"Sir, I abandoned over a hundred guns. The pieces we captured at Union Mills. All of them were spiked and wheels smashed."
"I expected that," Lee said. "They were of use at the moment but are a hindrance now."
"I thought so, too, sir. That frees up several thousand infantry who are back in the ranks. The ammunition, though, sir."
"You did not get all the ammunition off the trains?"
Longstreet shook his head.
"Why not, sir?" Lee asked sharply.
"Sir, we are short of horses, transport. I had to strip out an artillery battalion of its horses in order to move the pontoon train. At best we managed to retrieve about a million and a half rounds of small arms ammunition, maybe five thousand artillery rounds, before being forced to set the rest afire."
"Yes, I saw the fires," Lee said quietly. "But why?"
"That's the other bad news, sir. Grierson is at our rear. He came down onto the B and O line late yesterday afternoon with at least two brigades of cavalry. I fear Armistead might be cut off. I've not heard from him since nightfall. Sykes, with a corps strength, has pushed up and is in Urbana."
"That's less than ten miles from here," Lee replied.
"Yes, sir, I know."
Lee looked over at one of Jed Hotchkiss's maps on his field desk.
"Then the only ammunition we have is what our men are carrying, the small reserves at division level, and what you salvaged."
"Yes, sir."
"Enough, though, for one good fight if need be," Lee said, and he forced a smile.
"If required, sir. Yes, sir."
"The pontoon train. Everything rests on that now."
"Sir, it's proving difficult. Even on the best of roads they are difficult to move. The going has been slow. I estimate they are five miles back on our line of march."
Lee sighed, his gaze returning to the map. "We can still retrieve this situation, General," he said.
Longstreet did not reply.
"Do you believe me, General Longstreet?"
Pete looked into Lee's eyes. The gaze was intense, filled with determination, and yet again he found he could indeed believe in this man.
"Yes, sir. If we move swiftly and with daring. Yes, I think we can get back across the Potomac."
"Not just back across the Potomac, General. In the last two months we have dealt repeated blows to the North from which they can ill recover. This one reversal shall not stop us. We hold the line of the Potomac through the winter and into next spring, and surely their political coalition shall collapse."
Pete did not reply for a moment.
"Do you believe that, sir?" Lee asked, and Pete detected that there was a questioning in Lee's voice, a wish to be reaffirmed in his confidence.
"Sir, the first concern, at the moment, is to get this army safely out of Maryland. Then I will think of other things."
Lee finally smiled.
"Fair enough."
Lee pulled Hotchkiss's map over.
"We must move swiftly this day. You take your column, head down toward Poolesville. Then see if there is any chance we can secure Edwards Ferry. I know they are dug in there, but if in your estimate it can be stormed, do so. If not, move parallel to the river and find an appropriate place to cross. I will take the rest of the army and advance toward Damestown and secure our flank in that direction. Grant's forces are worn, but the men coming down on our rear under Sykes must be turned, if possible defeated, and driven back. Succeed in that and we have bought some time."
Longstreet, looking at the map, nodded in agreement.
"We must move swiftly, sir, and the pontoon train must be pushed forward with all possible haste."
"Yes, sir."
Longstreet left the tent and mounted up. He started to ride back in the direction he had come from. Out in the fields the men were breaking camp, some loading up with backpacks or blanket rolls, but many just leaving them behind. They were stripping down for hard marching.
To the east the sun was clear of the horizon, promising a warm and humid day.
Headquarters, Army of the Potomac Near Clarksburg
8:00 A.M.
Sir, who is that man?" one of Sykes's aides asked, pointing up the road behind them. Sykes turned in his saddle. An officer, riding a splendid white mount, was moving along the side of the road at a canter. He was pale-faced, gaunt, and almost seemed drunk the way he was riding, barely able to hang on.
Sykes smiled.
"I know him."
He turned about, moved to the side of the road, and grinned as the officer approached.
"Colonel Chamberlain, isn't it?" Sykes asked.
Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain saluted and forced a weak smile.
"Yes, sir, it is."
"My God, sir," Sykes exclaimed. "Last I heard you were dead.':
"A premature report," Chamberlain replied. "But you were captured?"
"Yes, sir. A friend of mine on the other side arranged my unconditional parole. I was officially exchanged last week and immediately came down to report for duty."
Sykes looked at him appraisingly. The man was barely able to keep to his saddle.
"I think, sir, you are not yet recovered from your wounds."
"Sir, may I be the judge of that," Chamberlain replied. "I have been following the news. I was with you and the boys of our glorious Fifth Corps at Taneytown, I wish to be with you now. I took a train down to Baltimore yesterday, paid a rather handsome amount for this magnificent horse, and have been trailing you ever since."
Sykes chuckled and shook his head.
"Such determination cannot be denied, Colonel. I have no posting for you, but you are welcome to join my staff."
"Thank you, sir, an honor."
"Fall in with my staff then. We have Bobbie Lee on the run. We are flanking to the east of him, boxing him in. I just received orders from Grant to push toward Clarksburg and then Darnestown. By God, sir, the Army of the Potomac must be in on this one. We will not lag, we will not slow, I will not let some damn Westerner claim he's won this war against Lee after all we've been through."
Chamberlain smiled. "An honor to be here, sir."
He fell in behind Sykes, breathing deeply, glorying in the fact that he was back, he was with his "Old Fifth," the core of survivors of his beloved Army of the Potomac. The agony of his wound was forgotten for the moment, though each jostle of the horse beneath him sent shock waves through his barely healed hips and up his spine. Nor did he think of home, of his wife's threats to leave him if he followed through on such foolishness. No, this was the center, the core of his life, the reason for his existence, to be here, now, to help shape history, to ensure that the cause of freedom won.
Hauling Ferry 10:00 A.M.
Winfield Scott Hancock, barely able to stand, leaned against his cane, watching as the canal boats loaded up with "Mr. Bartlett's army," as it was now called. By the hundreds the men were scrambling aboard, as fast as a barge was loaded up, the mules or horses towing the boat dug in and set off, the men aboard cheering.
From up the river more barges were coming around the bend, carrying the last of the troops who had garrisoned Point of Rocks. They were heading back east and south, back down to Edwards Ferry and the crossing at Seneca Crossing.
Lee's men could march at two to three miles to the hour, but aboard the barges they could move four miles to the hour while the men relaxed, sang, ate, or slept.
It was a complex maneuver to keep boxing Lee in. The garrisons at Nolands Ferry and Hauling would hold in place, as would the garrison at Edwards Ferry. Hancock felt supremely confident. Though he had yet to meet him, he also felt supreme confidence in Grant. Here was a man who, at last, was thinking on a broad scale, maneuvering what were three armies at the same time, each one stepping into place and closing the ring around Lee. Gone was the indecision of the past.
An empty barge pulled up, and Hancock slowly shuffled aboard, Mr. Bartlett behind him, their staffs following.
Within
minutes the horses were run over the low bridge arching the canal, cables attached to the harnesses, rudder pulled out from what had been the stern and carried to the rear of the boat and set in place.
"Heave away!"
The horses leaned into the traces, and the barge was moving, picking up speed.
Hancock gladly sat down on a camp chair set up near the bow, Mr. Bartlett coming up by his side.
Hancock looked up at the man and smiled.
"Boxing him in, Mr. Bartlett. That's the game now. Lee's a wily fox, he is. He still might slip past us, he surely will try, but you and L we have other plans for him."
Near Edwards Ferry 12:00 P.M.
The marching was hard. The sun had broken through the overcast, at first a welcome relief after the rain of the past two days. Within a few hours it started to dry the roads, making passage easier, but the heat and humidity were climbing, thick clouds building overhead, a clear sign that by late afternoon thunderstorms would lash down.
