Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Hunt

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Gettysburg Revisited

  They approach Gettysburg from the south on the Emmitsburg Road. In the distance, Malinda can see the outline of houses that constitute Gettysburg proper.

  Luke rides silently, looking at the landscape. His mind floods with visions of those three horrible days in July 1863. About a mile or two is the town; he knows Devil’s Den is nearby. Off to his right he sees the first small hill – Little Round Top.

  Slowing his horse, he says, “Mother, we are approaching Little Round Top.” Pointing with his index finger, “It is that slight hill off to our right. There is a creek, Plum Run, at the foot and slightly towards us is the area with the rocks known as Devil’s Den.”

  “Hurry Luke, hurry, I must see those large boulders where your father received his wound.”

  Luke led the way through the tall grass where two years earlier the 48th had charged through and emerged upon Devil’s Den. The ground is still littered with the debris of the battle. Luke sees a canteen; his horse steps across a broken Springfield musket, over there is a forage cap almost rotten. Cartridge cases and other gear are lying everywhere. What is that? Oh, a knapsack still attached to a bedroll. He sees a white bone sticking out of the ground, is it human? Most likely, but he isn’t sure. What he does know for sure, he will steer his mother away from seeing it.

  In a few minutes, a grotesque assortment of huge, gray rocks and boulders startles Malinda. She has heard Luke tell about the size of the boulders, but seeing them in person is a shock. They are as large as he had described.

  “Luke, show me the rock where you found Robert.”

  “Come on Mother, it is just a little farther, here on our left. I believe I see the boulder where Matthew and I propped Father up.”

  Moving in closer, Malinda gets off her horse and walks toward the massive stone. Each step, as she draws closer, becomes slower and slower. She feels as though she is approaching a gravesite. The hairs on her neck stand up. A couple of more steps and she faces the cold, gray boulder.

  “Luke,” she says, “what are these marking on this rock? I see where some of the stone has been knocked away, but I do not believe a bullet could make these marks, they appear as letters!”

  “Let me get closer Mother. On yes, that chunk out of the rock was the bullet that caused the wound to my head I suppose, and these... these... are blood stains!” Catching himself, “Oh, but those are mine, I was bleeding so.” He did not want his mother to think the blood was from his father. “Mother, I do believe you are correct, the markings are faded, you know it has been over two years since this battle, but I think I can make out what they read. He read aloud the letters:

  2K168

  “Luke, did your father write those letters?”

  “I do not know Mother, at least he didn’t while I was here. The only thing he said to me was some words I could not understand, and he wanted a Bible.”

  “You suppose these letters were what you could not understand? Could he have written them after you left to seek medical help?”

  “I suppose that is possible, but Matthew would have seen him write them, but wait, we haven’t spoken to Matthew have we?”

  Malinda was down on her hands and knees looking through the grass at the base of the rock. “Mother, what are you searching for?”

  “Nothing, anything, everything, I don’t know Luke just something to tell me Robert is alive.”

  “Mother, I tried to tell you back at Scarlett that this was a futile endeavor. There is nothing here for us to find, we will never find Father or Matthew.”

  “I disagree Luke, take me to the spot where Matthew received his wound.”

  Back on the Emmitsburg Road they once again direct their mounts toward Gettysburg. A half-mile later Luke stops. “It is here Mother. Matthew was hit behind that fence on the left that bounds this road.” Pointing to Cemetery Ridge on his right, “That hill Mother with its little copse of trees was our objective. You see that short stonewall on the hill? That is where the Yanks captured me.”

  Malinda looks to her right at Cemetery Ridge and back to her left to the woods at Seminary Ridge. “Luke!” she said startled. “Are you telling me you all had to run from those woods to this split-rail fence, out here in in this open field, completely exposed?”

  “Yes Mother, we had to charge from those woods to your left all the way to that stonewall up yonder on that hill to the right. To make matters worse, we had to crawl over this rail-fence as the Yankees were laying volley upon volley of musket and cannon fire down on us!”

  “My, oh my, how did any of you all survive?”

  “Sorry to say Mother, a lot of our boys didn’t, including perhaps Matthew. After I had been captured at that rockwall, I looked back across this field. All I could see were thousands and thousands of our gray-clad Southern boys lying mangled, mutilated and dying as far as the eye could see.”

