"Are you suggesting then, sir, that Meade do nothing?''
"No."
"Then what sir?"
Lincoln shook his head wearily and looked out the window for a moment "He must preserve his force at all cost but then, at the same time, so threaten Lee as to prevent him from maintaining a prolonged operation in the Norm."
"Then that means attack, sir," Stanton replied sharply. "With luck, Lee is not yet concentrated at Westminster. He might be able to cut off the head of Lee's advance, then swing into a favorable position closer to us."
"Is the Army of the Potomac the imperial guard of Washington or is it an army intended to fight and destroy Lee?" "Sir?"
"Answer me that, please."
"It is the main army of our efforts in the East, sir."
"Then it must be used wisely and not sent into a headlong attack simply to get back here. Gentlemen, I pushed for that attack at Fredericksburg, and I will live with the price of that, the terrible memory of that tragedy and those unnecessarily lost young men to my dying day. I think the order to Meade should be one of latitude, to make offensive actions as deemed necessary, but not to rush headlong into an assault solely to regain contact here."
He paused for a moment
"If need be he can even fall back on to the Susquehanna, there to re-establish supplies. His presence there will prevent Lee from moving on us and also prevent Lee from threatening Philadelphia or Harrisburg."
Stanton looked at Halleck, and the two were silent
"Are we in agreement then, gentlemen?"
Welles and Seward nodded.
Lincoln took a sheet of paper and quickly jotted down a note, which he then pushed over to Stanton.
"I am ordering General Meade to act on his discretion, but to ensure, above all else, the cohesiveness of his forces, to threaten Lee, but not to seek a headlong assault unless certain of its outcome."
'To be certain in anything, sir," Stanton replied, "that sir, is impossible in war."
"You know what I mean," Lincoln replied. "I do not want him to act rashly at this moment He must be off balance. He might assume that we are here screaming for him to counterattack. I want him to understand our thinking, to move with some prudence and judgment"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else, gentlemen? I must attend to that delegation from Congress."
"None, sir," Stanton replied, and the others nodded.
"Then if you will excuse me."
All stood as he left the room. Seward and Welles quickly followed, leaving Stanton and Halleck alone.
"You'll take this over to the Treasury Department," Stanton said, passing the note to Halleck. "Send it to Baltimore. See that it gets routed to a courier who has a reasonable chance of getting through, perhaps up to Hanover."
"Anything else, sir?"
Stanton sat silent for a moment, a shudder passing through him as he fought to draw in a breath of air. He took another sheet of paper and started to write then passed it over to Halleck.
"Send this as well," he said, "and make sure it is postdated after the president's."
Stanton left the room, and once the door was closed Halleck scanned the second message.
From Secretary of War Stanton
Sir,
In accordance with the president's orders I am adding as well that while the preservation of your forces is of the first and foremost concern, I must still strongly urge you to act by any means possible to ensure the safety of Washington and Baltimore, using whatever means at your disposal to prevent the advance of General Lee's forces in this direction.
Stanton
6:30 PM, JULY 3
UNION MILLS
The evening was hot, oppressive. Henry Hunt looked to the west, shading his eyes against the blood red sun. Thunderheads were building to the southwest, die clouds of heaven mingled in with the haze of smoke from over toward Taneytown.
Word was filtering in of a brutal fight, most of Fifth Corps annihilated, tangling with three divisions of the Army of Northern Virginia. Strange, though, two of the divisions were Longstreet's corps, yet Hancock had sworn that old Pete was directly across from them.
Raising his field glasses, he scanned the Confederate line under construction along the south bank of Pipe Creek. It was a chilling sight, watching an enemy army dig in, thousands of puffs of dirt popping up, then falling, as troops labored away using bayonets, canteen halves, shovels if they could find them, even their bare hands.
The entrenchment rimmed the crest of the hill, the new fortification line a raw slash of earth across pastures, corn and wheat fields, following the contour of the hills and ridges facing Pipe Creek.
A second line was beginning to form farther down the slope, an advance position that would protect troops firing straight across the open ground over which the Army of the Potomac would have to advance before hitting the base of the opposite slope. The only disadvantage, it was a hundred feet or more lower than where he'd planned to place his guns. He could fire down into it, and perhaps break it apart, if they did not dig in deep enough during the night
The lumber mill, blacksmith shop, outbuildings, and the miller's house alongside the main road to Westminster were still burning. The compound had been hotly contested ever since Hancock's midday assault the issue finally being resolved when a rebel battery put a couple of dozen shells into them. The civilities, of course, were first observed, with a flag of truce offered to get the miller and his family evacuated. They chose to come across the creek and into the Union lines. The irony was that one of their kin across the road, whose house had been torn apart for lumber by the Confederates, had supposedly acted as a guide for Longstreet
"How are you, Henry?"
Henry turned and offered a weary salute as Hancock rode up, trailed by several staff. With a groan, Hancock dismounted. Henry noted that for once the dapper general's shirt was stained and dirty, his blue jacket open, vest gone. The heat, the exhaustion of the day, were obviously getting to Hancock as well as his men.
"General, how are you?" Henry asked, offering a salute.
"A bad day, Henry," Hancock sighed. His chipper attitude was gone. He had fought a hard fight and didn't like to lose. He knew, as well, there'd be an even grimmer fight come tomorrow.
Union infantry directly in front of where the two stood were half-heartedly digging in, their officers not pressing them too hard. They had, after all, marched nearly twenty miles, gone into a failed assault, and were suffering now in the early evening heat. They knew, as well, that short of some insane miracle, the Rebs would not be so courteous as to attack, so the digging in struck many as busy work without purpose or profit
Hancock, without waiting for permission from Meade, had asked for a truce an hour ago in order to clear the wounded and dead from the field. The truce would end at sunset and the last of the ambulances that had lined the road were coming back through the lines, bearing their grisly cargo to the hospital area set up on the far side of the ridge behind them.
Henry looked again at Hancock and saw that what he had first taken to be dirt on Hancock's shirt was, in fact dried blood, as if someone had grabbed hold of him and then let go.
Hancock, noticing Henry's gaze, looked down. "One of my brigade commanders-Webb. Held him as he died." Hancock's voice trailed off.
Henry looked over his shoulder to one of his staff and motioned. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, tossing it over. Henry handed it to Winfield, who took a long drink.
"Thanks, Henry."
"Losses?" Henry asked.
"Fifteen hundred dead and wounded," Hancock sighed.
"I wonder now if I should have pressed it. We might have been able to flank them."
His voice was edged, pitched a little too high. Exhaustion and shock were hitting him, Henry realized.