Boys of Wartime: Will at the Battle of Gettysburg Page 7

  Mother looked as stunned as I felt. It was clear she had to think on it a bit. “I’ll just take this into the other room,” she said, picking up the bucket. “The men are asking for water.”

  “He wants me to go with him,” I blurted. “To lead the way. Says he needs help getting across the lines.”

  Mother dropped the bucket. Water sloshed onto the floor. “You’re just a boy,” she said.

  “What if the papers he’s carrying can make a difference in the battle? What if they’ll help the Union to win?” I asked. “Help Jacob to come home.”

  One of the Union men came into the kitchen then, looking for us. Mother asked him if surgeons and their assistants were generally safe from enemy fire.

  He didn’t ask why she needed that information. “Surgeons and drummers often take to the battlefield after dark, searching for the wounded. Carrying them off the field. He waves a white flag if need be. Folks generally don’t shoot. Generally, not always.”

  Then he picked up the water bucket. “I’ll take this into the parlor so that you can be alone for a moment.”

  “I guess I should go with him,” I said reluctantly.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She was quiet for a long moment.

  I wanted her to refuse her permission, and I wanted her to grant it at the same time. Too many feelings battled for attention in my body. Fear. Shame about being afraid. Anger at the Union officer. And even a little excitement about the idea of becoming the hero I was in my daydreams. Fear seemed to be the strongest, though.

  “Jacob would do it,” I said. I knew, when I said it, that it was true. “I can help him find his way, and then come back.”

  “You won’t make that journey twice,” Mother said finally. “Find the girls at the Weikert farm and wait out the battle there. It will be safer.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “If I don’t come back, won’t the Rebels arrest you? Or shell the house?”

  “Those Rebels are too wounded to notice. Two of our Union boys are hardly hurt at all. They can help me with the others.”

  She pulled me into her arms. We sat mashed together on the kitchen floor. Then Mother got to her feet. “I’ll see about getting one of your father’s suits.”

  I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes, and said a silent prayer. If Mary McLean was brave enough to face the Rebels with her song, I could summon the courage to wave a white flag and pretend the man in the carriage house was my father.

  I heard mother walking through the parlor. “One of our neighbors is in need of cloth for bandages,” she said. “I’ll be right back to check on you boys.”

  She came into the kitchen with a bundle. “There is no shame in telling him no,” she said.

  “I’m going,” I said. My voice wavered.

  “There are two white cloths in there,” she told me. “If that man out there does anything foolish, you leave him to his fate,” she said fiercely. “You keep yourself safe.”

  I promised that I would.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll need his name before you leave,” she said. “I’ll not send my boy out into the night without knowing the name of the man he’s risking his life for.”

  I slipped outside with the bundle and brought it to him.

  “What’s your name?” I whispered.

  “My name?”

  “My mother requires your name.”

  “Colonel William Braxton,” he said. “I’m one of General Meade’s aides.”

  “I’ll be back,” I told him.

  Mother waited by the back door. Her face looked drawn and tired. I whispered the colonel’s name. She nodded and pulled me into another hug before placing a kiss on my forehead. She handed me Father’s medical chest.

  “I won’t watch you leave,” she said. “But I’ll be watching for you to come home when the battle’s over.”

  I nodded, then waited until she was in the parlor before I slipped outside again. The colonel was standing just inside the carriage house. He held his uniform.

  “Bury this,” he ordered. “If the Confederates find it there will be trouble.”

  I knelt in the garden and pretended to be searching for something among the trampled ruins while I dug. As soon as I judged the hole deep enough, I went back to the door of the carriage house.

  He handed me his uniform. I pointed to his rifle and his saber. “I’ll need those, too,” I said. “Surgeons have no call for them.”

  Reluctantly, he handed them over. I dropped them on top of the uniform and pushed the dirt back on top. I hoped my work wouldn’t be obvious in the light of day.

  When I stood and brushed the dirt off my trousers, he stepped out of the carriage house. Father’s suit was too short in the legs, but the jacket fit the colonel okay.

  It was time to begin our journey.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dr. Edmonds

  Itried to ignore the pops and whistles of sharpshooter bullets as I pushed aside the loose board in our fence and led the colonel into the alley and toward Washington Street.

  “What’s my name?” the colonel whispered.

  “Doctor Joseph Edmonds,” I whispered back.

  I took a deep breath and tried to steady my quaking knees. Washington Street was full of Rebel soldiers. Some were sleeping with their rifles in their hands, some were singing, others were just staring into the night. A few glanced at the colonel’s medical kit, visible in the glow of their campfires, and looked away. Perhaps this would be easier than I thought.

  When we reached South Street, I deemed it best that we head back to Baltimore. It was a more direct route to the cemetery. I tripped over someone and started to apologize, then realized, by the stillness of him, that he was dead. I shivered, despite the heat.

  A Rebel guard stopped us on the corner of Baltimore Street. He raised his pistol and pointed it at the colonel.

  “I’m Dr. Edmonds,” the colonel said.

  It was the first time I heard his full voice. We had been whispering up until that time. It was a strong, confident baritone.

