"Yes, sir." The boy saluted and tried to urge his mount up to a gallop, but the poor exhausted beast would only give a slow trot as he set off down the road.

Walter looked back at John.

"Emmitsburg, that's off to the south of here, isn't it?" John asked. Walter smiled.

"Just relax, John. It won't affect you for hours. Go back and get some sleep."

Jenson, who was standing behind Walter, turned and, looking back toward the town, stiffened. "Sir, I think that's General Lee approaching."

All turned. John saw Lee, riding alone, coming out of the mist cloaking the road and stopping to take Vincent's report Again, for John, it had a dreamlike quality. The wisps of fog and smoke drifting, the outline of the seminary up on the next hill, light shining from the windows, and beyond, die glow of distant campfires from what must be the Union lines.

Here and there in the surrounding fields, men were standing up, rising like apparitions from out of this place of battle, watching as Lee approached. The world was still, as if the thunder of the previous day must now be paid for with a vow of silence. The only sound was the soft clip-clop of Traveler's hooves.

Walter stepped away from the group as all stiffened to attention. "Sir, I thought you were asleep," Walter said.

"I wanted to check on things and see General Longstreet off."

"We're working on it now, sir. Sir, you really should get a little more rest."

'Time enough later, Walter. Vincent told me the road is open."

"Yes, sir. Scouts are pushing down toward Emmitsburg."

"The way is clear and can't be observed?"

"We were studying that just now, sir," and Walter nodded toward the map still resting against the flank of a horse. "There's some concern about the rocky hill south of Gettysburg." As he spoke Walter drew a line with his finger across the map.

"This ridge here should block that view. That's at Black Horse Tavern, where Hood's division will pass. McLaws is supposed to come down by a different road farther back. As we move through Black Horse, a regiment of skirmishers will deploy along the ridge in front of the tavern to keep back any Yankee cavalry that might come up. With the rain yesterday, dust should be to a minimum."

"Are the men up yet?"

Walter pulled out his watch and opened it, Jenson bringing a lantern over. "It's just about four-thirty, sir? They should be falling in right now."

"Fine, then let's go and see them off."

"Sir, I can attend to that Might I suggest you get some rest sir? I know you haven't had more than two hours' sleep since yesterday morning."

Lee leaned over and put a hand on Walter's shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Walter, but now is not the time for it. The men must see me; they must understand how. important this day is."

Walter said nothing. The staff began to mount and Walter looked back at John. "Not a word. We don't want wild rumors flying around the camp. You know how men out on a picket line will talk with the other side. Orders will come down soon enough."

'I’ll keep it quiet, Walter."

'Take care of yourself, John."

"You too, Walter."

The cavalcade set off, heading west John watched as they disappeared into the mist. Three times now he had seen Lee in the last five days. And thousands had died across those five days.

"A flanking march, that's it" Hazner whispered, picking up the cup that Walter had left half-empty, draining off what was left

"Looks that way."

Hazner looked back to the east "First light" he announced.

It was hard to tell if the glow on the horizon was from the Union campfires or approaching dawn.

"Things have changed." Hazner sighed. ‘I thought we'd push straight in come dawn."

John said nothing, sipping the last of his coffee, chewing on the grinds.

‘I wonder what would have happened if we had. It's not like the old man to break off an action like this," John whispered.

"We'll never know. No sense dwelling on that. It makes a man crazy wondering. Let's just hope it means we stay alive another day and not wind up like those poor bastards in that barn."

"A wonderful thought" John sighed.

"I'm going to get a little sleep, sir," Hazner announced. "You should, too."

"First you wake me up, and now you go to sleep. Thank you."

"Well, my curiosity got satisfied, sir, and now I can rest easy. You heard them talking. Longstreet is off on a flanking march. He'll go slow as he usually does, and that means we can skip getting killed this morning." Without waiting for a reply, Hazner went back to his fire, tossed a few sticks on, and then flopped down on a ground cloth, oblivious to the dead mule that was lying on its back only a few feet away.

If only I could be like him, John thought enviously, to put aside all thought, to sleep next to a dead animal without concern, and awake with a smile, in fact eager for what he calls "the mischief ahead." Whether Longstreet moves slow or not, another fight is still ahead. It's never going to end. It may be mischief for Hazner, for me it's pure terror.

As he rode west Lee's gaze lingered for a moment on an overturned caisson, dead horses collapsed around it One was still alive, forelegs shattered, its lungs working like a bellows. The earth was torn up from the previous day's battle where Pegram had massed over thirty guns to support the assault… dead horses, plowed furrows of dirt from incoming solid shot tearing in, an abandoned limber wagon with shattered wheels. And more dead horses. Poor beasts. The dying horse cried piteously.

"Lieutenant Jenson," Lee sighed, "please put that creature out of its misery."

Jenson angled away from the group, passing through the shattered fence. Lee did not look back as a pistol shot broke the silence.

The regiments that had fought the previous day's battle were camped in the fields to either side of the road, exhausted men, lost in oblivion. Let them rest; it won't be till later in the day that their time will come. A few, unable to sleep, lined the road, watching as he passed… but none spoke. A barn and house to his left were aswarm with activity, hundreds of men lying in the farmyard, around the house, on the porch. Most were silent a few crying; a knot of men were on their knees, hats off, praying over a comrade. Lee took his hat off, holding it to his breast as he rode past

He pressed down the road, moving aside to let a train of ambulances pass, followed by several dozen stretcher bearers, Union prisoners who looked up at him curiously. He nodded and continued on. A cluster of tents, pitched next to the road, was ahead; atop the crest of the next hill, the ridge top poked above the fog like an island in a sea of white moon glow. He rode into the mist flanking the hill, the cool dampness soothing, cloaking him for a moment He entertained a passing fantasy, that he could somehow stay here, let the burden drop away.

I let raw emotion take control The last assault never should have gone in. And I could see it in the eyes of those around me, the staff meeting at the train station in that accursed town. No one would say it, but I know they were thinking it. I pushed Ewell's men forward, and now thousands are gone from the ranks.

When I stand before God, will those who fell be in judgment? How do 1 answer for all the blood upon my hands? John Reynolds died near here, supposedly just beyond the hospital barn, a godly man Reynolds.

Out on the frontier, Texas, he remembered how the natives believed that the spirits of the slain lingered at the place where they had fallen.

Does John now linger here? Is his spirit drifting with this fog? The men, Reynolds's valiant men who so manfully held us throughout yesterday morning and afternoon… was this mist not a mist at all, but rather their souls?

He shivered. Pagan superstition, don't let it haunt you now.