Hunt saw the courier galloping up the Taneytown Road. He was astride a magnificent stallion, the animal stretching out, running hard, as its rider guided the horse around the clutter of ammunition wagons slowly moving along the road.
Henry stepped down from the porch of the small house below Cemetery Hill that was now the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac. Staff officers, who had been clustered about, nervously looking to the northeast, where the sound of gunfire was rapidly increasing, barely noticed the arrival of a courier storming up the road from Taneytown.
The courier was a cavalryman, hat gone, uniform so coated with dust that he almost looked like a rebel in dark butternut The man reined in hard, swinging down from his saddle.
"General Meade!"
Several of the staff moved toward the rider, one of them extending his hand, asking for any dispatches.
"My orders from General Buford are to present this directly to General Meade!" the courier shouted, obviously agitated.
Henry felt a cold chill. Buford was supposed to be on his way to Westminster. He moved into the group. "I'll take you to him."
Leading the way, Henry stepped into the small parlor, where Meade stood at a table hunched over a map, while Warren was tracing out a position.
"Based on the Confederate movements against our right flank, I think we have to extend to the right," Warren said, looking around die room,
"General, a dispatch rider," Henry announced. "He says the message must be given to you personally."
Meade looked up, slightly annoyed at the cavalryman standing in the doorway. "Who are you?" Meade snapped.
"Sergeant Malady, Eighth New York Cavalry, Buford's division, sir."
Meade came erect, extending his hand, while the trooper fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the note.
Meade unfolded it, started to read, and Henry could instantly tell that the news was bad. Meade finished reading and then seemed to go over the note a second time. All in the room were silent Meade finally passed it to Dan Butterfield, his chief of staff, and turned away for a moment
"What the hell is it?"
General Hancock, who had been standing on the front porch as the courier came in, was now behind the trooper, pushing his way into the room.
"General Buford reports that he is engaged with Hood's division on Monocacy Creek along the Emmitsburg to Taneytown Road," Butterfield announced.
"Jesus Christ Almighty," Hancock cried, stepping up to a map pinned to the wall and after several seconds stabbing his finger at a spot on the lower left corner.
Meade turned, looking back at the trooper. "Did you see this?" he asked sharply.
"Yes, sir. We were in Taneytown. It was around one. I remember that because one of the church clocks struck as we rode in. A scout came in from the west and we were ordered to horse. It was a hard ride; a lot of the horses were about ready to drop."
"Yours looks pretty good," Hancock interjected.
'Well, sir, I sort of arranged a swap with a civilian when we got to Taneytown," and the trooper dropped his eyes as he spoke.
"Go on," Meade snapped.
"By the time we got up to the bridge, Gamble's brigade was really into it A lot of heavy fire. I could see rebel troops on the far side; columns of them just beginning to deploy. My regiment was ordered in on the right to cover a ford; at least that's what I heard. It was then that General Gamble came up, spotted me, and ordered me to report to General Buford to carry that dispatch."
"And you took it personally from General Buford."
"Yes, sir."
"And he said he believed all of Longstreet's corp was behind the attack?" "Yes, sir."
"Did you see that? Other divisions?" ' "No sir, not exactly. But I tell you, sir, we were getting hit as hard as we were over by the seminary yesterday. They had three batteries up. There was a hell of a lot of shooting. When I got back to Taneytown, I could still hear the gunfire."
"The condition of your men going in?" Hancock interjected.
"Well, sir, to be honest not so good. The horses were pretty worn; a lot of us were short on ammunition. I heard the troopers who had Spencer repeaters were all but empty. But we'll make a good fight of it"
Hancock looked over at Meade, who stood silent arms folded, eyes fixed on the map.
"We'd better get people down there now," Hancock said.
"That will take four hours or more," Meade replied, eyes still fixed on the map.
Warren stepped up to the map.
"That report from the Round Top signal station that came in a half hour ago of smoke being seen to the south. It fits. Also, losing contact with Emmitsburg. Sir, this doesn't look good."
Meade Was still silent
"Maybe Sickles was right," Butterfield interjected, and Meade turned, fixing him with his sharp gaze.
Henry said nothing for the moment Butterfield had been the previous commander's chief of staff. Meade had kept him on simply because the man clearly knew the routine. No one in this inner circle had any real love for Sickles, but Henry knew that Butterfield's comment showed remarkably bad timing since Meade was still fuming about the incident earlier in the day.
