The Rebs had at least a division on the other side of the river, the trooper who was killed having just reported that they had taken a man who claimed to be with Law's brigade, Hood's division.
Damn, if I'm facing Hood down here, a dozen miles south of Gettysburg, that must mean all of Longstreet is behind him. They wouldn't just send a lone division this far off the flank. No, this was like Second Manassas all over again, with Longstreet again on the other side. Fix our attention in one direction, then slip around to the flank or rear. It was always the same with the Army of the Potomac. We focus on Lee, then he weaves like a boxer, dodging off in another direction, and our damn generals sit there dumbfounded. Once, just once, why couldn't it be the other way around?
The opposite bank of the creek was a shadowland of smoke and flickering gunfire. The air was still, humid, the smoke cringing to the ground, hanging in choking clouds beneath the trees that lined the banks of the stream. His men were giving back, rifle fire echoing in the shallow valley, but doing so slowly, with measured pace. Ammunition was low; every shot had to count.
He turned about and drew back a hundred yards, coming back out at the crest on the east side of the creek. Heat shimmers were rising off the pike to Taneytown, distorting the column of troopers coming up to reinforce the line.
"Should I tell Devin to put his men in on the right?" Gamble asked.
John raised his field glasses, scanning the opposite slope on the far side of the river. He caught glimpses of an infantry column a half mile away heading to his right. A second artillery battery was swinging into line. I don't have a single damn field piece, Calef won't be up for another half hour, and now there are two batteries on the other side, most likely more coming up.
I held the good ground for the army yesterday, did my duty, pulled back to refit, and now this. How the hell did Hood get around to the rear?
John looked over at Gamble, who was still awaiting orders. "We've got to hold them here, right here. Lose this line and there is no defendable position between here and the far side of Taneytown"-he hesitated for a second trying to remember the name "-along Pipe Creek.
"On the right, Gamble; put whatever we've got in there."
"Reserve?"
John shook his head. "We don't have any now."
Hood was a good player, he knew what to do. Yesterday, Harry Heth was impetuous, came on too fast; Hood though, John was different Aggressive as all hell, but he'd get a full division up and then come storming in with everything at once. Just keep extending the line until he finds a place to get across and turns us. That and some of my men have gone in with cartridge boxes half-empty. The few precious companies armed with repeating Spencer rifles were just about empty, having poured out nearly everything they had up at Gettysburg yesterday.
This was going to get bad real quick.
"Find a trooper with a damn good horse and get him over here now" John announced.
Dismounting in front of a farmhouse on the crest of the hill, he walked up to the porch. A woman with two children behind her stood in the doorway.
"I’d suggest you get your family down into the cellar," Buford said.
The woman turned, pushing the children inside, but returned a moment later, bearing of all things an earthen mug filled with foaming buttermilk.
In spite of his concern for her safety, he gratefully took the offering and downed it. It was cool, delicious. He drank it so fast his head ached for a moment
"Ma'am, please find some shelter."
"You're wounded, sir," and she pointed to his left arm. He glanced down, saw the torn sleeve, and for the first time felt the pain. The last shell burst must have nicked him.
"I'll be fine. Now please go with your children."
"Have your wounded brought in here where it's safe."
Safe? He couldn't help but smile. This house, on the crossroads, would be a target for the guns deploying on the other side.
"Down to the cellar with you, ma'am. I'll send one of my men to stay with you."
Gamble came up, leading a trooper riding a fine-looking stallion, which had obviously just "joined" the army.
Buford pulled out his dispatch book, folded it open, and addressed a note to Meade.
2:00 PM, JULY 2,1863
MONOCACY CREEK, FIVE MILES WEST OF TANEYTOWN
My command, while proceeding through Taneytown, was informed by a scout that Confederate forces, in at least brigade strength, were approaching from Emmitsburg. I have moved my entire command up, securing the east bank of Monocacy Creek at the stone bridge on the Emmitsburg-Taneytown Pike. I am
facing Hood's division, having directly observed at least two brigades so far and believe that Longstreet's corps is behind him.
He paused for a moment, then added the next line.
I believe Longstreet's intent is to turn the left flank of our army.
I intend to hold this position at whatever cost, though my ammunition supply is limited and many of my mounts are worn. I believe you should move sufficient forces here with all possible dispatch to secure this position; otherwise Taneytown and Westminster will be threatened.
Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time and handed the dispatch up.
"Ride back toward Taneytown," Buford ordered. 'Take the road north to Harney, the one we came down this morning, then proceed directly to Gettysburg. Stop for nothing. I want this personally delivered to General Meade. To Meade and no one else. Do you understand me?"
The trooper, obviously pleased with the importance of his role, nodded eagerly and saluted.
"Go!"
The trooper was off with a clattering of hooves, leaning far forward, crouched down on the neck of his mount.
Buford looked back at the woman, who was still standing in the doorway of her house. 'This road here"-and he pointed to the farm lane that intersected the pike at a right angle and headed north, disappearing as it turned down toward the river-"where does it lead?"
"That's Bullfrog Road," she replied. "It heads down to a ford across the river, about a mile north of here."
John nodded. Gamble had heard what she said and didn't need to be told.
"Get a regiment down to that ford. That's where he'll try and turn us. I'm staying here for right now. It's yesterday all over again, Gamble. We've got to hold. We've got to hold."
Gamble casually saluted and started to turn. As Buford watched, a shell screamed in, bursting in the front yard. He looked back at the open doorway, the woman standing there unflinching. Another shell roared in… and then he was down.
There was a glimpse of sky, torn rafters of the porch, cedar shingles smoking, no noise, just a sense of floating. He caught a glimpse of white. It was the woman, kneeling by his side.
"You all right?’
He wasn't sure if he had actually spoken or not, but she nodded in reply, taking his hand. Gamble was by her side, features pale, cradling an arm. He knelt down, grimacing as he reached out, touching John on the shoulder. There were tears in Gamble's eyes.
"You've got to hold…," John Buford tried to whisper, "for God's sake, please hold."
2:05 PM, JULY 2,1863
MONOCACY CREEK
Coming to the edge of the woodlot, Longstreet reined in. Bullets were snicking through the trees, leaves fluttering down around him. "Right down there," Hood announced, pointing. He was right A ford, the river shallow to the right of the crossing for a good hundred yards. The banks were a bit steep. It'd be tough getting up on the far side, but it was better than trying to force the bridge with a frontal charge against men armed with breechloaders.