Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Read online

  The door opened almost at once, and a short, rather heavy woman stood in front of him. “What does thee want?”

  Something about her speech made Jeff hesitate for a moment. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “what I’d really like to do is buy some food if you’d sell it to me.”

  “Is thee one of the Confederates?”

  Again Jeff wondered briefly at her use of “thee” instead of “you.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m a member of the Stonewall Brigade, ma’am.”

  The woman stepped outside and looked at Jeff more closely. She had a cheerful, round red face. Her eyes were gray, and she had an abundant head of attractive auburn hair. Jeff thought she was pretty. She was wearing a plain gray dress and no jewelry whatsoever. She studied him in a most peculiar way as if he were an exhibit in a zoo.

  Jeff grew nervous and finally blurted out, “I don’t want to steal anything. We don’t do that in our army.”

  “Come inside, young man.”

  Jeff was surprised. However, he followed her into the house, noting that it too was very plain without a great deal of ornamentation. The furniture was pretty though. He’d never seen any exactly like it before. Pictures and paintings and tintypes hung on the walls, and he saw that all the people in them were wearing plain dark clothes. A rather stern-looking bunch, he thought.

  “We have a visitor.”

  The woman spoke to the man who was coming into the kitchen through another door. Jeff saw that he was small and as lean as his wife was fat. He had a shock of thick salt-and-pepper hair and mild brown eyes. “What hast thee found, Ellie? A soldier boy?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff spoke up quickly. “I’m in General Lee’s army. I stopped to see if I could buy some food.”

  “What is thy name, young man?”

  “Jeff Majors.”

  “My name is Claude Poteet, and this is my wife, Ellie.” He was carrying a bucket of fresh milk, and he set it down on the counter. “Wife, we’ll have some fresh milk and perhaps some of that apricot cake that thee made yesterday.”

  Jeff’s mouth watered at the thought of apricot cake, and soon he found himself sitting at a plain pine table, trying not to wolf down the cake as he would have liked to. He answered questions as best he could with his mouth full, and he thought he’d never tasted anything as good as the warm fresh milk.

  Claude Poteet asked many questions about Jeff and about the army and soon said, “Is thee a God-fearing young man, Jeff?”

  “Well—” Jeff swallowed a mouthful of milk and wiped his mouth with his sleeve “—I’m a Christian, Mr. Poteet.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Poteet nodded. “We are Friends here.”

  “Friends?”

  “Thee would call us Quakers.”

  “Oh, I know about Quakers,” Jeff said instantly, remembering. “I met one not long ago that did me a great favor—took care of me when I was hurt.”

  “Well, we Friends don’t believe in violence, so we don’t fight in the war, but we take care of the wounded when we can,” Ellie Poteet put in. “Try another piece of this cake.”

  Jeff sat there feeling quite at home, and within a short time the Poteets heard his life history.

  Then Ellie Poteet, after a look at her husband, said, “Does thee feel we might have this young man’s father and brother for supper, husband?”

  “That would be well if it could be done.”

  “Oh, our unit’s not far down the road. My father’s the major, and my brother’s a sergeant. They’d be glad to come.”

  “Good. As soon as thee finishes thy cake, go get them. I’ll go kill one of our fattest fowls for supper tonight.”

  Supper at the Poteets’ was a success. Jeff guessed that his father was far more handsome and cultured than the couple had expected, and they were impressed with his manners and with his bearing.

  Ellie Poteet said, “Thee can never deny that these are thy boys. The family resemblance is strong. Does thee have other children, Major?”

  “One girl, just a baby. Her name is Esther.” He hesitated, then said sadly, “I lost my wife when she was born.”

  “Well, the Lord comfort thee,” Claude Poteet said with compassion in his voice. “We have lost two of our own, so we know the pain.”

  The meal was the best any of them had had for months—fried chicken, fresh ham, and such vegetables as were available, including fried squash, which was a favorite with Jeff. He ate so much of it that Ellie Poteet warned him mildly, “Thee is going to burst, young man.”

