“At Frederick!”
“Yes, sir. I understood from a farmer that they crossed at Edwards’s Ferry the twenty-fifth and sixth.”
“Have you seen or heard of General Stuart?”
“An ambulance driver told me there was a report that what he called the rebel cavalry had crossed the Potomac and were cutting the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal.”
“And the enemy’s line of march from Frederick?”
“Toward South Mountain, sir.”
“That is all of consequence you have to report?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. You have done well, Harrison. Good night!”
The scout and the aide departed. In the tent there was a somewhat heavy silence. Lee drew the map upon the table closer and sat, his forehead upon his hand, studying it. Two candles stood beside him, and the white light showed the beauty of the down-bent head and face. His expression was very quiet, but the adjutant, watching him, ached for the ache that he read there, the ache of a great general who was yet mortal, with a mortal’s equipment; of the leader of brave men who were yet mortal with a quiverful of the arrows of mistake and random aim. The hopes of the South hung upon this campaign. All knew it; the adjutant-general knew it; the man bending over the map knew it.... Hooker—no, Meade!—was across the Potomac, and advancing. By now he would be somewhere south of Gettysburg.... The candles burned clear; Lee sat, very still, his gaze level, his hand upon the map.