The head of his column was already through Poolesville, where they had waited for a half hour while he and Colonel Duvall had ridden forward to Edwards Ferry. He had hoped against hope that perhaps here might be the crossing. A few minutes of surveying their lines had turned his opinion against it.
The Yankees were well dug in, same as at Hauling Ferry. Entrenchments encircled the crossing he had so easily taken a year earlier during the Sharpsburg campaign. Four of the dreaded, hundred-pound Parrott guns guarded the crossing, backed up by at least two batteries of thirty-pounders and at least five thousand infantry.
If I had a fresh corps up, two or three battalions of artillery in support, I might venture it, Longstreet thought. It would cost, but we could do it. But that would take the rest of the-day, his column staggering along behind him, ten miles to the rear. Gather here, and it will be dusk before we can even hope to force the position, and that will give Grant time to close in from the rear.
Even as he surveyed the position, canal boats were passing by, ladened down with infantry and hundreds of colored civilians, all of them carrying shovels, picks, saws.
Has Lincoln drafted the colored of Washington? he wondered. If so, that would explain the massive fortifications confronting him.
He saw a banner draped on the side of one of the barges:
WASHINGTON COLORED VOLUNTEERS.
He rode back to the head of the column, men standing back up after their noonday break, ready to resume the forced march.
"Duvall, scout ahead. We parallel the canal but out of sight of the Yankees along it. Find a spot where we can force a way across. The river can't be too wide where we cross, ideally with an island in the middle. Now ride!"
And the column had set off, afternoon sun blazing down.
Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Near Barnesville, Maryland
1:00 P.M.
The distant rattle of skirmishing echoed from farther down the road. The men in the column, which had stopped, leaned wearily on their rifles, ordered to stand in place, to not break ranks.
Since late morning, any break had resulted in scores and hundreds of exhausted men refusing to get up again, regardless of the threats of their officers or provost guards.
Grant could not blame them. They were numb from exhaustion. These were men pushed to the limit and beyond, survivors of the Hornets Nest. Many of the regiments were reduced to little more than company size—a mere fifty men gathered around a flag where there would once have been five hundred.
Phil Sheridan came trotting up the road toward him, grinning.
"We're hitting the back end of Longstreet's column just ahead," he announced. "We're right behind him."
'Then keep pushing," Grant replied sharply. "Keep pushing."
Five Miles West of Seneca Crossing on the Potomac 2:15 P.M.
Col. Phil Duvall slowly stood up, General Longstreet by his side. The crossing below was swarming with Yankee troops getting off canal boats and starting to form up. They both scanned the line with their field glasses. Duvall lowered his glasses and looked over at Longstreet. "We have to try it," Longstreet said. Duvall nodded, not replying.
Longstreet looked over at the young colonel. General Lee had pushed ahead to try to secure their flank at Darnestown while Pete had been ordered to take a narrow lane down to this crossing with his troops to see if they could somehow seize the position.
He had most of Scales's men up, two thousand men, concealed in the woods, nearly a brigade of cavalry with him.
"All at once," Pete said, turning to look back at Scales. "No artillery, complete surprise. Sweep down and into them. You must take that position."
Scales nodded.
"I can do it," he said quietly. "Then go."
Sergeant Hazner was at the fore of the charge, Colonel Brown by his side. Both were panting for breath. The day had turned scorching hot, and they had not had a drop of water in hours, but both knew that this charge, out of so many charges, was different. This was a race for the survival of themselves and their army.
They had indeed caught the Yankees by surprise. They could see them forming up, struggling to create a volley line.
They were down to less than a hundred yards, running full out.
No volleys, just a scattering of fire to start, and then the volume increasing. Men began to drop.
"Come on!" Brown screamed. "One more time, boys, just one more time!"
Hancock stood up. Leaning against the bow of his canal barge, he saw the smoke rolling up from a field just around the bend in the river.
‘Damn!
"Get us ashore here," he shouted.
The steersman angled the boat over and slammed it against the embankment, Hancock nearly losing his footing. A couple of enlisted men, already on the embankment, reached over and half-lifted him out of the boat.
