Company A was in the lead, in fact, in the lead of the entire division as they set off across the fields.
Bartlett, moving at the side of the column, looked back and thrilled at the sight, limited as it was by the darkness. An endless column, moving across fields, through torn-down fencerows, skirting the edge of the artillery batteries whose crews were awake, silently watching them pass. For a half mile or so they tramped along a road, then turned off, heading downslope, and as soon as they were off the road, the going became difficult.
The ground ahead was strewn with dark forms. At first just one or two bodies here or there, and then dozens, and, finally, in one horrid place, scores of corpses in a line. The men started to whisper, some recoiling as their booted foot stepped on the back or the severed limb of a man, and the white officers repeatedly hissed to the men, 'Keep quiet, damn you!'
They reached the stream and it was a nightmare. Wounded by the hundreds were still on the ground. Sheridan had ordered the ambulance crews to douse their lights while the division passed, but even in the darkness Sergeant Bartlett could see the work, men being loaded up, crying softly, some screaming.
He braced himself and kept going forward, beginning to chant soothing words to his men. 'It's alright, boys, it's alright. Keep your courage boys, keep your courage.'
They hit the creek and began to wade across. On the opposite bank there were a few lanterns lit, and by their light be could see dozens of men staggering back, or just collapse along the riverbank.
An officer raced ahead, splashing through the water, and kicked over the lanterns.
'Come on lads, almost there. Come on,' the officer hissed.
The column of Third Division, Ninth Corps, crossed over the Monocacy, heading east into the salient, even while, but four miles to the south, four divisions of Confederate troops prepared to strike in the other direction.
Buckeystown Ford
4:50 AM.
Stuart looked around. Minutes ago he could barely discern the clump of trees behind which many of his men waited. Now it was barely beginning to stand out. He remembered at the Point how one of the professors had talked about the old Mohammedan tradition that first light was the moment when one could distinguish a black thread from a white one. That always struck him as foolish. Many a night, if the stars were out, he could tell the difference.
But here, now, at this moment, he knew first light was breaking, in spite of the increasing overcast.
'Let's go,' Stuart said, drawing out his heavy LaMat revolver.
Men came out from the trees behind him, already mounted, forming up on the road, most with pistols drawn, a few with sabers. They started to walk down to the Monocacy.
'General, sir?'
It was his scout, Snyder. 'Yes?'
'A favor, sir?'
'Be quick about it,' Stuart said as he continued to ride forward.
'Sir, that Yank was a fair fellow, and it's stuck in my craw that I lied to him. Please let me give him a warning. Just one minute to get the hell out of the way.'
Jeb hesitated but his old sense of chivalry took hold.
'You got a minute.'
The scout, still on foot, ran ahead, straight down the road to the creek.
'Hey, Greene. Private Greene!' he shouted.
'Snyder, that you? What are you yelling for? My captain will be god-awful mad!'
'Get out now! We're coming across, a whole bunch of us. Skedaddle! Greene, listen here, get home, marry that girl, and have a dozen babies! Name one after me!'
A pause.
'Thanks, Snyder!'
There was shouting now on the other side, Private Greene running off, and unfortunately spreading the alarm. 'Let's go, boys!' Jeb shouted.
He spurred up to a near gallop, pistol raised. Just before hitting the edge of the creek he saw Snyder, who was preparing to mount, the scout offering a salute.
His mount jumped into the creek, spray of water going up, and in seconds he was across.
A few shots whizzed by. No one was hit. Up out of the creek he turned to the right, following the road. It rose up a steep slope and he took it at the gallop. At the mill some men were tumbling out, most half-naked, and as he galloped past he fired a few shots in their direction, the startled Yanks ducking back inside.
Laughing, he rode on. In the early light the road ahead was barely visible. To his right he could see the mill dam, some shadowy figures down by it running about. And then just a climbing road, no one on it, him in the lead.
He burst out laughing, filled with joy. Riding at a full gallop, he pressed on, the road twisting and weaving, his staff and the mounted first regiment of Virginia boys behind him, struggling to keep up, all the boys hooting and hollering.
After a mile his mount began to slow and he eased back slightly, staff catching up.
'Damn it all, sir. You're gonna get killed someday doing that,' one of them shouted as he pushed past Jeb to lead the charge.
'Damned if you'll lead it, Captain!' Jeb shouted, and now it was a race between the two.
They pressed up the road, neck to neck, both horses stretched out, pounding hard. The exuberance of the moment was overwhelming. Behind him were four divisions of infantry, two full battalions of guns, and his own brigade. Near on to thirty thousand men. They had the Yankee flank wide open; it was going to be one hell of a day.
Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna 5:30 A.M.
General Grant, sir, I think you better get up.' It was Ely Parker inside his tent. 'What is it?' Grant asked, opening his eyes. 'Sir, it looks like Lee is flanking us.' Grant sat up with a start while Ely adjusted the mantle on the coal oil lamp on the desk, the inside of the tent brightening, Grant squinting for a moment, inwardly groaning, for the light was like a bolt shot into his brain. The damn headache was still with him.
'Sir, a rather frightened lieutenant is outside. He's part of an Illinois regiment, Ord's Corps. They were assigned to picket our right flank.'
'Coffee,' Grant whispered.
Ely already had a cup, not too hot, so he was able to gulp it down. He stood up, still in his stocking feet, pulling up his suspenders over his shoulders, not bothering to put on his jacket, and stepped out.
His staff was up, milling about, some gathered round the lieutenant who was on a lathered horse. Several of the enlisted men, old vets, were simply sitting by a campfire, frying up salt pork as if this were just the start of another day. One of them tried to catch Grant's eyes, as if to inquire whether he would care for some.
Dawn was approaching. The sky overhead was gray, the east glowing brighter, but the approaching sun would be concealed. The air was still, but smoke from fires rose up a couple of hundred feet then flattened out to form a haze over the entire area. On the opposite bank, nothing stirred, the smoke of campfires concealing the hills.
Grant walked up to the lieutenant, who was breathing hard.
'What's your report?' Grant asked sharply.
'Sir. My company was detailed down south, to Buckeystown ford to guard it. About an hour ago, reb cavalry stormed it.'
'Did you see anything else? Infantry, artillery? What was their strength?'
'No, sir. Figured I should report in.'
'Who's in command down there?'
'Sir, we were just a company, a few more companies stationed back at Buckeystown above the ford. The rebs, they just came out of nowhere, shooting, hollering, killing everyone. I thought I should get back here to report. I seen Jeb Stuart myself leading the charge.'
'How did you know it was him? An hour ago it was near total darkness.'
'I knew it was him. He had on that funny hat and was out front, sir. I know it was him.'
