A cool evening breeze wafted down from the heights behind the town and Grant sighed with relief as the temperature dropped several degrees within minutes. Not like Mississippi at all, where the muggy heat would linger through the night. No mosquitoes either, and that was a blessing.
He had moved his headquarters from the town depot out to a low rise just east of the toll gate south of town. At the edge of the rise, a quarter mile away, Hunt was busy with his guns, crews digging in, throwing up lunettes around each piece, constructing rough bombproofs to store limber chests in. Occasional harassing fire came from the rebel guns on the far side of the river, but nothing serious, just a growling back and forth like two old neighboring dogs reminding each other of their existence. It dropped off as dusk settled over the countryside.
All orders had been given; Sheridan and Ord knew their tasks. Of Banks he was not sure yet, but his men had come up in good order during the day, filing down out of the mountain pass and falling in on the north flank. Banks's men, at least, he knew were good troops that had fought through the swamps of the lower Mississippi, though ironically many of the regiments were recruited from New York and New England. It had been easier in the first year of the war to ship men from there to New Orleans while the Confederates still held Vicksburg and Port Hudson.
They had seen action before, though not on the scale of battles here in the East, but he had a sense of them, that they were grateful to be out of the Deep South and eager to prove themselves… and tomorrow would definitely be a day of proving. He hoped they would rise to the occasion.
The orders were straightforward and simple. At dawn, all three corps were to engage: Sheridan in the center, Ord on the right, Banks on the left, with what was left of Mcpherson's Corps to be in reserve in the town. The three attacking corps were to go for the fords, but also force a general action up and down the length of the river for five miles or more, to fight like hell and hold Lee in place, to not give him a breather or the room to maneuver, but to lock hold of him and hang on. And they were not to throw men away senselessly. Ord, his blood up after barely taking the ford, was ready to do so, to storm straight in against a hundred or more guns. No, first we have to wear the other side down, exhaust them, and then let the plan unfold.
Campfires by the thousands were springing to light along the river, on both sides, the scent of wood smoke, coffee, and frying salt pork filling the evening air. To him it was a comforting smell, part of his life, a better part of the army life he had always loved. The day's march done, the men settling down, songs drifting on the air, rations being cooked, the first stars of evening coming out.
If only war were like this forever, I would love it so, he thought, but only if this moment could be frozen, not what had been or what was to come. Behind him his staff was having their supper, spread out on a rough plank table, the men laughing at a joke. They were used to his going off like this, especially before a fight, to be alone, to smoke, to think, to recalculate, to think again, in silence. Besides, the migraine still tormented him and the thought of trying to eat anything beyond some hardtack made his stomach rebel.
Was everything in place? Is there anything I forgot?
He knew it was senseless to try to reason those questions out now, and yet always he did it on the eve of a confrontation. It was not a question of resolve, however.
He had resolved on this moment on the day the telegram arrived from Lincoln bearing news of Union Mills and of his own promotion to command. He knew the focus of his task, to track Lee down, bring him to battle, and then destroy him.
So many would die tomorrow. He knew that; they all did, on both sides of the river. Even as the men around the camp-fires joked and sang, many others had drawn off. Some sat alone, looking up at the heavens, in wonder, in prayer, or, for a tragic few, in terror. Others knelt or stood in prayer. Some stood in circles around a trusted minister or simply a man of the regiment who everyone acknowledged "had the ear of the Lord." Some sang hymns, others recited psalms, a group of Catholics knelt before a makeshift altar while a priest offered up mass and then absolution.
Others wrote letters home, or if they could not write, dictated a few lines that a comrade would jot down. The darkness deepened, the sky a deep indigo, and he sat in silence, smoking, and watching the far bank of the river.
Home of Dr. O'Neill Near Monocacy function