And yet if Hood was indeed on the flank, then Sickles had been right How absurd, Henry thought the foul-mouthed amateur showing up, at least for the moment all the professionals.

"Butterfield, I want a meeting of all corps commanders within an hour. Get the staff out to round them up."

Hancock, an incredulous look on his face, turned toward Meade.

"A staff meeting? That will take hours. We've got to act now."

Meade shook his head.

"All seven corps are up, and we are deployed for battle here. Sedgwick's men are coming in even now after marching thirty-five miles."

He then pointed toward the north.

"General Slocum is reporting at least a division of Confederate infantry, supported by Stuart moving on our right. You can hear the fire coming from over there."

All were silent for a moment the steady thump of artillery echoing, growing louder as several batteries up on Cemetery Hill began to reply.

"Goddamn it I have reports now of infantry moving on my right flank, something I can see with my own eyes, and now this courier reporting Longstreet to my rear a dozen miles away, something I can't see.

"I want my corps commanders' opinions before we move this army again," Meade said firmly.

"Pulling the corps commanders in just isn't wise. If Lee does hit us here in the next hour, you want the corps commanders with their units. And besides, you don't need them to make this decision. You are in command. You are."

"And you want me to do what?" Meade responded.

"Sixth Corps is exhausted. But Fifth is camped right along the Taneytown Road. You could have them marching within the hour" Hancock pleaded.

Again Meade shook his head. "Marching where? To my right or to the rear?"

"The rear of course. Send Fifth Corps down to Taneytown now, sir."

Meade sighed wearily and shook his head. Again the thumping of gunfire rattled the windows of the small farmhouse.

"That's our active reserve for the moment. Sixth Corps is just too worn out from the march to be of much use now. I'm not going to detach an entire corps based on one report from a courier."

"Sergeant, tell him!" Hancock shouted, looking back at the cavalry trooper. 'Tell him what Buford said!"

The sergeant stood there gape-mouthed, unable to reply.

Meade put his hand up, beckoning for silence.

Henry caught the eye of the trooper and nodded toward the door. The cavalryman stepped outside, Henry following, along with Warren, as the two generals within exploded at each other.

Henry led the trooper down to the fence bordering the Taneytown Road and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a flask and offered it.

"God bless you, sir."

The trooper tilted his head back and took a long swallow.

"You said that you saw what was going on at that bridge?" Henry asked.

"Yes, sir, I did, but only for a minute or so while General Buford wrote out the note."

"How long have you been in the army?"

"Since we signed up back in sixty-one. I've been in every campaign since, sir."

Henry nodded.

"You know we get a lot of couriers galloping in here" Warren interjected, "claiming they've seen the whole rebel army."

I didn't say that, sir," and there was a slightly indignant tone to his voice. "I saw at least two brigades over there, sir. Well, not exactly saw, but down around the bridge, the width of the firing, sir, you know the sound, it was wide, a front of half a mile maybe."

As he spoke the trooper extended his hands wide, and Warren nodded.

"I saw another column moving to flank our right"; the trooper continued, "that's where my regiment went off to cover. It was just like yesterday when we fought Heth and Pender. You could just tell that there was a whole hell of a lot behind them, building up, pushing in. Sir, General Buford ain't prone to exaggerating, sir. If he said that Longstreet's entire corps was coming down that road, by God, I'd believe him.'

Henry nodded. The trooper was right; Buford was a good man. Yesterday John Reynolds had marched to Buford's rescue, not waiting for the nicety of formal orders properly countersigned.

"One of my batteries is parked over there," and Henry pointed across the road. "Go down there; get some water and fodder for your horse and some food for yourself. Wait there."

"Thank you, sir."

"And, trooper, did that civilian willingly trade you horses? That is one beautiful mount you got there."

The man grinned, saying nothing, as he handed Henry his flask and saluted.

Henry turned to go back into the fray.

'Sir?"

It was the trooper. "Yes?"

"For God's sake, don't let the generals screw this one up. We can lick those bastards any day of the week, if only they'd give us some good ground and let us fight"

Henry fixed the trooper with his gaze. He understood the sentiment, but still it bothered him, even though he knew the man was right.

Without comment, Henry turned and walked back toward the small, whitewashed house.

"Henry, what do you think?" Warren asked, falling in by his side.

"I think Longstreet is flanking us, that's what I think."

"What's in front of us then?" and Warren nodded toward the sound of gunfire.

"I don't know, but I'm willing lo bet it's a diversion," Henry offered. "We've only seen what appears to be one division of infantry over there, just a couple of batteries, no massed battalions of guns, so where the hell is the rest of Lee's army? It's either hidden behind the seminary or it's marching to the south.

"You and I rode that ground around Westminster yesterday morning, along Pipe Creek."

Yesterday morning? God, was it really just a day ago?

"It's damn good ground, Henry. Damn good. High land, open fields of fire for anyone dug in along the south bank, and Westminster as the primary base directly behind it. My God, if Longstreet seizes that, he'll cut us off from the railroad and our supplies and be between us and Washington."

As they walked back to the house, couriers were already dashing off, heading to the various corps headquarters to fetch the generals in.

Hancock was out on the porch, face red; He caught Henry's eye. "We wait," Hancock snarled. "Goddamn it, we wait"

Henry, unable to believe what Hancock was saying, walked into the small, whitewashed house. Meade was leaning over the map table, fist balled up, Butterfield by his side. The room was boiling hot It gave Henry a claustrophobic feeling. Meade looked up with a cold eye. '"Well?" Meade snapped.

"I didn't say anything, sir."

"But you're thinking it."

That trooper, I talked with him outside. General, he's a good soldier, been in the army since the start of the war and not some naive kid straight from the farm. And Buford is a damn good cavalryman. If John is telling us Longstreet is on our flank, we'd better believe him."

Meade sighed. Stepping back from the table, he picked up a tin cup of coffee and sipped on it, turning to look at the map of southern Pennsylvania and northern Maryland pinned to the wall.

Warren came in and stood silently by Henry's side.

"You two surveyed that Pipe Creek line, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, we did," Warren replied. "An army on defense would have a huge advantage at Pipe Creek and an especially big advantage if they were defending the south side of that valley. If Pete Longstreet slides into that position, he'll be astride our line of communications."

Meade said nothing for a moment, the room silent except for the annoying buzz of horseflies, and the distant boom of artillery coming from the right flank.

"Stuart is on our right with at least a division of infantry, maybe more. You can see him out there from the top of the cemetery. Reb infantry and artillery are deployed from the seminary clear down to opposite the ridge in our center, and there're still Reb skirmishers in the town. What the hell is that?"