Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Page 3

Tom Majors sat down and took a pan of peas and some hardtack and began to eat hungrily. “Well, General Lee didn’t tell me all of his plans—” he grinned, his white teeth flashing “—but I expect everybody knows we’re not gonna sit around here much longer.”

  Soon a card game began. Jeff had discovered that soldiering was rather odd. Either it was as boring as anything he’d ever done—for weeks doing absolutely nothing except light drill—or for brief moments it was filled with absolute terror as the shells and bullets passed through the ranks and men died.

  Jeff pulled Tom to one side and reached into his pocket. “A letter came for you from Pineville.”

  Tom’s dark eyes brightened. He took the letter and started off.

  “Aren’t you going to read it to me?” Jeff protested. Then he grinned as Tom merely shook his head and walked away. “Must be awful to be in love like that,” he muttered to himself. He knew that a letter from Sarah Carter was the biggest event in his brother’s life. The two had been practically engaged before the war, and even now he knew Tom wanted to marry Sarah more than he wanted anything else in the world.

  Thinking of Sarah brought memories of the times before the war when Leah, Sarah’s younger sister, had been the biggest thing in his own life. Jeff leaned back and half closed his eyes, listening to the talk flow over him.

  He was so accustomed to camp sounds that he barely heard a bugle blowing and the shouts of command or saw the cavalry that rode by at almost full speed, raising dust. He was thinking instead of Leah and how they had searched for birds’ eggs and fished in the creeks of Kentucky and hunted possum and coon at night.

  Leah’s face came before him. She was fifteen now, he knew, but somehow he still thought of her as younger than that. He remembered with a guilty feeling that he owed her a letter, and he stirred himself finally to find paper and a pencil and soon was busily filling the sheet with a record of his activities.

  Capt. Nelson Majors was perhaps the finest-looking officer in the Stonewall Brigade. He was six feet tall and weighed 175 pounds. His skin was dark. He had black hair and black eyes. Recently he had cultivated a mustache, which made him look very dashing. He wore his gray uniform with grace, for he had always been a man who could make clothes look good no matter how simple they were.

  Coming out of the colonel’s tent, Majors wandered through the camp, his sharp black eyes taking in everything. He had just been told that his promotion had come through. But promotion meant little to him. His only concern was his company. He would do no more with the new rank of major than he had done with the rank of captain.

  He found his way to where Jeff and Tom were sitting out in front of their tents and smiled as they rose. He was intensely proud of these young men and noted that Jeff was almost as tall as Tom now, although not as heavy. Both looked a great deal like him, and he regretted wishing that one of them looked like their mother. But he was encouraged to think that his daughter, Esther, still only a baby, looked very much like his late wife.

  He still missed his wife terribly and longed to see his child. She was, however, in Kentucky being cared for by the Carter family until after the war. He thought warmly of Dan and Mary Carter and once again thought, There are no finer people in the world than those two!

  Drawing up in front of his sons, he said, “You’re invited to have supper with one of your officers tonight.” He grinned then, saying, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I’ve been promoted.”

  Tom grinned happily back. “I wondered how long it would be before they recognized how badly they needed you, Pa—I mean Major.”

  “Now you’ll be Major Majors, won’t you? That’s an odd thing,” Jeff put in.

  Nelson Majors took his boys to a café in the main part of Richmond. He ordered the best they had in the house, which in this case was steak and potatoes, and the three ate hungrily.

  Tom grinned at his father and winked, nodding toward Jeff. “Look at him lay his ears back and fly at it. I’ve never seen such a hog!”

  “You’re not doing too bad yourself, Tom,” Jeff managed to say around a mouthful of hot potatoes. He cut a chunk off his T-bone steak, his eyes dreamy with pleasure.

  Major Majors looked at his sons and felt again both pride and fear. He was proud of their accomplishments. They were good soldiers, both of them. Tom at twenty and Jeff at only sixteen were as good as any soldiers in the regiment. Maybe in the whole army as far as he was concerned. But he had seen too many like these two lying dead on the field of battle. He did not fear for himself, but he was troubled about them and about what would happen to Esther should he lose his life. He had not spoken of this to Tom or Jeff for there was nothing to be done. The three were soldiers and had to fight, but it was never far from his mind.

