Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Page 5

  At one point, when the Union troops were charging, Jeff threw down his drum, picked up a musket from a dead Confederate, loaded it, and fired. Another time, when the fighting was at its worst, he saw Pete Simmons, his face black with powder, firing and cursing. He wished that Pete would not do that, for death was everywhere.

  All morning and throughout the afternoon the battle raged. Slowly the Confederates advanced toward Gettysburg, driving the Union troops back. Then General Early delivered a smashing blow that broke the back of the Union line. The men in blue continued to fall back, and Maj. Nelson Majors shouted, “We’ve got ’em on the run! Charge!”

  As the troops pressed forward, suddenly Charlie Bowers cried out.

  Jeff was by him in a moment. “Are you hurt, Charlie?”

  Charlie Bowers looked at his bleeding upper arm. “No—I mean, not bad—but I can’t sound a drum with one arm!”

  “You go back to where the doctors are, Charlie. I’ll do the drumming!” Jeff cried. He had been terribly afraid that Charlie had been killed.

  Then Jeff sprang forward, sounding his drum, as Tom led the squad. Soon they came under heavy fire from the retreating Union troops, but Tom never hesitated. “Let’s go, you Rebels!” he cried, holding up his musket. With another shout he led them into the small town of Gettysburg.

  6

  Tom Gets a Surprise

  To Tom Majors the crackle of musket fire sounded like thousands of men breaking sticks. The retreating Union soldiers were pushed back slowly, but their fire was taking a toll of the Confederates. Tom had a passion to save his squad and saw to it that they advanced carefully, taking cover behind whatever was there.

  “Pete! Get down!” he yelled once, seeing Pete Simmons charging down the street, yelling and brandishing his musket.

  Simmons turned, his face inflamed with battle fury. “We’ve got ’em on the run, Sarge. Let’s get ’em!”

  Musket balls zipped through the air, but Tom ran and yanked Simmons behind one of the stone buildings. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!” he growled. “Then what good will you be? And is your musket loaded?”

  Simmons blinked, then looked down. “No, it ain’t,” he said. “I just got carried away.”

  “Well, load it!” Tom snapped and watched as Pete expertly loaded the rifle. He thought for a moment of the breech-loading rifles some of the Federal troops had. He had heard you could load in seven shells and fire them all without reloading.

  The old muskets that the Rebels carried were painstakingly hard to use. First you had to pull a paper cartridge full of powder out of your cartridge bag, bite the end of it—which left a black mark on your mouth—and pour the powder into the muzzle. After that you put a wad down there to keep the powder in place. Then you pounded a conical bullet into the barrel, after which you put in another wad to keep it from falling out. And then it was necessary to put a cap in the breech, all of which took much longer than simply inserting bullets.

  The streets revealed the still bodies of blue-clad infantry, and some wounded were crawling painfully away. Tom felt grieved for the dead and wounded, but he had no time to think of them.

  “Move on!” he yelled. Then, seeing Henry Mapes, he shouted, “Henry, you take that street. I’ll go down this one. We’ll clear them of all the Yankees.”

  “Right, Tom,” Mapes hollered back and took a small group of the squad to angle down a side street, urging them to keep their heads down.

  Tom saw no other squad members close by, so he darted into his street alone. He checked his musket to be sure that it was loaded, then advanced cautiously, his eyes darting everywhere for a sight of the enemy.

  A pall of smoke had settled over Gettysburg. It had a sharp, acrid smell, but he was accustomed to that. Just then a movement caught his eye, and he whirled, throwing up his musket—but then saw it was only a large black-and-tan hound dog with floppy ears.

  “Better get out of here, boy,” he said shakily. “You won’t be able to do any hunting if you get yourself killed.”

  Tom moved quickly up the street and was relieved to see none of the enemy’s infantry. He had just turned the corner to angle back toward the main thoroughfare when two things happened. A woman stepped out of a doorway—and at the same moment a shell exploded over to her left.

  Tom knew that it was likely the artillery would throw other shells in the same position, so he ran toward the woman at once.