Bartlett started to jump off, but Hancock turned and looked back at him.
"No! Your people stay here!"
"We're needed, too," Jim tried to argue.
"No. You stay here. They've caught us by surprise. Chances are we'll get pushed back, at least for now. Get your men out. Move them back up that way."
He pointed farther along the canal, to a gently rising slope.
"Start digging in there. Build a redoubt. That's what we need now!"
Jim pointed the way, and his men, following in a half dozen barges, leapt for the shore and ran up the slope. Within minutes he had them at work, furiously digging, dragging fallen timber out of a nearby woodlot, tearing down split-rail fences and piling them up, forming a fortification for the Union troops to shelter behind."
The charge began to slow out of sheer exhaustion. They were but fifty yards off, but had run nearly a quarter of mile to gain this ground. One man stopped, and then another, and raised his rifle and fired.
"Come on!" Brown shouted, but the men of the Fourteenth came to a stop, raised rifles, and fired. "Keep moving!"
The thin Union line before them offered another ragged volley. Several more men around Brown and Hazner dropped, but they continued to push forward and the Yankees broke, falling back, most turning to run along the towpath to the west.
The last few yards were covered, and Hazner, bent double with exhaustion, stood at the edge of the canal.
They had made it!
Pete Longstreet rode up, General Scales by his side, and quickly surveyed the ground. A half dozen abandoned barges were floating in the canal, a hundred or so Union casualties along the embankment.
Just below the canal was a short, open flood plain, and beyond the Potomac, on the other side, Virginia! Duvall had picked the spot well. A wooded island lay in the middle of the river, significantly shortening the distance they needed to traverse. On the far shore he spotted a couple of mounted troops, the men standing in their stirrups and waving. Mosby's men. He waved back. Virginia!
He turned to Scales.
"Keep pushing them back. I need an opening here at least two miles wide or more. Keep pushing them back.
I will send you everyone I can, and you keep pushing out to form a bridgehead that we can move the pontoon bridge through."
Scales saluted and rode off. Longstreet looked around at his staff.
"Venable, a courier to General Lee. Tell him we've seized a crossing point five miles west of Seneca. Second, a courier up our column to Cruickshank, and tell him to get those damn pontoons forward with all possible speed. The rest of you, as additional men come up, get them to work."
He pointed to a nearby farm, a gristmill, some sheds, and outbuildings.
'Tear them apart. Get any lumber out that we can use for bridging material. Use the barges here to build a bridge across the canal. We need more than what is here and then a corduroy road down to the river. Now move it!"
Longstreet watched as the men set to work.
Maybe, just maybe, we've pulled it off. By tomorrow morning we will be across the river and be out of this damn state.
Near Poolesoille 3:00 P.M.
Cruickshank returned the salute of the officer who had come up. "General Longstreet has seized a crossing point,
sir."
"Where?"
"About three miles from here, west of Seneca Crossing." "Damn all to hell," Cruickshank said, shaking his head.
The courier looked at him confused.
"The general insists you come up with all possible speed to bring up the pontoons. I'm to guide you in."
"All possible speed? Just what the hell do you think I've been doing all day?" Cruickshank asked.
"Sir, I'm just carrying orders."
"Yes, I know."
Ahead of him an artillery limber wagon had just lost a wheel, the load collapsing, again stalling traffic on the narrow, rutted road. The crew was struggling to jack the wagon up and replace the wheel, everything behind them stopped.
Cruickshank looked over at the courier.
"Got a drink on you."
"Sir?"
"A drink. Bourbon, gin, anything?"
"I'm a temperance man," the courier replied a bit stiffly.
"I bet you are, damn it."
It took five minutes for the artillery crew to maneuver the wheel into place, secure the lug nut, and the piece lurched forward.
Behind him, with much cursing and swearing, his crew lashed their horses and mules, the twenty-four wagons again rolling forward, wheels sinking deep into the mud that still clung to the road down in hollows and stream crossings.
Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 Page 48