  Malinda walked over to the split-rail fence. She could see bullet holes in the fence and splintered wood scattered all about. Faded bloodstains abound on the wooden railings. She could see in her mind’s eye her beautiful, blond haired boy, scared, possibly crying trying to crawl over this obstacle. Small as the split-rail fence is today, it must have seemed an insurmountable obstruction as the bullets whizzed through the air. If he died was he alone? Was he frightened? Was there anyone to hold his hand? These are the thoughts of a sorrowful mother.

  From out of nowhere a shout is heard, “Excuse me!” It is the voice of a young woman walking down the road coming from the direction of Gettysburg. She yells again, “Excuse me! Are you folks looking for someone?” As she draws closer, Malinda can see she is a young girl probably still in her ‘teens.

  “Why yes, we’re looking for traces of my son. We have come from South Carolina hoping we might find his grave or maybe we could find out what happened to him. We never received word whether he lived or died.”

  “Yes I know,” said the girl, “I have lived in Gettysburg all my life and was here during those three awful days in July of ’63. Those terrible days are burned in my mind forever. I will never forget.

  “For weeks on end, the people of Gettysburg buried the dead from this place, I still cannot bring myself to say the word battlefield – it was a slaughter, a field of slaughter. At first we just shoveled dirt over the boys where they died, later the government came here, uncovered a lot of them and buried them in the national cemetery; the cemetery that President Lincoln dedicated a few months later.

  “Excuse me; I get so emotional remembering those young boys, kids actually, both from the North and the South. Folks as yourselves come here all the time trying to find out about one of their loved ones. Sometimes it is a son looking for a father, another time it is a father seeking his son or they are looking for a husband. Regardless, it is someone they loved who never returned home to them. Who is it you seek? Yank or Reb?”

  Tears run down Malinda’s cheek as she listens to the girl speak of the savagery that occurred at this place, “My son was with the South, we have never heard a word from him. I have always hoped he was alive, but after coming to this place and seeing where all the death and carnage took place, I am beginning to lose all hope.”

  “I’m sorry, but most of the boys are buried in common graves, they are not identified! It is impossible to tell who are buried in those holes. I tended many wounded boys those terrible days in July, some of them I remember others I have forgotten. What was your son’s name?”

  Luke answers, “His name was Matthew.”

  “Oh goodness, ‘Matthew,’ I cannot begin to tell you how many boys with the name Matthew I helped. Is there anything else that might help me remember?”

  “We met a man as we came up from South Carolina who said his unit was one of the Pennsylvania units that helped with the wounded...”

  “Hold on Mister, I remember that outfit, C Company of the 69th Pennsylvania. I remember because we had to write down the names of all the soldiers that were alive and
wounded and it was the 69th that assembled all the notes when we were through.”

  “Oh, that’s great!” said Malinda, “you mean at one time you had a list of the wounded?”

  “Yes ’em we sure did, and the dead ones too if they could be identified, but them Pennsylvania soldier boys took the ledger with them when they left.”

  “How close we came, if we only had that list.” Malinda looked at the girl, “I’m sorry Miss, I know it is not your fault. If you could have just seen his golden hair, blue eyes, and that broad smile of his I’m sure you would have remembered him.”

  “I almost forgot,” Luke said. “That man from the 69th said he saw a boy picked up near here wearing a cap with a black ostrich plume in it. He thinks he wasn’t dead but only wounded.”

  “Wait a minute Mister! You say a black feather? Heck you’re looking for Matthew Scarburg, aren’t you? He has blonde hair and blue eyes! Them Yanks couldn’t get him into one of their wagons without his black feather.”

  Malinda almost fainted, “You know him?”

  “Know him? Know him, you say? I sure do, he’s married to my sister Kimberly.”

  “Married? Married, you say, to your sister? Luke! Luke, find me a place to sit down, I’m going to faint. I don’t believe I can stand any longer.”

  The girl begins to explain. She said her name is Kelly Holmes and her sister is Kimberly. A musket ball, almost at the spot where Malinda is now sitting, shattered Matthew’s left leg on the 3rd day of the fight. The litter bearers placed him in a wagon and brought him into town. She explained the Army doctors evacuated with the rest of the Army when it pulled out, and there was only one civilian doctor left in all of Gettysburg. He had so many wounded to care for her and her sister did not think he would ever get around to Matt, so they carried him home to see if they might help him.

