'Artillery?'
'None, sir, we left it behind in the dash down to Frederick.' 'Which rebel brigades?'
'Don't know, sir, but I can tell you, as I was riding up over the pass through the Catoctins, I looked back. That whole riverbank a mile wide was just swarming with them. You could see a lot of dust in the distance, maybe infantry, maybe more cavalry. I couldn't tell.'
McPherson nodded, still studying the map. Twelve miles at least to Frederick. He looked east. The high expanse of the South Mountain range was only a couple of miles ahead, a tough climb.
'The road ahead?'
'It's the National Road, sir, well macadamized. Tough on the horses, though. Mine was going lame. About six miles across the next valley and then up over the Catoctin Pass.'
Custer had certainly triggered something. If Lee takes the bridges, then blocks the pass, Grant's plan unravels.
He didn't hesitate any longer with his decision. He turned and looked back. His massive column, fifteen thousand men, was visible for miles back across the valley, dust swirling up, morning light glinting off shouldered rifles, white canvas tops of ammunition wagons and ambulances standing out.
They'd been marching since before dawn, having already covered nearly ten miles. He was planning for them to break in another hour to cook up their midday meals.
He looked back at the troopers. 'If I get you fresh mounts, can you guide me?'
The two hesitated, then nodded. McPherson turned to his staff.
'Pass the word to every regimental commander. I want the men pressed. Three miles to the hour, ten-minute break to the hour and not a minute more. No straggling, provost guards to keep them moving until they drop on their faces. I want this column moving and moving hard. Round up my headquarters guard detail and find fresh mounts for these two boys. I'm going up to Frederick. I expect to see this column crossing the Catoctin Pass no later than midafternoon. Do you understand me?'
'Sir, it looks like hard pushing getting over those mountains,' one of his men said, pointing toward the looming South Mountain range directly ahead.
'Get all wagons off the road, just infantry. The wagons can fall in behind them after the corps has passed. Ambulances, tell the surgeons to pack what they can on a horse and then fall in riding with the column. Pull ammunition out of the wagons, get the extra rounds passed out to the men as they march by, eighty, a hundred rounds to each man if possible. Send word back to General Grant describing everything you've just heard here. I don't have time to write it out. Tell him I'm going ahead to Frederick.'
He pointed at one of his young, eager lieutenants.
'You, get back up the road to Burnside. Inform him of what you've heard here and my decision to force-march on Frederick. Tell him I hope he will press forward with all possible speed to my assistance.'
The two couriers from Custer were off their mounts, one of them patting the animal's neck with affection, pouring water into his hat, emptying his canteen, the horse eagerly gulping down the few drops.
Troopers from the headquarters company came up, a lieutenant detailing two men off to trade horses. The cavalryman from Custer's Brigade was reluctant to leave his mount, handing over the reins.
'Her name is Ginger. She's a good horse, carried me through three charges. I'll come back for her after this is over.'
The trooper receiving the horse nodded, the two understanding each other and their love for their mounts. There was a pause and they shook hands.
'William Bradley, I'll take good care of her. Mine is Sarah, she's got a tender mouth and hates spurs, so go easy on her.'
Bradley gently led the horse over to the side of the road where it could crop some grass while he took its saddle off.
McPherson saw the exchange and could not help but smile. The two men trading horses were actually not much more than boys, their mounts beloved pets, companions.
He looked to the mountains ahead. So close and yet so far, he thought, but it was not of the fight ahead he was thinking. Who he thought of now was beyond the imposing range, little more than fifty miles away, in Baltimore.
If not for this rebel invasion of Maryland I'd be married now. Grant had promised him, once Vicksburg fell, he could have a furlough to go to Baltimore to marry Miss Emily Hoffman. And then the rebels took Baltimore, and not a word from her since.
Ironically, he knew her parents were delighted. They were devout secessionists and at the start of the war had forbidden their marriage.
So close, he thought. Perhaps we can end this war as Grant said we would, and then I'll ride into Baltimore and, parents or not, Emily and I will marry.
Custer's troopers finished their exchange of mounts and saddled up, coming over to his side, disrupting his thoughts.
McPherson motioned to one of his staff, who pulled out a flask, handing it to the two troopers.
The one gladly took it, draining it half off, the second shook his head.
'I'm a temperance man,' he said.
'Good for you, son,' McPherson replied. 'Now let's go see what your General Custer has started.'
Monocacy function
11:00 A.M.
The depot was burning, the pounding of the last hour from the four guns arrayed on the opposite bank having torn it to shreds and then finally ignited it. The last of the troopers within poured out of the building, running and dodging as another shell screamed in, detonating on the track of the main line, ballast and shrapnel spraying.
George Custer sat behind the blockhouse just west of the depot, feeling light-headed, his anxious staff gathered round.
Mann was still holding the National Road bridge but had just reported that a second rebel battery was deploying on the far side, and could expect to engage at any moment. Also, it appeared that more rebs were coming up and already across the ford between him and the railroad bridge. Word had just come back from Town that several companies of rebs were across the river to the south as well, at a place called McCausland's Ford. Town already had a picket line out and, for the moment, was holding them, but more troopers, a regiment or more, could be seen on the opposite bank, heading in that direction.
'Gray, you detach half your men, send them to back up to Town,' George said.
Gray nodded to one of his staff, who galloped off. Seconds later a shell nicked the side of the blockhouse, bounded off, then exploded on the far side of the track, the group hunkering down.
'Sir, maybe it's time we get out of here,' Gray offered. 'We're being flanked on both sides. They got two batteries. I just had a rider come down from Frederick. He was up in a church steeple and said he saw plumes of smoke, from trains approaching. My God, if they have infantry on those trains, they'll force the bridge regardless of loss. By then we'll be cut off from retreat as well.'
'We hold,' Custer said coolly.
'Sir, we did our best,' Gray countered. We can still get out, pull back to the top of the Catoctins behind us.'
He pointed to the mountain range now standing out boldly under a late morning sun. 'There's only one road. We can block it all day. We get cut off and wiped out here, the rebs will have the bridge and the pass, too.'
'What good is holding the pass if Lee keeps this bridge, gets his pontoons across, and then escapes?'
'Escape, sir? It's time we thought about escaping. Besides, the men are damn near out of ammunition. If infantry are coming up, what are we supposed to do, throw rocks at them?'
Custer shook his head, feeling so weak he couldn't respond. He looked up at Gray.
'May I suggest, sir, you're seriously injured, perhaps you should get back to the surgeon.'
'And have you take command and order a withdrawal?' Custer snapped angrily.
Another shell slammed into the blockhouse, the building shaking from the impact, the men still inside cursing.
