He awoke before dawn to the irresistible scents of bacon and eggs cooking. The humidity and after effects of the fever left him still feeling washed out, but today was not the day to give in to it. He quickly dressed and came downstairs to retrieve his coat from the clothes rack by the door. He would ask Mrs. Donaldson if she would sew on the new shoulder straps and intended to pay her for her work. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he found the coat missing. Then Mr. Donaldson, lean and wiry with a full white beard, came out of the dining room to his left.

"Come to breakfast, Colonel. My missus has cooked up every egg in the danged hen house. And some good lean bacon and biscuits, too," Mr. Donaldson called.

"Thank you, sir," he said and followed the old man into the dining room.

Mrs. Donaldson, a tiny sprite of a woman, came out of the small kitchen with a heaping plate of scrambled eggs. She put them next to a platter of bacon and basket of biscuits in the center of an oak table covered with a red checkered table cloth and set with modest china. On the back of one of the chairs was his coat with the new silver eagles. He stood at the door surprised.

"Well, it's the least I could do, Colonel, you com'in with the army and chasing those Rebels out of Maryland, keep'in them away from our chickens and hogs. You need a good hardy breakfast, too, to get your strength back," She smiled. "Now sit down and help yourself while it's hot. I'll go get the coffee. I'll want to thank your brothers for it again."

He sat and found Mr. Donaldson helping himself to a good portion of the eggs. The old man passed him the plate. "Eat up, Colonel. Your fever's passed. No sense starving yourself." Mrs. Donaldson came in with the coffee, and filled the cups, then sat in her place.

"Thank you," Lawrence said, taking some eggs. He passed the plate to her. They ate in silence, having talked themselves out the night before. There was something somber in the quiet meal. Finally, Mr. Donaldson asked, "Think there's going to be a big battle, Colonel?"

"Yes, I believe so, sir," he said. “Lee is a big threat to Washington and Pennsylvania.”

"Well, you be careful, Colonel. Don't leave your wife a widow, like what happened to our daughter, Emily," Mrs. Donaldson said, looking at him with sad eyes.

"I'll do what I can, but I learned a long time ago to put my life in the hands of Providence," he said. "So far the Lord has kept me from harm in battle." After breakfast, when his brothers failed to arrive, he went out to the barn and saddled the chestnut gelding. As he led the horse out into a misting drizzle, he found the Donaldsons on the porch and walked the horse over to them.

"Wanted to see you off before we continue with our chores," Mr. Donaldson said. "Take care, son."

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said.

"Thank you for the coffee. You'll always be welcome at our house. And you and the boys will be in our prayers," Mrs. Donaldson called.

"Wish I was thirty years younger. I'd come with you myself," Mr. Donaldson said. "I'd help you whip them Rebs."

"Oh, Papa," Mrs. Donaldson said and wrapped her arms around her husband's shoulders in a hug. "Don't be such a foolish old man." He mounted the gelding, smiled and waved at them, then headed on down the lane through the wheatfield toward the road.

"Whip 'em good, Colonel," the old man called after him.

When he reached the road, he turned right and set out at a walk. Checking his pocket watch, he found it was five past seven. He figured the army had a good head start on him and hoped he'd run into his brothers soon. The sky promised more than a drizzle, maybe a deluge any moment. It was too hot and humid to bother with the poncho.

He rode on, looking to the right at the land, marveling at the Donaldson's vast field of wheat. He thought, with envy, how lucky the farmers were in Virginia and Maryland. They had rich, level land. Maine farmland was mostly hills and rocks and it took exhaustive effort to make it yield crops. Flat fields that went on for acres were a luxury back home. He remembered how he and his brothers in their younger years had struggled to clear the family's hilly farm fields of rocks that seemed to reappear like some demon crop every spring, heaved up by the winter frost.