And yet if Hood was indeed on the flank, then Sickles had been right How absurd, Henry thought the foul-mouthed amateur showing up, at least for the moment all the professionals.
"Butterfield, I want a meeting of all corps commanders within an hour. Get the staff out to round them up."
Hancock, an incredulous look on his face, turned toward Meade.
"A staff meeting? That will take hours. We've got to act now."
Meade shook his head.
"All seven corps are up, and we are deployed for battle here. Sedgwick's men are coming in even now after marching thirty-five miles."
He then pointed toward the north.
"General Slocum is reporting at least a division of Confederate infantry, supported by Stuart moving on our right. You can hear the fire coming from over there."
All were silent for a moment the steady thump of artillery echoing, growing louder as several batteries up on Cemetery Hill began to reply.
"Goddamn it I have reports now of infantry moving on my right flank, something I can see with my own eyes, and now this courier reporting Longstreet to my rear a dozen miles away, something I can't see.
"I want my corps commanders' opinions before we move this army again," Meade said firmly.
"Pulling the corps commanders in just isn't wise. If Lee does hit us here in the next hour, you want the corps commanders with their units. And besides, you don't need them to make this decision. You are in command. You are."
"And you want me to do what?" Meade responded.
"Sixth Corps is exhausted. But Fifth is camped right along the Taneytown Road. You could have them marching within the hour" Hancock pleaded.
Again Meade shook his head. "Marching where? To my right or to the rear?"
"The rear of course. Send Fifth Corps down to Taneytown now, sir."
Meade sighed wearily and shook his head. Again the thumping of gunfire rattled the windows of the small farmhouse.
"That's our active reserve for the moment. Sixth Corps is just too worn out from the march to be of much use now. I'm not going to detach an entire corps based on one report from a courier."
"Sergeant, tell him!" Hancock shouted, looking back at the cavalry trooper. 'Tell him what Buford said!"
The sergeant stood there gape-mouthed, unable to reply.
Meade put his hand up, beckoning for silence.
Henry caught the eye of the trooper and nodded toward the door. The cavalryman stepped outside, Henry following, along with Warren, as the two generals within exploded at each other.
Henry led the trooper down to the fence bordering the Taneytown Road and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a flask and offered it.
"God bless you, sir."
The trooper tilted his head back and took a long swallow.
"You said that you saw what was going on at that bridge?" Henry asked.
"Yes, sir, I did, but only for a minute or so while General Buford wrote out the note."
"How long have you been in the army?"
"Since we signed up back in sixty-one. I've been in every campaign since, sir."
Henry nodded.
"You know we get a lot of couriers galloping in here" Warren interjected, "claiming they've seen the whole rebel army."
I didn't say that, sir," and there was a slightly indignant tone to his voice. "I saw at least two brigades over there, sir. Well, not exactly saw, but down around the bridge, the width of the firing, sir, you know the sound, it was wide, a front of half a mile maybe."
As he spoke the trooper extended his hands wide, and Warren nodded.
"I saw another column moving to flank our right"; the trooper continued, "that's where my regiment went off to cover. It was just like yesterday when we fought Heth and Pender. You could just tell that there was a whole hell of a lot behind them, building up, pushing in. Sir, General Buford ain't prone to exaggerating, sir. If he said that Longstreet's entire corps was coming down that road, by God, I'd believe him.'
Henry nodded. The trooper was right; Buford was a good man. Yesterday John Reynolds had marched to Buford's rescue, not waiting for the nicety of formal orders properly countersigned.
"One of my batteries is parked over there," and Henry pointed across the road. "Go down there; get some water and fodder for your horse and some food for yourself. Wait there."
"Thank you, sir."
"And, trooper, did that civilian willingly trade you horses? That is one beautiful mount you got there."
The man grinned, saying nothing, as he handed Henry his flask and saluted.
Henry turned to go back into the fray.
'Sir?"
It was the trooper. "Yes?"
"For God's sake, don't let the generals screw this one up. We can lick those bastards any day of the week, if only they'd give us some good ground and let us fight"
Henry fixed the trooper with his gaze. He understood the sentiment, but still it bothered him, even though he knew the man was right.
Without comment, Henry turned and walked back toward the small, whitewashed house.
"Henry, what do you think?" Warren asked, falling in by his side.
"I think Longstreet is flanking us, that's what I think."
"What's in front of us then?" and Warren nodded toward the sound of gunfire.
