Laughing, he rode on. In the early light the road ahead was barely visible. To his right he could see the mill dam, some shadowy figures down by it running about. And then just a climbing road, no one on it, him in the lead.

He burst out laughing, filled with joy. Riding at a full gallop, he pressed on, the road twisting and weaving, his staff and the mounted first regiment of Virginia boys behind him, struggling to keep up, all the boys hooting and hollering.

After a mile his mount began to slow and he eased back slightly, staff catching up.

"Damn it all, sir. You're gonna get killed someday doing that," one of them shouted as he pushed past Jeb to lead the charge.

"Damned if you'll lead it, Captain!" Jeb shouted, and now it was a race between the two.

They pressed up the road, neck to neck, both horses stretched out, pounding hard. The exuberance of the moment was overwhelming. Behind him were four divisions of infantry, two full battalions of guns, and his own brigade. Near on to thirty thousand men. They had the Yankee flank wide open; it was going to be one hell of a day.

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna 5:30 A.M.

General Grant, sir, I think you better get up." It was Ely Parker inside his tent. "What is it?" Grant asked, opening his eyes. "Sir, it looks like Lee is flanking us." Grant sat up with a start while Ely adjusted the mantle on the coal oil lamp on the desk, the inside of the tent brightening, Grant squinting for a moment, inwardly groaning, for the light was like a bolt shot into his brain. The damn headache was still with him.

"Sir, a rather frightened lieutenant is outside. He's part of an Illinois regiment, Ord's Corps. They were assigned to picket our right flank."

"Coffee," Grant whispered.

Ely already had a cup, not too hot, so he was able to gulp it down. He stood up, still in his stocking feet, pulling up his suspenders over his shoulders, not bothering to put on his jacket, and stepped out.

His staff was up, milling about, some gathered round the lieutenant who was on a lathered horse. Several of the enlisted men, old vets, were simply sitting by a campfire, frying up salt pork as if this were just the start of another day. One of them tried to catch Grant's eyes, as if to inquire whether he would care for some.

Dawn was approaching. The sky overhead was gray, the east glowing brighter, but the approaching sun would be concealed. The air was still, but smoke from fires rose up a couple of hundred feet then flattened out to form a haze over the entire area. On the opposite bank, nothing stirred, the smoke of campfires concealing the hills.

Grant walked up to the lieutenant, who was breathing hard.

"What's your report?" Grant asked sharply.

"Sir. My company was detailed down south, to Buckeystown ford to guard it. About an hour ago, reb cavalry stormed it."

"Did you see anything else? Infantry, artillery? What was their strength?"

"No, sir. Figured I should report in."

"Who's in command down there?"

"Sir, we were just a company, a few more companies stationed back at Buckeystown above the ford. The rebs, they just came out of nowhere, shooting, hollering, killing everyone. I thought I should get back here to report. I seen Jeb Stuart myself leading the charge."

"How did you know it was him? An hour ago it was near total darkness."

"I knew it was him. He had on that funny hat and was out front, sir. I know it was him."

"Did anyone send you?"

"No, sir, came on my own."

Grant looked at him. The boy was obviously frightened and had experienced a hard ride, his mount blown.

Grant said nothing and turned away, Ely following him.

"Boy's in a panic," Grant said. "Could just be a raid?" Ely offered. "Or more," Grant replied.

He had long ago memorized the maps and knew every detail.

"About six miles down to there. One of several things. It just might be a raid, perhaps to secure the road south, make us nervous. Second, it might really be Jeb, though I won't take that boy's word for it. Third…"

He paused and looked back to the east, where all was still.

"Lee is flanking us."

He whispered the last words, but with so many at headquarters, several overheard, and within seconds the entire headquarters area was buzzing.

Angrily, Grant turned.

"Silence!"

All the men turned toward him, some coming to rigid attention.

He gazed at his staff, ice glittering from his eyes.

"No panic, no running about like chickens with your heads cut off. We know Lee is a good foe, better than Pemberton or old Joe Johnston. If he's flanked us, he's flanked us. But that also means he is where I want him, out in the open. Now go about your business. And not a word to anyone outside of this headquarters. If but one of you starts spreading a panic, by heavens I'll have you court-martialed."

He was a bit embarrassed by the outburst but knew it had to be done. In spite of their confidence, the boasting of so many of his men about what would happen, how they would show Easterners how men from the West could tame Lee, he knew that down deep for many that was a lot of bluster. Lee was indeed a legend. Lee was famous for the surprise flank march, and now he was testing Grant with one.

Inwardly, he cursed himself for a moment. He should have detached a brigade to the ford, but he wanted every man available into this fight.

Too late now to change that. I have to find out more.

Directly to his front a scattering of distant rifle fire began to open up,-and within minutes started to build. This time it was Lee who had opened the day's match. Up and down the length of the creek his men began to blaze away. His own boys, many of whom but minutes before were out behind their trenches, cooking breakfast or relieving themselves, dashed back into the trenches and began to return fire, the volume building.

Henry Hunt began to open up, this time engaging in a measured and very long distance duel with Confederate guns in the center of their position.

Was this a mask in itself? Grant wondered. Of course Lee would open up, threaten perhaps a local attack to keep me focused as long as possible on this place.

"Ely, get a couple of men, our best mounts. Men with good eyes and brains who won't get carried away or exaggerate. Send them down toward Buckeystown to scout things out, then have them report back here."

Ely nodded.

"Sir, any other orders."

Grant looked back to the east.

I will not dance to his tune, he thought. Not based on the report of one frightened lieutenant. Besides, if he is flanking me, it'll be several hours before he really hits.

"No," Grant said. "Everyone is to stay in place until I say different."

He turned and walked over to the fire where the enlisted cook looked up and grinned, offering up a plate of fried salt pork, mixed in with crumbs of smashed-up hardtack.

Stoically, Grant tried to eat the meal, if only to set an example, but knew that within minutes he would be down by the latrine, bringing it up again, his head still throbbing.

Buckeystown 6:00 A.M.

Come on boys, move it, keep it moving!" General Beauregard was at the crossroads leading up from the ford that intersected the road that headed up to Frederick.

Regiment after regiment marched by at the quick step. Some were beginning to flag after the sharp two-mile climb up from the river bottom. They'd been up all night but there was definitely a fire in their eyes, more than one shouting good-natured gibes to their general as they flowed past.

These were tough men and he was proud of them. Men who had defended Charleston for over a year in boiling heat, clouds of mosquitoes day and night, many ridden with ague and living on bad rations.

Up here in the North they had lived off the fat of a rich land, had seen victory against the vaunted Army of the Potomac at Union Mills, having delivered the crucial flanking blow, and it looked like they were about to do it again.