'Yes, sir.'
'I will shift my column down this way. Expect the head of it to arrive within two to three hours.' 'Yes, sir.'
Lee turned and Duvall fell in by his side to provide escort.
Lee rode slowly, looking back occasionally toward the river. So tantalizingly close. We could have the bulk of our men across by tomorrow morning. Something in his heart told him not to exult just yet.
As they reached the edge of the woods mere was a tattoo of rifle fire from the east, and within seconds it rose to a shattering explosion of volley fire.
Pete Longstreet turned away as Lee rode north. He could see that another boat was being maneuvered into place, men standing in the water. Now that it was shallower, the work would go quicker. And then the first pistol shots echoed. Looking toward the east he saw several mounted men, riding hard, one firing his pistol in the air as he galloped. Behind them, a hundred yards back, a darker mass was approaching… Union cavalry!
Across the field where the rest of his corps had been keeping low, waiting for the bridge to be finished, men were stirring, standing up, grabbing stacked rifles, starting to form.
The column of Yankee cavalry came on at a gallop, reaching the edge of the field, spreading out as they did so. Behind them a column of infantry was visible, coming at the double.
He raised his field glasses, focused on the lead flag… a fluttering triangle, a red Maltese cross in the middle.
'Damn, the Army of the Potomac.'
Winfield Scott Hancock stirred, looked up as his staff began to shout, pointing down toward the crossing. Behind him an assault column was forming up, men brought down from Point of Rocks and Nolands Ferry. He had kept the garrison at Edwards Ferry in place, except for the removal of the four thirty-pounders. There was always the chance that if he stripped out there, Lee could swing on the position and still try to take it. His reinforcements were coming, but it was taking so damn long, and now they were arriving at last. In another half hour, just before full dark, he planned to go in with everything he had and try to dislodge them before they finished the bridge.
'It's our boys!' someone shouted. 'Look over there, our boys!'
Winfield raised his field glasses and looked to where they were pointing, the view momentarily obscured from the smoke of one of the thirty-pounders going off.
And then he saw it, cavalry, a regiment at least, maybe two, but behind them, infantry, a dark blue mass, national colors at the fore, and alongside them, fluttering out for a second, a large triangle, red Maltese cross in the middle.
He wept unashamedly at the sight of it. It was the old Fifth Corps, men of his army, men of the Army of the Potomac, trusted comrades in so many fights.
'Up, boys, up!' Hancock shouted.
The troops lying in the field on the opposite slope were already on their feet, sensing from the excitement of the officers around the guns that something was about to happen.
Hancock turned back to face them.
'It's the Army of the Potomac!' he shouted. 'They're closing in from the other side. Let's join them and finish this!'
A resounding cheer arose. The men who but a minute before were nervously awaiting the orders to charge could not now be held back. They started up the slope, passing through the guns, which fell silent.
Several of Hancock's staff helped him to mount. He fell in alongside the advancing lines, struggling to draw his sword, pointing it forward. A rider came up beside him, wearing an army slouch cap that looked rather absurd when contrasted with his mud-covered butler's jacket.
'I'm not missing this, sir!' Bartlett shouted.
'Come on then, old man!' Hancock roared.
The charge swept down the slope.
Bartlett looked back. Mingled in with the infantry were many of 'his' men, carrying axes and shovels, racing forward as well.
6:40 PM.
Pete Longstreet was silent, turning back and forth, watching as the vise closed. If they had planned this, it could not have been done more masterfully, he realized. We could have been to the island in another thirty minutes; if need be, men could have started crossing and waded the last few yards to the other side, to Virginia.
Panic was breaking out. Scales's men were on the run, falling back toward the center, a wall of Union infantry in pursuit. From the other side of the clearing Anderson and Rodes's men were holding for the moment, but more and more infantry were coming up the towpath on the double, pushing into the fight.
'General, we have to get out!'
It was Scales, wide-eyed, hat gone, his voice edged with hysteria.
'Can't you hold?' Longstreet cried.
'With what, sir? If I had the men I had at Fort Stevens, if I had the men I had but three days ago, yes, but not now. Not now, damn it!'
The work crews at the bridge had stopped, were looking in one direction and then the other.
From the far side of the field men were beginning to break as more men of the Army of the Potomac surged into the fight.
More officers were coming up to Pete, shouting, asking for orders, yelling they had to get out.
Pete was silent, gazing at the bridge… the damn bridge. If we had had it in but one day ago, we'd all be across. We'd still have an army.
A shell detonated down where the remaining bridging material had been unloaded, striking a wagon with a pontoon still on it, the entire affair blowing apart, mules collapsing, screaming, and that set the panic off. Men turned away and started to run toward the canal embankment to get out. Others stormed onto the bridge itself as if instinct was telling them safety lay to the south.
'Order the men out,' Pete said. 'Full retreat.'
He turned his horse, and started north, staff falling in with him.
He turned and saw Brown, down on the ground. Hazner turned and ran back to the colonel's side.
Horrified, he saw that the colonel had been shot in the back.
Hazner tried to pick him up, but the man screamed and he gently set him back down.
'Hazner. Guess this is it,' Brown said.
'No, sir. I'll get you out.'
Brown feebly motioned back. The Yankees, advancing in the twilight, were less than fifty yards off.
'Not this time, my friend,' Brown said.
Brown fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a small notebook and a pocket Bible.
'My diary, a few notes inside the Bible for my wife. See that she gets them.'
Hazner gulped hard and nodded.
'Now go!'
Hazner stood up and stuck them in his haversack, to rest alongside another diary, that of his old friend killed at Union Mills. He felt as if the burden he carried was more than he could bear.
He saw young lieutenant Hurt limping along, blood dripping from a flesh wound to the leg.
'Come on, Lieutenant,' Hazner shouted, gulping back his tears. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'
He grabbed the lieutenant, half lifted him, and together they ran.
They were running. Never had Chamberlain seen the rebels run like this before. Not at Fredericksburg, definitely not at Taneytown. He rode at the front of the advance as it swept along the canal path. Men were no longer shooting, just charging past the rebels as they dropped rifles, some putting their hands up, some collapsing, others still running. A mob of them were pouring over a makeshift bridge spanning the canal, and he pointed toward it. Though this was not his command, the men seemed to follow his orders, and they raced toward the canal crossing, shouting and cheering.
He fell in with them, crossing the canal, then nearly losing his seat as his horse slid down the far side of the embankment. He grimaced, the agony in his hips feeling as if someone had stuck a hot poker through his side.