He put the gelding into an easy canter along the firmer ground on the side of the road, trying to make some time, wondering where his brothers were. The army was easy to follow, having left the muddy road full of thousands of overlapping tracks and wheel ruts. After going about three miles, he slowed the gelding to a trot, then a walk as he approached a trampled field with burned out camp fires which told of a recent bivouac. He pushed on at a slow canter, figuring if he kept up a fast pace, he'd soon catch the army. A single man on a horse could travel faster than thousands of men slogging along in the mud. He followed the trampled road, alternating between a slow canter and a walk to rest the horse and himself. After two hours, he started to pass stragglers with sore feet and worn out bodies sitting on the side of the road. Most ignored him as he cantered past, too caught up in their own misery. One flagged him down. He saw the red Maltese cross on the cap. As he drew closer, he recognized the young man as Burk, one of his students who had joined.

"Colonel Chamberlain," Burk called out, looking quite pale. He rode over and reined in the horse by the boy.

"Lord, am I glad to see you're back," he panted.

"What happened to you?" Lawrence asked.

"Ate something that didn't agree with me, sir. Been puking my guts out since before we left at 4:30. Think the worst is over now. Wanted you to know I'll catch up as soon as I can." He held up a slip of paper. "See, Major Spear gave me this permission ticket to keep handy since our company commander, Lieutenant Lewis, is still under arrest from getting back from leave late. You go on, sir. I'll see you later."

"Have you seen Tom or John?"

"Not since early this morning, sir. They were at the head of the regiment with the major. They didn't pass me going the other way on this road. I've been keeping my eyes on the road for Rebel cavalry. Rumor says they're around these parts. Watch yourself, sir," Burk said shouldering his rifle.

"I will. Don't you push yourself too hard. Take a drink of water when your stomach settles." Burk nodded.

Lawrence put the gelding into a slow canter and continued down the road. Early in the afternoon, he rode into Middleburg, Maryland. He found the town bustling with everyday activity and a few soldiers loitering about nursing sore feet or filling canteens at various water pumps by public horse troughs. In a drizzling rain, he reached a swift running creek on the other side of town. The gelding plunged in and splashed across where the army had crossed. He had gone about another five miles when he spotted movement ahead. The rain stopped and with it the gray haze. The movement became soldiers, not stragglers, but soldiers moving with rifles at ready led by a few mounted officers. He had found the rear guard of the Corps. He slowed the gelding.

Coming towards him from far up the line, he noticed a familiar gray horse and knew John was the rider. A mounted officer suddenly rode across John's path and stopped him. John took a crumpled paper out of his jacket and showed it to the officer, looked up in his direction, waved wildly and pointed at him. The officer turned in his saddle and watched him as he approached. Riding closer, he noticed the officer was a captain. The captain saluted. He returned it.

"Sir, I am Captain Talbot of the 9th Massachusetts. This man claims to be your brother. Are you Colonel Chamberlain of the 20th Maine?" Talbot asked.

"Yes, Captain Talbot, I am and this is my brother, John. He is a member of the Christian Commission visiting the regiment to assist our hospital steward. We have no surgeon," he explained.

"Fine, sir. That corresponds to what he just told me. We can't be too careful at this point. There have been signs of enemy cavalry in the area. We don't want any spies getting through."

"Spy? I'm not ..." John protested, but fell silent at a sharp look from him.

"I understand, Captain. I'll take it from here," Lawrence said.

"Yes, sir." Talbot saluted and he returned it. Then, Talbot rode toward the rear guard.

"John, what's going on? I expected you at the farm first thing in the morning." He pulled the gelding next to Prince and the two of them rode on past the rear guard at a slow trot.

"Well, the army had other ideas," John explained. "Meade wants the whole army to pick up the pace and get itself into the lightest possible marching order. The order came to Ellis last night that all commanders are to send away excess wagons, baggage and animals. The damned bugle sounded Reveille before daylight and we were on the road at 4:30. We might encounter the enemy at any moment, Ellis said. Didn't think it was safe for me to wander and didn't want to send Tom with me cause he might need him. Besides, the 20th Maine ended up at the very head of the column on point today."