  He shouted at her—she was now running down the street—but the explosion of other shells drowned out his voice. He finally caught up with her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her around, yelling, “Get off the street!”

  The woman turned, and Tom stared at her in astonishment. It was Sarah Carter!

  Sarah was as startled as Tom looked to be. She had expected anything in the world but this—and now, as shells continued to explode and the sound of rifle fire rattled up ahead, she could not speak for a moment.

  Tom dropped his musket to the ground. It clattered and could have gone off, but he paid no attention. He put his arms around her and held her close. Then he drew back and whispered hoarsely, “Sarah! What in the world—”

  Sarah still stared at him. “Tom!” was all she could say.

  Another shell went off down the street, and the firing sounded closer.

  “What are you doing here, Sarah? You’ve got to get out of the street!”

  “I can’t, Tom. I came to help Abigail. She’s having a baby, and I came to be with her.”

  “You can’t stay out here!”

  “But I’ve got to get Dr. Morse. I’ve got to!”

  Tom looked around desperately. No blue-clad soldiers were charging up the street, but there was always that chance.

  “Where’s this doctor live?”

  “Down the street to the left.”

  “Well, come on, I’ll go with you.” Tom snatched up his musket and, taking Sarah’s arm, kept her close to the buildings.

  She saw no Union soldiers, and the barrage seemed to be over momentarily.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  When Sarah told him what was happening, Tom could only say, “Of all the people for me to find on the streets of this town, I guess you’re the last one I expected.”

  Sarah flashed him a smile. “So good to see you, Tom. I wrote you a letter last night, but I won’t have to give it to you now.”

  “What did you say in the letter, Sarah?”

  Sarah hesitated, then stopped walking entirely and turned to him. “I said how much I thought of those days so long ago when we were children and then when we were growing up and you came courting me.”

  Tom looked down at her admiringly. “You were always the prettiest girl in the county,” he said.

  “And you were the handsomest young man.”

  Tom asked quietly, “What else did you say in the letter?”

  “I said—” Sarah hesitated, then went on almost in a whisper “—I said that I loved you and always would. And—and I said that I’d marry you!”

  And there in the middle of the Battle of Gettysburg, Tom Majors took Sarah Carter in his arms. She put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down, and he kissed her. Then he drew back and shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I’ve wanted to hear that more than anything in the world! But come—we can’t stay here.”

  “Will you come back after the battle?” Sarah asked.

  “I’ll do the best I can.”

  They entered the doctor’s office without knocking and found Dr. Morse inside. He was a tall, strongly built man with sparse gray hair and penetrating blue eyes.

  “What’s all this?” He looked at Tom with a question in his eyes.

  “This is an old friend of mine from Kentucky,” Sarah said. She hesitated, wondering what the doctor would think of her having friends in Confederate uniform, part of the attacking enemy. But there was no time to explain. “Dr. Morse, you’ve got to come! I think the baby’s coming!”

  At once the doctor
nodded. “Been expecting it.” He grabbed his black bag, pulled his hat on his head, then said, “Are you going with us, soldier?”

  “I’ll go with you to be sure you don’t take any stray shots,” Tom said.

  “All right, let’s go.”

  Sarah and the two men passed through some advancing Confederate infantry, and Tom waved them off.

  “Probably just as well you’re with us, young man,” Dr. Morse grunted. “Hate to be taken prisoner when that woman needs me.”

  When they reached the doorway next to the gun shop, Sarah turned to Tom. “This is it, Tom. Come back if you can.”

  “I will—if I can.” Tom reached out, took her hands, then suddenly kissed them. He gave the doctor a defiant look and said, “Do your best, doctor,” then ran down the street toward where the firing was heaviest.

  Dr. Morse was clearly curious about the situation. “I guess he’s a pretty good friend of yours,” he observed, his eyes taking in Sarah’s face.

  “Yes—yes, he is, Dr. Morse.”

  “Maybe more than a friend?”

  “Yes, more than a friend. We were going to be married, but the war came. His family went to Virginia.” Then Sarah shook her head. “But come along, Dr. Morse—Abigail needs you.” She led the doctor up the stairs.