  Even so, the Reb eyed him suspiciously. “There are plenty of hospitals that way,” he said, pointing toward the Courthouse.

  The colonel was as cool as a steel knife. “We were ordered to attend a wounded officer up the street a ways.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “This is my son. He’s going to assist me.”

  “Where?” the Reb asked.

  The colonel hesitated. Of course he didn’t know. He didn’t know the town. I had to speak up.

  “At the Rupp house,” I said, nodding in that direction. “Just past the tannery.” My voice quivered a bit, but not too badly.

  “A Confederate officer,” the colonel added. “Very seriously wounded. He can’t be moved.”

  I waited for the Reb to pull the trigger. My legs stiffened as if all on their own they had decided to run. I gritted my teeth and dug my heels into the ground so I could stand still.

  The Reb let us pass.

  “What’s past the Rupp house?” the colonel whispered.

  “Snider’s Wagon Hotel,” I whispered back.

  We were stopped by several guards, but the colonel gave the same story each time. The Rebs appeared to be in pretty high spirits. They had won the day and were unconcerned about the possibility of a spy in their midst.

  One asked us to stop and tend his fellow soldier.

  The colonel knelt and looked at the gash in the man’s leg. I held my breath and got ready to run. Did he know about doctoring, or would he give us away?

  “There’s a very badly wounded officer up ahead,” he said gently. “This’ll wait until I can get back to you.” He patted the soldier on the arm. “You’ll be fine, son.”

  “Much obliged, Doc,” the Rebel said.

  My breath came out in one big rush. I never would have guessed the colonel was lying.

  Finally, we reached the Rebel pickets—the soldiers closest to t
he Union lines. They were just about even with the Rupp house. I knew there had to be Union pickets not too far ahead. I pulled the handkerchief out of my pocket and raised it over my head. The moon was full. I told myself the white cloth would be visible.

  “Where do you think y’all are going?” a gruff voice demanded.

  The colonel put a hand on my shoulder again. “I’m Dr. Edmonds. There’s a man ahead in the Wagon Hotel who needs doctoring. His courier came to the Courthouse a little while ago. Said it was urgent.”

  “Where’s the courier now?” The Reb placed his hand on his pistol.

  The colonel pretended not to notice. He shrugged. “Ran on ahead while I was restocking my medical kit.” He held the wooden box up as proof.

  “Why didn’t I see him?”

  The colonel shrugged again. “Slipped by unnoticed I expect.”

  Anger flashed in the Rebel’s eyes.

  “He’s one of yours,” the colonel said quickly. “So is the wounded man. An officer. One of Lee’s men, I think.”

  My eyes darted from the pistol to the Reb’s face and back again. A sharpshooter’s bullet sailed over our heads toward the Union’s lines. I jumped.

  “Why is there a boy with you?” the Rebel demanded.

  “My son,” the colonel said calmly. “He’s been assisting me.”

  “Does your son know that the Wagon Hotel is in the Bluebellies’ hands?” the Rebel asked. His voice was full of sarcasm.

  “I have no enemies,” the colonel said. “I’ll treat any man who is wounded and needs my care.”

  The Reb said nothing.

  “Perhaps the officer is a prisoner,” the colonel said sternly. “This is a life-and-death matter. You must let us go to him.”

  The man’s hand tightened around his pistol.

  Then another voice spoke up, coming to us out of the dark. “That’s the doctor’s son,” it said. “I seen him the other day.”

  It was too dark for me to see that funny little nod of his, but I knew the voice. It was Abel Hoke.

  He came closer, visible now in the moonlight. He caught my eye for a moment and gave me one of those nods before he turned back to the Rebel officer. “Sure would be a shame to let one of our officers die, especially if the enemy is willing to let the doc treat him.”

  “That’s enough, drummer,” the officer said.

  I could feel my colonel’s eyes on me. His grip on my shoulder tightened. It felt like a threat, like he was afraid I was in league with the enemy.

  Abel was as cool as the colonel. He gave me another one of those nods of his.

  The Reb stepped aside and let us pass, puffing out his chest to let us know who was really in charge. “I grant you permission. Be sure to wave that white flag of yours so you don’t get shot.”

  “Thank you.” The colonel started forward. His hand was still on my shoulder. I dragged my eyes away from Abel’s and went with him.

  “You come back this way,” the officer said. “We’ve got lots of wounded on this side of the lines, too.”

  “I’ll see you again,” the colonel said. “When I come back to town.”

  The officer didn’t know that the “doctor” was making a threat. Abel must have suspected. Still, my friend from Tennessee didn’t give us away.

  That was two times now that he had saved my life. He knew my father was in Washington. Why had he lied for me?

  I couldn’t ask. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. We were in a strange kind of no-man’s-land between the two armies. Each step I took should have been as familiar to me as my own home, but my town had been transformed by two armies of fighting men. With each step, I expected a bullet in my back.

  How different this was from all my fancy dreams about leading men into battle, waving the Stars and Stripes as I charged the enemy. I never imagined I would be sneaking away from them, waving a white handkerchief so that my own side didn’t shoot me dead. I used to be sure I would be brave in battle. Now all I wanted to do was hide.

