"I sure as hell hope so. And I'll just sit tight right here. Been in five battles, reb, wounded once. I've seen the elephant enough."

"Same here," Snyder said. "You sit on one side, and I'll sit on the other. I got about fifty men with me, and we were told just to sit tight but spread the word if something was up."

"About the same for us here. Reb, tell your boys we won't shoot if they won't, and let's outlive this one."

"Agreed. Come dawn we'll do some more tradin'."

Again there was the shaking of hands.

"Yeah, guess you're right, reb. Just wish the hell it was over with. Not married yet. My girl Lucy said she'd wait. Sure would love to have a baby with her the way you did with yours."

"Better yet helping her to make one," Snyder said, and they both chuckled.

"Well, I better get back," the Yank said. "My captain can be a stickler. Take care, reb."

"You, too, Yank."

"Go ahead and make your fire now, but keep it back a couple of hundred yards. Like I said, the captain is a stickler, he'd tell us to shoot at you, and frankly, that's murder to me, especially when I know a fella's name."

They shook hands, parted, and the scout waded back to shore and walked past Jeb as if he didn't exist. Jeb waited a few minutes, crawled back, and then joined Snyder.

Snyder was silent, looking over at him.

"You hear it?" Snyder asked.

"Every word. Good work."

"Damn, sir, I hated it."

"Why?"

"Lying to him like that. He was for fair play, same as me. I hated to do it."

"Duty, son," Jeb said softly, patting him on the shoulder. "We pull this day off and you can say you led the patrol that led to the march that won the war."

Jeb walked back to his horse, mounted up, and started back up the road. Just around the bend and out of sight of the creek lanterns were set every couple of hundred feet by the side of the road. The head of Beauregard's column was coming down.

Beauregard was at the fore.

Jeb rode up, and the two saluted each other.

"The way ahead is clear, General. Not more than a company garrisoning the ford. You have clear ground just around this bend, then two hundred yards to the ford. I would not suggest forming a battle line. When ready, just have your men come on at the double, hit the water, and get across. I really couldn't see the road on the far side, but am assured it leads straight up to Buckeystown and the plateau."

"Thank you, General Stuart."

Beauregard took out his pocket watch and Jeb struck a match. It was three in the morning.

"An hour and fifteen minutes to first twilight," Beauregard said. "My Second Division is two miles behind this one. That should give them time to come up. We'll start the assault at four."

"I'll take the lead if you don't mind," Jeb said. "My boys can be up to Buckeystown in fifteen minutes and then hold it if there's any additional Yankees up there."

"Sounds fine with me, General."

The two shook hands.

Beauregard passed the word back for his column to halt marching, the men to ground arms and sit down in place. No fires, no talking. The men were more than happy to comply, most, at least those with strong nerves, asleep in minutes.

Near McCausland's Ford 3:45 A.M.

Keep moving but keep it quiet, damn it," Sergeant Bartlett hissed, The column of his regiment moved silently across the open fields, the lead in a formation that stretched back nearly a mile. Shortly after midnight Phil Sheridan himself had come into their camp. There was a hurried officers' meeting and minutes later word was passed, without drum-rolls or bugles, for the men to fall in, leaving packs behind. As each regiment formed, men were handed an additional forty rounds of ammunition and then told to form in column by company front.

Company A was in the lead, in fact, in the lead of the entire division as they set off across the fields.

Bartlett, moving at the side of the column, looked back and thrilled at the sight, limited as it was by the darkness. An endless column, moving across fields, through torn-down fencerows, skirting the edge of the artillery batteries whose crews were awake, silently watching them pass. For a half mile or so they tramped along a road, then turned off, heading downslope, and as soon as they were off the road, the going became difficult.

The ground ahead was strewn with dark forms. At first just one or two bodies here or there, and then dozens, and, finally, in one horrid place, scores of corpses in a line. The men started to whisper, some recoiling as their booted foot stepped on the back or the severed limb of a man, and the white officers repeatedly hissed to the men, "Keep quiet, damn you!"

They reached the stream and it was a nightmare. Wounded by the hundreds were still on the ground. Sheridan had ordered the ambulance crews to douse their lights while the division passed, but even in the darkness Sergeant Bartlett could see the work, men being loaded up, crying softly, some screaming.

He braced himself and kept going forward, beginning to chant soothing words to his men. "It's alright, boys, it's alright. Keep your courage boys, keep your courage."

They hit the creek and began to wade across. On the opposite bank there were a few lanterns lit, and by their light be could see dozens of men staggering back, or just collapse along the riverbank.

An officer raced ahead, splashing through the water, and kicked over the lanterns.

"Come on lads, almost there. Come on," the officer hissed.

The column of Third Division, Ninth Corps, crossed over the Monocacy, heading east into the salient, even while, but four miles to the south, four divisions of Confederate troops prepared to strike in the other direction.

Buckeystown Ford 4:50 AM.

Stuart looked around. Minutes ago he could barely discern the clump of trees behind which many of his men waited. Now it was barely beginning to stand out. He remembered at the Point how one of the professors had talked about the old Mohammedan tradition that first light was the moment when one could distinguish a black thread from a white one. That always struck him as foolish. Many a night, if the stars were out, he could tell the difference.

But here, now, at this moment, he knew first light was breaking, in spite of the increasing overcast.

"Let's go," Stuart said, drawing out his heavy LaMat revolver.

Men came out from the trees behind him, already mounted, forming up on the road, most with pistols drawn, a few with sabers. They started to walk down to the Monocacy.

"General, sir?"

It was his scout, Snyder. "Yes?"

"A favor, sir?"

"Be quick about it," Stuart said as he continued to ride forward.

"Sir, that Yank was a fair fellow, and it's stuck in my craw that I lied to him. Please let me give him a warning. Just one minute to get the hell out of the way."

Jeb hesitated but his old sense of chivalry took hold.

"You got a minute."

The scout, still on foot, ran ahead, straight down the road to the creek.

"Hey, Greene. Private Greene!" he shouted.

"Snyder, that you? What are you yelling for? My captain will be god-awful mad!"

"Get out now! We're coming across, a whole bunch of us. Skedaddle! Greene, listen here, get home, marry that girl, and have a dozen babies! Name one after me!"

A pause.

"Thanks, Snyder!"

There was shouting now on the other side, Private Greene running off, and unfortunately spreading the alarm. "Let's go, boys!" Jeb shouted.

He spurred up to a near gallop, pistol raised. Just before hitting the edge of the creek he saw Snyder, who was preparing to mount, the scout offering a salute.

His mount jumped into the creek, spray of water going up, and in seconds he was across.

A few shots whizzed by. No one was hit. Up out of the creek he turned to the right, following the road. It rose up a steep slope and he took it at the gallop. At the mill some men were tumbling out, most half-naked, and as he galloped past he fired a few shots in their direction, the startled Yanks ducking back inside.