Men began to stand up and the sight of it was pitiful. He did not realize until that moment just how many men were down for good. Of the six hundred who had opened fire, barely two hundred and fifty now stood, clustering in close to their flag.

He could hear the rebel yell resounding to his right and now heading toward the rear.

John Miller was down on his knees, and Washington reached down, pulling him up, John wincing.

"Don't stay behind," Bartlett shouted.

John nodded.

"Fall back! Keep your formation, men. Don't run, fall back at the walk!"

He grabbed the colonel, who gasped and went double. "Leave me, Sergeant." "Like hell."

"I'm dying. Now leave me. If you don't, they'll get you, too!"

Washington tried to pull him along. "Damn it, soldier. An order. Leave me!" The colonel straightened up, looked at him, and then actually smiled.

"Good work, soldier," he gasped. "Just take me over to the surgeon. I'll see you later when you come back."

Tears in his eyes, Bartlett realized he could not lead these men out while burdened with a wounded man who could not walk on his own.

He picked the colonel up and carried him over to the makeshift hospital area down in a gently sloping ravine. A hundred or more were on the ground, the surgeon frantically at work. At the sight of his approach the surgeon came to his feet and ran over.

"I'll take him."

Together they helped the colonel to lie down. "Where's my son?" Bartlett asked. "I don't know."

Frightened, Washington stood and looked about. He saw several drummer boys dragging a man with a leg shot off, two more struggling with a stretcher, but his son… he could not see him.

"William!"

His voice was drowned out by the roar of battle, the rebel yell as the enemy before them, sensing the pullback, began to surge forward.

"William!"

Someone shoved him. It was Miller, his left arm dangling but his right still strong.

"They're on us!" Miller cried.

Washington looked up. The rebs were already over the position they had held but a few minutes before.

"Sergeant Major Bartlett, act your role," the colonel gasped. "I'm proud of you. Now take command like a soldier."

Washington, fighting back tears, saluted, looked once more for his son and then as the colors passed him, he fell in by their side, then got behind the men, racing back and forth, up and down the line, ordering the men to fire, reload, pull back, fire, reload, pull back.

The rebs swarmed over the hospital area.

10:40 A.M.

Sheridan came up the slope to army headquarters, hat gone, his uniform torn where a ball had plucked his shoulder, barely breaking the skin but now marked by a trickle of blood.

Grant stood silent, cigar clenched firmly in his mouth. 'The line is breaking," Sheridan announced. "I know, I can see that."

"They've split the front. Ord's boys to the north of the road, my division of blacks to the south." He paused.

"General, they fought like tigers. Held them back for an hour and a half."

Grant said nothing, just nodding.

"Sir, my entire corps is about to be flanked, pinned down by the river. Some of Ord's men mixed in. The rest were up on the right of my black division but have given way. Robertson is swinging on to my flank now. Early is crossing the ford and I think Scales is preparing to come down from the heights."

"Hold exactly where you are."

"Sir? They'll have three divisions coming up this road. They're coming up even now. Shouldn't I pull back to block?"

He pointed down the road toward Buckeystown and he was indeed right. What was left of Ord's command had broken, was coming back across the plateau. In a matter of minutes Hunt's batteries, unsupported yet by infantry, would be in the thick of that attack.

"Shouldn't I pull back, support Hunt?"

Grant shook his head.

"That railroad track, the ground around it, turn it into the Hornets Nest like at Shiloh. It will stop Lee cold for hours and he'll bleed out if he turns on it. You take command down there. Let me worry about here."

"It means I'll be cut off."

"Yes, it does," Grant said quietly. "At least for a while. You start moving back, though, and those boys will just keep moving and then start running. That's happened too many times in the past. They are to stand and hold their ground. That is your job. Let me deal with the rest."

"Yes, sir," Sheridan replied.

"You will hold throughout the day. Let him bleed out on you. Do you have extra ammunition?"

"Yes, sir. Twenty wagonloads during the night, about three hundred boxes of a thousand rounds each."

"You got a battery down there as well. Use them to fire down the tracks in both directions. Now go!"

Sheridan forced a grin, turned, and rode off.

Directly ahead, on the road toward Buckeystown he saw a division deploying out, coming forward, a staff officer shouting that it was McLaw.

"Let him come," Grant replied sharply, sat back down, tossed aside his cigar, and lit another one..

10:45 A.M.

Robert E. Lee turned to his old warhorse, Pete Longstreet.

"Attack all along the line, General Longstreet."

"Sir? Beauregard is nowhere near Frederick yet. In fact sir, I think he bungled it. He should have waited for Robertson and McLaw to fully deploy out, hit them with four divisions at once."

Yes, Pete was right on that point Beauregard went in too soon, he should have waited the extra hour. But then again, that had always been a curse to them, to any army in the past attempting to flank a foe by a back road. It could take hours to deploy out into battle formation, and in the interval an opponent could either draw back or prepare. What did surprise him was that Beauregard going into battle formation four miles back, before engaging. He should have gone forward in columns and covered the ground in half the time.

Chancellorsville, in one sense, had played out that way. The first of Jackson's divisions had completed the march shortly after noon, but it was another four hours before he went in. Though the victory was overwhelming at the start, darkness had intervened, and thereby saved the Army of the Potomac.

Nothing of that could be changed now. But Grant's right flank was indeed crumbling. He could see a clear breakthrough opening a breach between the two divisions first sent out to stop him. Up by the National Road, a division of Union troops that had been in reserve position yesterday was now filing back toward the town.

That left but two of Banks's divisions to cover several miles of front. What was left of Sheridan in the center, and Ord on the right, was collapsing.

His original plan, for Beauregard to sweep up the west bank of the Monocacy, literally to have the sleeve of the man at the right of the line brushing the water, apparently was not happening. The position from just back of McCausland's Ford, up to the depot was acting as a breakwater, while Beauregard seemed to be pivoting more to the west with his assault, following the road up to Frederick.

"General Longstreet, push-your men down to the ford just south of the National Bridge. Drive across, open a wedge there. Put every man in. We are not to hold back now. I want every man in."

"Sir," he said and hesitated.

He had rarely seen Lee this agitated, this focused on the moment at hand.

"General Longstreet, did you hear me, sir?"

"Yes, General Lee. It is just that I suspect General Beauregard's assault will stall when he reaches Frederick. The Yankees right down by the stream below us are hanging on. Our original plan was for the divisions on this side to link up with Beauregard as he swept past, thus reinforcing his attack, and our assault would go in on the enfilade against them. What you are ordering now instead is a frontal assault."