The Discovered

by Tracy Winegar

  “God bless you,” she said. “God bless you.”

  We continued on the road, which they called the Baltimore Pike, marching at a speed that should not have been humanly possible in our current condition. The road was at least a good one, smooth and even. After close to an hour and a half upon the road, we began encountering the wounded.

  They were a sore sight, trickling past in the opposite direction. I felt a familiar fear creep through me, making my heart beat fast and my stomach twist within me. You cannot help but be moved by the human condition when you see it so up close. Why is it witnessing human suffering and the cruel nature of mankind makes you cling to it and want to live all the more? I looked at Sam, and he looked at me with an easy to read expression.

  “What kind of crazy must you be to head in the direction they are coming from?” I asked.

  “A half-starved, half burned up, and dead tired kind of crazy,” he said attempting a grim smile.

  “Well, then I fit the bill. I will carry on,” I said.

  “You good pals with Newburn now?” Sam asked out of nowhere. He did not look at me but kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

  “Who, Felix?” I asked. I checked his face from a sideways glance, but he wore no expression I could read.

  “That’s right, Felix.”

  “I find him a pleasant fellow,” I replied. Felix was a good sort, although I sensed in him a vanity I didn’t approve of. He liked to be liked, and he sought to be everyone’s best friend. I figured you couldn’t trust someone like that, who cared more for what others thought of him, than for what he thought of himself. But I agreed with Sam merely to make him envious. It was not kind, but I was still sore with him over our earlier quarrelling.

  “Pleasant.” He said the word as though he found it disagreeable. “Yes, I suppose he is…pleasant.” Then he didn’t venture to say more.

  We came upon a commanding officer, who appeared strained nearly to breaking. He was covered in sweat and grime, his eyes swollen and blood shot, bulging from his head. He was attempting to do a thousand things all at once. Upton approached him and they quietly conversed. The officer motioned with his hands several times, pointing to a map that was spread across a table before him, and then the Colonel came back and gave us our orders.

  The battle was in full swing once we arrived. We marched down the main street of the town, Gettysburg, and it appeared the fighting had been here as well. There were bodies littering the lanes, damage to the homes and businesses, and not a civilian in sight. Word was the conflict has been fierce for nearly two days. At the end of the main street we climbed to a high bluff above the town. We were formed into two lines upon the ridge and told to wait.

  It was a breathtaking sight. In the distance we saw mountains looming, rocky outcrops, and fog which hung thick and mysterious, giving it a dream-like quality. In the more immediate vicinity the land consisted of rolling hills, gently sloping inclines, and vast valleys. It was green with long grass and old massive trees, here and there densely forested areas. Before us were a peach orchard and a wheat field. To our right, but just out of view, was the town. Again I was struck by such beauty, and I knew it would soon be wiped clean by the destruction we brought with us.

  You may think it callous and unnatural, but we lay down upon the ground, thoughts of death flung to the wayside, as we slept where we were. It was a marvel to me that we were capable of sleeping through the noise of the cannonade, but it proved to be no inconvenience at all. We slept with our weapons in our hands. Now I will tell you, there were no dreams in my head, no not a one. We slumbered in a dead sleep until nearly three in the morning, when we were awakened by the guns of the pickets from both sides. We couldn’t see the fighting, but only heard it as the sound of gunfire cracked in rapid succession coming from the direction of Gettysburg, where there was constant skirmishing from the doors and windows of the town’s homes.

  In the dark we could hear the dying calling to us, begging, begging for aid, begging for their lives, begging for merciful death to come upon them all at the same moment. I thought I might go mad with it. When finally the sun came up, the battle unfolded before us. We were set upon what they called Cemetery Ridge, near Round Top Mountain to the far left.

  It was a place meant for observing all there was to see. We waited and watched, not sure yet what our role would be. Colonel Upton, being a man who knew how to raise another man’s spirits, spoke to us in very animated tones trying to prepare us for what might come.

