I Survived the Battle of Gettysburg, 1863 Page 3

  His mind kept flashing back to Clem, to the moment when those men put the chain around his neck.

  That could not happen to Birdie!

  Thomas heard voices coming from deeper into the woods.

  He slowed his steps, and as he came over a small hill he could see them: at least ten men. They were standing around as their horses drank from a rushing stream.

  His eyes fell on a sack of flour tied to the saddle of one of the horses.

  But then the package lifted its head.

  Birdie!

  She was looking around. She moved her legs and arms.

  Thomas could see no blood on her.

  He almost called out but caught himself.

  He squinted.

  They had tied a rope around her neck.

  Anger boiled up inside him.

  He wanted to charge at the men.

  But he stopped himself. He stood very still.

  And then his fury turned to hopelessness.

  The men would shoot him before he got anywhere near Birdie.

  And even if by some miracle he managed to sneak down and free her, how far could they get?

  There was only one choice.

  Thomas stood and walked toward the men.

  “Thomas!” Birdie shouted, smiling through her tears, as though Thomas could really save her.

  Somehow he managed to smile back.

  Thomas put his hands up.

  “You can take me, too,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking, to be strong for Birdie.

  He felt the men’s hands on him, and he had a strange wilting feeling, as if he was a plant suddenly withering away in the sun.

  It was how he’d felt when he was with Mr. Knox — weak and helpless.

  A tall rebel soldier strode up to him.

  Recognition grabbed Thomas by the throat.

  The straggly beard. The cruel glint in his eye.

  It was him — the same man who’d beaten Henry, who’d put the pistol to his head, ready to pull the trigger.

  He sneered at Thomas. “Well, look here,” he said, grabbing Thomas roughly by the arm, squeezing so hard Thomas thought his bone would snap.

  A burly man hustled up behind the tall soldier. He had a chest like a barrel and muscles that bulged through his tattered gray jacket.

  “This is the one I told you about,” sneered the tall man.

  He put his face close to Thomas’s. His teeth were stained yellow and brown. His breath stunk worse than a dog’s.

  “Thought you were so smart!” he growled. “I’ll show you how smart you are!”

  He reached around and took his pistol from his belt.

  But the burly man grabbed the tall man’s arm and yanked him back hard.

  “Easy, soldier,” he drawled.

  He smiled at Thomas, nodding politely.

  He didn’t seem cruel. Maybe he’d let them go!

  No. He took a rope from his saddlebag and tied Thomas, wrapping his wrists tightly and looping the rope around his neck.

  “Don’t hurt this one,” he said, patting Thomas on the back, as if he was a prized horse. “A strong buck like this? He’ll fetch us at least a thousand dollars at the slave auction.”

  At least the men had not hurt Birdie. She’d lost one of her little front teeth when she fell from the wagon. Her mouth was still bleeding a bit. But otherwise she was all right.

  And incredibly, she did not seem scared.

  “Don’t worry, Thomas,” Birdie whispered. “Our men are coming for us.”

  Thomas didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth: that they were on their own.

  “All right!” the burly man shouted. “Let’s move out of here!”

  Thomas felt doomed.

  He’d heard about the slave auctions, where they’d be lined up like animals. Buyers would check their teeth and their feet. There was little chance that he and Birdie would be sold to the same owner.

  He looked up at the sky, wishing, praying, searching for one last flicker of hope.

  And then,

  Boom!

  A rifle shot echoed through the forest, sending birds flapping wildly out of the trees and bushes.

  A familiar voice bellowed.

  “Drop your weapons!”

  It was Captain Campbell.

  Thomas’s heart leaped as familiar faces appeared through the trees.

  The captain.

  Henry.

  Homer.

  Even Lester was there, though he was hobbling and in obvious pain.

  There were at least fifty more Union soldiers with them.

  “We have you surrounded,” the captain said. “We will shoot every one of you if you don’t put your rifles down.”

  Thomas couldn’t imagine how they had managed to sneak into the woods. But they had, and now they had formed an armed circle around the rebels.

  The cavalrymen put down their rifles. Captain Campbell stepped forward.

  “We have not come here to do battle. We have not come to take prisoners. We have come for the children.”

  The burly man stepped forward.

  “We didn’t hurt them,” he said. “We didn’t lay a hand on them.”

  Captain Campbell signaled to Henry, who headed for Thomas and Birdie.

  The tall man glared at him with narrow eyes.

  And then, quick as a flash, he reached behind himself and grabbed something from his belt. His pistol!

  He aimed it at Henry.

  Boom!

  The tall man jerked back, dropped his weapon, and fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

  “Anyone else?” the captain shouted, lowering his smoking rifle.

  The rebels stood silent, their hands in the air.

  Henry grabbed the pistol from the dirt.

  He rushed over to the tall man, his eyes flashing with wild fury. He aimed the gun at the man’s head. He stood for a moment, his hand steady, the pistol glinting in the sun. Henry looked like a different person, his eyes filled with fury … and even hate.

  But then he lowered his arm.

  “No,” he said.

  He turned and hurled the pistol into the churning waters of the nearby stream, which swept it away.

