“GOD IN HEAVEN,” MARLEY GASPED, SIGHTING THROUGH HIS binoculars what one of his picket riders had spotted: the front ranks of Stonewall's column emerging from thick scrub underbrush near Catherine Furnace. “How could he be that far west? He was supposed to be”

But Marley had no time to speculate. He knew Howard's position left Old Prayer Book's far right—the far right of the massive Union line—vulnerable if anyone could flank it, which no one from the high command down had considered possible. And if Old Jack pushes on another couple of miles…

“I'm going to General Howard myself,” Marley said, leaping up onto his horse. He had galloped away before the other two scouts could speak another word.

A breathless courier from Lee galloped up to Stonewall early in the afternoon as he and his twenty-eight thousand men moved westward through the Wilderness on the Plank Road south of Chancellorsville.

“General Jackson, the Yankees have forced the heights at Fredericksburg and are driving General Early back upon General Lee's rear, sir,” the courier sputtered. He paused while Stonewall digested this. “They are coming this way, sir, behind you.”

Stonewall as usual kept his own counsel, his eyes hidden by the visor of his gray cap. His own couriers had already reported movements directly against his rear flank by closer Union forces.

“Press up, men,” he said, spurring his horse ahead. He leaned far forward on Little Sorrel, as if by doing so he could arrive at his destination quicker. To his rear, the crackle of musketry grew louder.

Marley flew off his horse and ran to Howard. “Sir,” the scout blurted, barely remembering to salute, “it's General Jackson, sir. He's circling round the Plank Road to flank us to the west.”

Howard stared at him. The surprise and orders to action Marley had expected did not come. Over a dozen men stood near, awaiting Howard's response. Finally, glancing in Stonewall' direction, he said, “Jackson can only be moving southward to protect the railroad to Richmond.

“But sir,” Marley insisted, “why would General Lee send half his men to an area where there is no fight, when our thousands are here astride him?”

Howard's handsome countenance darkened.

“Sir,” a nervous colonel spoke in a German brogue, seeming to Marley to be continuing a previous line of discussion, “please let me at least reinforce your right, in the unlikely case that the Rebels do attempt to flank you.”

“I shall not be flanked!” Howard exploded, fire in the normally pacific almond eyes. “Thank you for your enterprise, Colonel von Gilsa,” he continued, checking his temper, “but you and your men may return to your assigned duties. You will put your trust in God.” Howard turned to Marley. “And you, Captain Marley, may resume your surveillance of General Jackson.”

Marley saluted and left without a word, his stomach hollow. I fear soon nothing shall be left to survey, he thought bitterly. D____Thomas J. Jackson, d_____him to Hades.

Meanwhile, Stonewall's rearguard of Georgians raised such a rumpus at Catherine Furnace, as the van of the Confederate column turned northwest toward Howard's flank, that the Federals sent twenty-two thousand men to quell the disturbance. That they did, not realizing that Stonewall had sucked them miles away from his proposed attack point, and effectively denuded Howard of his reserve force.

A mounted courier from Stuart raced up to Stonewall and his circle of aides and officers with a dispatch. Stonewall tore open the seal and read Stuart's familiar flowing script. “After significant hardship, the cavalry has come around Hooker and positioned itself to protect your left flank. I will close in on the flank and help all I can when the ball opens.” At the bottom of the page appeared one additional line in thicker bolder ink and underlined: “May God grant us victory.”

Stonewall grabbed a quill from Anna's brother Joe, dipped it in an inkwell the boy held, and scrawled his response for Stuart on the back page: “I trust that God will grant us a great victory. Keep closed on Chancellorsville.”

The Federals overwhelmed the Georgians guarding Stonewall's rear. The Confederates fought with such a fury that the fight ended only when their regiment nearly to a man was killed or captured. Two of A. P. Hill's brigades had to go back to fend off the surging Yankees. Now the Union had Stonewall completely cut off from Lee.

When Lee's nephew, strapping cavalry brigadier Fitzhugh Lee, rode up to Stonewall, Douglas's gold watch told the time as two o'clock.

“General,” Fitzhugh said, “if you will ride with me, halting your column here, I will show you the enemy's right.”

Douglas saw the blue eyes spark fire. Old Blue Light, Douglas remembered the legends calling Stonewall, even back to Mexico. Then Douglas was riding with Stonewall, Fitzhugh, and one courier through thick woods and undergrowth, dismounting and climbing a hill.

Fitzhugh motioned to Stonewall the appropriate place to part the boughs of a thick cluster of trees. He did, and there stretched before him lay a staggering vista. Hundreds of feet below, as far as the eye could see, lay the Eleventh Corps of the Union army. Looking through his field glasses, Stonewall saw that the Federals had stacked arms and were preparing their evening meal, dealing cards, playing baseball, and singing. Not so much as a skirmish line deployed, he thought, barely believing it could be true until he remembered that God diluted the strength of the powerful gentile nations during the period of King David's life so that David could be successful and at the same time God could get the credit for tiny Israel's victories.

And Stonewall knew he looked upon Oliver O. Howard's command. A Christian brother, he thought with regret. And an honorable man. Then he realized the vast expanse of Virginia land on which Eleventh Corps resided, and he remembered all the land and dreams that the multiple Northern invasions had laid waste. But he is on the wrong side and he is where, by God in heaven, he should not be!

Stonewall continued to stare out at the mind-boggling tableau. When he said nothing further and the color began to rise on a countenance that exuded sorrow, Douglas and Fitzhugh looked at one another. Minute after minute it went on, as Stonewall's eyes burned, finally almost white with fury. Fitzhugh and the courier stepped back. Never had they witnessed so fierce a glow on the face of a human being.

Then Stonewall's lips began to move in silent petition, his eyes still open, his head now cocked up toward heaven. One arm shot up. Douglas backed away. He is not with us, the young officer found himself thinking. He remembered with a chill a Scripture verse his pastor father had taught him as a child: “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”

By five o'clock, as shadows stretched across the Wilderness, Stonewall had managed to line up nearly twenty thousand Foot Cavalry (they had begun to call themselves the Barefoot Cavalry) in a double line of battle 150 yards apart that stretched for two miles across both the Old Turnpike and the Plank Road.

Though more than 130,000 Federals lay within a few miles, the Virginian had finessed himself into position to attack a right flank that actually numbered fewer men than his force.

Stonewall sat astride Little Sorrel, his gold-chained watch in hand, near the spot where he had viewed the spectacle of Old Prayer Book's exposed corps.

Around him were General Robert Rodes, ex-VMI student and professor, and commander of the division that would lead the attack, Douglas, and Sandie. Just then Colonel Tom Munford rode up and saluted.

Stonewall eyed him. “Something bothers you, Tom.”

Munford hesitated. “Well, sir, it's those da—” The cavalryman blushed. “It's those people again, sir,” he said, retreating to the term Lee gave the Federals. “Word has it they've roughed up some of the Chancellor family. I don't know what's true and what's rumor, sir, but the Chancellors are cousins to a couple of our men, and the troops are, well, sir, they've got their Irish up, sir. They're hungry and tired and they've had just about…” With that, Munford's voice trailed off and he shook his head wearily.

“Just about their fill of Yankee depredations, Tom?” Stonewall asked.

“Yes, sir, just about their fill,” Munford said. Exhausted from twenty-four hours without sleep, Munford's mind darted to another subject and he spoke again. “Sir, have you noticed the preponderance of graduates and former professors from the VMI in Second Corps? They seem to be everywhere.”

Stonewall looked at him. He remembered Munford as cadet adjutant on the day he arrived at the VMI as a professor twelve years before. Such a fine, earnest boy he has always been, the general thought. Even young Patton—even Walker—so many of them have turned out all right. Most seem to be followers of You, Lord, though many of them have come to you late in the day.

Stonewall's lips parted and he said, “The Virginia Military Institute will be heard from today.”

It impressed Sandie that Stonewall spoke the words with no less conviction than he proclaimed at morning prayer meeting a couple of days earlier the sure and certain resurrection of the saints.

Stonewall sat still and silent for a moment, his eyes closed. “O GOD the Lord,” he prayed, “the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle.”

Then he opened his eyes and looked at Douglas. “A quarter past five by your watch, Captain?”

Douglas pulled out the timepiece and looked. “Yes, sir. On the nose, sir.”

Stonewall turned to Rodes and asked, so quietly that the man nearly requested him to repeat the question, “Are you ready, General Rodes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can go forward then.”