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By Root 1600 0

for the bloody war. Hancock stood at the front, always listened with respect, and watched his men, knew that this was not what made them soldiers, that if the fight were not in them already, no great speech about loving the flag would change that. He did not understand why the generals did not see, would not accept, that those other fellows, those boys in the ragged uniforms who wanted to burn your lovely flag, had already shown they could hurt you, would stand up to your patriotism and put the bayonet through your beloved uniform. But still the words came, and Hancock began to understand. It was all they knew how to do: make speeches. Very few of them had ever led troops under fire, had ever led troops at all. And when the time came, many of them would fail, and many men would die because they did not have leaders.

His head began to feel heavy—he’d had little sleep since they boarded the steamer—and he slumped in the saddle, looked down at the ground, the short grass his horse was now exploring . . . the ground a smooth, shining carpet of red, soaked in the blood of the army, a man was screaming, then more, many more, thick gray smoke and burning powder, and the sounds of artillery shells exploding and the stench of death—

Hancock jerked awake, sat up straight, felt his heart pounding. He looked around, saw his troops in line, forming again in a wide field, and felt foolish for the small, terrifying daydream. Then he thought, No, it is foolish if you lead these men into the face of the enemy and are not prepared for them to die.

Across the field he saw Cobb again, directing his men, and the order was given to make camp. The men began to spread out, unloading the wagons. Hancock saw a flag moving quickly up the road that came from the walls of the fort, saw General Smith and a group of aides, and they spotted him and rode in his direction. Hancock met the general with a salute.

Smith said, “General Hancock, greetings to you, sir. Your men are positioned well, yes. This field will be filling up over the next few days, we hope to have the entire corps here by Wednesday.”

“Corps, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Hancock, have you not heard? We have been placed under the command of General Sumner. General McClellan has organized the army into corps. Better use of the chain of command and all that. I suppose I should have told you.”

Hancock thought, Yes, that’s your job: chain of command. He thought of Sumner. Edwin “Bull” Sumner, the man who had gone to California to remove Albert Sidney Johnston—interesting coincidence.

“Sir, my men are ready for orders, at your discretion.”

“Very good, General. Our next move is up to General McClellan. Once the army is all here, I expect we will begin some real action, probably sweep on into Richmond.”

Hancock wondered if they all believed that, that the rebel army would simply be brushed aside like so many bugs. He nodded, polite, said only, “We’re ready for a fight, General.”

“Good, good. Well, I’ll keep you informed. Got to check on my other commanders, General. Good day to you.”

Smith rode away, the aides trailing behind, and Hancock prodded the horse, which protested mildly, then moved toward the spreading troops and the fresh campfires. The afternoon was wearing on, and he looked out to the west, beyond the field, to great thickets of trees, miles of nothing, except . . . out there, somewhere, men waited with bayonets.

HANCOCK’S BRIGADE was encamped in the wide field for nearly a month. McClellan made it plain, both to his commanders and to Washington, that he believed his army to be greatly outnumbered, and that a rapid, forceful move up the peninsula would result in certain disaster. As the army formed in front of Yorktown, McClellan’s force of over ninety thousand men faced the Confederate general Magruder’s command of fifteen thousand. Rather than assault this force, McClellan decided to lay siege to the city, and sent a continuous stream of requests to Washington for more men and more guns. When on May 4 he finally reported to the President that Yorktown was in his possession, he