  They finished off their meal with peach pie and imitation coffee, which made them all frown.

  “They must make this out of pecan shells,” Tom muttered. “It sure doesn’t taste much like coffee, does it?”

  “Maybe some’ll come in on one of the blockade runners,” the major replied.

  They were talking of the battle that was to come when suddenly Tom said, “You know, Pa—I mean Major,” he amended hastily, “I’ve been thinking. What would happen to Esther if we weren’t able to take care of her?”

  Looking up quickly, Nelson Majors understood that Tom had been thinking exactly as he had. “Well,” he said, “if something happened to me, you boys would have to take over.”

  Jeff said, “Yes, but what if something happens to us too? Don’t like to think about it, but it could happen.”

  “Esther’s in good hands,” Nelson said slowly. “The Carters have been so good to take her. If something did happen, they would raise her in a Christian way.” He did not want to talk about this and said instead, “She’s doing fine. I miss her a great deal though. Not right for a girl child not to have her father and family around.”

  Jeff had spent more time than the other two at the Carter house. He had made more than one visit back there. “You wouldn’t ever know her name’s not Esther Carter. They baby her to death. She’ll be spoiled rotten, Pa—I mean Major.”

  “I know, but I wish we could do those things for her—spoil her, that is.”

  “We will when it’s all over.” Tom nodded firmly. “One of these days this war’ll be over, and we can get Esther and get us a farm, and it’ll be great.”

  “It’s not just Esther you’re thinking about, though,” Jeff said slyly. He saw Tom give him a warning look and said only, “Don’t shoot! I guess we’d all like to see Sarah and Leah and all the folks there again.”

  The three finished their pie and walked back toward camp. There was more movement than usual.

  “I expect we’ll be pulling out of here pretty soon,” the major said.

  He was right about that, for the next morning bugles were blowing and officers were meeting. Everyone in the army knew that great things were afoot.

  Late that afternoon Jeff got the word from Tom, who had gotten it from his father. “We’ll be pulling out. You got anything to do, you’d better do it.”

  Jeff, along with the rest of the squad, began making hasty preparations. None of them knew how long they would be gone. All of them were certain they would be moving north to attack the Yankees on their own ground. This had happened once before, but they had been stopped at Antietam. Now, however, the Army of Northern Virginia was fit and ready and well-equipped, better than it had ever been.

  It took two days to get the army ready to roll, and when they were about to leave, the streets of Richmond were lined with people gathered to see them off.

  Jeff and Charlie Bowers stood in place with their drums as a band began to play. The troops paraded through the crowded streets with flags flying and banners waving, and there was a thrill in Jeff’s heart as he thought, I’m a part of all this. Next year I’ll be old enough to be a regular soldier. But even now I’m part of it.

  The company was dismissed after the parade, and there was a t
ime of farewells for the soldiers who had families present.

  Jeff was standing to one side watching all this when he heard his name called. He turned to see Lucy Driscoll coming toward him.

  Lucy was a small, well-shaped girl of fourteen. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her blue eyes were bright. She wore a white dress with blue trim on the collar and sleeves that matched her eyes. She stopped exactly in front of him. “Oh, Jeff! I thought I’d missed you!” she cried.

  Jeff smiled down at her. He remembered that the first time he had met Lucy he hadn’t had to look down so far. There had been times when she had not been his favorite, but their friendship had survived, and now he said simply, “Nice of you to come out and tell us good-bye.”

  Lucy made a fetching picture as she looked up at him, but her face was troubled. “I’m proud of you, Jeff—but I’m worried too.”

  “Why, don’t worry, Lucy,” he said airily. “We’ll go up and whip the Yankees and then come back, and it’ll all be over.”

  But his light remarks obviously did not convince Lucy. She shook her head, and Jeff was astonished to see sudden tears in her eyes.

