He took another puff on his cigar, coughing slightly as he took it out of his mouth and looked at the glowing tip.

And yet I know this, he realized. Even as I plot my moves, Lee will plot his. Neither of us will get fully what we want. In war one never does until the very last day, when the guns finally fall silent and one side submits.

We both seek the submission of the other, and it won't come in one battle, one sharp moment of combat. It will be a grinding down, and tens of thousands will die in the weeks to come. I can move along several paths now, but then again so can he.

Was Lee sleeping now? He doubted it. Most likely, even at this moment he is looking toward me, thinking the same thoughts I do.

Grant let his cigar drop, and rubbed out the glowing embers with his foot. Turning, he went into his headquarters to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a very long day.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ten Miles North ofHanover, Pennsylvania August 23, 1863 6:00 A.M.

Captain, rider coming in." Capt. Phil Duvall looked up from the simmering campfire where he and Sergeant Lucas had been frying some fresh-cut pork, requisitioned from the farmer whose yard they were camped in.

It was Syms. How the man was keeping to the saddle was beyond him. A local doctor in a town they had passed through had dug the rifle ball out of Syms's calf, bandaged it, and told him to stay out of things for a week. Syms had just laughed, asked the doctor to cut his boot down below the wound and bulky bandage, remounted, and fell back in. Besides, to "stay out of things" would have meant staying behind to be captured by the Yankee cavalry that had been pressing them back all day.

Duvall had pickets a few miles north of where they were camped, watching the road from Carlisle. The Yankee regiment went into camp at dusk. They had pressed, but not to the point of aggressively seeking a fight, rolling him back, trading shots at long range, probing forward, he retreating a mile or so, and thus it had been all day, with no casualties on either side-just a steady, constant pressure to mask what was behind them.

It was indeed his old friend Custer. He had spotted him just before sunset, riding in the lead, about a mile off. Strange that he was not coming on more aggressively, Phil thought more than once after confirming who his opponent was. That was an indicator right there that George was ordered not to seek engagement, but just keep pushing him back.

Syms halted and Lucas stood up to help him get out of the saddle, the man grimacing as he dismounted and hobbled over to squat by Phil's side.

"Some coffee?"

"Love it, sir."

Phil poured him a cup, and Syms took it, looking hungrily at the slices of pork in the frying pan. Phil handed him a fork; Syms stabbed a piece and took a bite, cursing and muttering as he gingerly chewed on the meat, then took a long drink of the hot brew.

He sat down with a sigh.

"What do you have for me?" Phil asked.

"Infantry, lots of infantry."

"Where?"

Syms reached into his haversack and pulled out a sketch pad. Drawn on it was a rough map.

"There's a road here, the one that runs south of the main pike out of Harrisburg. It passes through Dillsburg and on to Petersburg, which we rode through yesterday morning. I circled far out to the left as you told me to. Waited till dark, then cut north using farm lanes and back trails.

"Their cavalry screen is tight. You can tell someone new is running that show. Before, we used to punch through Stoneman or Pleasanton as a joke. Not now. Every crossroads was manned, every village had at least a troop of cavalry guarding the roads. So it was a lot of cutting through fields and keeping quiet.

"Near Dillsburg I finally saw the infantry. Campfires by the hundreds."

"That puts them fifteen miles due south of Carlisle," Phil said. "It means they're heading this way." "Looks that way."

"You get any prisoners, identifications of units?" Syms shook his head.

"I'm lucky just to get back with what I told you, sir. I lost two men coming back; we got jumped crossing a road. We wounded one man and talked to him. He's with Custer."

"But the infantry?"

"I can't tell you, sir, but from the campfires it looked to be division strength."

Their conversation was interrupted by the distant pop of rifle fire. The men camped around Phil looked up, some stood, a few going over their mounts, which had remained saddled through the night, and began to pack up, tying on blanket rolls, checking revolvers for loads.

"Our friends seem to want another day of it." Phil sighed. He looked over at Lucas, asked for Syms's notebook, and quickly wrote out a message.

Detachment, Third Virginia Fifteen Miles Northwest of Hanover Report has arrived that this night Union infantry in division strength camped at Dillsburg. Am facing at least a regiment of Custer's command. Will fall back toward Hanover.

Captain Duval He tore the sheet off and handed it to Lucas.

"Ride like hell to Hanover. Be careful, they might have tried to slip around us during the night. Get this message telegraphed to headquarters. Wait there for me. I suspect we'll not be far behind you."

Phil leaned over, forked a piece of pork, and wolfed it down.

"Mount up! We move in ten minutes," he shouted.

Three Miles Southeast of Port Deposit

August 23, 1863 6:30 A.M.

The train, pulling but two passenger cars, slid to a halt, steam venting around the president's legs. The engineer leaned out of the cab, looking at him wide-eyed. "Are you Abe?" the engineer asked. "Last time I looked in the mirror I was," Lincoln said with a smile. The startled engineer quickly doffed his hat and nodded.

A captain leaning out of the door of the first car jumped down, ran up to him, nervously came to attention, and saluted.

"Mr. President. I must admit, I can't believe it's really you, sir." "It is."

"I thought the courier was mad when he grabbed me, told me to round up a company of men, and follow him to the rail yard and get aboard."

"Captain." Ely Parker stepped forward, the two exchanging salutes.

"That courier came straight from the War Department. You were, most likely, the first officer he spotted. Did you follow his orders and tell no one what you were about?"

"Yes, sir. I just rounded up my boys as ordered. I felt I should report to my colonel, but the courier showed me the dispatch with your signature on it, so I did as ordered."

"Good."

"May I ask what this is about, Major?"

"You and your men are to provide escort for the president up to Harrisburg. Absolutely no one is to know who is aboard this train. We'll stop only for water and wood. If but one man gets off the train and says a word to anyone, I'll have all of you up on court-martial before General Grant himself. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir," said the captain, and he nervously saluted again.

"Son, I see you have a red Maltese cross on your cap," Lincoln interrupted. "Fifth Corps?"

"Yes, sir. Capt. Thomas Chamberlain, sir, Twentieth Maine."

"You were at Union Mills and Gunpowder River."

"Actually neither, sir. Our regiment was lost at Taneytown on July 2. We were paroled and just exchanged."

"We'll talk more about that later, Captain. I'm curious to hear your story."

"Yes, sir."

"Fine, now get aboard, and let's get moving."

The captain ran back to his car, shouting at the men leaning out the windows, "Get the hell back inside."

Ely looked up and down the track. They were several miles outside of Port Deposit, the length of track empty. The fast courier boat that had delivered them to this spot was resting in the reeds, the crew watching the show. Behind them was the broad open stretch of the Susquehanna, Havre de Grace just barely visible half a dozen miles downstream on the other shore.