Exasperated, Winfield Scott Hancock looked to the heavens. It seemed as if the rain was easing slightly, the uniform flat dull gray beginning to shift, a cloud parting for a second, revealing a gunmetal blue patch of sky before closing over again. Occasional spits of rain fell for a few minutes then drifted away.
His men, deployed out in the open fields behind Union Mills, sat on the ground, hunched over, heads bowed. They had begun to file into position at dawn. There was no enthusiasm, but then again these were veterans, not green boys excited about going to see "The Elephant" for the first time. They knew what was coming, what to expect.
The two-division front stretched for nearly half a mile, Caldwell's men forming the first wave on the left, a division of Twelfth Corps to his right, then Hays's the second wave, and Gibbon's-whose boys had taken the brunt of yesterday's assault-the third.
He rode slowly along the line, motioning for the men not to stand up, offering words of encouragement, trying above all else not to reveal the heavy sickness in his heart as he looked at them, his men, his boys.
Most of the men of Kelly's brigade were saying the rosary, kneeling together in a semicircle, prayer beads out, Chanting together… "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"
He had been their division commander from the banks of Antietam Creek to Chancellorsville and knew many of them by name, never forgetting the sight of them going up the slope at Fredericksburg chanting "Erin go bragh!"
He respectfully edged around the circle, not wishing to disturb them, taking off his hat as he passed
He looked up the slope to where scores of limber wagons were parked What had been dull shadows only minutes before were now visible, wisps of steam rising off the backs of horses.
All was silent.