  Jeff grinned at her. “It’d be a wonderful way to die! Fried squash is about as good as food gets.”

  Afterward they adjourned to the parlor and drank real coffee. Nelson Majors had four cups of it before holding his hand up and saying, “That will have to do me. You can’t drink enough to store it for the future, can you?” He looked at the Poteets and smiled. “We all appreciate your hospitality. It’s been a wonderful evening, but we must get back to our unit.”

  “Before thee goes, we will pray for thee.”

  The three soldiers stood up, and the Quakers prayed with them one at a time, standing on either side. First they prayed heartily for Nelson Majors, for his safety and for his motherless daughter. Then they prayed for Tom that he would be kept safe in the battle and that he would live to see his “children’s children”—Ellie’s exact words. Tom stared at her when she finished, and Jeff knew he was thinking of Sarah and of getting married.

  Then they came to Jeff and put their hands on his shoulders. He felt the warmth of them. One, then the other, prayed. “Lord, guide this fine young man. Let not war make him grow bitter. Keep him sweet in Thy Spirit …” It was quite a long prayer, and Jeff felt very good about it.

  As the three soldiers walked back down the dark road to where the regiment was camped, Nelson Majors said briefly, “If everybody in the world was as kind and loving as the Poteets, it would be a good place to live!”

  5

  Time for a Birth

  As the time for the birth of Abigail’s baby grew close, Sarah grew more and more concerned. The two young women were alone for the most part—although Jenny Wade still came by frequently. They were sitting one day making sheets for the baby when the door flew open and Jenny burst in, her eyes wide with excitement.

  “The Rebels are coming! They’re on their way here!”

  At once Abigail became flustered, her face grew pale, and she tried to struggle to her feet, crying out, “When—where—”

  “Now you sit down there, Abigail.” Sarah soothed her friend and eased her back into the chair. “It’s all probably rumors. There’s always plenty of those. We’ve heard them for days now.”

  “It’s no rumor this time,” Jenny protested. Her face was flushed, and she shook her head, sending her curls swinging on the back of her neck. “Mr. Thompson saw them. He was out on the Chambersburg Pike this morning, and he said they were camped all along the road there. There must be a million of them, he said.”

  Sarah noted that the news distressed Abigail greatly, though she herself did not get excited. “Well, they’ll probably pass right on through,” she said practically. “Sit down, Jenny. We have some raisin cake left.”

  Jenny hesitated, then shrugged and sat at the table. As Sarah made tea and cut a slice of cake for her, she continued to speak of the enormous army of Rebels that appeared to be descending upon them.

  “If there’re that many Confederates,” Sarah said, putting the cake down in front of Jenny, “then the Union Army has to be close. I’ve been reading in the paper that General Hooker has been following the Confederate troops all the way from Richmond.”

  “Well, where are they?” Abigail asked, her voice tense. “Oh, why did it have to come at a time like this?” She began to cry, and her friends both went around to pat her shoulders and comfort her.

  “There, there, Abigail,” Jenny said. “Dr. Morse will be right here, and you won’t have any trouble.”

  “Oh, I will! I just know
I will!”

  “You’ll be fine,” Sarah said encouragingly. She patted Abigail’s hand, then held it. “I’ll be right here, and Jenny—and Dr. Morse is a fine doctor.”

  Sarah and Jenny stayed beside Abigail until she grew calm, then resumed their seats.

  When Jenny bit into the raisin cake, she exclaimed, “Oh, this is good! I wish Johnston had some of this. It was always one of his favorites.”

  “Have you heard from him lately?” Sarah inquired.

  “Yes, I got a letter just this morning. I brought it with me. I’ll read you part of it.”

  Sarah and Abigail listened as Jenny read, and Sarah was pleased at the excitement on the young woman’s face. Johnston Skelly proclaimed his love as he always did by saying,

  I’d hoped to be able to come home on leave, but it seems I’ll be sent with other troops under General Grant to Tennessee. It shouldn’t take too long to run the Rebels out of there, sweetheart, and then I’ll be coming home, and we’ll be married. Can’t wait for that day to come.

