An artillery battery, one of Hill's units that had been in yesterday's fight and waited hours for the infantry to pass, came clattering in from a field on the north side of the pike, a staff officer leading the way, motioning for the gunners to start south. The artillerymen silently saluted as they passed; orders had been repeatedly given to all the men that there would be no demonstrations, no cheering.
"Going around 'em again, ain't we, General?" one of the gunners shouted as he rode by, astride the lead trace horse of a three-inch rifled piece.
Lee said nothing, just nodding in reply, and the man grinned, offering a proud, almost exaggerated salute.
"It's going smoothly," Walter Taylor offered.
"As long as they don't stir over there," Lee replied, nodding back toward Gettysburg.
'They won't"
"How do you know that?"
"They never have."
"Someday they just might" Lee said softly. "Remember, this army is all we have, Walter. It's got one more good fight in it and we came too close to using up that fight here. I came too close. I realize now that I was trying to match our blood against the ground those people over there held.
"General Longstreet was right But even if we seize the land south of here, and force those people over there to come at us, they will do it with a fury. We'll finally be between them and Washington, and the cost will be high. When that time comes, and it might be as early as tomorrow, it has to be decisive, not just another hollow victory."
He sighed, gaze still fixed back toward Gettysburg.
"Keep a sharp eye on things here, Walter. Ewell is in command on this front I know that rankles Stuart, him being senior in rank, but he needs to be reined in a bit
"If anything stirs, if the enemy starts to move on Ewell, send for me at once. If not and once Ewell starts to pull out after dark, catch up to me; I will reach Taneytown tonight and make headquarters there."
"Sir, that's a long ride for you."
Lee fixed his adjutant with a cool gaze. 'I'm not that old, Walter," Lee said softly.
Walter shifted uncomfortably. Ever since the "incident" back during the winter, which one doctor called trouble with the heart, Walter had increasingly taken on the role of monitoring how much rest Lee got and how long he spent in the saddle. There wasn't time for that now, even though Lee's stomach had been troublesome throughout the day.
"It's a wicked hot day, sir," Walter finally offered. "At least try and find a cool spot by a creek to take a few minutes."
"Walter."
"Sir?"
Lee sighed and then smiled. "Just keep an eye on things here. Make sure Ewell and Stuart keep fighting the enemy and not each other."
As if to add emphasis to Lee's words, the sound of artillery fire increased off beyond Gettysburg, Union guns along the brow of Cemetery Hill opening up, replying to the harassing fire from Stuart. What sounded like the rattle of musketry was added in as well.
Walter smiled and men offered a salute.
Lee, followed by the rest of his staff, edged down to the side of the road; and gently nudging Traveler to a trot, Lee started south, toward Emmitsburg, leaving Gettysburg behind.
6:00 PM, JULY 2,1863
TANEYTOWN
Numb with exhaustion, Pete Longstreet, legs trembling, swung down from the saddle. He leaned against his mount for a moment, waiting for feeling to return to his feet and calves. He'd been in the saddle for nearly fourteen hours, ridden over twenty-five miles, fought a battle, and been in the forefront of the pursuit of Buford's broken division. Several hundred prisoners had been rounded up on the road to Taneytown, men with blown horses that couldn't move another step.
The village was in utter chaos; dead horses littered the streets; skirmishing continued along the road to the east Anderson's men, pushed far beyond the limit were literally collapsing along the sidewalks. Behind them, the head of McLaws's division was coming into view. They had not been in the fight for the river crossing; but like everyone else, they had been on the road since before dawn, a long day's march in the July heat
He finally stepped away from his horse, holding the reins, and walked slowly, grimacing as he stretched, shoulders and back aching. A staff officer came up, saluted, and said he had found a house they could use as headquarters. Pete nodded and followed the man down a bend in the road to a splendid-looking, two-story, Federalist-style mansion on the south side of town.
The lawn was torn up, bits of paper and horse droppings littering it indicating that only a day ago a large number of troops had been here.
" 'The Antrim' locals call it" the staff officer announced. "Nice place."
Pete nodded.
"Fine. Put someone on the main road so they can direct couriers. Send a dispatch back to General Lee telling him I am establishing headquarters here for the night."
"Then we're stopping here?" the officer asked.
Pete slowed, looking up at the captain. Hell of a day. We actually got around them. Buford's dead. Damn, John was a good man. His men, most of them, got out though, riding in every damn direction.
He sighed, coming to a stop, leaning against his horse for support
Meade must know by now. That fight started around the bridge early in the afternoon. He must be sending something down here by now, perhaps a full corps. And to the east Prisoners were saying there were a hell of a lot supplies already stockpiled at Westminster, but that was still another ten miles away.
We stop tonight Meade could pull out start moving down that road, maybe even get troops into Westminster by dawn.
Everything was so damn confusing. He was exhausted, needed food, needed to just relieve himself, to then sit and think.
"Get into that house; see if you can rustle up some food, a place to sit down; get the maps out I want McLaws and Hood in here, and see if one of our boys can find a few locals who are on our side.
The captain looked at him, confused.
"Well?"
"Which do you want me to do first sir?" "Let's start with the food." Pete sighed. "Now get moving.
The captain nodded and turned, trotting off, heading to the mansion still a hundred yards away, Pete walking stiffly, leading his exhausted mount
He heard another rider coming up and, looking back, saw that it was McLaws, trailing a few staff officers, all of them covered m the white chalky dust kicked up from the crushed limestone paving of the road.
"My God, what a march," McLaws announced, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.
Pete nodded, saying nothing.
"We camping here, sir? My boys are beat"
Pete stopped, lowering his head. That's what I should do, he realized. We're into their rear, a good march, in spite of the incident back at the bridge. But there's still Westminster. Meade might even be moving toward it now. If he gets there first he can slip around our right and fall back to Washington without a fight… then what?
McLaws looked at him expectantly.
"Behind you? What's going on?"
"Hood's boys are blown, still forming up back at the bridge. A rider just came up reporting that the head of Hill's corps is just coming into Emmitsburg.''
"Our corps artillery?"
"Between Emmitsburg and the bridge."
Pete looked back up at McLaws. "My men did over twenty-five miles, general. Even Old Jack would be proud of what we did today."
That rankled him slightly. Always it was Old Jack.
He exhaled noisily, looking back down at the ground, kicking at the dust "One hour here. Get your men fed, get water. Then I want you back on the road."
"Sir?"