This is it?" Lee asked as Duvall reined in and pointed down a narrow farm lane. "Yes, sir."
Lee looked at the road. It was barely a dirt track, a pathway used occasionally by some farmer gathering wood for the winter, perhaps cut through years ago when the forests here were first harvested and now barely used. It was apparent, though, that it had seen recent heavy use, the track muddy, torn up by the passage of troops.
"The road General Longstreet used was a bit farther over, but this is the quickest way down to where the bridge is going in."
The men filing along the road back toward Poolesville had been passing this point for at least an hour or two. He would have to send someone forward to stop and reverse them and it would be a mad tangle, for the rest of his column five miles back would have to turn off here as well.
Lee looked around, watching as men continued to file past.
He turned to a cavalry sergeant who along with several other troopers stood by the side of the road.
"Halt the column, Sergeant," Lee said. "Have them stop right here, and pass the word back up the line for the men to fall out for rest and to eat. I should be back within the hour."
He turned down the track, Duvall in the lead, his men drawing pistols as they rode into the woods. From nearly all directions could be heard distant fire, the thumping of artillery, joined now by a deep rumble ahead.