Walter jotted down the note and handed the pad over.

Lee signed it, tore the sheet of paper off, and handed it to the officer.

"As more colored prisoners come in, use this note to round them up and keep them with you. One of my staff will stay behind with you to insure all of you are treated properly. That note will serve as a pass to my headquarters after this battle is over as long as you give me your parole now not to try to escape."

"God bless you, sir," the captain replied and saluted. "And I give you my parole on my word of honor as an officer."

"And God be with you, Captain."

Lee turned and rode to the edge of the ford and then spotted Ord. The man was surrounded by several staff officers and a lone Confederate guard. He was wounded, hit in the arm, which was already in a sling. Lee approached him and dismounted.

"General, are you sorely hurt?" Lee asked.

Ord looked at Lee and actually grinned.

"Not as badly as your men are, sir. Pardon me, sir, but we gave you a hell of a fight here."

"That you did, General."

"We bled you out here. My boys put up a hell of a fight to the bitter end."

"You can be proud of them, General." "Thank you, sir."

"A question, General. Are any of the colored troops with you?"

"No, they are with Sheridan." "Sheridan?"

Ord grinned. "He took over Burnside's command two days ago. Maybe that explains why they are fighting so ferociously over there." Ord pointed toward the smoke-shrouded railroad cuts."

Lee remounted and rode off. He shook his head with anger. "We must not lose our heads, our moral compass as an army. If our men start executing prisoners now, then we have indeed lost God's blessing at a time that we need it the most. It will bring shame to our entire cause."

Lee edged Traveler into the water. His mount wanted to drink but he would not let him, the water was so tainted with blood. He pushed across, staff following. To his right, a quarter mile away, Robertson's Division was engaged in what was already being called the Hornets Nest. The railroad cuts for the Baltimore and Ohio had been turned into bastions. He could not see the fight from here. There was too much smoke, but the air was alive with bullets zipping and screaming overhead.

He paused and watched it with frustration. Taking that position now did not serve the plan. It was Frederick and the pass over the mountains that Beauregard should have focused on.

"Walter, send someone in there. Find Robertson. Order him to report to me now. I will be up on the road."

Several staff, escorted by a half dozen troopers, rode off.

He turned and continued up the field. Several of his escorts dropped from their saddles as they rode up the hill, weaving past a hospital area for the black troops. He detailed off another staff officer to stay with the hospital, bearing the -same orders he had given on the other side of the stream.

They crossed over the killing ground of the corner field, raced over the railroad tracks and up to the Buckeystown Road. Again chaos, wounded by the hundreds staggering back, fence rails down, crops trampled, a farmhouse on fire, wounded being pulled from inside even as it burned.

Turning onto the road he now saw the rear of Beauregard's divisions, pushing up, ranks thinned, a terrible bombardment striking into them.

Lee clenched his fist in frustration. Not against the guns. Not another Malvern Hill.

He wanted to go forward, but Walter rebelled, pushing in front of him.

"Sir, I am sorry, sir, but I cannot let you ride into that inferno."

Lee hesitated. Walter was right. The battle now hung by a thread, the orders he had so often given to his beloved generals, to stand back, to manage the fight, to not go into the middle of it, had to apply now to him, too.

"Send some men up there," Lee snapped. "Find Beauregard. Bring him back to me now!"

12:10 PM.

'Feed it to them! There they are! Feed it to them!" Hunt cried. Gun after gun recoiled, sending deadly sprays of canister downrange to the rebel lines in the corn and grass, and they were returning fire. The ground ahead was a killing ground, casualties piled up by the hundreds, his gunners hard at work in the last fifteen minutes, following his order to retreat by recoil. After firing, the pieces were not rolled forward, but were loaded, in place, the elevation checked, and another canister round was blasted down the field. But canister was running short, many of the crews changing over to case shot cut with a half-inch fuse, blowing as they barely cleared the barrel. Those out of canister were converting back to solid bolts, the shock of one of those bolts passing through the ranks causing the enemy to scatter even if it struck down only one or two.

They were bleeding McLaw out, and his men were shouting with rage, sweeping the position with rifle fire, a good third of Hunt's gunners now down. He took a deep breath. "Hook up trail lines, retire by fire!" Caissons were backed up, cables run out to the trail pieces of the guns. A piece would fire, and the caisson crew would urge their horse forward a dozen paces while the crew reloaded, then the gun would fire again.

It was only a matter of time before they were overrun.

Rebel infantry was swarming about both flanks, horses were going down, stalling pieces in place, desperate crews trying to push their pieces back by hand, but they were still firing, holding them back.

"Feed it to 'em. God damn 'em. Feed it to 'em."

With Lee 12:30 P.M.

P. G.T. Beauregard came riding up, sweat streaming down his face in the humid heat, hat off, and Lee braced himself inwardly for the confrontation. "General," Lee said, "my orders to you last night I thought were clearly understood. Cross at the ford, establish contact, deploy, then sweep due north into the town and take it."

"Sir, it is not that easy," Beauregard replied. "If I had waited for McLaw and Robertson, we'd have wasted another hour, maybe two. I felt it was important to strike hard and fast."

"You hit without waiting. All four divisions at once, backed by a battalion and a half of artillery and a brigade from Jeb, should have overrun them in the first strike. Besides, you have let your command split. One division is wasted now containing that pocket down by the river."

"There is an entire corps trapped down there," Beauregard replied. "Destroy them and Grant's final offensive power is gone."

"It is costing far too much. You should have advanced, echelon to the north, aiming at Frederick. That and the road are the prize."

"It is too late to call back Robertson now; he is too hotly engaged, and his action protects my right flank."

"And the guns," Lee replied sharply. "Why are you sending McLaw straight at their guns?"

"That's all of Hunt's batteries up there, sir. Without infantry support. We take them and we cripple Grant."

"Sir," Lee said stonily, "you have lost focus. You are caught in the moment. Four of your divisions, angling toward Frederick, would have caused Grant to abandon the entire line, and I could have brought in Longstreet and Hood efficiently. Now we are split apart."

"So should I withdraw?" Beauregard asked sarcastically. "We have them on the run."

"No, you will not withdraw, but, sir, I am taking command here."

"Am I relieved, sir?"

Lee hesitated. If it had been nearly anyone else, he would have done so. But these were Beauregard's men, new to the Army of Northern Virginia.

"No, sir, you are not relieved, but I shall now ride with you. I want your men to echelon to the left and drive for the pass. I expect that within the hour. Now go see to your duty and we shall win this fight, regardless of loss."

Railroad Cut 12:30 P.M.