  “I have as much confidence in you at this moment as I do even in myself! For I can see your determination! I can see your patriotism! I can see the pride you take in your service to this great nation! There is not a man here I would not trust with my very life!”

  At that moment we broke out in cheering which seemed to shake the ground beneath us. The noise was deafening. I could feel the blood running through my veins, my heart beating rapidly, a tingle in my scalp. If called upon, we would be ready to fight! We saw from our spot the battle raging, the sharpshooters firing upon one another, like tin soldiers lined up in a child’s game. Colonel Upton would look into his field glasses and keep us abreast of what was transpiring elsewhere as the day wore on.

  “It will be hot work,” he told us. “Stay ready, lest they call upon us to join.”

  We were able to eat a little, and still greatly fatigued from our march, we also took to napping when possible. Colonel Upton and two others settled below a shade tree to rest when a round came sailing over them. That isn’t such an uncommon thing to have happen in the midst of fighting. But the three of them got up and tried to figure out where the shot came from. No sooner did they clear out from the tree when it was hit by a shell and showered the place with splinters. Lucky they kept their heads, because if they had stayed put they would surely have been struck by the shell.

  We got to talking with some of the other men, a regiment from Maine. They had seen some fierce fighting the day before and were now doing their best to recuperate.

  “Didn’t have a bullet to pass between us,” one of them confided. “And they just kept coming at us and coming at us. Finally we was told to fix bayonets, ’cause there was nothing else could be done, and we charged down the hill at them, instead of waiting for them to come at us.” He spoke with a peculiar accent, which Felix told me was particular to Maine. His tendency was to draw out the A and omit the R from his words.

  I could see Sam was genuinely interested in this man’s story. “And you lived to tell the tale?” he asked in disbelief.

  “We let out such a yell they didn’t know what was happening. Our boys caught them off guard and frightened ’em so, they up and surrendered!” he exclaimed.

  Later, Sam said to me, “What kind of country is it that tells a man to hold the line at all cost and then don’t give him sufficient bullets to defend it?”

  “Sounds like us Yanks were hard pressed all around, Sam. I don’t believe they were denying them. There was just none to give.”

  “Maybe so,” he said with a shrug.

  Now the cannonade began again, and the enemy let loose a steady stream. We were lucky not to be at the center of fire, but still received a portion of it, as the ground around us exploded in earth and debris. It was frightening, but did little more than give us a scare. Our boys fired back. The exchange went on for a short stretch, the noise deafening. Then it was just the Confederates firing, blast after blast with little effect. Our side hunkered down and chose to wait them out, saving what precious munitions we had for the real fighting. When it grew quiet, we knew trouble would be coming our way.

  As we watched from our vantage point, we hardly trusted what we were seeing. The Rebs decide to make a charge across the front, right at the center of our defenses! I don’t know if it was deprivation or stupidity that moved them forward, but a large body of the Confederates amassed at the edge of a vast field below. I could see them from an angle, so the entire picture was before me. There must have been tens of
thousands of them, lined up in tight rows shoulder to shoulder.

  “Madness,” Sam murmured. “They’ll never make it.”

  I was thinking the same thing. With a great blood curdling yell, they walked forward. Exposed for at least a mile or more of valley ground, they seemed to be on a suicide mission. They were easily picked off, large numbers of them falling as they vainly attempted to press forward. One would fall, and another would crowd in to take up the empty space. When they grew close enough, our boys in blue poured canister shot out upon them over the heads of our own infantry, who lay in cover behind a stone wall just below. Their flag would fall, someone would take it up, and they would press on, the line would falter as dozens fell, but then the line would reform and move forward again, trying to make for the stone wall that so nicely shielded our men from the brunt of the fighting.

  It was a horrific scene, filled with slaughter. It must have seemed to last forever to them, but in reality it was over in less than an hour’s time. Above the terrible disquiet of the guns, we could hear, faintly rising above it, the chant of the Federals. It was vicious, burning, zealous, insistent…“Fredericksburg!” Like a fever, like a fire, it spread through the ranks, gaining momentum until it was a crescendo of fiercely impassioned men’s voices chanting, “Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg!” The sound of it sent chills down my spine, made the fine hairs raise on my neck, on my arms.

