A courier came up, shouting, "General Longstreet!" Ven-able guided the man in, a trooper with Stuart.

"What's the word?" Longstreet asked.

"Sir, General Stuart begs to report that the Yankees are advancing again. They stopped just after two in the morning."

"I know that; when did they start to move again?"

"Sir, their Third Corps has come out of Abingdon; their Fifth Corps, which stopped at around three, is now advancing out of Bel Air. They fell back in just before eight or so."

Longstreet smiled.

He had stolen a march on the Yankees, his men moving over thirty miles to Sickles's twelve to fourteen. He shook his head even as he smiled. In spite of the Yankee general's bombast in the papers, he was keeping to their usual pace, but of course that could change; there was a slightly unpredictable element to Sickles, in spite of General Lee's confidence in dealing with the man.

He looked at his men streaming by. He would prefer to give them a few hours' rest now, for the day ahead promised to be scorching hot and the few hundred he had lost so far to straggling could swell into the thousands by mid-afternoon, but his orders were clear, his destination clear.

He looked over at Venable.

"Get one of our boys with a fast horse to report this to General Lee. You know where to find him. Send another rider back to General Stuart and tell him that we are coming up fast and he should execute the plans that General Lee ordered. A courier to Pickett as well that he should know his orders and engage in the appropriate manner."

It was going to be an interesting day, a most interesting day.

One Half Mile South of Gunpowder Falls, Maryland

August 19,1863 Noon

Jeb Stuart, hat off, the heat intense, trotted over to the light horse batteries that were drawn up across the road looking down toward the Gunpowder River. On the far bank, several Union batteries were deploying. His own guns were already at work, shelling the Union guns. The skirmish line of dismounted troopers, pushing forward, was thickening as he committed his reserves from Jenkins's and Fitz Lee's old brigades. The men were confident, with casualties so far light. They knew the game they were about to play, and they would play it with relish.

Chew's, Hart's, and Griffin's Maryland batteries were hard at work shelling the opposite slope and the approach down the gentle slope to the Gunpowder River. To add additional punch, a heavy twenty-pounder battery of Parrott guns, captured and kept in reserve at Baltimore, had come up as well, their deeper, throaty roar distinctive on the battlefield. On the opposite slope regiments of Yankee infantry were deploying out into battle lines, ready to surge forward and charge the valley.

He was relishing the moment Independent command, far ahead of Lee and the infantry, a holding action, their old enemy in front of them again. This was going to be interesting.

The first regimental volley sounded, a Yankee regiment on the far bank of the stream letting fly at long range at his own troopers in skirmish line. The men saw the puff of smoke, dived for the ground; several were hit but the rest stood up and pushed forward to the bank looking down on the stream. The battle was beginning to unfold.

He looked back down the road toward Baltimore. Pickett was supposed to have come out just after dawn. Lee did not want to spring the trap too soon, so this would take careful timing. And yes, in the distance he could see the dust boiling up on the road; the infantry support was coming.

Gunpowder Falls, Maryland

August 19, 1863 12:30 P.M.

Dan Sickles raised his field glasses yet again, scanning the opposite bank of the river, the shallow valley dividing the two forces. It was beginning!

It was still dismounted rebel cavalry over there, but reinforced now by a heavy battery, most likely brought up from Baltimore. The boys from his beloved Third Corps were shaking out from marching columns to lines. With the thump of artillery, the distant rattle of musketry and carbine fire, the veterans of the old army knew that the elephant was waiting. They were to see battle again, and here, six weeks after Union Mills, was a chance to restore their pride. Some were nervous, wide-eyed, especially the new ninety-day regiments, but the old hardcore looked ready, and as they reached the crest, swinging from marching formation into battle front, they appraised it professionally, a tough advance, but against dismounted cavalry it might not be so bad, and the ground was shallower than Union Mills.

David Birney, the commander handpicked by him to run the Third Corps, rode up.

"So it's starting, is it?" Birney cried. "Looks that way. Stuart turned about a half hour ago. He chose some good ground."

"Think there's infantry behind him?" "Maybe. The garrison in Baltimore might come up, though I'd have assumed they would have waited in the fortifications. If it's the garrison, it just might be Pickett; word is that he was left behind." Sickles pointed to the distant dust on the road heading from Baltimore.

"I'd dearly love to thrash that arrogant bastard," Birney announced.

"Well, David, now is your chance. Force this stream; I don't want to get tangled up here. Send in the First Division."

"What about Sykes and the Fifth Corps to the north?" "They're coming out of Bel Air now, reporting the same thing, intense cavalry skirmishing." Dan shook his head.

"I want Baltimore by dark. Lee must be moving by now. If he gets into that city and the fortifications, it will be hard to drag him out. We've got to be in there by dark." He did not add that sooner or later Parker would show up with the order of recall, and it was crucial to have Baltimore in his pocket or it would indeed be hard to press on to continue the action.

Birney rode off and within a.couple of minutes bugles sounded, the cry going down the line of the hard-fighting First Division, Third Corps, to prepare for a frontal advance. The fight was definitely on.

Ellicott City, Maryland

Headquarters Army of Northern Virginia

August 19,1863 1:00 P.M.

The heat was becoming staggering as General Lee allowed himself a few minutes' break under a grove of pine trees, gladly accepting a glass of lemonade offered up by an elderly woman, the pitcher cold, dripping with moisture.

He felt exhaustion coming on after a sleepless night in the saddle, broken only by a half hour nap in a shaded glen just before dawn. The men of Beauregard's corps were marching past, all chatter having long since ceased, the roadside littered with cast-off debris.

His huge train of artillery was moving at a good pace, the roads well paved, veteran batteries mingled in with newly created units manned mainly by hastily trained infantry. Gun after gun rolled by, the horses lathered in sweat as they strained at the harnesses of Napoleons, three-inch ordnance rifles, ten-pound Parrotts, limber wagons, and forge wagons. Here would be a killing punch, well over two hundred guns, stretching for miles on the road. Across fields and narrow farm lanes to either side of the main road columns of infantry pushed forward, a tidal wave of humanity on the march.

The latest dispatch from Longstreet had just come in. The action was opening up on Gunpowder River, just as he had planned. If I had been forced to defend Baltimore, Sickles might be discouraged from attacking, and, worst of all, circle to the west, there to wait for Grant to come down, pinning the Army of Northern Virginia in the city. This fight had to be fought north of the city, while Sickles was alone.

He had authorized his generals to spread the word to the troops, to share with them, as Napoleon did before Austerlitz, what his plan now was, and that confidence was reflected as they pushed on. He had seen stragglers, most of them humbled, apologetic, asking but a few minutes to catch their breath, more than one of them staggering back up to their feet and falling back in as they saw him ride past