  My muscles twitched under my skin, making me want to run, or leap into a ditch, or do anything but what I was doing. Even so, I knew that if I did run—toward the Union lines or back to Mother—one side or the other would fill me with lead.

  The colonel’s grip steadied me, and I was forced to keep pace with him.

  The walk, just a short ways, seemed to take forever. Finally we reached the Union pickets. I raised my white handkerchief even higher and waved and waved. I waited to see a flash of fire and hear the pop of a musket. It didn’t come. We were safe.

  The colonel was truly a military man. The firm but respectful doctor tone he used with the Rebels was replaced with one of command. Within seconds he had identified himself and secured a messenger to get his papers to General Meade.

  We went into the Wagon Hotel, where he got a quick briefing from the officer in charge. Sharpshooters had pounded holes in the roof and were shooting at the Rebel sharpshooters in Gettysburg.

  I thought the colonel might leave me there, and I’d have to wave that white handkerchief all the way to the Weikert place, but he had other ideas.

  “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll find a safe place for you before I report to General Meade.”

  We left the hotel and made our way to the top of Cemetery Hill. The colonel stopped and took a rifle from one dead soldier and a cartridge box from another.

  “How is it that a Rebel drummer would lie to an officer for you?” the colonel asked me.

  “We fed him,” I said. “A few days ago when the Rebs came to town. He was starving and we fed him.”

  “You saved his life,” the colonel said. “He returned the favor.”

  I didn’t tell him that Abel had saved me twice, and all I had done for him was give him some food and a pair of shoes. I owed him a lot more than he owed me. But it was all too much to think on right then.

  I was a jumbled mess of pride and fear and sadness. My plan had worked! I had gotten a Union colonel across enemy lines. At the same time, I knew I could have just as easily ended up dead in a heap on the ground. And I had left my mother alone, surrounded by enemy soldiers. Throughout it all I was as scared as Grace would have been. Worse—as scared as the twins would have been.

  Suddenly I was crying. I was ashamed, but I couldn’t stop. I kept my head down and kept my feet moving, hoping the colonel didn’t notice.

  He waited for me to master my emotions.

  “There are a lot of men who wouldn’t have been able to take that walk with me,” he said gently. “You were brave when it counted. You’d make a fine soldier.”

  I nodded my thanks, not trusting myself to speak.

  Soon we were in the cemetery. Soldiers slept among the gravestones like living ghosts.

  Colonel Braxton met with some officers in the cemetery’s gatehouse. I told them everything I knew about what was happening in Gettysburg—the house-to-house searches and the barricades the Rebs had built to slow any Union advance back into town.

  The officers sat on the floor around a candle stuck in a bottle, drinking coffee. They talked about what might have been if they had more troops and seemed a little bit heartened by the fact that more Union soldiers had arrived, and others were on their way.

  I recognized the general—General Howard—I had taken to the top of the Fahnestock Brothers store that morning.

  It was late. After midnight. I was more tired than I had ever been in my life. I went outside, sat on the ground, and looked at my town. I imagined a Sunday dinner. The whole family around the table. Father would lead the prayer. Jacob and I would tease Grace about her proper manners, and the twins would giggle while Mother scolded us to leave her be.

  But we hadn’t been together at the table for a long time. Tonight, enemy soldiers sat there with their Union prisoners.

  The hills were alive with the sounds of Union soldiers chopping and shoveling, positioning themselves for battle. All around I heard the creaking and lumbering of artillery being pu
shed and pulled into place. I was relieved to see that the Union wasn’t giving up after their retreat. But I was worried about Mother. What if one of those cannons was aimed at my house?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Weikert Farm

  I wasn’t alone with my worries about Mother for long. General Howard asked me to walk with him to the top of the hill. He inspected the Union’s position in the moonlight and decided that the hill and the ridge were a good place to fight.

  “Will you fire on the town?” I asked.

  “We’ll shell the Rebels,” he said. “If the citizens take to their cellars when the cannons start to roar, they’ll be safe. No damage will be done to the town that can be avoided.”

  That didn’t calm me much. I knew my mother would be doing her best to help the wounded soldiers. I didn’t believe she would go to the cellar, not when there were men who needed nursing.

  “The soldiers with your mother will make sure she keeps herself safe,” Colonel Braxton told me.

  It was an answer meant to soothe me, not one I truly believed. I thought about trying to make my way back to town. But I knew Mother didn’t want that. In the end, I decided to walk to the Weikert place like she wanted.

  The colonel told General Howard he would come back shortly with General Meade, and mounted a horse.

  “I need to take you somewhere safe,” he said.

  “My sisters are staying at a farm about a mile and a half down the Taneytown Road,” I told him. “I’ll go there.”

  “Climb on.” He reached for my hand and pulled me onto the horse. “I’ll take you.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist. “What was in your papers?” I asked.

  At first I thought he wouldn’t answer. “I guess you’ve earned the right to know,” he said finally. “We intercepted some communications between General Lee and one of his commanders. Battle plans.”

  “Will it help the Union win?”

  The colonel shrugged. “Everything’s different now. Lee planned to take Harrisburg. But now both armies have dug in here. Lee was forced to change his plans.”