"Oh."

"It gets better. We got through Middleburg around noon and as soon as we crossed Big Pipe Creek there were signs of Confederate cavalry. Someone saw a dead horse and a lot of tracks. Ellis sent out a company on both sides to act as skirmishers and that slowed the whole column to a crawl. The 44th New York just took over the skirmish line and Ellis figured it was safe to let me go look for you. He wrote me out this permission slip so I wouldn't get picked up as a spy. I've been stopped four times all ready. You'd think that they'd figure out that if a civilian is riding with the army then he belongs there in some capacity."

"John, everyone's worked up at this point so anything can happen. You haven't been in a combat situation so you wouldn't know how crazy things can get with rumors flying and conflicting reports. But, you're with me now and won't be stopped again."

"Well, I'm sure glad you're back. Ellis will be, too. He's still ill and about beat. Most of the boys are about beat. At least a third of the regiment ends up straggling every day."

"That always happens on a hard march, John. It's all new to you, I know."

They fell silent and rode along past the troops. Lawrence noticed the men had all become ragged. Muddy and footsore, some were marching in their stocking feet, while others were barefoot, their shoes hanging on their bayonets or tucked in blanket rolls. Many were so hot and uncomfortable they were marching in their drawers with colorful bandannas tied about their heads or necks to soak up sweat, their uniforms rolled up in blanket rolls. They presented anything but a military appearance marching down the muddy road.

He and John passed regiment after regiment riding toward the head of the column. Then, finally he spotted Company K in the rear of his regiment with the dashing, young Lieutenant James Nichols in command. Nichols must have heard their horses approaching for he suddenly turned to look back at them. Recognition showed on his face and as they passed, he yelled, "Colonel Chamberlain's back!"

They rode toward the color guard at the front of the column where Tom and Ellis were riding along slowly, almost in a daze. The regiment began to perk up. Cheering and whistles followed them. Ellis turned in his saddle, then Tom. Both officers' faces brightened.

"God, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Ellis burst out. "I was afraid we were going into a major fight without you."

"You look a lot better, Colonel," Tom added. "How you feel'in?"

"I'll make it," he said and smiled. He noticed Ellis still looked pale. "How are you doing, Ellis?"

"Tolerable ... barely. But, I'll make it, too." He forced a smile. "We've got to make up for that slacker, Gilmore." Lawrence looked back at the regiment, finding it considerably smaller than he had left it. "Looks like we lost quite a few to straggling."

"It's the damned weather and forced marching," Ellis grumbled. "If the dust and heat doesn't get you, the humidity and rain does."

"Ain't that the truth," Tom added.

"Well, you're back and that's what counts," Ellis said. "Takes the pressure off me."

"You did fine, Ellis. You did fine," he said. They fell silent, watching the New York skirmishers out ahead in the lengthening shadows. A town appeared on the road ahead, Union Mills by the sign. He looked at his pocket watch. It was 6 o'clock. As they approached the town, the civilians came out of their shops and homes waving and cheering. A man in oversized clothes shouted, "The rebel cavalry went through here not seven hours ago. Took everything they could carry."

He saw people on the roadside selling food at reasonable prices. A woman, who had to be seventy years old, approached him from the side of the road, struggling over uneven ground with her cane. He pulled the gelding to a stop.

"Got to tell you," she called. "They got cavalry, sir. They got cavalry and two artilleries and are right smart of men with guns!"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for the information. We'll find them," he said, touching the visor of his cap. "You just be careful now and don't come out on this muddy road. We'll see to them."

She nodded, smiled and waved at him, carefully picking her way back to firmer ground. The brigade bivouacked outside of Union Mills in a large, fallow field in the deepening twilight. As the troops settled in, he began to hear artillery firing off toward the north beyond the Maryland border. He abruptly came to the full realization that Lee had truly moved his invasion all the way into northern territory and the men would soon be fighting the first major battle on their own soil.