  “Please be careful,” she said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Jeff stared at her, unable to speak for a moment.

  Then suddenly, to his shock and amazement, Lucy threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly, right on the lips!

  “There!” she said defiantly and then laughed. “I’m getting to be downright bold, aren’t I?”

  Jeff could still feel the pressure of her soft lips. He could not think of a single intelligent thing to say. “Ahhh—why, Lucy!” he exclaimed.

  But then she turned and fled, calling back, “Don’t forget me.” Jeff stood there dumbfounded. He had not known Lucy cared that much for him.

  “Well, now, it’s nice to have a sweetheart come and kiss you good-bye, ain’t it now?”

  An elbow struck Jeff in the side, and he turned to see Pete Simmons grinning at him.

  “I didn’t know you was such a ladies’ man, Jeff,” he said. “Who was that pretty little thing?”

  Jeff did not want to talk about Lucy to Pete Simmons, and he said, “Oh, just a friend.”

  “Looked like a pretty good friend to me.” Pete laughed. “When we get back here, you’ll have to introduce me to her.”

  At that moment the bugles sounded, and Jeff hurried back to his position. The company formed, and he began to rattle out with the drum, Charlie Bowers beside him, grinning. Then the army started to move, making a long, serpentine column as they curved through the streets of Richmond.

  Finally they were outside the city, and Jeff looked forward, still wondering what lay ahead of them up North. He remembered other young men who had started out like this and who had never returned, and now the thought of how uncertain life was came to him.

  4

  “God Is Always There”

  The Confederate Army that moved out of Virginia, crossed the Potomac, and advanced into Pennsylvania shocked the Northern farmers. They had been accustomed to the neat blue uniforms, the spotless muskets, and other fine equipment of the Federal troops. When the Army of Northern Virginia passed into their territory, some of the militia men took one look at Jubal Early’s veterans and took to their heels at once.

  Gettysburg civilians never forgot their sight of the famed foot soldiers of Gen. Robert E. Lee. “Most of the men,” recalled one farmer, “were exceedingly dirty, some ragged, some without shoes, and some surrounded by skeletons of what had once been an entire hat.” However, he noted, they were all armed and under perfect discipline, adding, “They seemed to move like one vast machine.”

  On the other hand, Jeff was amazed at the wealth of the Pennsylvania towns his unit passed through. To eyes accustomed to the countryside of Virginia, stripped by the ravages of war, these rolling fields, huge farms, and prosperous towns seemed almost a miracle.

  “Looks like we could just move in here, doesn’t it, Tom?” he muttered as they marched into York and noted its prosperity.

  It was a rare scene—invading army and invaded population hobnobbing on the public green. Many Southern sympathizers were there. But some of them had gotten together a band that struck up “Yankee Doodle” as the Confederates marched into town.

  The general made a rattling speech, saying among other things, “My friends, how do you like our way of coming back into the Union? I hope you like it, for I have been in favor of it a long time. We’re not burning your houses or butchering your children. On the contrary, we are behaving ourselves like Christian gentlemen, which we are.”

  “Sounds like he’s running for office, don’t he?” Pete Simmons said to Jeff. “I guess politicians all sound the same, North or South.”

  They paused that night, rested, and left the next day with their supply wagons filled.

  Not all Pennsylvania towns were as receptive to the invasion as York, however. In Harrisburg everything was bedlam. The railroad station was crowded with trunks, boxes, bundles, and packages. Mobs rushed here and there in a frantic manner, shouting, screaming as if the Rebels were about to dash into town and lay it in ashes. The railroads were removing their cars and engines. The merchants were packing up their goods. Housewives were secreting their silver, and everywhere there was a scene of mad excitement and despair.

  At noon the following day, Jeff and his company were marching along the dusty road through a little town called Greencastle. There was almost a holiday air about the march. Soldiers shouted at one another and sang marching songs, and as they passed through the small town the band played “Dixie.”