  With all my love,

  Your soldier boy,

  Johnston Skelly

  “I know you’re disappointed,” Sarah remarked. “You were counting on his coming home.”

  “Oh, yes, I was. I’ve got my wedding dress all made and a whole chest full of linens …” Jenny’s face grew sad. “Sometimes I think it’ll never be over, this awful war.”

  Sarah had thought the same thing many times, but this was no time to add to the gloom. As cheerfully as she could, she said, “Well, it will be. All things come to an end, and this war will too. Then you’ll have Johnston back, and you’ll have the best wedding any girl in Gettysburg ever had.” She continued to speak cheerfully, and by the time Jenny went home even Abigail seemed to have lost her fears.

  Sarah read to Abigail for some time, but the expectant mother’s attention appeared to wander. She was in considerable discomfort, Sarah noticed, and nothing she could do seemed to ease it. Finally she closed the book. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed. You’ve had a hard day.”

  “All right.” Abigail sighed. She got to her feet slowly and moved into her bedroom.

  Sarah saw to it that she got to bed. Then she leaned over and kissed her, whispering, “It won’t be long now. You’ll have a fine boy—or a fine girl—and then we’ll have the real joy of all of this.”

  Sarah went back into the living area. Taking out pencil and paper, she sat down and for more than an hour wrote letters. One was to her parents, in which she assured them that she was fine and Abigail was doing very well. She wrote also to Tom, but this letter was more difficult. Twice she got no farther than a paragraph and then tore up the sheet of paper and started over.

  For a long time she sat there as darkness fell, thinking of days that were gone, thinking mostly of Tom Majors and of how they had fallen in love back in Kentucky. He had been the best-looking young man in the county, and she smiled as she thought of how other girls had tried to catch his attention. But they never had.

  He always like me best, she thought, even when we were ten years old. He carried my books to school for me—and once when Roy Abrahams called me a name, Tom jumped on him even though he was almost two years older.

  She thought of that fight and how afterward she had taken Tom to the brook and washed his bloody face with her handkerchief. Her hands had trembled, she remembered, and then she had leaned forward and kissed him—their first kiss.

  The shadows fell fast outside now, and soon it was dark. She rose, lit a candle, and brought it back to the table. Finally, with a sigh, knowing that she must write something, she wrote:

  Dear Tom,

  I am not certain this letter will reach you. Here in Gettysburg the rumor is that the Army of Northern Virginia is headed this way. Right now you may be closer to me than we have been for many months. I wish that you were back in Virginia. My heart aches when I think of your going into battle again, but I must not trouble you with this.

  She continued the letter by giving the circumstances of her visit in Gettysburg and finally ended by saying,

  My dearest, I think so often of our days together when we were younger. I think of how we have been parted. It is a grief to me, but all over this country, North and South, there are other grieving young women and young men too. We must accept the will of God—but it is my prayer that one day we will be together again.

  With all my affection,

  Sarah Carter

  She was unhappy with the letter, but anything she might write would be feeble and not express what was in her heart. She folded it, sealed it with wax, and put it aside. Then she went to bed.

  Sarah lay awake for some time. Finally dropping off to sleep, she slept fitfully, tossing. The night was warm, and she threw all the covers back. Suddenly she heard a cry and awoke instantly.

  In the other bedroom she found Abigail, tears on her cheeks.

  “What is it, Abigail?” Sarah asked, going quickly to put her hand on the girl’s forehead.

  “I think—I think it won’t be too long before the baby comes!”

  Sarah hesitated, wondering if it might be the time to go for Dr. Morse. She decided, however, to wait a little while. It was nearly dawn, she saw by the mantel clock, and she said, “We’ll see then, Abigail. It may be. There still should be plenty of time.”

  The feeble gray light touched the east, and finally the yellow sun rose. Jenny Wade came at eight o’clock.

  While she and Jenny were in the outer room, Sarah said worriedly, “I’m not certain about things like this. Perhaps it would be better to go find Dr. Morse now.”

