The Last Full Measure

by Jack Campbell

  “What can you give me to get that far?” Hancock asked.

  “I am going to be under a lot of pressure from those federal columns searching for Lincoln and seeking revenge for our raid on Fort Monroe. We stuck a stick into a hornet’s nest there. That’s fine. It couldn’t be helped.”

  Hancock was studying the map. “Hell. You can’t give me enough cavalry to get through, can you?”

  “No. I’ll give you a company’s worth. One hundred men. Captain Buford will join us here tonight and will be in command of your cavalry.”

  That brought a grin to Hancock’s face. “I couldn’t ask for a better damned cavalryman. How much leg infantry?”

  “Two hundred fifty. That’s more than I can spare, but infantry won’t do me much good evading federal hunters around here and I don’t think I will be able to manage any stand up fights.” Mosby straightened, his eyes still on the map. “And six wagons. At the pace you will have to maintain some will break down on the way, so I’m giving you more than you need.”

  “In the final throw, we’re just going to need one,” Armistead commented. “One to carry Lincoln.”

  Mosby looked at Armistead. “We? You wish to go with Hancock? He will also have Longstreet and Buford, of course.”

  “If he will have me.”

  Hancock laughed. “I wouldn’t go to the dance without you, Lo.”

  Chamberlain stood up. “Major Hancock—”

  “Colonel,” Hancock corrected, indicating his rank insignia. “The Army of the New Republic needs more colonels, and everyone seemed to think I qualified. Damned if I know why.”

  “The rest of us know,” Longstreet mumbled. “You’re a good soldier, Win.”

  “Colonel Hancock,” Chamberlain began again. “May I accompany your force as well?”

  “Volunteering again, professor?” Hancock smiled derisively. “The old soldiers here will tell you that’s a damned dangerous habit.”

  “But will you have me, sir? I can follow orders.”

  “Stop toying with him, Win,” Armistead said. “Colonel Mosby said Chamberlain did a creditable job during the raid on Fortress Monroe.”

  “That he did! Facing down Bobbie Lee in full wrath is the act of a damned brave man or a damned fool!” Hancock looked to Mosby. “Can you spare the professor, colonel?”

  Mosby nodded. “Make what use you can of him, sir. He displayed a level head and cool courage during the raid. I commend his abilities to you, Colonel Hancock.”

  Hancock raised his eyebrows. “Professor, you have just received high praise. If Lo and Colonel Mosby vouch for you, I’ll be happy to have you along. I hope you enjoy walking. There’s going to be a lot of it.”

  Fortunately for the column under Hancock’s command, Mosby’s assessment had proven accurate. Marching as quickly as they could while burdened with wagons and wounded, the volunteers of the Army of the New Republic brushed aside a series of relatively weak roadblocks. In only one case did they have to fight their way through a checkpoint. At all others the outnumbered federals were easily put to flight or overwhelmed by sudden attacks in the dead of the night. Hancock’s forces moved steadily through Virginia and up through Maryland, actually tending east of north at times to stay on the good roads. They had made it into areas less heavily-wooded, with more farms and orchards filling the rolling landscape, as well as towns and villages with homes built of brick, stone or wood lining the road. The area felt quiet, peaceful, the marching column of soldiers and their wagons an alien presence among the farms and other gentle pursuits of this region.

  Chamberlain would have been cheered by the success thus far but for two things; the ever grimmer expressions on the professional soldiers which told him they did not expect the good fortune to last, and the pain in his feet and legs from long marches each day with as few rest breaks as possible. Even the mounted soldiers were drooping with weariness as they alternated riding and leading their horses in order to avoid wearing out their mounts. Chamberlain, still wearing the officer’s cavalry hat given him for the raid on Fortress Monroe, was grateful for its protection when the sun beat down on the marching volunteers. He was less grateful as the miles wore on for the weight of the revolver hanging from his belt, not only because of its physical burden but because it served as a constant reminder that he might soon be forced to fire that weapon at other men.

  One of the things that kept Chamberlain going was the fact that when Armistead wasn’t riding or walking with his old friend Hancock, he usually walked beside Chamberlain, the older man showing an endurance that the college professor envied. They spoke of many things as the days passed, including the message which Lee had given Chamberlain at Fort Monroe. “He meant it sincerely,” Armistead sighed, “but Bobbie Lee has blinded himself to what he serves. He feels duty and honor leave him no option, and so he does what he must.”

  “I tried to reason with him.”

  “I don’t expect he listened. Such a decision is a deeply personal thing. And, of course, Colonel Lee is a wealthy landowner, his estates just south of Washington. To choose to join us would be to choose to turn his back on all he owns.”

  “Including his negro slaves,” Chamberlain said.

  “There is that, and fear of what those slaves might do if freed. It’s like holding a tiger by the tail. They feel they must hold the slaves in check for fear of the consequences of letting go.”

  “And yet this tiger is of their own making, and endures to this day by their own choice.”