"I don't know, but I'm willing lo bet it's a diversion," Henry offered. "We've only seen what appears to be one division of infantry over there, just a couple of batteries, no massed battalions of guns, so where the hell is the rest of Lee's army? It's either hidden behind the seminary or it's marching to the south.
"You and I rode that ground around Westminster yesterday morning, along Pipe Creek."
Yesterday morning? God, was it really just a day ago?
"It's damn good ground, Henry. Damn good. High land, open fields of fire for anyone dug in along the south bank, and Westminster as the primary base directly behind it. My God, if Longstreet seizes that, he'll cut us off from the railroad and our supplies and be between us and Washington."
As they walked back to the house, couriers were already dashing off, heading to the various corps headquarters to fetch the generals in.
Hancock was out on the porch, face red; He caught Henry's eye. "We wait," Hancock snarled. "Goddamn it, we wait"
Henry, unable to believe what Hancock was saying, walked into the small, whitewashed house. Meade was leaning over the map table, fist balled up, Butterfield by his side. The room was boiling hot It gave Henry a claustrophobic feeling. Meade looked up with a cold eye. '"Well?" Meade snapped.
"I didn't say anything, sir."
"But you're thinking it."
That trooper, I talked with him outside. General, he's a good soldier, been in the army since the start of the war and not some naive kid straight from the farm. And Buford is a damn good cavalryman. If John is telling us Longstreet is on our flank, we'd better believe him."
Meade sighed. Stepping back from the table, he picked up a tin cup of coffee and sipped on it, turning to look at the map of southern Pennsylvania and northern Maryland pinned to the wall.
Warren came in and stood silently by Henry's side.
"You two surveyed that Pipe Creek line, didn't you?"
"Yes sir, we did," Warren replied. "An army on defense would have a huge advantage at Pipe Creek and an especially big advantage if they were defending the south side of that valley. If Pete Longstreet slides into that position, he'll be astride our line of communications."
Meade said nothing for a moment, the room silent except for the annoying buzz of horseflies, and the distant boom of artillery coming from the right flank.
"Stuart is on our right with at least a division of infantry, maybe more. You can see him out there from the top of the cemetery. Reb infantry and artillery are deployed from the seminary clear down to opposite the ridge in our center, and there're still Reb skirmishers in the town. What the hell is that?"
"Diversion," Warren replied.
Meade finally looked back at the two. For a moment the combative, dyspeptic look was gone, replaced by an infinite weariness. Henry knew that Meade had not had a moment's sleep since yesterday, had only been in command of this army for five days. It was one thing to command a corps, to receive the orders to take or hold a position; it was an entirely different game to make those orders, orders upon which the fate of this army and the Republic might hang.
"At least send a division down there," Warren said softly. "Fifth Corps is astride the road back to Taneytown. Get a division on the road now, and they can be in Taneytown before dark. If Buford is indeed holding Longstreet at Monocacy Creek, the division can reinforce. If Longstreet is into the town, it will stall his advance. I'll go down with them and send back a report."
Meade did not reply, attention focused back on the map.
'Turning this army around; marching it south, will be a bloody nightmare."
He paused for a moment
"John reported contact with two brigades only. He surmised that Longstreet was behind the attack, but he didn't see it. It could be a diversion. Lee hit us hard last night and we gave him a bloody nose. Maybe he thinks he can't push us off this ground, so he's trying to scare us off instead. We start marching south, then he hits us, storming out from behind that ridge behind the town with us strung out on the roads. It could be that you know."
Warren nodded in agreement "But I don't think it is."
"Listen to me," Meade said coldly, "it's fine for all of you to guess, to think, but if I make one mistake, just one goddamn mistake, I can lose this war."
Don't make the right decision, and we can lose this war as well, Henry thought
"A division," Meade finally said, "Fifth Corps. Crawford's men are rested. Get them on the road, Warren. You go with them. Henry, detach a couple of batteries from the reserve and send them along."
Warren was out the door, in seconds.
Meade caught Henry's eye.
"You want me to go with them?" Henry asked. "If it's a fight for Taneytown, I should scout out the artillery positions."
Meade hesitated.
"My job here is done for the moment All our guns are in position. I've surveyed the line from one end to the other twice. If we are going to shift south, I need to be down there."
"Go."
Henry followed Warren out the door, calling for a horse.
Even as he mounted, the sound of guns, again from the right, thundered. Ignoring them, he spurred onto the road, orderly following, racing to catch up to Warren, who was already off at a gallop.