  Hundreds of them, those poorly clothed, practically defenseless Rebels, valiantly dying honorable deaths, were cut down before our very eyes. We saw our forces, which far outnumbered the meager few left to them, clash together, and when the two merged, for a brief moment it was difficult to tell which was ours and which was theirs, until there was nothing but the blue left. The dead lay where they fell, and the few men who made it to the hill were either wounded or taken prisoner.

  From my perspective I could see the Confederates’ folly. It was much of the same thing I was to see many times in this war, men of power sending lambs to slaughter as they sat upon their horses watching from a distance. Perhaps their job is the hardest of all, to have to live with all of those deaths upon their hands. There was no hope for those men, and yet they did as they were told, and facing great odds, charged into the fray. I understood then bravery is not only found in Federals, it is also found among Confederates. So much rested upon the results of the battle, and they surely gave their all.

  The next day, as we surveyed the damage done while walking through a grove of peach trees, I could not help but feel some compassion for the blackened, bloated corpses wearing tattered gray uniforms, many without shoes on their feet. It rained all day, but it didn’t wash away the rot and smell of them. The 121st were there to witness; we were not called upon to fight in the most infamous of battles. It seemed as though it was a pattern with us. There was relief we hadn’t been among the dead and guilt because we’d been spared.

  Chapter 9

  COLONEL UPTON WAS ON HIS HORSE riding back and forth before us. He was doing his best to encourage and inspire us. After sleeping and eating, and now that the battle was over, we were in a much better mood than we’d previously been.

  “We may yet provide a service today,” he said. “Lee’s army is now in full retreat. We have been called upon to locate the Confederates’ position and engage them in combat when possible to hinder their progress.”

  Selfishly, I was glad to be away from the battlefield and the duties of burying the dead. After Antietam I didn’t want to have the chore again. Our new assignment was a legitimate excuse to wash my hands of the responsibility of tending to the remains of the dead in the aftermath.

  “Seems as though we always have cleanup duties,” Sam muttered. He appeared to be in poor spirits.

  “Better than burying the dead,” I said.

  He smiled vaguely. “I suppose.”

  We marched down the Fairfield Road at a fair clip, making good time. Because we were not involved in fighting and able to rest some, we were better able to keep pace, but we were still tired out from our thirty-two mile march to get to Gettysburg. My feet were in bad shape and every step was agony. We cleared Gettysburg and were just shy of Fairfield when we came close to overtaking the retreating Rebels. We were ordered to take cover and fire upon them.

  “We may see some action after all,” Reed Haney said as he aimed his rifle and shot.

  “Tough birds, they’re firing back,” Felix Newburn observed.

  We fired and they fired, but nothing much came of it. They continued on their way, and we waited for orders. When they came, Upton seemed as put out as I ever saw him.

  “They are headed through the mountain gap. Not wise to pursue that course. The gap is too easily defended and we would be at their mercy. But they are in bad shape, fairly crippled from Gettysburg. If we can catch up to them, we will certainly overtake them and defeat them for good,” he said to Captain Kidder. “Could mean an end to all of it.”

  We took the road to Emmitsburg. There we rested briefly, ate a little, and filled our canteens. As the sun receded and the evening shade was upon us, we began a treacherous climb. In order to meet the enemy, we were required to hike South Mountain. It began to rain, a heavy and constant rain that made our gear heavy again and was a burden to endure. The trees were thick, the underbrush difficult to maneuver through. The incline was so steep we were hardly able to remain on our feet. I took a step and then slid backward, took a step and slid backward. The progress was painfully slow as we ascended. The way was dangerous, with a deep ravine to one side and only room enough for two men to march side by side on the trail. The darkness was complete—no moon or stars to light the way. We were shrouded by the storm.

