more rounds of small-arms ammunition would have to be sent up during the night, and the wagons crossing over the pass were indeed hauling that and more.
How many millions did Lee have?
Hunt reported firing nearly eleven thousand rounds of bolt and case shot. One of his staff, earlier in the day, had laughed while reporting to Grant that he had overheard Hunt shouting, 'Make every shot count, boys; it's costing the taxpayers two dollars and sixty-seven cents a round.'
He stirred, looking back at the fire.
'Yes, the colored division,' Grant said, and Phil did not respond, still puffing on his cigar.
'Move them down to support on this side of the Monocacy before dawn. I think our General Lee over there will counterstrike us, and it will come straight in at Ord, to try and push him back across the river and then break our right flank.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I want your blackbirds to be ready to go in. They claim they have something to prove. Now's their chance.' 'I'll see to it personally.' 'Phil.' 'Yes, sir?'
'I spotted you today down in the railroad cut, right in the middle of it. I thought I told you to avoid recklessly exposing yourself.'
Phil smiled, but then shook his head.
'Sir, I'm sorry. Three days ago those boys were under Burnside, and they still are fiercely loyal to him. I needed them to see I was different somehow, and that meant getting up into the thick of it. I figured the risk was worth it.'
'I know, we all do it at times. But I lost James. Ord, well, I think poor Edward is a bit shattered at the moment. Banks, he's an amateur, the same as Sickles, a political appointee I find myself saddled with, and come a crisis I'll personally see to the running of his corps. So I need to count on one of my corps commanders, and it seems that's falling on your shoulders. Don't do the same tomorrow. Keep back a bit.'
Phil smiled.
'Of course not, sir.'
Three Miles East of Monocacy function
11:45 P.M.
God damn it, I can't believe these damn things are still here,' Cruickshank groaned. He walked the length of three trains still loaded with the pontoon bridges, cursing and swearing every inch of the way, his staff and old teamster crews following behind.
Their train from Baltimore had indeed made good time, as McDougal had promised, until it stalled ten miles from the front line. A locomotive had run out of fuel on the single-track line and ground to a halt ahead of them, and then three more had stalled. Judah Benjamin had left him there, finding a horse to go forward to report to Lee.
A scattering of men, most of them skulkers from the rear, plus a few squadrons of cavalry troopers who had rounded the skulkers up, were busy scavenging the countryside for enough wood to get the boilers going again, the troopers driven to distraction because every time they turned their backs the skulkers dropped their loads and attempted to disappear into the surrounding woods.
'Find some teams. God damn it, where are the teams of mules we sent up with these trains?'
The men stood around silent. The boxcars which had been carrying the mules were open, all the mules gone, most likely commandeered by some other unit.
'Find some damn teams!' Cruickshank roared.
'Major Cruickshank?'
A courier approached out of the dark, riding, of all things, a mule.
Cruickshank glared up at him, the courier lit up by a railroad lantern he was carrying.
'It's General Cruickshank now!' he roared.
The courier stood his ground.
'General Longstreet sent me out here hours ago to look for you.' He paused. 'Sir. May I inquire where you have been? I was told you would be with these pontoon bridges.'
'No, damn you, you may not inquire. Now what the hell do you want?'
'Sir, I carry orders from General Longstreet to you, informing you of his wish that you begin to move these bridges south toward either Nolands or Hauling Ferry.'
'Where the hell is that?'
'Sir, I don't know. I assume, sir, you being a general, you would know.'
That was too much. Cruickshank walked up to the man, grabbed him by the leg, and lifting, tipped him right off his mount.
The lantern went flying, shattering on the adjoining track, spreading flame, which gradually winked out.
'Damn you, sir. I demand satisfaction,' the courier cried.
'Look me up after the war is over,' Cruickshank snapped.
'I shall inform General Longstreet of this affront.'
'And he'll laugh in your face, sonny. Now go tell good old Pete that when he can find me two hundred and fifty mules, I'll start moving these bridges.'
'I'll tell him that and more.'
'You do that.'
The humiliated officer went to grab the reins of his mule. 'Don't touch him! That mule belongs to me now.'
'The hell you say.'
Cruickshank reached for his revolver, half drawing it. 'He's mine, so start walking.'
The officer glared at him angrily, the men around Cruickshank laughing. He turned on his heels and strode off.
Cruickshank handed the mule off to one of his men.
'Now go find two hundred and forty-nine more,' he said.
He leaned back against one of the flatcars bearing a pontoon bridge, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the bottle given to him by McDougal. He had not dared to drink it in front of a secretary of state, and, for that matter, he was in no mood to share it with any of his men, so he waited till they wandered off, most of them chuckling about the fight.
Once alone, he uncorked it and drained it down neat, crawled up under a pontoon, and was soon asleep, oblivious to the column of troops that began to pass by, swarming over the railroad tracks, falling in along a road on the opposite side, and heading south.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Buckeystown Ford
August 28 3:00 A.M.
That's it, sir.' Jeb Stuart reined in, the forward scout by his side gesturing straight ahead. He dismounted, and followed the scout. The two of them walked slowly, almost as if they were actors tiptoeing across the stage.
The gesture struck Jeb as a bit absurd, but he followed the scout's lead, not sure how far off they were from the river. Sound was drowned out by cascading water. An overcast was beginning to set in, stars dimming, and it was hard to see much, but he could see glimpses of what he assumed was a dam, the white sparkle of water flowing over it. 'Mill on the other side,' the scout whispered. They walked thus for another hundred yards, and then Jeb saw some of his men, lying to either side of the road, as if resting, but they were spread out into a skirmish line. The scout crouched down, Jeb joining him. 'Can you make out the ford?'
Yes, he could, low flowing water, again sparkles of white, they were almost at the edge of the creek. Enough
