"After this is over, by God there will be an inquiry into this, Sickles. I promise you that"
Without another word, the army's commander rode past Henry. Henry watched him go, wondering if he should ask for orders, but figured it was best not to deal with the man at this moment
The confrontation broke up. Bugle calls echoed across the fields, the vast movement grinding to a halt, like a lurching machine that had suddenly seized up. Thousands of voices rose up, expressing the eternal sentiment of soldiers of the Republic, that the damn officers didn't know what the hell they were doing.
' Dan caught Henry's eye, and before Henry could turn away he rode up.
"Can't you talk to him?" Sickles asked, an imploring note in his voice.
"Me? If you couldn't I know I sure can't."
"You see my point, don't you?"
"It's not my place to say," Henry replied cautiously. Sickles was noted as a damn cagey courtroom fighter. The last thing Henry needed was to be cited as having lent support to Sickles's position. Meade's words were not idle ones; they rarely were. Once the campaign was over, Meade would go after Sickles, political friends be damned.
"You heard about Emmitsburg?"
"Something."
They couldn't read the signal, but one of my staff was up there, on the Big Round Hill, and said there was a lot of frantic waving and then nothing. Nothing, I tell you."
"And?"
"Hunt, they're flanking us. You can smell it. The dust in front of my lines; you can see that even now.
"After you left I sent a probe forward and it got savaged. Berdan is damn near dead, and a hundred men lost. If the Rebs were fighting that hard, just a mile in front of me, that tells me they don't want us looking over that next ridge. It tells me we're being flanked."
"So why advance forward, unmasking your left?" Henry asked, unable to avoid getting sucked in.
"Because if they're flanking us, we should hit them first It's the same as Chancellorsville all over again. Hit us, fix our attention, then slip around our flank. I said it at Chancellorsville, by God, and no one listened. And now we're doing it again. Twenty more minutes and I'd've been into them, goddamn it!"
"You should have cleared it with him," Henry finally offered.
"I sent half a dozen messengers to him. Half a dozen and always the same reply, that he had things well in hand "
The battle formations to either side of Sickles were at a halt and now facing about starting the hike back toward the main line half a mile away. Sickles looked around, squinting, features scarlet.
Henry almost felt a moment of pity for this foul-mouthed ward politician turned general. He had been humiliated in front of his entire command. Every soldier, down to the most dim-witted private in the Third Corps, would know about that humiliation within the hour.
"You'd better get back and establish headquarters," Henry finally offered.
"Hunt would you do me a favor?"
"What sir."
"Go south. You've got a good mount Just take that road down to Emmitsburg. You could get there in an hour. Scout it out."
Henry said nothing. Scouting was not his job. It was artillery and Sickles knew that If Meade found out that the chief of artillery had gone off scouting at the request of Sickles, he'd be out of a job.
Dan lowered his head and turned his mount back. "Hunt, this day will wind up haunting both of us for the rest of our lives." He rode off, leaving Henry alone at the peach orchard, except for the orderly, who like all orderlies waited patiently.
Henry nudged his mount forward, the orderly falling in by his side, the young officer knowing better than to say anything. For a brief moment Henry was tempted to detail the lad off, send him down the road as Dan requested. No, one boy wandering off on his own would most likely get lost or wander into trouble and get himself killed.
All the way back to headquarters, and even as he settled back under the elm tree, Dan's words haunted him. The nap was an unsettling one and brought Henry no rest or peace.
1:00 PM, JULY 2,1863 THE WHITE HOUSE
President Abraham Lincoln settled into the chair by the table covered with maps. Sighing, he adjusted his glasses and wearily looked at them, half listening as Edwin Stanton, Secretary of War, droned on about the situation. To one side of the table were the latest newspapers from Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, all of them screaming about the rebel invasion.
"The reports indicate that Lee's casualties last night were substantial," Stanton announced. 'It's a heartening indicator."
"Strange," Lincoln whispered, "we now call the deaths of so many young men heartening."
"It's the most successful repulse we've seen yet of an attack by Lee, in fact the first clear defeat since Malvern Hill a year ago…"
"And do you think he will come on again today?" Stanton nodded.
"Why?"
"It's not like him to back off from an attack."
Lincoln picked up one of the maps brought over from the War Department showing southern Pennsylvania and most of Maryland. Blue and red pencil markings traced out the route of the two armies as they converged on Gettysburg.
"Should we be confident that General Meade will react correctly?" Lincoln finally asked.
"He was chosen by you," Stanton replied cautiously.
"Upon your recommendation."
"He is the only one capable right now. Unfortunately, Reynolds turned it down."
"And now he is dead."
"Yes."
Lincoln nodded, looking back at the papers, one of them dated from Chicago only two days ago. How remarkable, he thought When I came to Congress from Springfield only
seventeen years ago the journey had taken more than a week. Now papers can be rushed from Chicago in just two days. The Chicago paper's top story was a report from Grant's army proclaiming that Vicksburg would fall within the week.
"There is nothing we can do to affect things now," Lincoln said, again looking back at the map. "Let us trust that General Meade will prove himself worthy of the men who serve him;"
Chapter Ten
Brig. Gen. John Buford fought to regain his saddle, his mount nervously shying back from the shell burst that had detonated a dozen feet away. The trooper who had been reporting to him was down, lying still in the middle of the road, covered in white dust. "You hurt, General?"
Head ringing from the concussion, John turned. It was Gamble, commander of his First Brigade.
He was stunned from the blast, and it took a moment for his thoughts to clear.
Gamble leaned over, grabbing the reins to John's horse.
"Are you hurt, sir?"
"No, no. I'll be fine in a moment"
"They're spreading the line," Gamble shouted, "extending to our right!"
John nodded, willing the pounding in his chest to settle down, his thoughts to clear.
It was getting decidedly hot the air thick, sticky. He looked back to the east toward Taneytown. The rest of Devin's brigade was coming up on the pike, troops of cavalry spreading out across the fields, riding hard.
But the horses were blown, moving slowly. Hard days of campaigning, the fight yesterday, were telling now. Cavalry could move quickly when need be, but then horses had to be rested. Push too hard and your entire command is on foot. That's why he had requested the pullback to the rear, to give the mounts a day or two to feed on the rich pastures, get reshod after nearly two hundred miles of marching in the last two weeks, and even more importantly, resupply his command with ammunition and rations.