Gallant Boys of Gettysburg (6 page)

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.

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.

T
o 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.