  Some of the men gasped; Thomas knew how prized those Confederate pistols were, and that some Union soldiers tried to capture them on the battlefields, to bring home as trophies.

  But not Henry.

  He strode over and cut Thomas and Birdie’s ropes with his knife.

  Thomas picked up Birdie and held her tight. Her whole body trembled, and she buried her face in his neck.

  Henry wrapped a strong arm around Thomas’s shoulder, and they walked slowly together toward the road.

  Thomas braced himself for more shots.

  But they made it to the road, and minutes later, the rest of the soldiers appeared.

  They’d captured all of the men’s horses and their rifles.

  “Those rebs won’t be bothering us again,” Captain Campbell said.

  The rest of the regiment was ahead, and now they’d have to move quickly to catch up. Thomas climbed into the supply wagon with Birdie; he was going to stick close to her from now on.

  Before long, she fell asleep on Thomas’s shoulder.

  Henry and Captain Campbell walked alongside the wagon, their eyes scanning the woods, their rifles loaded and ready.

  Thomas kept a grip on Birdie.

  It was some time before he stopped shaking, before he could peel his eyes away from the hills. For a few minutes he even managed to sleep.

  But soon there was thundering in the distance, and great clouds of black and white smoke billowing in the sky.

  At first Thomas thought it was a rainstorm coming toward them.

  But no.

  “Cannons,” Henry said.

  It was the Battle of Gettysburg.

  And they were heading right for it.

  It was getting dark when they arrived. The fighting had ended for the day, and at f
irst, the news about the day’s fighting seemed grim: The Union troops had been badly outnumbered. They had lost thousands of soldiers.

  But then Captain Campbell learned that somehow, the scrappy Union soldiers had managed to hold the high ground. “Our cannons are in the hills,” he said. “We’re dug in!”

  Troops had been pouring into Gettysburg all day, and tens of thousands more would arrive overnight.

  The roads around the town were so crowded that the wagon Thomas and Birdie were riding in could barely move.

  They got out and walked with Henry.

  Thomas had never seen so many people in one place — thousands of Union soldiers. As they made their way through the town, it seemed that every inch of grass was covered by a tent. Supply wagons lined the roads. Horses and mules were tied to every fence and tree.

  Henry talked to some of the soldiers they passed, eager for news of the day’s fighting. But these men were just arriving, too. Some men looked more ragged than Birdie’s doll. One soldier said his regiment had been marching for more than three weeks.

  Birdie stared at the crowds of men.

  “They’re all here to protect us?” she said, her eyes wide in amazement.

  Thomas almost smiled — of course Birdie would think that this was her own personal army.

  Henry picked Birdie up. “Yes, Bird,” he said. “They are here for you.”

  Thomas could see Henry wasn’t joking.

  And maybe Birdie wasn’t wrong.

  These men were fighting for him and Birdie, weren’t they?

  Fighting so that they could be free.

  Henry carried Birdie as they passed a long line of supply wagons stuck on the side of the road.

  Suddenly Birdie gasped.

  “Look at those men!” she cried, pointing.

  Thomas turned, and he too stared at the crowd of men surrounding the front wagon.

  “They look like us!” Birdie exclaimed.

  The men were black.

  “They’re teamsters,” Henry said. “They’re paid by the Union army to run supplies from camp to camp. It’s tough work. Dangerous, too. We’ve got thousands of those men working for us. We couldn’t fight this war without them.”

  Thomas felt a jolt of excitement.

  Those men were free! They were working for the Union!

  “Hello!” Birdie sang out as they passed, waving madly. “Hello!”

  The men looked up in surprise, their tired and dusty faces melting into smiles at the sight of Birdie.

  Thomas wished he could talk to them. Where had they come from? How had they gotten here?

  But there was no time. Their regiment had been ordered to set up camp in a wooded field outside of the town and wait for their orders.

  “We’re in for a tough battle tomorrow,” Captain Campbell said. “Get rest now, but be ready, men.”

  The men dropped their bedrolls and knapsacks and collapsed to the ground. They peeled off their boots and socks and washed their bloodied and blistered feet. And then most of them fell asleep, not even bothering to eat supper or spread out their blankets.

  Thomas and Birdie slept, too.

  But sometime later that night, the entire camp was awakened by the bugler, followed by Captain Campbell’s booming voice.

  “Wake up, men!” he bellowed. “The time has come!”

  The men staggered to their feet and gathered around the captain.

  “We will march across the ridge and take up a position in the hills,” the captain announced, pointing into the darkness behind them. “By morning, the rebels will be on the attack. Our mission is to help hold the ground.”

  Just hours ago the men had looked so ragged and battered they could barely stand. Now they were alert, standing strong.

  “The fighting will be fierce,” the captain said. “The rebels will come at us hard. They will fight with all of their might to knock us from those hills, to crush us. But we will hold our ground, men! We will hold our ground!”

  The soldiers listened with hard expressions.

  “Yes, Captain!” a soldier yelled.

  “We will hold the ground!” shouted another.