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree and drinking some coffee, he stared out into the dark trees at the edge of the field, watching fireflies. There seemed to be something hanging in the air besides humidity; a heavy tension of an unknown future, a future that would be cut short by a bullet for many he now watched moving in the twilight around him if they saw action this time. The responsibility represented by the silver eagles on his shoulder straps suddenly weighed heavier than ever on his mind. The same worry that plagued Ames in the beginning, now began to prey on his mind. Were they ready? Let it go, he admonished himself. Leave it in God's hands. But for some uncomfortable reason, that was becoming very difficult.

At 7 in the morning on the first day of July, they marched away from Union Mills with the rest of the Fifth Corps under intermittent rain. Ellis rode next to him at the head  of the regiment. The acting major was still plagued by diarrhea, looked pale, and was not smoking his pipe due to the rain.

"This is ridiculous. We don't know what the positions are or the movements of the other corps of this army. We only know that Lee is somewhere in Pennsylvania. How the hell can the top brass run a campaign this way? For all we know, Harrisburg or Philadelphia could be under attack," Ellis griped.

"Ellis, relax. I suspect they'll tell us what we need to know when we need to know it," Lawrence said.

"Can't believe you have that much faith in this army and those running it, the way things have been going."

"I do have faith in God and that things will be revealed in their own time, Ellis"

"Well, I still feel we're libel to run into a world of hurt without much warning before this day is out, Colonel."

"It would not come as a surprise to me at this point. But, just as at Fredericksburg, all we can do is be ready and take things as they come."

The troops ahead of them suddenly slowed in their march. Colonel Rice came into view, trotting his horse toward them from up the line.

"I bet that's trouble coming right now," Ellis said.

Rice pulled in next to him and smiled pleasantly, putting him at ease. "Gentlemen. Colonel, it is good to see you back. Just got word you returned."

"Thank you. Do you know why our progress has slowed?"

"Signs of the enemy ahead. A broken caisson and a dead Rebel cavalryman with indications a large body of horses have passed. Skirmishers were sent out. You know how that always slows things up. Might run into the Rebels any time now."

"See, I knew it," Ellis said.

"I better get back to my boys. It's good to see you." He swung his horse around and cantered back up the line toward the 44th New York. With every slow, quiet mile the tension grew. Lawrence found himself staring into every patch of woods and up at every ridge line of a hill wondering if the enemy would suddenly appear or begin shelling them. A nagging doubt reached out from the recesses of his mind again. Are you ready to command in a combat situation? He shook his head. Stop it. You think too much.

The rain finally stopped and the sky brightened some and so did his mood. They passed a stone monument that marked the border of Pennsylvania. He took out his pocket watch. It was noon. He turned in his saddle, looked back at his regiment and shouted, "Welcome to Pennsylvania!" Drums began to beat and a band began to play "Yankee Doodle" in the 83rd Pennsylvania up ahead, now back on its native soil. A new enthusiasm raced along the line like an electric current, perking up tired men.

He looked back, saw Sergeant Tozier unfurl the colors and smile up at him. "Can't let them outdo us, sir."

Their own musicians struck up "Yankee Doodle" and the regiment took up the regular marching step without being ordered. The land began to change around them. Broad fertile fields of wheat and corn were interspersed with orchards, the trees hung heavy with ripening cherries, apples and peaches. It was all very tempting. Huge stone barns and neat white farm houses were seen here and there. The only thing strange about the pastoral scene was that no livestock was in evidence. The farmers had probably taken their stock away to hide from the armies, he thought. They passed roadside stands set up by local Pennsylvania Dutch inhabitants who were busy selling milk, buttermilk, bread, cake and pies at inflated prices. Among these civilians were several strapping young fellows who looked as if they should be carrying a rifle in service of their country.

