Lee hesitated then decided he had to do it "No mistakes this time, General Stuart" "No, sir."
Lee gave a curt nod of dismissal.
Stuart saluted and left. Seconds later he and his staff were galloping down the road back into town. Lee watched him go and then let his gaze return to the ambulances swinging out onto the road heading back toward Chambersburg. He watched only for a moment then returned to his work.
Chapter Nine
"General Longstreet?"
The courier was edging along the side of the road, pushing his way around a battery, standing in his stirrups, and looking toward Pete and his staff. The day was getting hot; the courier's horse was lathered, the animal blowing hard, the lieutenant's face covered with dust, traced with rivulets of sweat streaking his forehead.
Longstreet nodded, motioning the boy over. Excited, the courier drew up alongside the general and saluted. "Message from General Robertson, sir," and the boy handed the paper over.
Pete, swinging one leg up over the pommel of his saddle, opened the message and quickly scanned it.
"Robertson has Emmitsburg. Pete announced, looking back to his staff. "They took the signal station up behind a Catholic convent, St Mary's College," and he paused, looking at the time on the note, "thirty minutes ago."
There were nods of satisfaction.
"Did the signal station get any messages off after we came into view?" Pete asked, looking back at the courier.
"Not sure, sir. They was waving them flags something fierce though as we came through the town. Some mounted boys up front got up there quick and took 'em prisoners."
"Anything else in the town?"
"No, sir, just some stragglers. General Robertson said
that it looked like a whole hell of a lot of Yankees were there yesterday though. Stragglers from First and Eleventh Corps, he said."
Pete nodded, pulled a pencil out of his breast pocket, and flipped the message over.
Secure road south and north of town; push out pickets. Clear your men from the road. Law's brigade will start toward Taneytown.
Signing his name, he handed the message back. "Where is General Hood?"
"Sir, I heard he was reconnoitering east of the town. Moving toward the bridge over Monocacy Creek."
"Get back to Robertson; tell him I'm coming up shortly," and he nodded a dismissal.
As the boy pushed back onto the crowded road, Pete turned to his staff. "One of you stay here in case any more couriers come back looking for me. One of you go back up the road as far as Fairfield, keep them things moving, keep them moving. I'm going up to join General Hood and can be found on the road to Taneytown."
Wearily swinging his leg off the pommel, he slipped his foot into the stirrup and urged his mount to a slow trot. The road was narrow, coming down out of a low ridgeline that cut across the road toward Emmitsburg. The battery that had just rumbled past had come to a stop, and pushing around it, he swore at the sight of an ammunition wagon blocking the way ahead. The driver and half a dozen men were squatting down looking at the rear axle, the left rear wheel splayed out at a drunken angle… apparently a lug nut and the wheel had come loose.
"Damn it!" Pete snarled. "Don't just sit there staring; get some men and, if need be, heave that damn thing off this road. You're blocking the entire column!"
"Ah, sir, we can fix this in ten minutes."
"I don't have ten minutes! Heave it off the road now!"
The men saluted and as he rode on he heard one of them whispering that "Old Pete" was in a bad temper.
Damn it, I am in a bad temper! he thought angrily. Two or three breakdowns like that could delay a column for an hour or more. If this was going to work, they had to get into Taneytown before Meade began to shift He had to assume that the signal station had sent a warning, that even now staff officers were galloping about Meade's headquarters, heading out to the various corps. Fifth and Sixth Corps were still not clearly accounted for. If they were coming up from Westminster or Taneytown, they could be turned around in fairly short order, and the race would be on.
The rear of Law's brigade was ahead of him, swinging down out of the pass, keeping a good pace. An orchard opened up to his right and he edged his way off the road and into the rows of peach trees. The trees nearest the road had already been stripped by the passing column, but in the middle of the orchard the fruit was still untouched. As he moved up to a slow canter, he reached out and snagged one from an overhanging branch and bit into it grimacing slightly. The fruit was still hard, not quite ripe. In Georgia they'd be ripe, and he thought for a moment of his boys-a summer evening, picking peaches for a cobbler-and forced that away. They're dead. Don't dwell on that now. My babies are dead and gone from the typhoid.
He rode on, half consuming the peach and then tossing it aside. The orchard gave way to a wheat field. It took a moment to find an opening in the split-rail fence. The wheat brushed against his boots, heavy golden stalks ready for the harvest. In fact part of the field had already been cut, but no one was working the field today. Not with a war on.
He hated trampling down the hard labor of another. There were more than a few who these last two weeks were taking pleasure from it, making the Yankees feel what a war is like, the men said; but his nature rebelled against such wanton destruction and vandalism. Someday this war was going to be over. If we win, we have to be neighbors once more.
As he reached the bottom of the field he saw the farmer standing by his barn, a portly wife clinging to his arm. Pete tipped his hat, and she offered a wan smile. The farmer just glared at him, saying nothing.
The path from the barnyard led back down to the main road into Emmitsburg, and he followed it The street was packed with troops, men of Law's brigade. The village was typical of the region, small two- and three-story houses, packed together tightly, their front steps right on the walkways flanking the roadway. Windows were open, curious civilians peering out at the flood of men pouring down their „ thoroughfare. A tavern had a provost guard outside its door. The troops streaming past peppering him with jests and more than a few barbed comments about good infantry going thirsty while officers lingered inside. He was tempted, just for a second, to actually stop and go in, to see if any officers were indeed malingering within under pretense of securing contraband liquor. The guard nervously saluted as Pete continued on.
The road curved down a gentle slope, past a church that had a Union hospital flag hung from a window. The doors were open and he could see a surgeon at work. Some casualties from the previous day's fight had most likely been moved down here during the night A dozen soldiers, a mix of Yankees and his own, were on the steps of the church, one rebel boy moaning, holding a crushed foot up in the air, blood dripping from his smashed boot Several others were obviously sick, one an old man with a waxy pallor and blue lips, wearing a tattered uniform, a soldier from the Texas Brigade.
Several of the Yankees saluted, and Pete returned die gesture as he pressed on. Directly ahead was the intersection with the Gettysburg-Emmitsburg Road. A regiment in open order was deployed in a field north of the intersection, slowly pushing up along either side of the road in a heavy skirmish line. As he reached the junction, he spied Robertson, commander of the lead brigade in the march. Robertson was standing to the side of the road, talking with his staff.
Behind him, in the fields to the south of town and below the convent, the Texas Brigade was deployed, guarding the approach to the south.