The ground before them was completely transformed. Everything had been cut back for several hundred yards. Trees dropped, brush cleared, sharpened stakes driven into the ground, entrapments dug. Looking north and south Jim saw where long zigzagging entrenchments had been dug in each direction. The one to the left sloped down to the Monocacy. The stream itself was now blocked by a half dozen barges, each mounting a light artillery piece; a rough-hewn bridge, now spanning the creek, was wobbly, and looked as if it would collapse if more than a few men were on it at any time, but it gave them a means of moving men across the creek without relying on the barges and canal.
On the far side there was another bastion, another of the great guns within, more entrenchments, connecting to yet another bastion. Men were still out in the fields forward, working, cutting down trees, even trampling down the corn to deny concealment.
To the south the line continued for over a mile before finally sloping back down to the canal and the Potomac behind it. The position was firmly anchored by two more bastions on this side of the river.
Hancock turned, looked at Jim, and, releasing his cane, eagerly extended his hand. Jim shook it.
"Mr. Bartlett, I felt you should see what your men have done while you slept."
Hancock smiled.
"Sorry, sir. Guess exhaustion caught up with me." "I told everyone not to disturb you. I know you were up most of the night." "Sorry, sir."
"Mr. Bartlett, how old are you?"
"Not rightly sure. Maybe sixty."
"Men half your age have dropped doing less work. I must say, this would have been impossible without you."
Hancock extended his hand, pointing to the defensive line, swayed a bit, and clutched his cane again, using his other hand to brace himself against the iron carriage of the Parrott gun.
"And now we shall need it!"
"Sir?"
"I guess you didn't hear," Hancock said excitedly. "The telegram just came in from Washington. Lee has been defeated at Frederick and is believed to be retreating this way."
"My God," was all Jim could say. His feelings were now so mixed. His son and grandson were up in Frederick, what of them? Yet if Lee was defeated, perhaps that might mean all this was coming to an end. It would also mean he was coming this way.
As if reading his mind, Hancock nodded.
"Lee is undoubtedly coming straight here. Skirmishing just a couple miles up that road is getting heavy. Infantry has been reported. I think he will try to force this position by the end of today."
"Then we keep working till he does show up."
"No, Mr. Bartlett. I think it's time I sent your people out. You've done a magnificent job. I'm convinced we can hold this place now. I wasn't so sure yesterday, but I am today. But still, you are civilians, and I guess I must add, colored civilians. I don't want you and your men here if things turn bad."
"We are staying, sir. No disrespect intended, but we are staying."
Hancock looked at him, not responding.
"Sir, how many cooks in your army? How many stretcher bearers, how many wagon drivers, how many men hauling boxes of ammunition once the fight starts?"
Hancock smiled.
"Quite a few."
"Put rifles in their hands, put them on the line, my men will do whatever is needed. We can fight that way, and we will keep digging right up until the bullets begin to fly."
Hancock hesitated, and then nodded.
"It's against my better judgment sir," he said, and Jim was startled by that one word-"sir." Few whites had ever called him that before.
"Keep your men well organized. Detail off reliable ones to do the tasks you've suggested. The rest of you I want back behind the canal when the shooting really starts."
"Yes, sir," Jim replied with a smile.
"It won't be long now," Hancock said, and he motioned to the north.
In the distance there was a muffled thump, followed seconds later by a crackling sound.
"They're coming up," Hancock said.
He turned away and Jim walked back out of the fort, mounted his old swaybacked horse, and rode back to his own "headquarters." His assistants were gathered round, waiting anxiously.
"We staying?" one of them asked.
Jim nodded.
There were exuberant shouts and Jim held up his hands for silence.
'This will be no picnic," he shouted, and all fell silent.
"A lot of men are going to be dying soon. A lot of men are dying for us. Some of us are going to join them in the dying."
He thought of his own son, his grandson, but forced that thought aside. I can't dwell on that now, he realized.
"We have to get organized to do our part. Here are your assignments."
He detailed men to find and assign drivers, hospital workers, cooks to bring up hot food to the troops. He then fell silent for a moment.
"And the rest of the men?" someone asked.
"Behind the canal embankment. Every man with a shovel, axe, or pick. They'll know what to do if the rebels break through."
In Front of Hauling Ferry 4:30 P.M.
Robert E. Lee pushed forward, watching as his men to either flank deployed out into line of battle. Phil Duvall, former captain, now colonel, rode up to his side.
"Sir, the news I've got isn't good," he announced as he came up to Lee's side. "Go on, Colonel."
"They extended their fortifications during the night. Nearly a mile now farther south than what they had yesterday."
"It was to be expected, Colonel."
"Sir, I must warn you, the fortifications ahead, it's like a week or more of work done in just a day. I don't see how they did it."
"Their numbers?"
"I counted six regimental flags, sir, maybe three or four thousand, and a lot of colored." "What?"
"Workers, they're still digging." "That explains the fortifications." "What I thought, too, sir."
Phil hesitated. Two weeks ago he was just a lowly captain on outpost picket at Carlisle, now he was leading the forward edge of a desperate attempt to seize this river crossing. But he had to speak out "Sir, assaulting this position looks like desperate work to me. Give me to tonight, sir, and I'll find some flanking lanes that can put us down between here and Edwards Ferry."
Lee shook his head but smiled at the offer of this young officer.
"In other times and places, perhaps, Colonel. But would those roads be wide enough for our pontoon bridges? I doubt it. We crossed this ground last year, and I know it well. We'd have to march ten miles south to Poolesville then back west again to the next crossing down. In the meantime they have the canal to move their troops and laborers.
"No, Colonel, we must strike them right here. We go forward, seize the ferry. The river will act as a shield to our right flank and then we put our bridge across. We must do this now, tonight."
Phil sighed and nodded.
"Sir, let me show you a good vantage point."
Lee followed the colonel as he trotted down the muddy road. Troops ahead were falling out, forming up into lines of battle. Three batteries of guns, still limbered, waited in the middle of the road under a canopy of trees dripping moisture.
He turned and rode off, following Duvall up the slope to where he reined in.
The battlements were before him, half a mile away, skirmishers out, already firing from long distance, a scattering of shots from the fortress line coming back.
If this was an open-field fight, he thought, I'd have the crossing in half an hour. I have more than ten thousand of my best with me; they can't have more than three to four thousand here. One solid charge would have swept them aside.
Now, at best, with all those entrenchments and heavy artillery, it's an even chance.
He took a deep breath.
"Order the artillery forward," he said.
The order was passed and a few minutes later a cheer went up from the road, the batteries racing forward, reaching the crest. They did so with their usual elan and precision, turning at right angles at the full gallop, mud and dirt spraying up, two batteries to the south of the road, one to the north. Even before the last gun had appeared three shots ranged out from the bastion line, thirty-pound shells winging in, well aimed, most likely already practiced, one of the shells blowing directly over a double limber wagon, the two caissons of ammunition exploding in a fireball.