He heard young Lewis, another student of his, in the color company behind him yell, "You ought to be with us fighting to protect your land and loved ones." One of the young man glared as if insulted, puffed his chest out and shot back in a German accented voice, "No, English, you fights for me. That is why I pays my taxes!"

"Why mud, blood and shee-yut!" Lewis yelled. "Boys, let's buy his whole stock and charge it to Uncle Sam!" Lawrence turned in his saddle in time to see Lewis and half the company break ranks and swarm the stand like locusts. He did nothing to stop it, could not abide the self-serving attitude of the young Dutchman.

"You're no better than them Rebels!" The Dutchman protested. The sun came out as the afternoon wore on. In spite of the heat, he felt a chill as he rode. An unshakable sense of foreboding hung in the air like thick morning mist. Nearing Hanover, they came upon more signs of war: dead horses and corpses of Rebel cavalrymen. This must have been the source of the artillery they heard last night, he thought.

They reached Hanover by midafternoon. The people came out into the street to greet them with enthusiastic cheers. On a balcony, a group of young ladies dressed in red, white and blue appeared and sang "The Star Spangled Banner". Others handed out glasses of cold well water or milk and fresh bread. Outside of town, a halt was called, for which he was thankful. The men could not push on further without rest. He felt lightheaded, and knew the fever had come back. He slid off the horse and barely kept his knees from buckling under him. He just stood, watching the regiment while feeling came back to his legs, one hand holding on to the saddle to steady himself, hoping no one would notice.

John rode over to him. "You all right, Lawrence?" He hopped down off Prince and came over to him leading, the stallion.

"It's been a hard day. I'll be all right with a little rest and something to eat," he said and forced a smile.

"I don't know. I think you're pushing yourself too hard."

He decided to change the subject, fast. "Where've you been?"

"Helping some of the boys who petered out along the side of the road," he said.

"Talked to Colonel Rice and Dr. Townsend on the way. I'll see you later, maybe. Dr. Townsend is going to show me how to bandage correctly and tie a tourniquet while he has the chance. Then I'll be of more help when we have to set up an aid station. You make sure you get something to eat and drink. I don't want to see you pass out like that ever again."

"I will, John. I will."

John nodded and headed for the 44th New York, leading the stallion. Lawrence watched the men stack their rifles. Some scattered in every direction to search for water and fence rails for fires. A few forage wagons pulled up with food from local farms and men rushed the tailgates to get their share. Fires were started and cooking began. Listening to the distant thunder of artillery, he sat on a log under a massive oak tree finishing a chicken leg. There was too much artillery fire to be a minor skirmish. It sounded more like a major battle off to the west. Tom walked over with Captain Joseph Fitch of Company D.

"Sir, we got a problem," Tom said.

"What?" he asked and tossed the bone away. He did not feel like dealing with any problems right now. He just wanted to rest.

"Sir, three men from the old 2nd Maine that were being held under guard in my company got away." Fitch said. "I don't know exactly when, but I reckon it was someplace between the border and here. They're probably on their way to Maine by now."

"Damn," he muttered. "Who?"

"Benjamin West, Samuel Morrison and James Kelley. Stupid thing is only Morrison has done over two years. The other two haven't even been in a year yet. Had no right to protest their lot. Haven't been in long enough."

"Well, we can't do anything about it now. I'm certainly not going to start a search for them," Lawrence said. "That leaves us with only a handful still under arrest. Tom, record the names of the deserters. We'll make a formal report when our regimental papers catch up with us again, whenever that will be. Both of you go get something to eat. I have a feeling we won't be staying here the night. Not with the sound of so much artillery to the west."

Tom and Fitch left. Tom returned with a plate full of chicken and two tin cups of hot coffee. Tom sat down on the log and passed the plate to him. He took a breast, then one of the cups.

"Got some news," Tom said. "It ain't good, but it's just a bunch of rumors at present."