  When they reached Abigail’s bedside, she said, “The doctor’s here, Abigail. It’s going to be all right now.”

  Night had fallen, but still there were thunderings from the cannon outside Gettysburg. Sarah stood at the front window, watching the flashes of light far off. The battle had gone on furiously. She had not seen Tom and did not know how the fighting was going. Suddenly she was very tired and could not really care who won the battle. All she cared about was that she had seen Tom and told him that she loved him and that she would marry him someday.

  Sarah heard a slight sound and whirled quickly toward the bedroom. By the bed she saw Dr. Morse, holding a newborn baby, all red and wrinkled. The doctor grinned at her, slapped the baby, and a cry suddenly filled the room. Abigail’s baby was very tiny but seemed healthy and strong.

  They cleaned up the baby, and Dr. Morse laid it in Abigail’s arm. “You’ve got a fine boy there, Abigail! Your husband’s going to be very proud of you.”

  Abigail held the tiny red-faced morsel of humanity. She watched the eyes squint together and the mouth open in a protest. A smile came to her face. She looked tired but very happy. “Thank you, Doctor. Albert will be proud.”

  Sarah sat down and gazed at the mother and the new child. A smile came to her lips. She was weary beyond telling, but somehow there was victory here. Her trip had not been in vain. The war raged outside, and men were dying, but in this room a new life had just come.

  She reached over and touched one tiny, perfectly formed ear and murmured, “He’s a fine boy, Abigail.”

  7

  A Hill Like a Fishhook

  The first day of battle was victorious for the Confederates. They had driven the Federals back into Gettysburg. But it was an expensive victory. Many of their number lay dead, and many more were wounded.

  A small fire flickered in the darkness, and there Tom Majors sat listening as Sgt. Henry Mapes went over the list of losses in their company.

  Mapes’s voice was steady but sad as he named them off. “Jenkins, Conway, Lowrey, and his brother Dale—they got killed early in the fight.” Then he began tolling the list of wounded, and the crackling of the fire punctuated his words.

  Tom listened, but his mind was only half on what he was hearing. These had been his comrades—young men that he had been through many battles with. And as Mapes called each name, it seemed a sharp knife penetrated his heart.

  Finally the sergeant ended the list and rose, saying, “I’m going to see about Henry Staples. He took a bad wound to the side, but I hope he’ll be OK.”

  When Mapes disappeared into the darkness, Tom looked over to where Jeff was sitting, silently poking a stick into the fire and watching the sparks rise. “We took some pretty good losses, Jeff,” Tom muttered. “Good boys—every one of them.”

  He knew Jeff had lost good friends that day. He had helped to bury two of them, Todd Mayfield and Shorty Wagner. Both were very young, not over eighteen.

  Jeff poked the fire again, stirred it, watched the red sparks swirl upward. Finally he looked across the fire at Tom. “Now none of these fellows will have any life. They should have gotten married and had children—and then had grandchildren.” He added quietly, “Todd’s folks—this’ll about kill ’em! He was their only son, and they’re getting on in years. Now they’ll never have any more of their name in this world.” He threw the stick out into the darkness and said angrily, “It’s not right, Tom, just not right!”

  “It’s war.” Tom shrugged.

  Suddenly, out of the dark the tall form of their father emerged. He squatted down, saying, “I’m glad you two are all right. We took some pretty bad losses.”

  After they had talked for a while, Tom cleared his throat. “Something I’ve got to tell you.” There was an odd note in his voice. “When I went into Gettysburg today something happened.” He paused, then said, “I thought stuff like this happened only in novels. It was one of the strangest things I ever heard of.”

  “Well, what was it, Tom?” Jeff probed. “What’d you see?”

  “I was headed down one of the streets, and cannon was beginning to knock the town apart,” Tom answered slowly. “I saw this woman come out of a doorway. She started down the street, and a shell exploded not too far from her. Well, I went to get her off the street, and when I got up to her and she turned around—I saw it was Sarah.”

  “Sarah Carter?” his father demanded.

  “Yes. Why, you could have knocked me over with a feather!” Tom confessed. “There the shells were falling all around us. I knew we had to get out of there.”

