousand infantry who are back in the ranks. The ammunition, though, sir.'
'You did not get all the ammunition off the trains?'
Longstreet shook his head.
'Why not, sir?' Lee asked sharply.