  “I think it might be best,” Jenny agreed. “It’s too bad we don’t have an older woman here, but we’ll just have to do the best we can.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to say, “I’ll go—” but she broke off abruptly. “What was that?”

  They stared at each other, and then it came again—a low rumble.

  “That’s not thunder,” Jenny whispered.

  No. And then Sarah knew the truth. “That’s cannon fire!”

  Although she had never heard a cannon fired, she knew instantly that this was the beginning of a battle. “I’d better get back to Abigail,” she said.

  “I’ll stay with you,” Jenny said.

  Abigail was sitting up in bed, her face twisted with pain. “What’s that noise? Is it fighting?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Sarah said calmly, “but it’s far off. I don’t want you worrying about that. How do you feel?”

  The cannon grew louder as the morning progressed, and soon Sarah heard a crackling sound.

  “What’s that?” Abigail started and looked fearfully toward the window.

  Sarah knew it must be musket fire, and that meant the fighting was coming closer. She grew apprehensive—not for herself but for Abigail. For the next two hours she tried to soothe the frightened girl, but the firing grew louder and louder, and at the same time Abigail grew more and more terrified.

  By one o’clock the battle was raging close by. Whether or not this had anything to do with Abigail’s condition, neither Jenny nor Sarah was certain—but at one-thirty Sarah said, “You stay with her, Jenny. I’m going for the doctor.”

  Jenny went to the window and looked out. “All right, but be careful!” she said. Jenny walked out of the bedroom with Sarah, saying again, “Be careful, Sarah. I think there are enemy soldiers coming into town.”

  “Dr. Morse’s house isn’t too far. I’ll get him, and we’ll be right back,” Sarah said.

  As she went out the front door, a tremendous explosion took place somewhere to her left. Startled, she whirled to see the corner of a shop caving in. Dust and smoke filled the air, and then Sarah began to run, praying that none of the shells would hit the building where Abigail lay having her child.

  I hope Dr. Morse isn’t gone, she thought, breathing heavily. She wondered what she would do if he was gone but could do nothing more than utter a prayer that God would take care
of His own.

  Neither Jeff nor his companions in his squad or even in his company understood the battle that took place on July 1 at Gettysburg. It was a confusing battle to say the least.

  Jeff had been roused out of a sound sleep by Lieutenant Forbes with hurried instructions. “Get on that drum, Jeff! We’ve got to get on the road. Everything’s moving!”

  Jeff rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and leaped to his feet. Then he and Charlie Bowers moved along the lines of sleeping soldiers, the sharp rattle of their drums bringing the men to their feet.

  Sgt. Tom Majors appeared in the morning light, his eyes troubled. “Pa says we’re going to be in a big fight. He won’t be with us,” he told Jeff. “You stay back when the fighting starts. You hear me?”

  Jeff wanted to admonish Tom to do the same, but he knew that that would be useless. “Be careful, Tom,” he said. “Don’t get yourself hurt.”

  Tom grinned, though his dark eyes were sober. He slapped Jeff on the back, saying, “I’ll be all right. Now it’s time to go.”

  Much later, when the battle was over, Jeff went back and tried to study what had happened. Neither General Lee nor General Meade, who had taken command of the Union troops, wanted to fight at Gettysburg. Neither army was at its full strength. But the battle seemed to get out of the control of the generals.

  The first action occurred in the gray light of dawn, just as the trees and fences and houses along the Chambersburg Pike began to grow clear. A group of Confederate infantrymen had approached to within a half mile of Gettysburg when they saw Federal cavalry. This cavalry was under the charge of General Buford, and Buford decided to use his men to hold the line until the full strength of the Union Army could be brought up.

  The opening shots were fired, and soon both armies were engaged in a fierce skirmish. As usual, Jeff kept as close to his company as he could. At times his father was nearby, giving him commands to pass on to the fighting soldiers by means of the drum. That was the only way to give orders on the battlefield. Men could hear the drum or the bugle when they could hear nothing else above the noise of battle.