  “What in the world was Sarah doing in Gettysburg?” Jeff asked.

  “You remember Abigail Smith that married the Munson fellow? Well, they moved to Gettysburg. The fellow she married is gone with Grant and the Union Army, and she’s having her first baby. She wrote and asked Sarah to come and be with her, and Sarah did.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Jeff said in amazement. “Out of all the people in this town you run into Sarah!”

  “Is she all right?” their father asked quickly.

  “She was when I left her. She was on her way to get the doctor, and I went with her to be sure she got there all right. We got the doctor back to the house where Abigail was, and I had to leave to go on with the attack.”

  Nelson Majors was watching his son’s face. “I guess it was quite a shock finding her right in the middle of a battle. I wish she weren’t here. This whole town could become a battleground.”

  “I felt the same way, but she is, and she won’t leave Abigail. I know that.”

  “What else did she say, Tom?” Jeff asked eagerly. “She say anything about Leah?”

  “No, we didn’t have time to talk much. I had to get on my way. After the battle’s over I’m going to try to get back to her though. She said …”

  “What was it she said, Tom?” his father prompted. He kept his eyes fixed on his son’s countenance and then smiled. “Something personal, I guess?”

  “Yes, it was, Pa—I mean, Major,” Tom stammered. “Well—” he shrugged his shoulders “—she said she cared for me and someday she’d marry me.”

  “Well, she’s never gone that far before. That’s good news.” Their father rose to his feet and looked toward the east, where the Union troops lay. “It’s gonna be a bad day tomorrow. I’ve got the feeling that General Lee’s gonna want to attack at once. Right now, from all the figures, we’ve got the Yankees outnumbered—for once.”

  “We’ll whip ’em this time, Pa,” Jeff said, forgetting to call his father by his military title. “See if we don’t.”

  “We’d better.” Nelson Majors nodded grimly. “We’re a long way from home, and if they ever
get their full strength up and get us flanked, it’d be bad. You boys watch out for yourselves.” He strolled off into the night.

  It was perhaps thirty minutes later that Pete Simmons came out of the darkness and sat down beside Tom. He said nothing, which was unusual, for usually he was very talkative.

  “It was pretty rough today, wasn’t it, Pete?” Tom remarked.

  Pete did not answer for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Something happened to me today.”

  Tom stared at him. “What was it?” he asked curiously. He knew that Pete had been in some of the heaviest fighting and that at one point had been in front of the whole Confederate force charging ahead.

  “While the battle was on,” Pete said slowly, his brow wrinkled and an odd look on his face, “I didn’t think about anything. Seems like a fellow kinda loses his mind. Shells are going off, and men are dropping, and all you can do is run and shoot as fast as you can. Well, as long as that was going on, I didn’t have no trouble. But afterwards—”

  Tom waited for him to continue, then asked gently, “What happened, Pete? You didn’t get hit, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t get hit by no bullet—but after all the fighting was over, just about an hour ago, something come to me—just come into my mind. Never had anything like that happen before.”

  Jeff and Tom exchanged glances, and Jeff asked, “Well, what was it, Pete?”

  Pete Simmons bowed his head so that his eyes were hidden. His throat constricted as he swallowed, and finally the tall, lanky young man raised his head and said haltingly, “I got the idea that I’m gonna be killed in this here battle.”

  “Why, lots of us feel like that, Pete. It can happen to anybody,” Tom protested.

  “No, it’s not like that. I’ve always known I could be killed. But this time it was almost like a voice spoke—inside me, sort of.”

  “What did the voice say?” Tom asked.

  “Well, it was just like something said, ‘You’ll be dead and in a grave before this battle is over.’ ” Pete swallowed hard again and ran his fingers through his reddish hair. “I—I ain’t never been scared of nothing. Always figured I could take care of myself—but somehow this is different.” He looked out almost fearfully into the darkness. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow—but that keeps going through my head over and over again. ‘You’re gonna be dead before this battle is over.’ I—I don’t mind tellin’ you it’s got me shook up some.”