"Don't keep me in suspense," he said and took a swallow of coffee, feeling it send a warm and refreshing glow coursing through his tired feverish body. He knew better than to believe rumors, but sometimes there was a grain of truth in them.

"Well, from what I heard, the army ran into Lee at some little town west of here called Gettysburg. The First and Eleventh Corps were hit hard and have barely held on against overwhelming numbers. General John Reynolds, one of our best commanders, has been shot dead." He thought briefly of Ames with the Eleventh.

"Given the lack of real information over the last few days and the way we've been groping blindly through the Pennsylvania countryside, Tom, I'd take that all with a very large grain of salt."

"That's what I say, but figured you'd want to know."

They fell silent and ate the rest of the chicken. Lawrence had just finished the last of his coffee when a staff officer came riding through their camp on a sweaty, wild-eyed, brown horse. The officer stopped by Captain Land. He heard Land's voice boom out as he pointed, "The Colonel? Over there by that oak." The staff officer rode over, stopped the horse and saluted. Lawrence quickly stood and returned it, feeling the chicken turn to a lump in his gut. This was it. It had to be.

"Sir, I've come from Colonel Vincent. He sends his compliments. Prepare to move out. The First and Eleventh Corps ran into Lee at a town called Gettysburg about fifteen miles from here. They've been hit hard and were driven back through Gettysburg. They are now dug in on some hills on the south side of town waiting for the rest of the army. General Reynolds is dead. We'll be marching through the night, sir."

"Damn, it is true," Tom blurted, standing.

"We'll be ready," Lawrence said. The officer nodded, pulled his horse around and rode to the next regiment with the dismal news.

"Tom, get Ellis. Tell him to get the men up and assembled." Watching Tom run off, he could not help wondering if Ames was all right. Knowing the general, he'd be right in the middle of it, cool as ice on his big bay horse.

The regiment got itself together in the twilight shadows. Cicadas still called in the darkening trees. The cool of evening had not yet arrived. Soon bugles all down the lines were sounding "Forward!" and they were pushing westward again. Sergeant Tozier and the color guard insisted on keeping the colors flying to let all they passed know what manner of men were coming to redeem the day for the Union. He was glad to let the Sergeant have his way and rode at the head of the column with his brothers and Ellis, all in a silent, contemplative mood, with Ellis back to smoking his pipe.

A full moon rose in mid-evening, casting a clear blue light over the countryside almost as bright as day. Fireflies flashed in the grass and brush and flitted along the edge of the road, giving the evening an air of enchantment. They rode in a dreamy silence but for the jingle and clank of equipment, taken in by the spell of the night. Lawrence began to think of his children, six year old Daisy and four year old Wylys chasing fireflies in the front yard last July. He placed the captives in a Mason jar covered in cheesecloth so the children could get a close look. He let them go after the children went to bed and remembered how Fannie teased him, telling him they were "only" insects.

Suddenly Colonel Vincent rode up from behind him with his staff, startling him out of his reverie. There was a civilian with them, a man of about middle age with a bearded chin and wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat and duster. "It is good to see you up and well, Colonel," Vincent said pulling his horse alongside.

"Thank you, sir."

"Let me introduce Mr. Charles Coffin, a reporter from the Boston Journal. He has been riding with the army since the beginning of June. Mr. Coffin, this is Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, my newest regimental commander."

"Colonel, my pleasure," Coffin said with a polite nod.

"Mr. Coffin," Lawrence said, not so sure he liked the idea of having a reporter riding along. He had not forgotten the trouble the press caused him a year ago in exposing his plans to join the army instead of going on the planned sabbatical to Europe.

"Colonel Chamberlain, mind if I ask you your opinion of the war being brought into our own backyard?" Coffin asked.

"No, not at all. When the fight starts, it is one we had better win. Meade is a good and practical soldier. As you know he was in command of our Fifth Corps until his promotion. I think he can do it. The regiments are certainly ready and in no mood for another defeat." He did not feel up to a more involved answer. Vincent looked up at their colors flying bright in the moonlight in the gentle night breeze. Caught up in the moment, he took off his cap. "What death more glorious could any man desire than to die on this soil of old Pennsylvania, fighting for that flag?"