  They were just going by a vine-covered house when a young girl no more than twelve rushed out onto the front porch. She was waving, Jeff saw, a United States flag. He was almost even with the house when she cried out, “Traitors! Traitors! Come and take this flag, the man of you who dares!”

  Gen. George Pickett happened to be riding past at the time. He pulled his coal black stallion to a halt and took off his hat. He bowed to the girl and saluted her flag, then turned to look at the troops. Jeff and every other man in sight of the girl raised his cap and cheered her till the air rang with the noise of their voices.

  The girl was taken aback. She lowered her flag and stared at the ragged soldiers in front of her. Finally, tears came into her eyes, and she called out, “Oh, I wish I had a Rebel flag. I’d wave that too!”

  The unit marched all day, and that night Jeff’s squad feasted. General Lee had put out an order that no food was to be stolen or taken by force from the citizens, but somehow Pete Simmons had managed to “liberate” a young pig. He brought it back, and, despite a stern lecture from Sergeant Henry Mapes, the pig had been butchered, and soon the air was filled with the delicious smell of fresh pork cooking. Other soldiers had purchased fresh buttermilk from some local farmers and freshly baked bread from one of the bakeries in the small town.

  The squad sat around eating, and afterward Jeff leaned back and listened to a group of soldiers singing down the line. They sang a familiar ballad called “Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground.” It was one of the most popular songs on both sides. Its appeal was so strong that officers had to restrain their men from singing it at night because they would give away their positions on the field. Sleepy and tired, Jeff listened to the words floating over the landscape.

  After the voices of the singers died down, Tom began to talk of what lay ahead. “Sooner or later we’re gonna run into more blue-bellies than any of us ever saw,” he said quietly. He seemed moody, poking the fire with a stick, and Jeff knew he was thinking of Sarah Carter.

  Pete Simmons had no worries, however. He laughed and slapped Tom on the shoulder. “You just wait, Tom,” he said. “We’ll give ’em fits this time.”

  Jed Hawkins, small, lean, and with his sharp features looking more like a fox than anything else, shook his head. “Some of us won’t be coming back from this trip,” he murmured.

  “That’s righ
t. Don’t do no harm to think of that,” Charlie said. He was the smallest of the group—and perhaps the most fervent Christian. He had been converted in a camp meeting, led to the Lord by no less than Gen. Stonewall Jackson. He looked around and said, “Hope all you fellers are ready to meet the Lord.”

  Most of the men in the squad were Christians, but Pete Simmons kicked at the ground in disgust, raising a puff of dust. “I don’t want to hear no sermons,” he said grumpily. “I hear enough out of that chaplain that keeps nagging at me.”

  Chaplain Finias Rawlings was indeed a man to keep after his flock. Jeff had heard him try to talk to Pete only two days prior. Pete had simply told the chaplain to go find somebody else to do his preaching to.

  That bothered Jeff, for he liked Pete. Now he said, “Better listen to him, Pete. He’s telling you the truth. Even if there wasn’t any war, I’d rather be a Christian than not.”

  Pete leaned over and ruffled Jeff’s hair. “Listen to me, drummer boy,” he said, “I’ll think about things like that when I’m too old to chase after the girls and do my drinking.”

  “May not have time for that,” Sgt. Henry Mapes said. He stretched his long, rangy body and looked northward.

  It was the thirtieth of June, and the night was hot. The army had pulled up for a rest while the scouts went out.

  Mapes shook his head dolefully. “I got a bad feeling about this fight. It’s gonna be worse than usual.”

  The next day they moved again. This time it was Jeff who decided to go out and see if he could find more food for the unit. He obtained his lieutenant’s permission and found himself walking along a country road lined on either side by huge fields. A few times he saw men out working in them.

  He decided to turn in at a prosperous-looking farmhouse. He felt a little apprehensive, for he was not sure how people would feel about a Confederate soldier. There had been occasions when some of their number had been shot at by the civilian enemy from cover.

  Keeping a sharp eye out, he stepped up on the porch of the well-cared-for house and knocked.