Rockville, Maryland
April 1864
Burgoyne had recovered from his shock and was calmly giving orders to staff officers who rode off to deliver them to the line officers who were trying to stem the British retreat. He was seated on his horse, on a low hill north of Rockville, on the road to Gaithersburg. He turned to Generals Campbell and Gordon, who had ridden hard to find Burgoyne and get orders.
Always the engineer, Burgoyne gave a quick, professional look around. “This ground will do. We’ll stand here. Tell your men we go no farther. They must stand and fight here.”
Campbell nodded, and Gordon said, “Aye sir, it’s as good a ground as any. My men will fight.” With that, both spurred their horses and were off to find their troops.
Grant’s initial attack had been overwhelming and a complete surprise. Burgoyne wondered how he’d gotten into position undetected. He’d been certain that Grant would head south, toward Richmond, and that his own war was all but over, nothing more than babysitting McClellan in Washington City.
Packenham rode up at a splendid gallop, reining his horse to a stop followed by two complete spins.
“What news, Thomas?”
“Sir, our line is stiffening. Order has been restored for the most part, and many of the men who ran have drifted back into the ranks. The enemy’s attack seems to have run its course and now we’re popping away at each other. It seems the worst has passed, sir.”
“Just so, Thomas. We shall hold this line today and counterattack in the morning. I don’t believe General Grant has a reserve, and we have thousands of men who barely fired their weapons today. With luck we’ll drive them all the way back to Washington City.”
Packenham was staring through field glasses toward the battle line, barely half a mile in their front.
“Thomas?”
“Sir, perhaps you might take a look at this.”
Burgoyne took the field glasses and focused through the smoke on the blue line of soldiers. He saw a man on horseback, cantering back and forth in front of his troops, seemingly oblivious to the wall of lead pouring from the British troops.
“What is that man about? He’s mad.”
Packenham took the glasses from Burgoyne, and focused again on the Union officer, who had turned to face the British Army.
“Sir,” said Packenham with uncharacteristic emotion. “Here they come!”