the Army of Northern Virginia, the Washington garrison had sat out two years of the war, in heated barracks, with cookhouses, fresh rations, and even beds to sleep in. They had, however, won their honor with the holding of the city in July. Reinforced now by tough veterans from the South Carolina campaign, they were out of the city that many themselves had come to hate, were in the field on a new adventure, and had not seen so much action that they dreaded the next shock. In a way they reminded him of how he and his men had once looked, long ago, in the early spring of 1862, when McClellan had led them forth to the Peninsula, fresh, eager, neat, and ready for a fight.
He worried some about how they would react when they were hit by the hardened combat veterans Bobbie Lee would throw at them. He knew that in an open running fight he would bet on the veterans of field combat over heavy artillerymen converted into infantry. However, dug in, with a defensive role of stopping the rebs and not maneuvering against them, he thought his Washington garrison troops might just do the job. He was certainly going to do everything he could to stiffen their resolve and get them ready before Lee got to them.
He gained the top of the slope. The view was magnificent, the Potomac River coiling behind him, the canal with its boats, the sun low over the Catoctin Mountains to the west.
The last of the skirmishing ahead was dying- down. No casualties to either side, the rebel patrol far back now on the road, a mile or more away.
His staff was coming up around him, several of them survivors of the Second Corps who had escaped the debacles at Union Mills and Gunpowder River and who he had requested to join him now.
'Right here, gentlemen,' Hancock announced. 'I want a good survey done right now along this rise. We dig in close to the river.'
'This close?' a major asked.
It was Jeremiah Siemens, his old topographical engineer when he commanded a division at Chancellorsville. Jeremiah had missed Union Mills, having been wounded at Chancellorsville, his empty left sleeve rolled up.
'Yes, here.'
'No room for withdrawal, sir, if things go against us.'
He knew Jeremiah well enough to know that the question was not so much for himself, but as an answer to those gathering round.
'There will be no withdrawal, gentlemen,' Hancock announced. 'Our orders are to secure every potential crossing spot between here and Point of Rocks.' He pointed toward the Catoctins, ten miles to the northwest.
'That's here, Nolands Ferry just on the other side of the viaduct, then Point of Rocks. We leave five thousand men back at Edwards Ferry across from Leesburg, but the rest come up here.'
The group, now including several officers from his First Division, were silent.
'If Lee should come on us with everything he has,' one of them finally ventured, 'we have to defend four crossings, and picket in between. He can focus on one point and outnumber us there five, maybe even six or seven, to one.'
'That's why we dig in,' Hancock replied sharply. 'Jeremiah, I want surveys completed here and at Nolands before dark. Then up to Point of Rocks by dawn, but defending that position will be easy, it's a narrow squeeze down to the crossing and three thousand men there would be like the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae. Remember, we don't have to defeat Lee by ourselves. We simply have to stop him long enough for Grant to catch up and hit him from the rear. If we do our job, Grant will do his. Somewhere along here Lee is going to try to get home to Virginia. We are the cork in the bottle to stop him.'
Hancock looked upriver and then downriver. He made a summary judgment of what he saw and what he remembered from the maps of the region.
'No, I doubt that it will be Point of Rocks or Edwards Ferry. If Lee should turn, it will be here.'
'That's a lot of work,' someone said. 'Our boys are good diggers, Lord knows. They did their share around Washington, but to make it secure, while also putting out pickets, keeping back Mosby…'
No one spoke for a moment. All had fallen silent, for in the distance, like a summer storm, came a dull, rolling thunder.
'Then let's start now,' Hancock replied sharply. 'The sooner we are dug in, the safer we will be. Make sure the men understand that. They are digging for their lives.'
Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Frederick, Maryland
7:00 P.M.
A cool evening breeze wafted down from the heights behind the town and Grant sighed with relief as the temperature dropped several degrees within minutes. Not like Mississippi at all, where the muggy heat would linger through the night. No mosquitoes either, and that was a blessing.
He had moved his headquarters from the town depot out to a low rise just east of the toll gate south of town. At the edge of the rise, a quarter mile away, Hunt was busy with his guns, crews digging in, throwing up lunettes around each piece, constructing rough bombproofs to store limber chests in. Occasional harassing fire came from the rebel guns on the far side of the river, but nothing serious, just a growling back and forth like two old neighboring dogs reminding each other of their existence. It dropped off as dusk settled over the countryside.
All orders had been given; Sheridan and Ord knew their tasks. Of Banks he was not sure yet, but his men had come up in good order during the day, filing down out of the mountain pass and falling in on the north flank. Banks's men, at least, he knew were good troops that had fought through the swamps of the lower Mississippi, though ironically many of the regiments were recruited from New York and New England. It had been easier in the first year of the war to ship men from there to New Orleans while the Confederates still held Vicksburg and Port Hudson.
They had seen action before, though not on the scale of battles here in the East, but he had a sense of them, that they were grateful to be out of the Deep South and eager to prove themselves… and tomorrow would definitely be a day of proving. He hoped they would rise to the occasion.
The orders were straightforward and simple. At dawn, all three corps were to engage: Sheridan in the center, Ord on the right, Banks on the left, with what was left of Mcpherson's Corps to be in reserve in the town. The three attacking corps were to go for the fords, but also force a general action up and down the length of the river for five miles or more, to fight like hell and hold Lee in place, to not give him a breather or the room to maneuver, but to lock hold of him and hang on. And they were not to throw men away senselessly. Ord, his blood up after barely taking the ford, was ready to do so, to storm straight in against a hundred or more guns. No, first we have to wear the other side down, exhaust them, and then let the plan unfold.
Campfires by the thousands were springing to light along the river, on both sides, the scent of wood smoke, coffee, and frying salt pork filling the evening air. To him it was a comforting smell, part of his life, a better part of the army life he had always loved. The day's march done, the men settling down, songs drifting on the air, rations being cooked, the first stars of evening coming out.
If only war were like this forever, I would love it so, he thought, but only if this moment could be frozen, not what had been or what was to come. Behind him his staff was having their supper, spread out on a rough plank table, the men laughing at a joke. They were used to his going off like this, especially before a fight, to be alone, to smoke, to think, to recalculate, to think again, in silence. Besides, the migraine still tormented him and the thought of trying to eat anything beyond some hardtack made his stomach rebel.
Was everything in place? Is there anything I forgot?
He knew it was senseless to try to reason those questions out now, and yet always he did it on the eve of a confrontation. It was not a question of resolve, however.
He had resolved on this moment on the day the telegram arrived from Lincoln bearing news of Union Mills and of his own promotion to command. He knew the focus of his task, to track Lee down, bring him to battle, and then destroy him.
So many would die tomorrow. He knew that; they all did, on both sides of the river. Even as the men around the camp-fires joked and sang, many others had drawn off. Some sat alone, looking up at the heavens, in wonder, in prayer, or, for a tragic few, in terror. Others knelt or stood in prayer. Some stood in circles around a trusted minister or simply a man of the regiment who everyone acknowledged 'had the ear of the Lord.' Some sang hymns, others recited psalms, a group of Catholics knelt before a makeshift altar while a priest offered up mass and then absolution.
Others wrote letters home, or if they could not write, dictated a few lines that a comrade would jot down.
