"Surprise?" Meade barked out a gruff laugh. "Goddamn, what surprise? He knows we're coming just as sure as I do. No, I want a clear field. I want every gun pouring in on them to shake them loose. I want every man to see where it is he's going. I did that at Fredericksburg. My division was the only one that got into their lines, and I would have broken them if that damned ass Burnside had supported me."
He fixed Hunt with an angry gaze. "If I could do it at Fredericksburg with a division, I'll do it here today with four corps going in. You open up, Hunt when you can see the bastards. I'll leave that up to you. And you tell me as well when it is time to go in."
"Sir?"
"Do you have any problems with that?"
"Sir, it's not for me to judge when to go in. I can only advise as to the effect of my bombardment. But the order to go in or not, well, sir, that's up to you."
"Just do what I order you to do, Hunt" Meade snapped, and without comment he rode on.
Henry shook his head. There was no sense in arguing about protocol now.
Leaning against the wheel of a ten-pound Parrott gun, he waited for the mist to clear.
6:15 AM, JULY 4,1863
"General Lee?"
It was a courier from Ewell, his inquiry a whisper.
Walter, who had fallen asleep on one of the pews in front of the tent, half opened his eyes and sat up, putting a finger to his lips.
"He's asleep," Walter whispered, pointing to the tent behind him.
"I've got a dispatch from Ewell." "I'll take it."
"I was told to bring a reply."
"He needs his sleep," Walter hissed softly. "Now wait over there."
He pointed toward the blacksmith shop, where many of the staff had sought shelter during the night His own orders had been strict and without compromise. Unless the entire operation was going to hell, Lee was not to be disturbed. Sentries had been posted along the road ordering strict silence for everyone who passed during the night
He then posted himself in front of Lee's tent the cook first helping him to set up a tarpover the pews to at least give him some shelter.
He unfolded the dispatch. Ewell was reporting that the road back from Taneytown had been cut a brigade of Union cavalry from the south taking Emmitsburg.
Walter thought about it for the moment. Their supply trains were parked over the mountain at Greehcastle, protected by two brigades of cavalry, and would now retire back to Falling Waters on the banks of the Potomac River. That should be sufficient; besides, the captured supplies at Westminster made our own reserves look miniscule in comparison. Hie only drawback, communications back down to Virginia were cut Ironic, both armies were now cut off from their capitals.
Walter actually smiled. Would this trigger a panic in Richmond as well? Probably not Davis was not used to the kind of telegraphic leash Lincoln could keep his generals on. And Richmond had far more faith in General Lee's ability to bring a miracle forth than the Union had in all its generals combined. No, Richmond would be anxious and curious but not panicked or desperate. Well, at least there will be no dispatches to trouble Lee. Let him sleep.
Walter stood up. All around was cloaked in fog, rain slashing down. All was silent Good. Let him sleep a few more minutes.
Lee heard the soft exchange outside his tent He'd been awake for nearly an hour, quietly going over the plan, eyes half closed, listening to the drumming of rain on the canvas.
They love me. That thought struck him with a sharp intensity. Walter keeping watch outside throughout the rainy night the stage-whispered commands from the road for those passing by to keep quiet because "Lee is sleeping."
Today is the Fourth of July. He had a memory of childhood. Old men gathering at the house while he sat quietly to one side, listening as they talked of Washington, of the cold of Valley Forge, the heat of Monmouth, the triumph of York-town. I thought them to be giants, men who had shaped the world to their vision and desires.
What would they say of me now, leading this war to divide the nation they created?
He had settled that argument long ago, at least he thought he had. It is not us, but they, those people on the other side who had drifted from the intent of the Fathers. We are now defending that heritage, not they. We represent the Founding Fathers' intent of a nation of states, not a centralized dictatorship of one government
And yet what would they say then to all of us squabbling children, tearing apart the dream they had created. I cannot change that now. I am on the path set before me and cannot waver from it Afterward, perhaps afterward we can find some way to sit down, to talk, perhaps to heal.
He thought of his boy in prison. Even now old friends will look out for him, while I; here this day, shall kill the comrades of those friends.
How many will die this day? How many a boy stirring in camp at this moment is awakening to his final day?
He swung his legs off the cot, moving quietly so Walter would not hear, stifling a groan, his legs and back stiff. He knelt on the damp ground and lowered his head, hands clasped in prayer.
7.30 AM, JULY 4,1863 UNION MILLS
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.
8:10 AM
Pete Longstreet, sitting on a camp chair, nursed his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, gaze fixed northward The coffee was excellent, several wagon loads of the beans having been found in Westminster and brought up during the night Someone back there was thinking. Many of the men had not had a real cup in months, and as it was distributed along the line in the early morning men awoke to the smell of kettles full of the brew boiling on smoldering campfires. Several dozen head of cattle and pigs were driven up as well and slaughtered just behind the line. His men were going into this one well fed for once, and he could sense the effect as men chewed on half-cooked steaks or fried pork. There was even real sugar for the coffee. He knew that McLaws was most likely chafing at being stuck back at Westminster, but the man was doing his job, knowing what the boys would need this day. Along with the food had come the entrenching tools and ammunition, extra boxes stacked with each regiment covered over in the trenches, and extra limber loads for the artillery kept a mile to the rear.