"Then we need to see to our prisoners, to move them safely out of the way, and to tend to the wounded of both sides. The losses have been grievous. Our men need rest. We have to push them toward Harrisburg for now, if we can indeed destroy what is left of the Army of the Potomac. Some of the units are so battered, however, that they may need to be reorganized before they can fight again."

"I still wonder about Washington, though, General," Longstreet replied.

Lee fell silent, looking at the column of Union troops passing by along the side of the road, Pender's men moving in the opposite direction. Longstreet pointed to the head of the column. Leading the way were the captured standards of thirty regiments or more. The men carrying them falling out of the line of march, coming up to Lee's side. One of them was Sergeant Hazner, another Sergeant Robinson, who had stopped Lee in front of Taneytown.

For Longstreet the moment was etched like a frozen tableau, the rain-darkened clouds, the mud-splattered, weary prisoners marching past, but in the eyes of more than one a look of steadfastness, that even in defeat there was still pride as they looked at their colors now being presented to Lee.

It seemed that Lee sensed it as well. He stiffened in the saddle, back ramrod straight, and drawing up his right hand, he saluted the captured flags. The Union troops marching past slowed, some stopping, looking on with surprise. A Union colonel, blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his head, came to attention and saluted the colors and Lee as well.

Lee, seeing the gesture, turned and nodded. "Colonel, sir," Lee said, "I shall pray that soon this will all be over and that you and your gallant men swiftly return home to your families."

The colonel bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir, and I shall pray the same for you," he replied, "but, sir, it will not be over until the Union has been saved."

Lee nodded and then looked away.

The colonel fell back into the ranks and disappeared with his men into the rain.

There was a long moment of silence, a soft peal of thunder rumbling in the distance.

"I suppose you heard about General Meade," Lee said, his voice distant

"Sir?"

"He's dead. They're bringing his body in now." Longstreet sighed.

"East of here," Lee continued, "about five miles. A regiment of Stuart's cavalry, led by Wade Hampton, came upon him just after dawn. He had a couple of dozen staff and troopers with him. Meade charged. In the melee, Hampton recognized Meade, begged him to surrender, but Meade just tried to cut straight through. He was shot before Hampton could stop him." Lee lowered his head.

"I think I'd have done the same," Pete replied.

"'My fault, all my fault,' those were the last words Meade said."

"Another old comrade gone," Longstreet whispered.

Lee looked away and said nothing for a moment

"We press toward Gettysburg today and try to finish what is left of their army, General Longstreet We must make this victory decisive and so overwhelming that the North will sue for peace. If not, then it will be a march on Washington."

‘I think those are our men up there," someone gasped.

Henry, nodding with exhaustion, raised his head. In the gathering twilight, he saw a heavy skirmish line deployed along a low crest half a dozen guns dug in at the top of the hill.

"Don't move." The voice came out of the shadows from a wooded grove flanking the road.

Henry turned and saw several dozen rifle barrels poised, aiming toward him and his ragged band of men. 'Identify yourselves."

"Who the hell are you?” one of Henry's men shouted back. "Damn you, identify yourselves or we'll shoot" Several of Henry's men started to raise pistols, and he shouted for them to stand and not move. After two days of running, of dodging Confederate cavalry, brushing around the flank of a regiment of Confederate infantry, he was beyond caring. Besides, the fight was out of his men. They had staggered for over forty miles, cutting across fields, hiding in woods to catch a few hours' sleep, abandoning those who could no longer keep up. If this now meant prison, then so be it

"I'm Henry Hunt Commander, Artillery Reserve," he paused for a second, his throat feeling thick, eyes filling up, "the Army of the Potomac."

His inquisitor stepped out of the woods, pistol still drawn but now lowered slighdy. It was a Union captain.

The man drew closer, looking first at Henry, then at the hundred or so men trailing along with him. The captain sadly shook his head, and then saluted.

'Captain Jamison. I'm on the staff of General Couch, commander of the emergency garrison in Harrisburg."

"Harrisburg?' Henry asked. "We made it?"

"Just beyond that ridge, sir. We finished a pontoon bridge across this afternoon, threw out an advanced guard. I guess you can say I am the advance guard. We've had stragglers, thousands of them, coming in all day, but a lot of Rebs, too, trying to round up men like yourselves. Sorry, sir, but with everyone covered in mud, it's hard to tell who is which at the moment"

Jamison fell in by Henry's side, offering to guide him to the bridge.

"You hear about Sickles and Howard?" Jamison asked.

Henry shook his head. All he knew of the army now was what he had seen with his own eyes these last two days.

'Their corps are over by Carlisle. Been some sharp fighting is the report but word is they will be here come tomorrow, at least what's left of them, along with what's left of Fifth Corps. Maybe twenty thousand men or so."

"And the rest?'

"You, men like you, sir," Jamison said quietly, "coming in a couple at a time, part of a brigade from Fifth Corps, a scattering of regiments. A rout sir. A total rout The Army of the Potomac has fallen into pieces."

Henry said nothing, too shocked, too weary to speak.

"Seen any of our cavalry?' Jamison asked.

"Not a one," Henry said dejectedly.

"Word is they're reforming over by York. Been some heavy fighting; apparently they blocked Lee from pushing all the way up here. Everyone is so damn fought out and exhausted at this point."

They crested the low rise. Though darkness had settled he could now see the Susquehanna River below, a flickering line of torches and lanterns drawn like a line across the broad river.

"Some general came up yesterday morning with three trainloads of pontoon gear and built that in a little more than a day. They were like ants; never seen anything like it. They're saying, though, it won't hold for long; the river is rising fast"

Henry made his way down the embankment falling in with hundreds of others shuffling through the mud. In the dim light he could make out on their caps, the Maltese Cross of the Fifth Corps, the circle of the First men of the Second and the Twelfth, all moving along silently, the able helping wounded comrades.

As he stepped on the bridge and bid farewell to Jamison, Henry felt as if he were crossing the river out of a dark land of nightmares, the bridge swaying beneath his feet, sentries posted at regular intervals cautioning the men to not march in step, to stay away from the edge, and to keep moving, keep moving.

The lights of the city of Harrisburg shone softly beyond the mists rising up from the cold, churning river, the road along the riverbank was packed with wagons, ambulances, and disorganized troops wandering about As he reached the end of the bridge, Henry heard sergeants shouting orders, calling off the numbers of corps, then giving directions where to go. Henry was reassured to see a full battalion of guns arrayed along the riverbank, barrels aimed to shell the other side of the river, three-inch rifles, one battery of twenty-pound rifles, the guns obviously straight from the foundry.