  Armistead shook his head. “I will not argue the virtues of slavery. Certainly those who were willing to hold the negroes in bondage all too easily proved willing to hold the country in bondage as well. But if eliminating this thing were easily done, surely it would have been done before this by those greater than us. Now we must face it, because those who hold the slaves also would hold us. Deciding what to do is a personal Rubicon we all must come to, Professor Chamberlain. Some of us will have great difficulty deciding whether or not to cross, others will find the decision an easy one.”

  “It’s an apt metaphor.” Chamberlain looked out over the countryside, green fields, orchards, a fine land and people at least technically at peace until now. “Are you sorry you crossed the Rubicon, Captain Armistead?”

  He shook his head again. “I deeply regret the necessity, but I am content I chose this path, though it pains me to think of the former comrades I may now face in battle, and of those who will call me traitor to my home and my people. Colonel Lee offered me another road. I chose not to pursue his offer, though sometimes I think my decision wavered on a sword’s edge, and could have fallen the other way, so that I would have had to dread facing Win Hancock in battle.”

  “Could you have done that? I’ve known the two of you but a short time, and yet even I can see how close you are to each other.”

  “If things had been different…” Armistead’s voice trailed off and he walked silently alongside Chamberlain for a long time.

  Chamberlain also looked in on Lincoln at times, worried by the suffering evident on the man whose person and words would mean so much. Weak from his wound, the lawyer from Illinois spent much of each day barely conscious as he lay upon blankets in the bed of a wagon, shielded from the direct rays of the sun by the wagon’s cover. On one occasion, when Lincoln had been awakened to drink water drawn from a well the column had stopped at, the homely man gazed intently at Chamberlain. “Professor Chamberlain, why are you here?”

  Chamberlain was not accustomed to being lost for words, but now he fumbled for an answer. “It is on my way home.”

  “Surely there are many paths to your home which do not involve the implements of war,” Lincoln observed.

  “There are,” Chamberlain agreed. “But I must do something for liberty, for the safety and freedom of others. I cannot think only of what is best for me.”

  A weak smile showed on Lincoln’s gaunt face. “Do you know why I hate slavery so, Professor Chamberlain? It is not only the terrible s
uffering it causes those who are slaves, not only the harm it does our Republic, but also because I have seen how it affects those who are not slaves. How it causes the real friends of freedom in the world to doubt our sincerity, and especially because it forces so many really good men amongst ourselves into an open war with the very fundamental principles of civil liberty, insisting there is no right principle of action but self-interest.”

  Chamberlain shook his head, preparing to step down from the wagon where Lincoln lay as the column prepared to begin marching once more. “I cannot accept injustice done to others any more than I can accept it done to myself.”

  “In that simple proposition rests the hope for the future of all mankind,” Lincoln said in a weak voice as Chamberlain dropped back onto the dusty road and slogged wearily in the wake of the wagon.

  They finally entered Pennsylvania. The next day, as the column marched north along a route known as the Taneytown road, minor heights rose on their left, thickly wooded hills merging into a long ridge which paralleled the road. Up ahead, Chamberlain could see where the ridge once again became a series of hills whose slopes merged, the hills bending to the east to run perpendicular to the Taneytown road as it reached them and then on a small distance more before ending in a wide gap before some more heights rose farther to the east. As he studied the hills ahead, Chamberlain realized that another substantial road approached those same heights from his right, coming in at an angle from the southeast until it climbed the hills not far to the right of the Taneytown road.

  Captain Buford came riding by and Chamberlain hailed him. “Captain, do you know what that road is?”

  Buford looked to the right and nodded. “The Baltimore Pike, sir. If any federal forces are moving against us they may well be coming up that road. We’re not that far from Baltimore and its regular army garrison. My scouts have seen no sign of any regulars as of yet, but this isn’t the west where you can see to the horizon in every direction.”

  “I heard that you’d been in the west.”

  “Yes.” Buford’s eyes went distant with memories. “Campaigning against the plains Indians as well as the Texicans. There’s some tough foes for you. They taught me a few lessons. Between them and Colonel Mosby I’ve picked up some new ways of fighting of which the regular army would never approve.” He nodded ahead. “There’s a town just over those heights. We may get news there, and Colonel Hancock means to give the men and horses a respite.”

  It was not yet noon when they reached the hill lying across the road. On the right near the bottom of the hill a farmhouse sat silent, worried faces peering from its windows as the volunteers went by. The slope up the side of the hill was gentle but long, the weary men of the column struggling to reach the crest. When they finally reached the top, Colonel Hancock held up his hand. “Column halt! Captain Buford, please send some of your mounted men into town to buy us some provisions and to see what the townsfolk can tell us. Everyone else fall out and get some rest.”

  The volunteers flopped down, exhausted, some laying wherever they had stopped and others making their way to the shade of a cluster of trees on the west side of the road. Despite his own tiredness, Chamberlain walked a few more steps to survey the landscape.

  On the other side of the hill, buildings clustered about a quarter of a mile to the north around the area where the Taneytown road, the Baltimore Pike, and a third road coming up from the southwest joined or ran close together into the town. From the height, Chamberlain could see at least a half dozen more roads branching out from the town toward the north, east, west and cardinal directions in between, as well as a rail line running into the town from the east and unfinished work on the same line continuing to the west.

