Monocacy Creek, Five Miles West of Taneytown
My command, while proceeding through Taneytown, was informed by a scout that Confederate forces, in at least brigade strength, were approaching from Emmitsburg. I have moved my entire command up, securing the east bank of Monocacy Creek at the stone bridge on the Emmitsburg-Taneytown Pike. I am
facing Hood's division, having directly observed at least two brigades so far and believe that Longstreet's corps is behind him.
He paused for a moment, then added the next line.
I believe Longstreet's intent is to turn the left flank of our army.
I intend to hold this position at whatever cost, though my ammunition supply is limited and many of my mounts are worn. I believe you should move sufficient forces here with all possible dispatch to secure this position; otherwise Taneytown and Westminster will be threatened.
Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time and handed the dispatch up.
"Ride back toward Taneytown," Buford ordered. 'Take the road north to Harney, the one we came down this morning, then proceed directly to Gettysburg. Stop for nothing. I want this personally delivered to General Meade. To Meade and no one else. Do you understand me?"
The trooper, obviously pleased with the importance of his role, nodded eagerly and saluted.
"Go!"
The trooper was off with a clattering of hooves, leaning far forward, crouched down on the neck of his mount.
Buford looked back at the woman, who was still standing in the doorway of her house. 'This road here"-and he pointed to the farm lane that intersected the pike at a right angle and headed north, disappearing as it turned down toward the river-"where does it lead?"
"That's Bullfrog Road," she replied. "It heads down to a ford across the river, about a mile north of here."
John nodded. Gamble had heard what she said and didn't need to be told.
"Get a regiment down to that ford. That's where he'll try and turn us. I'm staying here for right now. It's yesterday all over again, Gamble. We've got to hold. We've got to hold."
Gamble casually saluted and started to turn. As Buford watched, a shell screamed in, bursting in the front yard. He looked back at the open doorway, the woman standing there unflinching. Another shell roared in… and then he was down.
There was a glimpse of sky, torn rafters of the porch, cedar shingles smoking, no noise, just a sense of floating. He caught a glimpse of white. It was the woman, kneeling by his side.
"You all right?’
He wasn't sure if he had actually spoken or not, but she nodded in reply, taking his hand. Gamble was by her side, features pale, cradling an arm. He knelt down, grimacing as he reached out, touching John on the shoulder. There were tears in Gamble's eyes.
"You've got to hold…," John Buford tried to whisper, "for God's sake, please hold."