"Or it could be the entire Army of the Potomac concentrating there. We're still spread out sir."

"We won't be by the end of today," Lee replied sharply. "We are at Cashtown, as planned. If the Army of the Potomac is indeed coming up, as your spy reported, Cashtown is very defendable ground. And don't worry about our young prodigy. General Stuart will be reined in; I've sent couriers put to look for him."

Longstreet said nothing, but Lee could read the doubt in his eyes, the caution that hung over "the Dutchman." In the past it has always been a good balance, the impetuous Jackson, ready to leap off into the unknown, Longstreet the opposite, forever preaching about defense. But Jackson was gone. Longstreet was the senior of the corps commanders now and had to be pushed to show more audacity.

The column continued to pour out of the orchard and onto the road, and Lee felt a thrill at the sight of them. They were typical of the hard-fighting Army of Northern Virginia. Many wore gray four-button jackets, some were dressed in whatever could be found or sent from home. Butternut brown was fairly common, the wool spun, woven, cut stitched, and dyed by loving hands. Some wore butternut pants as well, but a fair number had on sky blue trousers, taken from Yankee prisoners.

Most of the men had shoes, yet again captured, though more than one boy was barefoot this morning. On the soft dirt roads of central Virginia on a summer day this hadn't been a problem, but this road was a main pike, and as it cut through the South Mountain Range there were sections that had been macadamized with crushed limestone gravel so the going would be tough on bare soles.

In this, the third year of the war, the men passing before him were tough, lean, hard survivors who knew their business. They were stripped down for summer campaigning: a blanket roll over the left shoulder maybe containing an extra pair of socks and shirt, perhaps a Bible stuffed in a breast pocket, a haversack that for once was bulging with rations, a cartridge box with forty rounds, and a good Enfield.577-cal. rifle on their shoulders, in total not more than twenty-five to thirty pounds of equipment

Headgear in this army truly was a mark of individualism. A few wore kepis, mainly the officers and NCOs; most had on slouch caps, broad brimmed, dirty, sweat stained, more than one on the point of falling apart. A man in the middle of the column was wearing a tall stovepipe, which he courteously removed as he passed, and directly behind him was a redheaded, bucktoothed lad wearing a woman's bonnet the men around him grinning as he took it off and tried to hide his joke before Lee noticed.

They looked up at him eagerly, eyes bright, some doffing their hats in respect others saluting, the bolder ones calling out his name, a few asking if the Yankees were up ahead.

It had rained during the night. The air was heavy, damp, coiling wisps of fog trailing up from the mountain range just to the east The air was rich with morning smells, crushed hay, peaches, and cherries ripening in the orchards. Mingled in, of course, was the smell of the men passing, a rank mixture of scents that every army throughout history cloaked itself in.

Lee edged Traveler onto the road and broke into a smooth canter. Traveler, well rested and well fed for a change, took the pace eagerly. They passed the head of the Georgia column, and this time the fifer boy held his tune.

Next on the road was a battery of three-inch rifles, four guns, battery horses looking like they had just been "requisitioned" from a farm, leaning hard into the ton and a half of gun and caisson. The battery was from Virginia, and he looked at the faces of the boys, wondering if any were the sons of old friends or neighbors from long ago.

The road ahead pushed up through the gap in the South Mountain Range, orchards and split-rail fences flanking the pike, giving way to woods filled with stately old elms and chestnuts that canopied the road. The day promised to be warm, but here in the pass the slanting rays of the morning sun, poking out from a scattered bank of rain clouds, had yet to take off the chill. It was pleasant, like stepping into a dark springhouse on a hot day. Moisture from a shower still clung to the leaves and branches that arced overhead.

The pike was filled with his army-too many men, in fact, for this single road-and at times they were at a standstill, leaning against rifles, waiting for the traffic to clear up ahead. Their spirits were good, though. The day was still young, and they were an army used to triumphs, now moving deep within enemy territory. The world around them was new, fresh, untouched yet by the ravages of war, and thus a world to fill them with curiosity and interest.

But after passing more than a mile of troops frozen in place, Lee felt an increasing frustration. He wanted this army moving, concentrating, not locked in place, and finally he waved for his aide, Walter Taylor, to come to his side.

"Get a courier forward. I want to know what the delay is up ahead, and tell whoever is responsible to clear the road and keep this column moving!"

Salutes were exchanged, and an eager young boy, delighted with his task, set off at a gallop, knowing that thousands of eyes would be upon him, that he bore an order from Genera] Lee, and perhaps the fate of the Confederacy rested on the safe delivery of the message.

Edging around the stalled columns, Lee and his entourage crested the top of the pass and started downslope, the column ahead still mired in place.

And then he sensed it

He didn't hear it; rather it was a feeling in the air, a certain tension, a distant pressure. Looking to the side of the road, he saw where several men had broken away from the column, climbed up into trees, and were shading their eyes against the morning sun. They were looking to the east. One of the men was pointing, exclaiming that there was "mischief."

There was a fight up ahead.

The pass came down out of the mountain and into a sloping orchard. Lee turned from the road, weaving through a broken-down section of fence, and cantered through the rows of peach trees, the nearly ripened fruit hanging thick on the branches.

It was ground he had examined on a map, but only now was he seeing it for the first time. Yet already he knew it the steep, dropping slope that offered a perfect defensive position to either side of the road, the orchards and pastures on the lower slope providing clear fields of fire. It was his fallback position, a place where he had hoped to lure the Army of the Potomac into battle, but what he was feeling in the air whispered to him that such plans were in the past

Longstreet rode beside him, quiet his staff trailing behind.

Lee reined in by a small clapboard-sided church and dismounted. There, to the east was a darker cloud, dirty yellow and gray, eight, maybe ten miles off. A slight tremor in the air, a distant thump of a summer storm far away, of a battle not so far away. Longstreet was still beside him, glasses raised.

"More than a skirmish," Longstreet announced. "Spread out across a half mile or more of front"

'1 knew nothing of this," Lee said, looking around at his staff;

They shifted uncomfortably; all were silent.

"Courier coming," Longstreet announced, as the rider approached on a lathered mount reined in, saluted, and handed the dispatch to Taylor.

"From General Heth, sir," Taylor announced. "He is engaged before Gettysburg. He reports contact with at least one brigade of Union cavalry."

"When was that sent?" Longstreet asked.

"Eight-thirty this morning, sir."

Longstreet pulled out his pocket watch and sighed. 'Two hours ago. If it was just cavalry, Harry would have pushed them back by now. I think there's infantry up there, sir."

Lee, still dismounted, said nothing, uncasing his field glasses and slowly scanning the horizon to the east A shower of rain passing close by half obscured the view. He caught a flash of what appeared to be artillery, clouds of smoke hanging low in the heavy morning air, again blocking off the view.