  She explained her father Mark Holmes was a clockmaker, but he had worked almost twenty-four hours a day since the two Armies started the fight doctoring the boys the best he could in the amputation tent.

  He had been on his feet almost constantly since the first day of the battle on the 1st of July. On the final day, Saturday he staggered into his house exhausted. He fell asleep at the table while they tried to fix him something to eat. She said Matthew was lying in her father’s bed bleeding to death. She hated to, but she awakened her father and told him she and Kim had picked up a wounded Southern boy and tried as best they could to stop the bleeding in his leg wound. Everything, they tried, had failed. She said she told her father if something isn’t done, and soon, the soldier is going to die.

  Her father had them bring Matt into the kitchen and put him on the kitchen table. Her father examined the wound and agreed to its severity. He said the bullet shattered the bone and the only hope, and that was slim, was amputation. The main problem, all the Army doctors, had already left when the Army pulled out. Kimberly, her sister, begged her father to save Matt’s life. She further stated her father kept repeating he wasn’t a doctor he was only a clockmaker. Finally, he relented explaining for the past three days he had helped the physicians in the Army tents whack off arms and legs, he guessed he could do as good a job of butchery as they did.

  Using one of his crafting saws from his toolbox, he cut Matt’s leg off. He screamed something awful, but he took it like a man. Malinda looked faint. “Shall I go on?” She asks. Continuing she explained how her father did the amputation and how he and her sister sewed the stump of the leg back together. “Father then turns to me and says, ‘Now he’s in God’s hands’.”

  “For the first week or so, we didn’t know whether Matt was going to live or die. Well obviously, he didn’t die as we now know.”

  “Where is he? I must see him.”

  “Of course Mrs. Scarburg, I will take you to him immediately. He is working with my father in the clock shop.”

  Up the road they travel to the town of Gettysburg and down Main Street to Kelly’s house. Malinda opens the door of the ‘Holmes Clock Shop’ and quietly walks in. Matt has his back turned to the door and does not see her enter. He is on a lathe turning metal parts and did not hear the ringing of the tiny bell above the door.

  “Matthew,” Malinda says softly. He does not turn. “Matthew Scarburg,” she says louder.

  Startled, Matt turns and drops the piece he is holding, “Mother! Is it really you?”

  She rushes across the room and hugs her son, but she notices Matt has walked a couple of steps from the lathe. Astonished, “Matt, you walked! Kelly told us you lost one of your legs in the battle, how are you walking?”

  Pulling up his pant leg, Matt shows his mother and Luke his artificial leg. “What!” Says Luke? “What is that?”

  The leg is shiny and made entirely of metal. Luke kneels down to examine it closer, “It’s a metal leg Luke!”

  “Who made this Matt?”

  “Mark Holmes, Kimberley’s father, but, I would think you all would be excited to see me not my fancy leg!”

  “Brother Matt, I am more than excited I’m ecstatic that you are alive. I thought you bought it at the split-rail fence. I’m real sorry Matthew that I had to leave and couldn’t stay with you. I couldn’t get back to you; they captured me at the rock wall on Cemetery Ridge. Right before Pickett’s Charge you said you last saw Father at the boulder in Devil’s Den, did you ever hear anything more about him?”

  “Luke, please do not feel guilty or sorry for leaving me at the fence. Remember, I was there too I know you had orders to leave. As far as checking on Father, a couple of weeks after I had recuperated enough to come to my senses I sent Kelly and Kim down to the Letterman Hospital. A few of the wounded remained here about a month after the battle before moving on. All they found out was Father was probably alive and had been transferred to a prisoner-of-war camp, but they could not find out where. Of course it is highly probably he did not survive to reach the prison camp.”

  “Later did you seek more information on your father,” asks Malinda?”

  “I did Mother. Since Mark and I have fitted injured soldiers with Mark’s artificial limbs every since the battle, I have made it a point to question every soldier I see if they know anything. After talking to all these amputees, my guess is Father was probably sent to a prisoner-of-war camp somewhere up north, maybe to Chicago or to Maryland. That is, of course, if he is still alive. That’s all I have been able to find out Mother.”

  “Matthew explain to me about these...these...”