  Continuing his survey, Chamberlain saw a series of ridges running away to the northwest like great serried swells on the surface of a green and rocky sea. The land appeared to be fairly flat and open to the northeast. Where he stood the Taneytown road passed between a cluster of trees on the west and an open field to the east with just a few trees dotting it. Perhaps a quarter-mile to the east where the Baltimore Pike also crested the hill Chamberlain could see a tall brick structure with a center opening shaped like an arch. Clustered near the side of the brick building facing Chamberlain were the shapes of tombstones and memorials. He couldn’t help wondering if the presence of a cemetery on the hill was an omen.

  Turning all the way around, he stared southeast to where the Baltimore Pike disappeared between forested heights a few miles distant.

  Captain Longstreet, his expression somber, came up beside Chamberlain. “Good ground,” Longstreet observed. “If a man had to fight a battle, there would be many worse places to defend than this.”

  “You wouldn’t want to attack here?” Chamberlain asked.

  “No, sir, I would not. Good high ground to entrench your troops and artillery and observe the enemy’s movement, a series of ridges defenders could fall back upon, and good clear fields of fire.” Longstreet shook his head. “But soldiers are rarely allowed to chose their battlefields. A man fights where he must, and when he must.” Longstreet bent a searching gaze on Chamberlain. “Do you know when you will fight, sir?”

  “When I must, I suppose.”

  “Will you stand your ground then? Or seek safety?”

  Chamberlain gazed into the distance. “I hope I stand with my friends, captain. I hope I stand with those things I believe in. Does any man know the answer for certain before he faces that situation?”

  “No.” Longstreet blew out a long breath. “I was wounded at Chapultepec, professor, standing with my friends. I have served my country loyally and well.”

  “You are still serving it well, if my opinion matters, captain.”

  “Opinions will vary, professor.” Longstreet looked around again. “Good ground.” Then he walked heavily away, leaving Chamberlain still staring down the Baltimore Pike.

  They had been resting for only perhaps half an hour and Buford’s men had just delivered provisions acquired in the town when a scout rode over to the officers, rendering a swift and sloppy salute. “There’s a rider coming up the pike from Baltimore. He’s in a hurry.”

  Hancock came to stand beside Armistead and Chamberlain, watching the approaching rider with concerned eyes. “One of ours?” he asked Buford.

  “He’s in regular army uniform,” Buford reported, lowering his field glasses. “A courier, maybe. We’ll stop him.” He beckoned to several of his soldiers, who mounted up and rode down to meet the horseman.

  They could see the lone horseman ride steadily to meet Buford’s men, join up with them, and after a brief talk the entire group came up the road.

  The rider’s horse was covered with foam, its tongue lolling out as the rider dismounted with a stagger. “Captain Buford, is he here?”

  “Here, soldier.”

  The man saw Buford and even through the dust and sweat coating his face the others could see it brighten. He straightened to attention and saluted. “I served under you, sir, out west.”

  Buford eyed him, then smiled and nodded. “Corporal Jenkins.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal’s own smile vanished as quickly as it had come. “I have deserted from my unit, sir.”

  “So have we all,” Buford replied.

  The soldier grinned with relief. “I wish to join you. I have important news.”

  “Very well, corporal. You are welcome. Make your report.”

  The familiar ritual seemed to steady the exhausted soldier, who stood without wavering and recited his information clearly. “Sir, there is a force under Colonel Lee in pursuit of you. My company was attached to the Baltimore garrison, but more cavalry and infantry along with Colonel Lee came up the Chesapeake by ship a couple of days ago and we all headed out. The column is proceeding up the Baltimore Pike and consists of a regiment of infantry and two companies of cavalry. I left it about ten miles back when I had a chance to get off unseen as they stopped to rest in a town. They know this town here is wh
ere many roads converge. They’re pushing on fast and hoped to get here before you did, so as to cut you off.”

  “Ten miles.” Hancock spat out a lurid curse. “Too damned close.”

  “Who’s in command of the cavalry?” Buford asked.

  “Captain Stuart, sir.”

  “Stuart? J.E.B. Stuart?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Buford nodded heavily, then looked toward Hancock. “I know how to handle Stuart.”

  “Do you? He’s a good cavalryman, I’ve heard.”

  “Good enough,” Buford conceded. “Very good. But he’s also predictable in some ways. He wants to be seen by everyone as the best. As a cavalryman, he believes in great charges, fighting saber to saber from the saddle. He’s good at that, so we don’t want to fight his battle.” Buford studied the terrain, his eyes narrowing. “Will we try to delay them?”

  “We have to,” Hancock replied. “The question is where.”

  “Here,” Longstreet stated bluntly. “It’s as strong a position as you’ll find, and the men and horses need time to rest before a fight. If you push on now Stuart’s cavalry may catch our entire force with man and beast at the end of their strength.”

  Hancock pursed his mouth, looking downward, then nodded. “We have enough with us to stop Lee here.”

  “If what is with Lee is all that he has,” Buford pointed out. “Corporal, do you know whether or not any other regular columns are converging on this area?”

  The cavalry corporal shook his head, looking regretful. “No, sir. I don’t know if there’s more units in the area or where they’re going.”