  I gave it my all, and yet I was too weak to continue on. After several hours of struggling, I fell upon my face, dismal and drenched, and didn’t have the energy to get myself up again.

  “I’m all used up. I can’t go on,” I cried.

  “You’ll be trampled underfoot if you don’t move out of the way!” Sam scolded me.

  “I don’t care anymore!” I raged at him. Sam reached out to me.

  “Take my hand,” he said. I looked up at him but just lay there in misery, feeling as if I could not even lift my arm to grab hold of him. He didn’t say anything more but reached down and helped me to my feet. He took me round the waist and dragged me out of the path. The rain rolled down my face, and the black night pressed in upon me. I knew I should try to go on, but I couldn’t. I was too exhausted.

  I allowed Sam to haul me over to the side of the path because I didn’t have the strength to resist him. There was nowhere else to go but the ditch, a shallow channel where the runoff from the storm flowed. Sam took off his damp coat, lay down next to me, and spread the coat over our heads. There were no words exchanged between us. I was aware, for the briefest moment, of the smell of the soggy wool, the weak current of water beneath me, and Sam pressed close to me, before I fell off to sleep.

  It was still raining when I became conscious of my surroundings again. The rain pattered upon Sam’s coat. And while the coat was wet through, it kept the rain from hitting my face directly.

  “Are you awake?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Sam replied. “I’m afraid there’ll be no hot coffee this morning. There can be no fire in this rain.”

  My body was wet all through. My fingertips were wrinkled and my joints stiff. I attempted to stretch and discovered quickly my whole body ached.

  “Just as well. My rations ran out. I have no coffee to warm anyhow.”

  Sam peeled the wet coat from our heads, and the rain pelted against my skin, making me wince from the shock of it. I sat up and tugged the brim of my hat lower to cover my eyes. The ebony night was replaced by a lackluster gray morning.

  “I haven’t got much,” he said. “But I do have a bit of salt pork and a biscuit to divide between the two of us.” He rummaged through his pack and handed me half of what was left.

  I thought I should protest but dec
ided against it. I had shared plenty of times with him. And besides, I felt if I didn’t have something to eat, I might not have the strength to finish climbing this cursed mountain. I would be stuck here rotting forever. I took my time chewing and swallowing, not to savor, but because I didn’t have the strength even to eat. Each motion of my jaw seemed to take great effort. Sam put his wet coat back on and helped me up out of the ditch. I could see he was just as tired as I was. I suppose I should have felt some remorse for giving up last night. But I could not make myself feel anything but dread as I faced the mountain again.

  Much like climbing a very steep set of stairs, we lifted our knees high and dug our feet in to make progress up the sharp vertical incline. As we struggled up the slope we encountered others who’d given up the night before, just as we had. After a short while the sole of my boot began flapping. Like a great gaping mouth, it yawned open each time I took a step forward to reveal my stockinged foot within. I sat down in the middle of the path, took both of my boots off, and flung them off of the side of the mountain into the ravine. I took off my stockings and shoved them into my haversack, and then continued on barefoot.

  Once we made it to the summit it took several more hours for all of the other stragglers to filter in. We were able to rest for a while as we waited until all were accounted for. All the while Captain Kidder blustered and railed.

  “Damn it. We’re in the military. Did you think it would be tea and cakes? Be men and stop your grumbling,” he complained.

  When we were all congregated we began our descent. I might as well have sat on my backside and slid all the way down for as much as I was on it. I stumbled and fell many times, each time wishing I did not have to get up again. Once we came to the base of the mountain, we took up on the road to Middletown. I felt the pangs of hunger in my belly and tried to think of something to take my mind from it. There was nothing, and so I gave into my despair.

  My feet were raw, blistered, cut up, and swollen. They gave me a great deal of pain, each footstep accompanied by a terrible ache. There was no point in complaining. There were others who suffered likewise. That was just how it was. My duty was to carry on.