WASHINGTON COLORED VOLUNTEERS.

He rode back to the head of the column, men standing back up after their noonday break, ready to resume the forced march.

"Duvall, scout ahead. We parallel the canal but out of sight of the Yankees along it. Find a spot where we can force a way across. The river can't be too wide where we cross, ideally with an island in the middle. Now ride!"

And the column had set off, afternoon sun blazing down.

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Near Barnesville, Maryland

The distant rattle of skirmishing echoed from farther down the road. The men in the column, which had stopped, leaned wearily on their rifles, ordered to stand in place, to not break ranks.

Since late morning, any break had resulted in scores and hundreds of exhausted men refusing to get up again, regardless of the threats of their officers or provost guards.

Grant could not blame them. They were numb from exhaustion. These were men pushed to the limit and beyond, survivors of the Hornets Nest. Many of the regiments were reduced to little more than company size-a mere fifty men gathered around a flag where there would once have been five hundred.

Phil Sheridan came trotting up the road toward him, grinning.

"We're hitting the back end of Longstreet's column just ahead," he announced. "We're right behind him." 'Then keep pushing," Grant replied sharply. "Keep pushing."

Five Miles West of Seneca Crossing on the Potomac 2:15 P.M.

Col. Phil Duvall slowly stood up, General Longstreet by his side. The crossing below was swarming with Yankee troops getting off canal boats and starting to form up. They both scanned the line with their field glasses. Duvall lowered his glasses and looked over at Longstreet. "We have to try it," Longstreet said. Duvall nodded, not replying.

Longstreet looked over at the young colonel. General Lee had pushed ahead to try to secure their flank at Darnestown while Pete had been ordered to take a narrow lane down to this crossing with his troops to see if they could somehow seize the position.

He had most of Scales's men up, two thousand men, concealed in the woods, nearly a brigade of cavalry with him.

"All at once," Pete said, turning to look back at Scales. "No artillery, complete surprise. Sweep down and into them. You must take that position."

Scales nodded.

"I can do it," he said quietly. "Then go."

Sergeant Hazner was at the fore of the charge, Colonel Brown by his side. Both were panting for breath. The day had turned scorching hot, and they had not had a drop of water in hours, but both knew that this charge, out of so many charges, was different. This was a race for the survival of themselves and their army.

They had indeed caught the Yankees by surprise. They could see them forming up, struggling to create a volley line.

They were down to less than a hundred yards, running full out.

No volleys, just a scattering of fire to start, and then the volume increasing. Men began to drop.

"Come on!" Brown screamed. "One more time, boys, just one more time!"

Hancock stood up. Leaning against the bow of his canal barge, he saw the smoke rolling up from a field just around the bend in the river.

'Damn!

"Get us ashore here," he shouted.

The steersman angled the boat over and slammed it against the embankment, Hancock nearly losing his footing. A couple of enlisted men, already on the embankment, reached over and half-lifted him out of the boat.

Bartlett started to jump off, but Hancock turned and looked back at him.

"No! Your people stay here!"

"We're needed, too," Jim tried to argue.

"No. You stay here. They've caught us by surprise. Chances are we'll get pushed back, at least for now. Get your men out. Move them back up that way."

He pointed farther along the canal, to a gently rising slope.

"Start digging in there. Build a redoubt. That's what we need now!"

Jim pointed the way, and his men, following in a half dozen barges, leapt for the shore and ran up the slope. Within minutes he had them at work, furiously digging, dragging fallen timber out of a nearby woodlot, tearing down split-rail fences and piling them up, forming a fortification for the Union troops to shelter behind."

The charge began to slow out of sheer exhaustion. They were but fifty yards off, but had run nearly a quarter of mile to gain this ground. One man stopped, and then another, and raised his rifle and fired.

"Come on!" Brown shouted, but the men of the Fourteenth came to a stop, raised rifles, and fired. "Keep moving!"

The thin Union line before them offered another ragged volley. Several more men around Brown and Hazner dropped, but they continued to push forward and the Yankees broke, falling back, most turning to run along the towpath to the west.

The last few yards were covered, and Hazner, bent double with exhaustion, stood at the edge of the canal.

They had made it!

Pete Longstreet rode up, General Scales by his side, and quickly surveyed the ground. A half dozen abandoned barges were floating in the canal, a hundred or so Union casualties along the embankment.

Just below the canal was a short, open flood plain, and beyond the Potomac, on the other side, Virginia! Duvall had picked the spot well. A wooded island lay in the middle of the river, significantly shortening the distance they needed to traverse. On the far shore he spotted a couple of mounted troops, the men standing in their stirrups and waving. Mosby's men. He waved back. Virginia!

He turned to Scales.

"Keep pushing them back. I need an opening here at least two miles wide or more. Keep pushing them back. I will send you everyone I can, and you keep pushing out to form a bridgehead that we can move the pontoon bridge through."

Scales saluted and rode off. Longstreet looked around at his staff.

"Venable, a courier to General Lee. Tell him we've seized a crossing point five miles west of Seneca. Second, a courier up our column to Cruickshank, and tell him to get those damn pontoons forward with all possible speed. The rest of you, as additional men come up, get them to work."

He pointed to a nearby farm, a gristmill, some sheds, and outbuildings.

'Tear them apart. Get any lumber out that we can use for bridging material. Use the barges here to build a bridge across the canal. We need more than what is here and then a corduroy road down to the river. Now move it!"

Longstreet watched as the men set to work.

Maybe, just maybe, we've pulled it off. By tomorrow morning we will be across the river and be out of this damn state.

Near Poolesoille 3:00 P.M.

Cruickshank returned the salute of the officer who had come up. "General Longstreet has seized a crossing point, sir."

"Where?"

"About three miles from here, west of Seneca Crossing." "Damn all to hell," Cruickshank said, shaking his head.

The courier looked at him confused.

"The general insists you come up with all possible speed to bring up the pontoons. I'm to guide you in."

"All possible speed? Just what the hell do you think I've been doing all day?" Cruickshank asked.

"Sir, I'm just carrying orders."

"Yes, I know."

Ahead of him an artillery limber wagon had just lost a wheel, the load collapsing, again stalling traffic on the narrow, rutted road. The crew was struggling to jack the wagon up and replace the wheel, everything behind them stopped.

Cruickshank looked over at the courier.

"Got a drink on you."

"Sir?"

"A drink. Bourbon, gin, anything?"

"I'm a temperance man," the courier replied a bit stiffly.

"I bet you are, damn it."