Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 Read Free Page A

dripping out.
    "We leave him here," Duvall said. "They'll take care of him."
    "Sir, forgot to tell you," Syms said, looking up at Phil. "Your old friend is over there."
    "Who?"
    "George Armstrong Custer. That's his brigade dogging us. I saw him in the lead."
    George, it would have to be him. No one spoke. All knew that he and George had been roommates at West Point.
    An orderly led up his mount, and Duvall climbed into the saddle, turned to face his men, and pointed south. "Let's go, boys."
    "We ain't fighting 'em?" Sergeant Lucas asked, coming up to Phil's side as they trotted across the parade ground, angling toward the road out of the south side of town.
    Phil shook his head.
    "Hell no, Sergeant. That's not a regiment out there, that's Grant and the entire Yankee army. Now let's go."
    Washington, D.C.
    August 22 6:00 A.M.
    M aj. Ely Parker, aide-de-camp to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, turned off Pennsylvania Avenue and approached the east gate of the White House. A crowd milled about on the sidewalks, spilling into the streets. Guards lined the iron fence facing them. There was a low hum, as copies of newspapers, which had just hit the streets minutes before, were passed back and forth. He caught snatches of conversation. "Sickles is dead." "The rebs will be here by tomorrow I tell you ..."
    At his approach a detachment swung the gate open, a captain stepping forward to block Ely's approach. Ely leaned over, showing a slip of paper.
    "Bearing dispatches from General Grant," he whispered. The captain examined the note, nodded, stepped back, and saluted.
    "Hey, who's the Injun they're letting in?" a civilian shouted. "Injuns and niggers, Abe's got a helluva an army, don't he?"
    Ely knew he shouldn't, but he was just so damn fed up and tired. Being a full-blooded Seneca in the army, he had often drawn comments, which he knew how to deal with, usually by a cold stare. But this morning he was tired, damn tired and fed up. He turned his mount and stared straight at the man who had shouted the insult.
    The crowd parted back to the offender.
    "Got a problem there, Major?" the man asked.
    "Injuns and niggers are dying for you," Ely said quietly. "And you stand out here taunting. If you don't like us, at least have the courage to put on a gray uniform and fight us like a man. You're a coward, sir, and if you don't like that, wait out here for me after I meet the president and we can discuss it further.
    "Pistols, swords"—he paused—"or tomahawks."
    The man paled. A flicker of laughter greeted Ely's comments. "Bully for you," someone shouted. The loud-mouthed civilian turned and stalked off. Applause rippled through the crowd.
    Angry that he had allowed himself to be baited, Ely turned back and rode the last few feet to the entry to the White House, dismounting wearily.
    The captain at the gate came to his side.
    "Can you tell me what's going on, Major?" he asked curiously.
    Ely shook his head.
    "Sorry to ask, sir," the captain pressed. "Just the city's been crazy with rumors for two days now. Word is the entire Army of the Potomac was wiped out and Lee will be here by tomorrow. That crowd has been out there all night. A lot of them are like that fool you dealt with. I have my men standing by with loaded rifles."
    Ely said nothing, just nodded as he walked up the steps to the door, a sergeant opened it for him. An elderly black servant, waiting inside, offered to take Ely's hat.
    "I'm bearing dispatches from General Grant," Ely said. "Is the president available? I'm ordered to deliver these to him personally."
    "He's awake, sir. In fact, been up most of the night. Could you wait here, please?"
    Ely nodded. The servant tu rned and went up the stairs, re turning less than a minute later.
    "This way, sir."
    Ely followed him, looking around with curiosity. It was his first time in the White House, in fact, the first time he would stand before a president. If not for all that he had seen the last few days, the enormity of what he was bearing