September 17, 1862.   Afternoon.  Sharpsburg, Maryland.  1200 yards of open ground stood between a Federal Corps and the roads leading to the Potomac River fords.   Union General George McClellan would have his victory.  1200 yards and Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia would be cut off and destroyed.    

Lee and his staff, about 2500 butternut and grey infantry, already exhausted from the bloodiest day in American history, and about 25 cannon were thinly stretched across the back door to Sharpsburg.   But they couldn’t possibly hold.   

The slaughter had gone on all day.   It had started northeast of town in what is known today as “The Cornfield.”   That few acres of corn turned into a maelstrom that swallowed regiments from both sides whole.   The action moved south to “Bloody Lane,” where at one point Longstreet and his staff personally manned guns pouring double canister into the faces of blue lines of infantry just paces away.    The rookie gunners didn’t think to cut away the powder charges from the second (doubled) charge of canister shot, and when fired, the brass Napoleon cannon lept a foot in the air.  But the barrels held and so did Lee’s Army.

But farther south of the Lane, an hour or two ago, the Federals had finally pushed “Old Rock” Benning and his stubborn Georgians away from the Rorschach Bridge over Antietam Creek when the Rebels had run out of ammunition.   Lee’s right flank was turned.

Now, just southeast of Sharpsburg, the blue infantrymen had paused to reorganize and refill cartridge boxes.   And there were way too many of them.   “As thick as Pharaoh’s locusts” recalled one Southerner. One more hard push.   1200 yards and the War would be over.

Lee had one hope …. A.P. Hill.   Ambrose Powell Hill and his justly famed Light Division had been left behind at Harper’s Ferry, 17 miles away, to gather the valuable supplies from the arsenal there and send them on south.   Only at 6:30 this morning had Lee’s orders arrived calling them to Sharpsburg.   They were on the road at 7:30.   

Red-bearded Powell Hill was famous in both armies as a furious fighter and prodigious marcher.   It seemed to the Federal soldiers he faced that he had an extra measure of ferocity when fighting against troops of George McClellan.   See, before the war, Powell Hill had courted a beautiful and talented Philadelphia girl named Ellen Mary Marcy.

It was said that she loved the dashing young Powell.   But there was another suitor …  one George McClellan.   He waged a several-year campaign to wed Ellen Marcy, and eventually, she left Powell and married George.   So if A.P. Hill had a little extra venom today, it’s no wonder.  Hill pushed his division on at a brutal pace on this steamy late summer day.  Stragglers were left on the roadside as the division hurried on.   17 miles in 7 hours.   They were strung out and lathered, but their blood was up as Hill drove them on to meet McClellan.

Outside Sharpsburg, the Union advance got rolling.   They cleared Confederate positions with the bayonet, running and yelling through the smoke.   The Confederate batteries tore into the blue lines and Minie balls pulled men down…but they would not be stopped.  And Lee had precious little on hand with which to stem the tide.  

Then Hill arrived.

His Division hammered into the left flank of an opponent who was caught unaware.  Hill threw his men into action as they came up, panting and soaked with sweat.   Keening the rebel yell, they came pounding out of the dust and smoke, and the Union left came unglued under their ferocious charge.   Bloodied by sudden volleys into their flanks, unit by unit, the Federal advance ground to a halt.   Between Hill and Lee,  there were now 40 guns brought to bear.   And while hundreds fell on both sides, Hill now had the initiative and would never surrender it.   The blue troops fought fiercely contesting every step back.   But in the end they were driven back almost to the bridge.   One Union soldier pointed off towards Hill’s position and groused.   “Good God Nelly – why oh why didn’t you marry him?!?!?”

The worst day of carnage in American history was over.