  “Artificial legs? Mark is a clock-maker and has worked with springs, gears and pulleys all his life. He designed a movable knee joint, and with a series of gears, wires and pulleys build inside, making an amputee able to walk. Its gears also allow the foot to move also. With a little practice, an amputee can practically walk normally.”

  “That is marvelous, but we came looking for you and Father. Matt, did you ever go down to Devil’s Den where Father was injured?”

  “I did Luke, and I know what your question is. You want to know what those letters and numbers mean that Father scratched on the rock, right? I believe they were: 2K168. Luke, do those figures mean anything to you?”

  “Nothing Matt, the day of the battle, right before you arrived, Father spoke to me, but with the noise of the fighting, I barely understood what he was saying. He might have said something about the letters, but all I could hear was Father talking about a Bible. I assumed he thought he was dying and wanted one. If you remember, I asked if you had a Bible? You said you didn’t have one and neither did I.

  “I had received a bullet wound to my head and left to find medical help for Father and myself. You were still with Father when I left, did he say anything to you?”

  “Not a thing Luke, he was unconscious. I only stayed a couple of minutes, but right after you left an officer ordered us to retreat and I had to abandon Father to the care of a young Yankee hospital worker.”

  “Matthew, what about graves? Was it possible Father died and is buried here on the battlefield? Di
d that Letterman Hospital have its own burial plot?”

  “Luke, there were tens of thousands killed those three days in July 1863, you were here you know, but only a few hundred graves have the names of the dead soldiers buried in them. The town folks buried the majority of those killed in common graves, without any names listed whatsoever. I can still remember for weeks after the battle how the stench was so bad we had to wear rags over our noses. I’ve been told that you could smell Gettysburg’s dead bodies and dead horses that lay rotting in the hot July sun for forty miles. There were so many of those horrible, long-necked vultures circling the battlefield, some days they were so thick they reminded me of smoke. There were too many of them for us to chase them off. It was a miserable time, to say the least.”

  “In November President Lincoln came here and dedicated a national cemetery. The terrible smell was still perceivable in the air, but the President made no mention of it. The cemetery has six thousand graves and almost half of them are unidentified. That is only six thousand out of the nearly fifty-one thousand killed from both sides. Most all the ones identified are Yankees. We have checked, Father’s name is not among them,” added Matt.

  “Luke, I said all this to point out the enormity of finding Father’s final resting place – assuming, that is, he died here. Many of the men died days later and were simply buried at the hospital or by the side of the road on the march out of here. If they were buried at all.”

  Malinda had been listening carefully to every word spoken by Matthew. “Thank you, son, I forced Luke to bring me here hoping I could find out what happened to you and your father, I feel better, at least I found you.”

  “Mother, I must ask, why did you not answer my posts? I wrote you dozens of letters during the past years, but never a response. Kim and I would have left Pennsylvania and journeyed to Alabama, but I figured you all had left, were dead or for some reason my posts were not being delivered. I could not ride with one bad leg all the way to Alabama without the assurance you would be there to greet me.”

  “Son, you and Luke had the same postal experience. Luke, also said he had written for years and never received an answer from me. I wonder what had been going on – I guess possibly your father experienced the same?”

  Luke and Malinda spent the next couple of days as guests in the Holmes house. The time is entirely consumed by the swapping of stories between Matt and Luke.

  “So,” said Matt, “Mother lost the farm in Alabama? Scarlett is burned to the ground? Uncle Jed and Jefferson are dead? Father never returned? Did you not have any good news to bring?”

  “Oh yes, the most important good news I saved for last – I am married too! I met and married a girl by the name of Catherine Babb. We met on her farm in Kentucky while I was escaping the Yankees and trying to get back home. She is living at Scarlett now.”

  “Babb, did you say Babb? Humm that is strange, when I left Father there was a Yankee hospital orderly attending his wounds. He stated his name was Babb, I believe he said his name was Charles Babb. If he had not stopped Fathers bleeding, I think he would have bled to death then and there.”

  “No, it cannot be true...” Said the flabbergasted Luke, “Catherine’s father Samuel told me his son had volunteered in the Union Army as a hospital orderly and was killed at the Battle of Gettysburg too. If Father is still alive, he owes his life to Catherine’s brother – Charles Babb!”