"Much prefer the Rebs die on this soil for invading Pennsylvania, Colonel, sir," Tozier spoke up behind them from the color guard.

"I tend to agree with the color sergeant, Colonel Vincent," Ellis added.

"Pay no mind, sir," Lawrence said, the thought of losing Vincent chilling him. He prayed it was not some strange portent that prompted Vincent to make such a statement.

"Yours is a fine patriotic sentiment. But, I prefer you alive as we all do."

As they rounded a bend in the road, a staff officer rode up and whispered to Vincent. His face seemed to brighten in the moonlight. "Gentlemen, I have an announcement from General Barnes, our division commander," he said in a loud voice. "McClellan is at the head of the army in Gettysburg!" The 83rd Pennsylvania ahead of them burst into explosive cheers that ran up and down the line like the roar of an ocean wave. Lawrence was not sure if it was true or not.

Vincent waved his cap and yelled, "Now, boys, we'll give 'em hell tomorrow." The colonel put his cap back on and turned to him. "Colonel Chamberlain, stay well. I'll be needing you and all my field officers tomorrow." Then he rode on ahead toward the front of the brigade with his staff and Mr. Coffin trailing. The ethereal mood of the moonlight on the rolling Pennsylvania countryside became intoxicating.

"Hey, Andrew," Lawrence heard a voice sound from the Color Company behind them, calling the sergeant. "Did you hear some fellow saw General George Washington's spirit on a white horse riding over the hills?"

"On this night with the country in peril, I wouldn't be surprised," Tozier shouted back.

The powers of the other world seemed to be so near on such a night that Lawrence half believed it himself as he gazed out on the moon-silvered country around him. To speed the Fifth Corps along, it was ordered that the units divide up and head to Gettysburg on separate roads to prevent the clogging up of any one route. A sense of deep urgency gripped him in spite of his growing fatigue. They passed through McSherrytown and Bonnaughtown before turning south off the Hanover Road, and they marched through the night until they reached the Baltimore Pike below Rock Creek. Here, they halted. He checked his pocket watch in the bright moonlight, found it was after midnight, and knew they had covered more than thirty miles since sunrise.

Hardly able to move, he dismounted stiffly. Thomas saw to the horse while he spread his blanket under a maple tree and removed his sword belt. He sat on the blanket a minute, his knees feeling like jelly and his leg muscles shaking with fatigue. Then, he eased down on the ground suddenly finding it hard and uncomfortable, though it had been fine last night. Maybe it was just the tension of the coming fight or maybe he had been spoiled from sleeping in a bed, he told himself. Using his cap for a pillow, he settled down. He dropped off to sleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, the low noise of the camp and the aches in his muscles fading away.

Nick Korolev has been a serious student of the Civil War since age 12.  He is  a professional published writer and artist and his interest in the Civil War has provided many subjects for both.  He is author of a Civil War novel entitled Silver Eagles,  about Cols. Ames, Chamberlain and the 20th Maine from the formation of the regiment to Gettysburg.  Silver Eagles was nominated for the 2003 Michael Shaara Award for Civil War Fiction.  He is currently working on a novel about McClellan and Stanton titled The Sword and the Lightning  and a screen play about Brig. Gen William Averell's Salem Raid in December of 1863 currently titled  Averell and the Raiders of the North Wind (winner of the 2004 Screenplay Award at the Appalachian Film Festival).  He is a member of the Civil War Heritage Foundation for whom he portrays Gen. George McClellan and the First  Regiment of West Virginia Cavalry, for whom he portrays Gen. William Averell.  Nick is Secretary for the local Sons Of Union Veterans of the Civil War and recently joined the Falling Waters Battlefield Association.

The Bivouac Banner