He let his horse gulp down water for a minute, dismounting with Warren, kneeling down into the cool stream to splash his face with water, then taking a canteen, filling it, and half draining it.
Even as he did so, Henry looked around warily. It was the same place he had stopped only the day before, riding north to Gettysburg. He knew that for certain because the dead trooper, who had been in the back of the ambulance when he had stopped here on the way to Gettysburg, was lying by the side of the stream. He tried, not to notice him, though the scent of his body hung heavy in the evening air.
They had begun to pass cavalrymen from Buford's command a half hour ago, small scattered detachments from half a dozen regiments, the men moving slowly, dejected, talking of a terrible fight along the road half a dozen miles away. He had let most of them go, telling them to stay the hell off the road and let the infantry, pass. A dozen or so, who still seemed game, he had drafted as an escort. The men were on the far side of the creek, obviously nervous, carbines unsheathed.
A broken unit always made a minor setback sound like a defeat and a defeat a disastrous rout. These men were talking about thousands of Rebs. Whether it was true or not, he sensed they'd know in a few more minutes, and his gut instinct was to be ready.
Standing up, he pulled out his revolver, half-cocked it, checked the spin, making sure percussion caps were in place, then gently let the hammer back down. He mounted, looking over at Warren, who was already mounted and waiting.
He followed Warren's lead, splashing up the opposite bank. The waiting troopers, led by a grim-faced lieutenant with a cheek laid open by a shell fragment or bullet, spread out as they went down the road. They were very good, moving cautiously, a couple of men on the road, the rest filtering into the trees, meadows, and cornfields to either side of the lane. Several of them would move forward a hundred yards, pause, look around, then motion the rest up, who would leapfrog forward. And then the ritual would be repeated again.
Twilight was setting in, the western sky a dull, shimmering red, a dark, haze-shrouded sun slipping below the horizon; flashes of heat lightning, or was it gunfire, sparkled to the east
They reached a broad, open plateau. Henry remembered it. Taneytown was just a mile or so off. The lead trooper out ahead stopped, leaned forward slightly, then held his hand up.
Henry nudged his mount the poor beast breathing hard as it slowly went up to a trot Warren by his side. They came up to the trooper's side. The lieutenant already had his field glasses out Henry looked over at him in the twilight The glasses were high quality, beautiful brass trim work, the man dressed in what was obviously a tailored uniform. Dandy or not he at least was here rather than safely back home in some countinghouse or law office in New York, angry about the retreat glad to have fallen in with someone from headquarters who wanted to find out what the hell was going on.
"There, sir," the lieutenant whispered, and he pointed, even as he passed over his field glasses.
There was no need for them though. Clouds of dust were boiling up from a road, most likely the main pike between Taneytown and Emmitsburg. In the fields north of town hundreds of campfires sparkled, troops swarming around them.
Far closer though, not a quarter mile away, a skirmish line of Reb infantry was deployed, advancing toward them.
A flash of gunfire, the report of the rifle echoing even as a bullet hummed overhead.
"Infantry, lots of it" Warren announced.
"As we told you," the lieutenant replied, a bit of a sarcastic edge to his voice.
"Son, we had to see it for ourselves," Warren replied soothingly. "Those were Meade's orders. I never doubted you."
A couple of the troopers escorting them dismounted. Drawing his Sharps carbine, one of the troopers levered up his rear sight, squatted down in the middle of the road, and took careful aim.
‘Not yet," Henry said.
Annoyed, the man looked up at him.
It was getting dark, but the field glasses revealed a lot Troops were marching through the town, visible through side alleys and where the road they were on finally intersected with the main road in the middle of the village. He caught a glimpse of what looked to be a field piece crossing the intersection.
Another bullet snicked past and then another, this one kicking up a plume of dust in the middle of the road, Warren's horse snorting and backing up.
"Damn it sir, they're getting close," the lieutenant announced.
"Open up on them," Henry, replied.
The trooper sitting in the middle of the road fired first followed a few seconds later by several more, one of the men catching Henry's eye, silhouetted by the western twilight, poised in the saddle, horse absolutely still as the man took careful aim, a bright flash of light erupting as he squeezed the trigger. He watched for several seconds, cursed under his breath, and then levered the breech open, reaching into his cartridge box for another round.
"A division at least," Warren said, "and looks like they're continuing east toward Westminster."
"Can't see their colors though," Henry replied. He looked back to the lieutenant.
"You said you were fighting Hood?"
"Yes, sir. We caught a couple of them before we got flanked. It was Hood's division."
"Wonder if that's them in the town?" Warren muttered.
"You want me to go down and ask?" the lieutenant interjected.
Henry looked over at him. The youth wasn't being sarcastic; he was trying to make a joke, and Henry nodded.
"It's more than Hood" Henry offered "The battle with you at the river was mid-afternoon. Take a couple of hours to get everyone reorganized and on the road What's down there now is the next division, pushed through, continuing on. Hood will come up later. Or maybe the next division has already moved on, and that's Hood coming in to occupy Taneytown."
"We're being flanked," Warren interjected. "By God, he's done it to us again. Longstreet's corps, and I'm willing to bet Hill is right behind him. Back at Gettysburg Ewell is just demonstrating to keep our attention. As soon as it gets dark, he'll pull out as well."
"I could have told you three hours ago we were facing the head of their army," the lieutenant offered and this time there was a bitterness to his voice. "Just like yesterday, bur we didn't have Reynolds this time to come in as support Damn, if we'd had the ammunition, a brigade of infantry, and a couple of batteries, we could have held that bridge till hell froze over."
The skirmishing was picking up. A ball slapped dangerously close, passing between Henry and Warren.
Warren turned his horse.
"The line we surveyed yesterday, Henry. Do you think they know about it?"
"If not Longstreet will figure it out real quick. He has a damn good eye for ground."
"I'm figuring the same."
"Lieutenant pull back slowly, keep an eye on things. You've got a division of infantry coming up. They should be approaching in another hour or so. I'll tell them to deploy on the far side of the creek, but there isn't anything they can do tonight. You help them get a feel for things. General Hunt and I are going back to headquarters."
"I got maybe a hundred rounds left for the men with me," the lieutenant replied.
"Then use them wisely" Warren replied.
The two started off, moving at not much more than a steady trot
"Do you think Meade's already moving?" Henry asked. "By God, if they're advancing on Westminster, we've got to get troops in there by dawn."
"Sedgwick just marched his entire corps up from there, thirty miles straight. If he pulled the rest of Fifth off the line while we were coming down here, he just might make it by dawn."
"Do you think he did that?" Warren said nothing.
As they crossed back over the stream, Henry looked again at the dead trooper lying in the shadows. He wondered if someone would finally get around to burying him. Behind them, the lieutenant, with a dozen men and a hundred rounds, slowly gave ground in the opening shots of the battle for Taneytown.