"Every one. I plan to have two hundred and fifty pieces in place by tomorrow morning. A massed battery here with a hundred and twenty rifled pieces, the Napoleons farther down the slope, and to the right a quarter mile for close-in support Meade's authorized me to have control of corps artillery as well in terms of initial placement."
Hancock shook his head.
"Sickles for certain won't like that"
Henry wanted to say the hell with him, but knew better.
"Once it gets dark I'll start moving my pieces into place. Some of them are still halfway back to Gettysburg though and might not be up here till dawn."
Hancock nodded wearily, gaze still locked on the opposite slope. "Goddamn, they're digging in hard," he whispered.
Henry left him to his thoughts, mounting up to ride on, carefully picking the spot for tomorrow's fight
7:30 PM, JULY 3,1863
'Sir? General, sir, we're here."
Startled by the gentle touch on his shoulder, General Lee sat up, momentarily confused. He saw Walter Taylor, silhouetted by the twilight to the west, leaning over him. "Where?"
"I think it's called Frizzelburg, sir," and Walter chuckled softly. "If someone tries to pin that name on this battle, sir… well, I hope you call it something else."
Lee smiled and stifled a yawn. The canvas sides of the ambulance had been pulled down in order to give him some privacy on the ride down from Taneytown. He barely remembered leaving the burning town after sending a swift courier ahead to arrange a meeting with Longstreet.
"Are you feeling all right sir?" Walter asked.
'Tine, Walter, just fine."
It was a lie of course. What happened after the Texans had rallied and then, moments later, Pickett had come crashing in on the flank was a blur. He remembered Walter riding up, triumphal, exclaiming that hundreds of prisoners had been taken and the Union troops were falling back in disorder.
Shortly after that he passed out He remembered awaking on the broad veranda of the Antrim, anxious staff gathered round, a doctor leaning over him, listening to his heart through a hollow wooden tube. For a moment there had been a sense of panic, that the attack he had suffered during the winter had come back.
"Heat and exhaustion," was the doctor's prognosis, along with an order for a day of bed rest in a cool room.
Absurd.
He agreed to two hours of rest, a sofa being dragged out of the Antrim and set up on the porch so that he might have a cooling breeze. A drink of cool lemonade made him nauseous, but he managed to keep it down, and then reluctantly took a glass of Madeira on the doctor's orders to settle his nerves.
The battle was turned over to Ewell, who pressed the enemy back onto the road to Littlestown before the fight simply gave out, both sides equally exhausted after a six-hour struggle in the boiling heat
Yet another half victory, he thought. We should have completely enveloped the Fifth; now they will have the night to dig in, perhaps be reinforced. Yet again he sensed that Ewell had not pushed when he should have.
The doctor and Walter had strongly objected to his desire to come down to Westminster-to meet with Longstreet, but it had to be done, though he was glad for the compromise of riding in an ambulance and the suggestion that Longstreet come part of the way to meet him here.
Walter unlatched the back gate of the ambulance and offered a helping hand, which Lee refused. He must not let the men think he was weak. Before sliding out, he buttoned his uniform, wiped the sweat from his brow, and put on his hat, a straw flattop with a broad brim, the one concession he had publicly made to the heat
As he stood up, the vertigo returned and he swayed for a few seconds, reaching out to rest a hand on the wheel of the ambulance and then withdrawing it Too many were watching. The men must not have the slightest doubt the slightest fear as to his well-being. Too many men had died back at Taneytown to protect him, and too much now depended on the men believing in him. They drew their strength from his strength, and there could be no doubts in a battle like this.
Staff and some cavalry were setting up a large wall tent on the front lawn of a small church. Several pews had been brought out and set in a horseshoe around the front of the tent. Smoke was curling up from a blacksmith shop alongside the church, a team of artillerymen working to reset the rim on a wheel. At the sight of Lee, they stopped their work and stood in respectful silence.
Lee recognized Porter Alexander, Longstreet's chief of artillery, and Porter saluted.
"I came on ahead, sir," Porter said. "General Longstreet is coming here as fast as he can."
"Thank you, Colonel. And all is well with you?"
"Yes, sir. A tough fight today, but we did well."
"I am glad to see you are well."
Porter nodded. Looking into Lee's eyes, he started to say something and then just simply smiled awkwardly.
A black cook was already tending the fire burning before the tent and circle of pews. As Lee approached, he stood up, offering a cup of tea in an earthenware mug, which Lee gratefully took, nodding his thanks.
He sat down on one of the pews and then caught the attention of a cavalry captain, who seemed to be in charge of the detail setting up camp.
"Captain, did you get permission to borrow these pews and tables?"
"Sir?"
"Permission from the minister or sexton?"
"Sir, ahh, I couldn't find them."
"Then please do so and at once. Otherwise, take them back in. We do not steal from churches."
The captain looked around exasperated, then sharply motioned for a sergeant and a couple of privates to find the minister. They ran off.
Lee stood up and walked over to the blacksmith shop. The artillerymen came to rigid attention at his approach.
"Stand at ease, men."
The artillerymen drew back, looking nervously at each other.
"Were you in action today?" Lee asked. "Yes, sir," a corporal replied, his skin so fair that it was blistered and peeling from the harsh sun. "Where?"
"Sir, in front of Westminster. One of our guns got this here wheel knocked off by a shell. Cap'n sent us back here to get it fixed since we can't find our forge wagon."
Lee, half listening, nodded.
Hie smell of the forge was somehow comforting, clean charcoal, hot iron; it triggered a memory, but he wasn't sure what of; of childhood perhaps. It was soothing somehow.
He could see that he was making the men uncomfortable by his presence, and saying, "Carry on," he turned away, walking, sipping the tea that was flavored with honey, breathing in the clean air of a hot summer evening, rich with the smells of pasture, fields, and woods.
Twilight was deepening. All was quiet except for the movement of a column of troops on the road nearby. The men moved slowly, no banter or high spirits. They were exhausted, staggering on, turning north to move up toward the frontline.
Since he was standing in the shadows, they did not notice him. He was grateful for that. It gave him a moment to be alone, to clear his thoughts.
What I did today bordered on madness. It was madness, he realized. If I had led that charge, I most likely would have been killed. If I die now, in battle, or from something else, such as my heart, it might doom our cause. The burden of that realization was always something that struck a chord of fear within: the frightful responsibility of all this.