The first courier into the stream went down, a shell detonating directly over him. Another dashed off, young lieutenants looking for glory were always thus, hoping a general would notice them. He barely made it to the other side, shouting to a regimental commander, and then he, too, pitched out of his saddle.

Within seconds the Ohio regiments on the other side broke and fell back across the stream. The supporting brigade, the men obviously not at all upset about the order to pull back, reversed and started to double-time back up the open slope.

As the last of the Ohio and Indiana regiments came up out of the river bottom, picking up wounded as they retreated, the rebel artillery ceased fire, a taunting cheer rising up from the other side.

"Some demonstration," Ord hissed, as he looked at the hundreds of dead and wounded piled along the riverbank or floating downstream. "I certainly hope Grant is right and this brings about an effect worthy of the lives of these young men.

"Tomorrow, you bastards," he shouted defiantly, and, turning, he retreated with his men.

Baltimore 5:30 P.M.

The last train of the artillery reserve rolled out of the Baltimore depot twenty-four hours behind schedule. Cruickshank wiped the sweat from his brow and looked over at McDougal, who had, pulled out a bottle and was taking a "wee nip," something he tended to do at least twice an hour.

"Useless now to try and move Beauregard," Cruickshank said, "but there're the supplies, hundreds of tons of it. Rations, additional ammunition, evacuation back of the wounded, replacement horses and mules."

"And not a locomotive to be seen," McDougal said with a shrug.

"They'll be back tonight." There was almost a pleading note in Cruickshank's weary voice.

"A few perhaps, but you seem to have forgotten something, General."

"And that is?"

"Wood and coal."

"What do you mean?"

"You have over a hundred locomotives up the line and all snarled together. Their boilers have most likely been cooking away all day. They're short of wood and coal."

"I thought the order was given to send the necessary supplies for them up the line."

"Never got out, what with you rushing about, countermanding orders, then countermandering them again."

"Damn it, you should have kept me informed."

"I did, twice today, don't you remember? But you kept saying, 'Get the guns, up, McDougal, get the guns up.'"

He glared at the man, honestly not sure whether he was telling the truth or not. After two days with barely any sleep it was hard to tell anymore what was said just ten minutes ago.

"I'd say two thousand tons should do the trick," McDougal announced, fingers out as if calculating on them. 'That'll be ten of our heavier trains, but we seem short of hopper cars."

"Where the hell are they?"

"A fair number of Robertson's boys rode up on them, General, sir. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't, damn you," Cruickshank hissed, turning his back on McDougal.

What a simple, stupid, and yet all-too-obvious concern. When he drove supply wagons in Texas before the war, hauling along extra water and grain was a given. If the trains had simply gone up and off-loaded, then come straight back, he would not have a problem now, but many had been stranded up there for over a day, and their crews had undoubtedly kept the boilers lit and steam up.

Of course they'd be running short of fuel by now.

"What is stored along the line?" Cruickshank asked, not looking back.

"What do you mean 'stored'?" McDougal replied. "Fuel, damn it."

"Wood ricks at the stations usually have a couple of cords that local farmers bring in. Coal for some of our newer engines, a few tons at each station. But you got more than a hundred locomotives up there, General, and they're all hungry and thirsty."

McDougal's tone was flat, showing he had enough sense not to rub the general's face in the problem. He knew he could take him on in a good knockdown, and if there had been the slightest hint in his voice, there would have been a fistfight, or better yet knives or pistols, one that had been building for days.

"How many locomotives still in the yard?" 'Three, and all of them are old wheezers."

"Load one of them up with wood and get it up at least to the tunnel and the changeover to a single track."

"Won't haul more than a hundred cord or so."

"I don't care. Just get something up there."

Cruickshank turned to one of his dwindling staff. He had been sending them out on assignments all day and none had yet returned.

"Get a message up to General Lee. Write something down and I'll sign it. Tell him about our fuel problem, and also what you see along the line."

The captain, one of his old drivers, sat down on a barrel and laboriously began to write out the dispatch.

The yard was strangely quiet after the mad bustle of moving out two divisions of infantry and over two hundred artillery pieces. Men who worked for the Baltimore and Ohio were sitting about in the shade, eating their evening meals, laughing and smoking, and somehow he felt that many were looking at him and secretly grinning.

If only Garrett had been cornered into a contract or, better yet, this army had had a trained railroad detachment the way the Yankees did. There were just too many details-and then he inwardly cursed himself, knowing he was trying to justify his own failings.

McDougal was off, shouting for some of his men to warm up one of the three remaining engines, several of them laughing when McDougal called out the number.

"I could pull more with me own hands," a derisive reply came back.

"Just do it, damn ya," McDougal shouted.

The staffer finished writing out the dispatch, Cruickshank cringing a bit as he read it, with all its misspellings, but the content was correct and he signed it.

Cruickshank walked over to McDougal's side.

"Not much to do here, General, until the engines start coming back. If they come back. Why don't you go sleep."

"I think I should stay," Cruickshank replied.

"Don't trust me?"

"No, I don't."

"General, darlin', would any of my lads be so stupid as to get themselves shot now? You have guards all over this place watching their every move. Go back to the company office and get some sleep."

Cruickshank reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"One question first," Cruickshank said.

"And what might that be, General, and if you are asking me if I am sabotaging your plans, of course, the answer is no."

"No, it's about one particular train."

"Which one?"

"This morning, the one for Miss Hoffman. Even though it was pulling troops, you had an extra car on it within minutes, had a good crew on board. It left here without a hitch except for the traffic farther up the line."

McDougal fell silent. After another sip from his bottle he handed it to Cruickshank.

"Wouldn't you have done the same?"

Cruickshank finished the bottle and threw the empty on the tracks, the glass shattering.

He looked at McDougal, nodded, and then went off to find a place to sleep.

Hauling Ferry on the Potomac River Twenty Miles South of Frederick