Longstreet, looking at the map, nodded in agreement.

"We must move swiftly, sir, and the pontoon train must be pushed forward with all possible haste."

"Yes, sir."

Longstreet left the tent and mounted up. He started to ride back in the direction he had come from. Out in the fields the men were breaking camp, some loading up with backpacks or blanket rolls, but many just leaving them behind. They were stripping down for hard marching.

To the east the sun was clear of the horizon, promising a warm and humid day.

Headquarters, Army of the Potomac Near Clarksburg

8:00 A.M.

Sir, who is that man?" one of Sykes's aides asked, pointing up the road behind them. Sykes turned in his saddle. An officer, riding a splendid white mount, was moving along the side of the road at a canter. He was pale-faced, gaunt, and almost seemed drunk the way he was riding, barely able to hang on.

Sykes smiled.

"I know him."

He turned about, moved to the side of the road, and grinned as the officer approached.

"Colonel Chamberlain, isn't it?" Sykes asked.

Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain saluted and forced a weak smile.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"My God, sir," Sykes exclaimed. "Last I heard you were dead.':

"A premature report," Chamberlain replied. "But you were captured?"

"Yes, sir. A friend of mine on the other side arranged my unconditional parole. I was officially exchanged last week and immediately came down to report for duty."

Sykes looked at him appraisingly. The man was barely able to keep to his saddle.

"I think, sir, you are not yet recovered from your wounds."

"Sir, may I be the judge of that," Chamberlain replied. "I have been following the news. I was with you and the boys of our glorious Fifth Corps at Taneytown, I wish to be with you now. I took a train down to Baltimore yesterday, paid a rather handsome amount for this magnificent horse, and have been trailing you ever since."

Sykes chuckled and shook his head.

"Such determination cannot be denied, Colonel. I have no posting for you, but you are welcome to join my staff."

"Thank you, sir, an honor."

"Fall in with my staff then. We have Bobbie Lee on the run. We are flanking to the east of him, boxing him in. I just received orders from Grant to push toward Clarksburg and then Darnestown. By God, sir, the Army of the Potomac must be in on this one. We will not lag, we will not slow, I will not let some damn Westerner claim he's won this war against Lee after all we've been through."

Chamberlain smiled. "An honor to be here, sir."

He fell in behind Sykes, breathing deeply, glorying in the fact that he was back, he was with his "Old Fifth," the core of survivors of his beloved Army of the Potomac. The agony of his wound was forgotten for the moment, though each jostle of the horse beneath him sent shock waves through his barely healed hips and up his spine. Nor did he think of home, of his wife's threats to leave him if he followed through on such foolishness. No, this was the center, the core of his life, the reason for his existence, to be here, now, to help shape history, to ensure that the cause of freedom won.

Hauling Ferry 10:00 A.M.

Winfield Scott Hancock, barely able to stand, leaned against his cane, watching as the canal boats loaded up with "Mr. Bartlett's army," as it was now called. By the hundreds the men were scrambling aboard, as fast as a barge was loaded up, the mules or horses towing the boat dug in and set off, the men aboard cheering.

From up the river more barges were coming around the bend, carrying the last of the troops who had garrisoned Point of Rocks. They were heading back east and south, back down to Edwards Ferry and the crossing at Seneca Crossing.

Lee's men could march at two to three miles to the hour, but aboard the barges they could move four miles to the hour while the men relaxed, sang, ate, or slept.

It was a complex maneuver to keep boxing Lee in. The garrisons at Nolands Ferry and Hauling would hold in place, as would the garrison at Edwards Ferry. Hancock felt supremely confident. Though he had yet to meet him, he also felt supreme confidence in Grant. Here was a man who, at last, was thinking on a broad scale, maneuvering what were three armies at the same time, each one stepping into place and closing the ring around Lee. Gone was the indecision of the past.

An empty barge pulled up, and Hancock slowly shuffled aboard, Mr. Bartlett behind him, their staffs following.

Within minutes the horses were run over the low bridge arching the canal, cables attached to the harnesses, rudder pulled out from what had been the stern and carried to the rear of the boat and set in place.

"Heave away!"

The horses leaned into the traces, and the barge was moving, picking up speed.

Hancock gladly sat down on a camp chair set up near the bow, Mr. Bartlett coming up by his side.

Hancock looked up at the man and smiled.

"Boxing him in, Mr. Bartlett. That's the game now. Lee's a wily fox, he is. He still might slip past us, he surely will try, but you and L we have other plans for him."

Near Edwards Ferry 12:00 P.M.

The marching was hard. The sun had broken through the overcast, at first a welcome relief after the rain of the past two days. Within a few hours it started to dry the roads, making passage easier, but the heat and humidity were climbing, thick clouds building overhead, a clear sign that by late afternoon thunderstorms would lash down.

The head of his column was already through Poolesville, where they had waited for a half hour while he and Colonel Duvall had ridden forward to Edwards Ferry. He had hoped against hope that perhaps here might be the crossing. A few minutes of surveying their lines had turned his opinion against it.

The Yankees were well dug in, same as at Hauling Ferry. Entrenchments encircled the crossing he had so easily taken a year earlier during the Sharpsburg campaign. Four of the dreaded, hundred-pound Parrott guns guarded the crossing, backed up by at least two batteries of thirty-pounders and at least five thousand infantry.

If I had a fresh corps up, two or three battalions of artillery in support, I might venture it, Longstreet thought. It would cost, but we could do it. But that would take the rest of the-day, his column staggering along behind him, ten miles to the rear. Gather here, and it will be dusk before we can even hope to force the position, and that will give Grant time to close in from the rear.

Even as he surveyed the position, canal boats were passing by, ladened down with infantry and hundreds of colored civilians, all of them carrying shovels, picks, saws.

Has Lincoln drafted the colored of Washington? he wondered. If so, that would explain the massive fortifications confronting him.

He saw a banner draped on the side of one of the barges: