The lieutenant came back with a second cup and Custer sent him back out.

"How many cars did he want?"

"At least forty, he said."

Custer did a quick calculation. That was enough bridging to span more than a quarter mile. Not enough for the Suesquehanna but definitely enough for the Potomac. This was interesting, damn interesting.

"I heard something about the boats being captured from General Meade."

Custer knew that was true. The pontoon train had been overrun in the retreat, some of the equipment destroyed, but word was the rebs had captured enough for at least one good bridge.

"Where did they want to move these pontoon bridges to?" "Mr. McDougal said they want to use the B and O to move them at least to Frederick." Custer took that in.

Frederick. Once there the rebels could move the bridging down to Point of Rocks, to half a dozen different locations along the Potomac. It'd give them a bolt hole back across the Potomac without having to rely on a ford.

Now he was fully awake. Does this mean Lee was retreating?

"How and why did you get here?"

"My boss is a Union man, same as me."

"So why aren't you in the army?" he asked, just to see how this civilian would respond, and he watched him carefully.

"My brother was," Donlevy said quietly. "I'm all my mother has left now. My brother died at Fredericksburg with the Seventy-second Pennsylvania, the Philadelphia Brigade. After that I promised my mother I'd stay home and take care of her."

The man seemed slightly embarrassed by the admission, and Custer nodded.

"How did you get up here?"

"The rebels took over the railroads yesterday. Mr. McDougal said something about them seizing all the lines. A train was coming up to Westminster to check the track and perhaps to establish a depot for supplies. Mr. McDougal got me on the train, told me to steal a horse once into Westminster, and ride north till I ran into your patrols."

"What about the rebs? How did you get around them?"

"Wasn't too hard. There aren't many out there. I had a good horse and outran one of their patrols.

"I avoid the rebels, then almost get killed by your men, General," Donlevy said indignantly. "Your damn men are trigger-happy. They fired a couple of shots at me before finally letting me come in."

"Sorry about that, but a healthy-looking man like you, on horseback at night. It would rattle a patrol."

"Still, what would have happened to my mother then, damn it? Precious poor gratitude I call it."

"If your information is correct, I'm certain our government will show proper gratitude, Donlevy."

He didn't add that Donlevy would be a guest of his headquarters until the report was confirmed. If it turned out he was a rebel agent, sent to sow false information, he'd soon be dangling from a tree.

"Make yourself comfortable, Donlevy. We'll be moving out in a few hours and you can ride with me."

"I didn't plan to join the army."

"You are now my guest."

"I see," Donlevy said quietly. "But if I get docked pay for not going back, well, I expect someone to take care of that."

"We will. Consider yourself on my staff for the moment at a pay equal to your railroad pay."

Custer left him and stepped out into the corridor, where his lieutenant had obviously been eavesdropping.

"What do you think?" Custer asked.

"He seems real enough. He's right, our boys almost shot him. His horse is outside, blown and lathered. He's dressed like a rail worker, greasy as hell, no look of a cavalryman to him. I think he's telling the truth."

"If true, that means Lee is pulling out," Custer said. "By damn, he's pulling out of Baltimore. He means to skedaddle back to Virginia and hold us off from there."

"It does look that way."

"Damn all. We got to get that bridging material. Burn that and we can block him."

Custer slapped his hands together with sudden glee.

"I want the entire brigade mounted and ready to move within the hour. Get the fastest rider you can find and send him back up the line to General Kilpatrick with this report."

Custer grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil from the lieutenant, who then held a candle while Custer leaned against the wall and jotted out a note:

Headquarters, Second Brigade, Third Division Hanover, Pennsylvania Aug. 24 4:00 A.M.

Have received word from civilian who took train to Westminster, stole a horse, and rode into our lines, claiming to work in Baltimore and Ohio yards in Baltimore. States that Army of Northern Virginia pontoon train, loaded on forty rail cars, to be moved by rail to Frederick and perhaps beyond. States as well, same railroad now taken over by rebels. Will set out this morning, moving west and then south to Frederick to intercept.

Signed, Custer "Sir, what about our orders to hold here and screen Couch?" 'The hell with that now. We can sit back and do nothing, waiting a day for orders, or show some dash and, with that, win glory. Now what's it to be?"

The lieutenant knew better than to respond to that question. He saluted, dashed out the door, and in less than a minute "boots and saddles" broke the early morning silence. Within seconds the camp began to stir.

Custer stepped out the door and in the twilight of dawn took in the scene, the sight of the men of the First Michigan standing up, cursing and muttering, but answering the call.

It was going to be a great day for a ride, Custer thought with a grin.

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Near Shippensburg, Pennsylvania August 24 11:30 A.M.

The early lunch under the canvas awning had been simple army fare: hardtack, salt pork, some roasting ears purchased from the farmer whose yard they were camped in, and, of course, coffee, plenty of hot coffee, Lincoln taking his with some cool sweet cream.

A hundred yards away, down on the Valley Pike, the troops continued to move, a seemingly endless, procession, regiment after regiment passing by, these men the tail end of Ord's Corps, General Ord having ridden over to join them for lunch.

The talk around the table had been on anything but the war, perhaps a mess tradition, Lincoln thought, and, if so, a wise one. A young lieutenant proudly showed off a daguerreotype of his wife and newborn son. Grant shared a story about California and its beauty, his hope of perhaps settling out there after the war. Ord told of how some eastern men had challenged his men yesterday, asking what their corps badge was. One of his men had proudly slapped his cartridge box, proclaiming, "Here's our corps badge, a cartridge box with forty rounds."

Ord had already decided that this would be the insignia for his command, a black cartridge box with the gold U.S. oval in the middle.

From there they had talked about military standards of old, Napoleon's famous eagles, the eagles of Rome, the horsetail standards of the Mongols. A captain shared the story of Varus and the lost eagles of the legions, taken by the Germans during the reign of Augustus, and how Augustus wandered the palace crying out, "Varus, give me back my eagles!"

The group fell silent at that story, some looking sidelong at Lincoln, wondering if he might have done the same after Union Mills. And yes, he knew that story, and it did indeed haunt him when he thought of those bloody slopes, the thousands of dead and dying. He thought, as well, of the story already circulating across the country-how, several weeks after Union Mills, a rebel soldier had slipped through the picket line at Washington, calling for a truce, taking from under his jacket a green banner stained with the blood of the Irish Brigade. He said he had retrieved it on the battlefield, taking it from a dying Union officer's hands and pledging he'd return it. The reb, a son of Ireland as well, refused any offer of money, or even food, and was escorted with honor back to his own lines, where his comrades gave him three cheers.