6:15 P.M.

'The light was rapidly failing, the combination of the sun setting and the storm clouds continuing to build up to the west Two more boats were out in the river, being jockeyed into place. Yet another boat was almost across to the island, Longstreet suggesting that they start building the bridge from both sides, something that Cruickshank knew he should have thought of, but exhaustion was completely overwhelming him.

After the shock of the first two shells coming in, the men had set to work as if the enemy fire was a goad. Watchers kept an eye on the distant ridge, and the moment they saw the flash of what were now four of the thirty-pounders, a warning went up.

Another boat had been destroyed, as it was being rolled up to be off-loaded into the river, taking a nearly direct hit and just shattering. The two boats that had washed downstream were slowly being kedged up, and were now waiting to be shifted into place.

Another shell came in, this one nearly striking the bridge at midsection, the pontoons rocking and swaying from the impact, another boat springing a leak, a man tearing his jacket off to use as a plug.

Nearly all of the pontoon train was now parked in the flat land below the canal, crews manhandling the boats off rather than waiting for each to be backed into the water, and simply dragged along and pushed in. More leaks were being sprung but the time saved was worth it, bailers would be set to work in each once they were in place.

The bridge was pushing forward. They were out to their tenth boat now well past midstream, the crews on the other side within hailing distance, one of them shouting that they only had to span seventy-five yards or so once across the island. The good news was that infantry could wade the last few yards through chest-deep water to Virginia soil once they were across the island.

Additional boatloads of men were already being sent across, armed with axes and shovels, to clear a road across the island and start work on the approach on the far side.

The eleventh boat was anchored into place, two more shells detonating over the river, more men dropping, but the work continued. Stringers were run across, planking laid. A man leapt off the boat on the far side and stood in the water, bracing against the current!

"Its getting shallower!" he shouted, a ragged cheer rising up from the makeshift engineers.

6:15 PM.

General Longstreet!" Pete looked up and to his amazement saw Lee approaching, guided by Duvall. "Sir!"

Pete rode the last few feet to Lee's side.

Lee said nothing for a moment, looking down at the bridge spanning the Potomac and a shell exploding among the wagons where the pontoons were being unloaded.

"I can have it finished in another two or three hours," Pete said.

"Those guns, though," and Lee pointed to the west, the distant puffs of smoke.

The two batteries Pete had brought up were trying to suppress the enemy fire, but only one of them was comprised of rifled pieces, the others were smoothbores, and so far they had had no effect either on the thirty-pounders or the lighter ten-pounders.

"Can you not push those guns back?" Lee asked.

"I have Scales covering that flank. He's trying as hard as he can, sir. But the numbers are about even and their forward line of infantry is dug in."

Lee took it all in. It was a marvel that Pete had indeed accomplished this, but the. approach would be difficult. It might very well mean abandoning nearly all their remaining artillery and wagons.

"Did you receive my dispatch about what happened at Darnestown?"

"Sir?"

Lee shook his head.

"We are flanked to the east, Pete. Our old adversaries, the Army of the Potomac. They closed off that approach. Even now they are pressing the rear of my column."

"I didn't know, sir. I thought we had destroyed the Army of the Potomac twice now. Their resilience is amazing."

"You must watch your own flank carefully," Lee said, pointing east.

"I barely have the men left," Pete replied. "What's left of Rodes and Anderson?"

He pointed across the open field where scattered commands were resting, waiting for the bridge to be finished.

"Form them up now," Lee said. "I fear that part of the Army of the Potomac might advance along the canal and try and strike you here."

"I have patrols out, sir. I need to rest these men in case they are needed as a reserve. They fought all day yesterday and have been on the road since midnight. Rations are short as well. Some haven't had a bite to eat all day."

"Please see to it anyway. Form them up now."

"Yes, sir."

"I will shift my column down this way. Expect the head of it to arrive within two to three hours." "Yes, sir."

Lee turned and Duvall fell in by his side to provide escort.

Lee rode slowly, looking back occasionally toward the river. So tantalizingly close. We could have the bulk of our men across by tomorrow morning. Something in his heart told him not to exult just yet.

As they reached the edge of the woods mere was a tattoo of rifle fire from the east, and within seconds it rose to a shattering explosion of volley fire.

Pete Longstreet turned away as Lee rode north. He could see that another boat was being maneuvered into place, men standing in the water. Now that it was shallower, the work would go quicker. And then the first pistol shots echoed. Looking toward the east he saw several mounted men, riding hard, one firing his pistol in the air as he galloped. Behind them, a hundred yards back, a darker mass was approaching… Union cavalry!

Across the field where the rest of his corps had been keeping low, waiting for the bridge to be finished, men were stirring, standing up, grabbing stacked rifles, starting to form.

The column of Yankee cavalry came on at a gallop, reaching the edge of the field, spreading out as they did so. Behind them a column of infantry was visible, coming at the double.

He raised his field glasses, focused on the lead flag… a fluttering triangle, a red Maltese cross in the middle.

"Damn, the Army of the Potomac."

Winfield Scott Hancock stirred, looked up as his staff began to shout, pointing down toward the crossing. Behind him an assault column was forming up, men brought down from Point of Rocks and Nolands Ferry. He had kept the garrison at Edwards Ferry in place, except for the removal of the four thirty-pounders. There was always the chance that if he stripped out there, Lee could swing on the position and still try to take it. His reinforcements were coming, but it was taking so damn long, and now they were arriving at last. In another half hour, just before full dark, he planned to go in with everything he had and try to dislodge them before they finished the bridge.

"It's our boys!" someone shouted. "Look over there, our boys!"

Winfield raised his field glasses and looked to where they were pointing, the view momentarily obscured from the smoke of one of the thirty-pounders going off.

And then he saw it, cavalry, a regiment at least, maybe two, but behind them, infantry, a dark blue mass, national colors at the fore, and alongside them, fluttering out for a second, a large triangle, red Maltese cross in the middle.

He wept unashamedly at the sight of it. It was the old Fifth Corps, men of his army, men of the Army of the Potomac, trusted comrades in so many fights.

"Up, boys, up!" Hancock shouted.

The troops lying in the field on the opposite slope were already on their feet, sensing from the excitement of the officers around the guns that something was about to happen.

Hancock turned back to face them.

"It's the Army of the Potomac!" he shouted. 'They're closing in from the other side. Let's join them and finish this!"