The infantry with him spread out across the flood plain, driving hundreds of rebels before them, the enemy running, nearly all of them without weapons. They funneled onto the bridge, and he pushed forward. He had his sword out, could barely wield it, but when he did, he struck out with only the flat side of it.
They reached the approach to the bridge, the rebel mob running before them. An officer on horseback came riding up, infantry following.
'Form a volley line!'
He turned and saw the men spreading out, raising their rifles.
'Volley fire on my command!'
'For God's sake, no!' Chamberlain cried, and rode directly in front of the men.
'Who in goddamn hell are you?' the officer roared. 'Colonel Chamberlain.'
'Well, Colonel, this is not your command, and I outrank you.'
Chamberlain saw the glint of a single star on the man's shoulders.
'You will not fire!' Chamberlain shouted, looking past the general to the infantry forming up.
'They're beaten. It would be murder.' He paused. 'They are no longer our foes.'
The infantry lining up, as if guided by a single hand, grounded their rifles, some nodding. 'Bully for you, sir,' one of them shouted.
'I'll have you for this, Chamberlain,' the general shouted.
'Yes, sir, report me to General Sykes. We are soldiers, not murderers, and if you plan to shoot, I will be in front of you when you do.'
There was a long pause, and with a curse the general jerked his reins and rode off.
Alone, Chamberlain turned and rode onto the bridge. The back of the mob was barely visible in the twilight and then they just seemed to disappear, men leaping off the sides of the bridge, off the front of it. Some were down in the boats hiding. He rode on, saber drawn but down by his side, and he heard some infantry behind him, the men it seemed whom he had unintentionally taken command of.
Hundreds of rebels were in the river, heads bobbing, those who could not swim being swept away, their cries horrifying. Others were already crawling up onto the island, standing silent, looking back.
He rode to the end of the bridge. A lone man was standing there, arms folded, hat brim pulled low, a general, with a roughly made star stitched to his collar.
'I think, sir, you are my prisoner,' Chamberlain said.
'Goddamn,' the man sighed.
'Sir?'
'Just that, goddamn,' the rebel said. Chamberlain smiled. 'Profanity won't change it.'
'Frankly, I don't want it changed. I'm goddamn glad it's over.' 'I see.'
The man looked up at him.
'Would you happen to have a bottle on you, some good bourbon perhaps?'
'I'm a temperance man,' Chamberlain replied.
'Typical of my luck,' Cruickshank replied. 'Get taken prisoner by a temperance man.' 'My men, my men,' Lee sighed, watching as what was left of Longstreet's once valiant corps came staggering across the fields and into the woods. And then he saw Pete riding up to him and let out a cry of relief.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Pete said woodenly. 'Sorry, I just wish…'
'Come along, General,' Lee said softly. 'If there is fault, it is mine. Come along now. We must plan for tomorrow. It is not over yet.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna
One Mile North of Monocacy Church, Maryland
9:00 P.M.
The rain unleashed like a shattering deluge shortly after nightfall, striking with such intensity that he had called a halt to the march. As he looked out the window of the small farmhouse requisitioned as headquarters, he had to confess to a sense of guilt. In the past he had usually tried to set the example. If his men were forced to sleep in the rain, then so would he. But tonight, the migraine, the exhaustion, and also the fact that the secretary of war was by his side argued against that example, and he had Ely approach the darkened house.
It was, in fact, abandoned, the family most likely having fled because of the armies marching back and forth. It was a ramshackle affair, not much more than a rude cabin concealed beneath the trappings of clapboard nailed over the logs and a rough coating of plaster and whitewash on the inside.
The barn was empty as well, his staff piling into it, bedding down with their horses.
A flash of lightning revealed his troops hunkered down in the open fields, crouched under ponchos or shelter halves. In the woodlot nearby some intrepid souls had actually managed to get a fire going and were piling on logs, a circle of drenched men standing around the smoldering flames.
Grant turned back to Elihu and sat down, the room illuminated by a coal oil lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Their meal, what little he could stomach, was the same as the men outside ate, cold salt pork, hardtack, but he did have the luxury of coffee that one of his staff brewed in the open fireplace. Water was pouring down the chimney, and the fire was starting to hiss, smoke backfilling into the room.
Ely came in, stamping his boots, poncho dripping water on the rough-hewn floor.
'Sir, thought you should know a courier managed to come in from Hancock a few minutes ago.'
Grant reached up to take the note.
'Sorry, sir, the paper, well, it just got soaked and disintegrated.'
'Go on then.'
'Hancock reports they've sealed off the Potomac and have linked up with the Army of the Potomac about five miles below Edwards Ferry.'
Ely grinned.
'He also begs to report, sir, they bagged most of Longstreet's Corps and an entire pontoon train. The rebs had the bridge halfway across the river when they attacked and cut them off. He estimates between his command and that of Sykes and Grierson they've taken nearly five thousand prisoners.'
'They did it,' Elihu exclaimed, slapping the table with his hand, the sound of it causing Grant to wince.
Elihu jumped to his feet, came over to Grant's side, and grabbed his hand, shaking it.
'You did it, Grant. By God, you did it!'
'That they did, sir,' Ely grinned. 'Hancock suggests, sir, that what is left of Lee's army will be coming back toward us in the morning. He has linked up with Sykes, and they will begin pushing toward us and closing the trap, come dawn.'
Grant nodded and offered a weak smile.
'Thank you, Ely.'
There was a note of dismissal in his voice, and Ely, a bit confused, withdrew, closing the door.
'My God, Grant, this could be it'
Grant looked out the window.
'Perhaps.'
'What's wrong.'
Grant rubbed his forehead.
'Maybe I'm just tired.'
'The letter from the president,' Elihu said.
Grant nodded, and Elihu reached into his breast pocket and took it out, pushing it over to Grant. Grant saw that the envelope was open.
'Yes, I read it,' Elihu said. 'The president told me to, even though it is addressed to you. I think you need to look at it now.'