  The captain looked around, his steely gaze seeming to fall on each and every man.

  “This is it, men,” he said, his voice rising. “Everything has led to this place, to this moment! This is our time!”

  Someone shouted out a word:

  “Fredericksburg!”

  It seemed to hover there in the air.

  Someone else shouted it out, and then more and more, until the shouts were a wild chanting chorus.

  “Fredericksburg!”

  “Fredericksburg!”

  “Fredericksburg!”

  The men pumped their fists, their eyes fiery.

  And at first Thomas didn’t understand.

  Why would they want to remember that terrible battle, where their regiment had lost so many men? Were they thinking they would lose this battle, too?

  But as the chants grew louder, Thomas could see that the men were turning that day into something new, something strong that they would take with them into battle.

  Finally the captain held up his hands.

  “Let’s go, men!”

  As the men scrambled to line up, Henry took Thomas aside.

  “You and Birdie will stay here with Homer and Les,” he said. “They will keep you safe. You will stay with them, no matter what.”

  Thomas nodded.

  A man shouted to Henry, “Come on!”

  Henry ignored him.

  He put his hands on Thomas’s shoulders. And he looked him straight in the eye.

  “Remember what I told you,” he said. “During the march. That I want you and Birdie to come to Vermont.”

  “We will go,” Thomas said. “We want to go with you.”

  “Good,” Henry said. “You will have a fine and happy life there.”

  “I know we will,” Thomas said.

  Captain Campbell was yelling now, ordering the men to start marching.

  “And, Thomas, we can’t know what will happen out there. So I want you to make me a promise.”

  He gripped Thomas tighter.

  “No matter what happens to me, you will go to Vermont. You will live with my family.”

  What was Henry saying?

  “Promise me,” Henry said, his eyes fixed on Thomas’s.

  Thomas nodded weakly.

  Henry reached into his knapsack, and pulled out the book of paintings Mary had made for him.

  “Keep this for me,” he said, slipping it into Thomas’s shirt pocket.

  Then he put his hand on Thomas’s head, nodded, and quickly turned away.

  A second later he was gone.

  When the fighting began, explosions of cannon fire were booming from both sides.

  The explosions got louder and louder, and came so quickly that there was just one tremendous noise, as though every tree on earth was crashing to the ground at once.

  The earth under their feet shook.

  The noise pounded in their ears.

  Birdie stayed in the wagon with Les, whose leg was in such bad shape that he could barely walk. Homer and Thomas stood on a big rock near the wagon. They could see the hills and the fields below. Right now, there was too much cannon smoke to see much.

  But earlier that morning, when all was still quiet, Homer had pointed out the spot where the men from their regiment were positioned: a small hill covered with scrubby trees and big rocks. It didn’t look like much, especially from far away. But it was one of the highest points in Gettysburg. “It’s worth fighting for,” Homer said. “And our men are tough. By God, we’ll fight for it. If those rebels want it, they’re going to have to try to rip it out of our hands.”

  He’d pointed to the meadow, just below the rocky hill.

  “I’d guess that, within a few hours, there are going to be thousands of rebel troops charging across that meadow to try to take the high ground.”

  Thomas
kept his eye on the smoky scene below. Every so often a gust of wind would clear the smoke for a few seconds, and Thomas would catch a glimpse of the field.

  So far there were no soldiers charging across it.

  Maybe there never would be.

  Suddenly a messenger on horseback came galloping up.

  “The captain needs the ammunition wagon right away!”

  “We were ordered to stay here,” Homer said.

  “They need more cartridges now!”

  “All right,” Homer said. “We’ll get it right up there.”

  Les got up and tried to hop over to the ammunition wagon, his face sweaty and white with pain.

  “Let me go,” Thomas said.

  Birdie was fast asleep. He would be back before she woke up.

  Homer and Les looked nervously at each other, but then Homer gave a nod.

  Thomas hopped onto the wagon, and Homer snapped the reins. The horses moved swiftly, out of the field and up a dusty road.

  “Keep your head down,” Homer said.

  The horses faltered, struggling to get up a rocky stretch of the road.

  They’d barely made it to the top of the hill when there was a whistling sound.

  “Look out!” a voice screamed.

  There was a deafening explosion.

  Kaboom!

  And a tree right behind them shattered into a million shards of wood.

  The horses panicked, and Homer quickly unhitched them from the wagon.

  “Come on!” he called. “Let’s grab some boxes and run up there!”

  But then there was more whistling….

  “Thomas! Run!”

  Thomas sprinted away seconds before a cannonball smashed into the wagon.

  Kaboooooom!

  Thomas felt as though his head had been smacked into a stone wall. A shard of metal sliced his forehead. Another carved a jagged gash into his right thigh.

  The wagon erupted into a fireball as he hit the ground. Flames chased after him. Men groaned and screamed.

  “Thomas!” called Homer.

  Thomas gasped in the smoke. Blood spilled into his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. Burning wood surrounded him.

  He crawled away, his leg throbbing with pain. He was desperate to escape the flames and smoke.

  He rolled down the hill, down, down, down, until he reached the flat grass of the meadow.