Tom had been irritated with Pete Simmons and his blustering ways many times, but now all that left him. He had been in many battles and had seen many men show fear. He had even seen a man fight bravely in one battle, then turn tail and run in the next one, which was actually no worse. There was no explaining the way men would behave under fire.
He knew Pete Simmons to be a young man full of raw courage, for he had seen him demonstrate it all day long. Now, however, he saw that Pete’s hands were trembling and that something dreadful was happening inside. Seriously he said, “Well, Pete, I hope that your feeling is wrong.”
“I hope so too, but I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’m downright scared.”
Jeff spoke up then. “I’m scared too, and I’m not even in the regular army. But it can happen to any of us, Pete. Even drummer boys get killed.”
“Reckon that’s so—but it never bothered me before.”
Tom said cautiously, “I know you don’t like to hear anything about your soul, Pete, or about God, but it might be well if we talked of it a little bit.” He waited for Simmons to grow angry as he always did and refuse.
Instead the young soldier ducked his head and grew still. He said nothing, and Tom took that as permission to go ahead.
“The Bible says, ‘It is appointed unto man once to die but after this the judgment.’ All of us know that, I guess.” Tom went on softly. “We know we’re going to die, anyway. It’s just a matter of time and place and circumstances, and if you were home, Pete, you might fall off a horse and die. That’s always been part of your life, like it is of mine and Jeff’s here.”
“I never thought about it,” Pete mumbled. “Never been to a funeral. Didn’t want to think about it.”
“None of us like thinking about death, but ‘a wise man looketh well to his going.’ The Bible says that too. If you were going to go on a long journey over the ocean, you’d make some preparation. You’d get some money, get some baggage, say your good-byes. You’d do all kinds of things.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“Well, think of death as being kind of a journey. We all go on it someday. You might not go on yours for forty years—but like all the rest of us in this here army, you might go tomorrow. I think it’d be good if you made some preparation.”
Jeff sat across the fire listening as Tom talked gently on.
Tom loved the Bible and had memorized parts of it. Now Scripture after Scripture came from his lips. He dropped them casually, not hammering at Pete or threatening but explaining, as he went along, that everybody needs salvation.
“Jesus is the only way I know, Pete,” Tom said at last. “He died on the cross for one reason. Not for His sins—because He didn’t have any. He died for your sins. And mine. That day I called on Him, He forgave me every one of them. That’s what we call being saved.” He hesitated, then said, “I’d like to see you saved, Pete. I always have, but you’d never listen.”
Jeff added a word. “It’s easy, Pete. All you have to do is tell God you’re sorry and you want to turn from what’s been wrong in your life—and then call on the Lord Jesus Christ. And that’s it.”
Pete Simmons looked up. His eyes were cloudy. He said, “That sounds too easy. I mean, there ain’t any preacher here. There ain’t no church to join. I couldn’t get baptized—”
“All those are things that can happen and ought to—but God knows your heart. He knows there’s no preacher here. And if you’re saved, you’ll join a church and be baptized when you get a chance. You’ll do all those things. But all that comes afterwards. First you have to get saved. Then you can go on and be the Christian that you ought to be.”
For a long time the talk went on around the campfire. Several times Jeff got up and replenished the dying blaze so that it flickered into life again.
After Pete had asked many questions, he looked up and said, “I’ve been pretty much of a rotter. Never told anybody, but I’ve done lots of bad things. You reckon the Lord would forgive me for all of them if I’d ask Him to?”
“He says He would. ‘Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved,’ ” Tom said quickly. “That ‘whosoever’ means you, Pete.” He saw tears in Pete’s eyes. “I was saved about like this: Somebody was talking to me, asking me about my soul, and I felt bad about my sins. But then he told me I could call upon the Lord and be forgiven, and I did. Pete, the Lord forgave me when I did that. He’s been with me ever since. I think right now we ought to do the same thing. Will you pray in your heart if I pray for you out loud?”
“Yes, I will.”
Tom began to pray, quietly and fervently, for Pete Simmons. When he looked up, he saw that Pete’s face was lined with tears. “Pete, did you ask the Lord Jesus into your heart?”
There was a moment’s silence, and Tom held his breath.
And then Pete said, “Yes! I done it! And He forgave me, ‘cause He said He would.” Then Pete’s face was filled with shock. “I don’t know how to explain it, but that fear, it’s all gone.”
For a long time the three sat and talked about being in God’s family. Then Pete said, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. I may die anyway, but I know it’s all right. I sure do thank you two fellers!” He got up then and walked away down the line.
Jeff said as soon as he was gone, “That’s great, isn’t it, Tom?”
“It sure is. I hope Pete doesn’t take a bullet tomorrow, but if he does, he knows the Lord.”
The next day the attack began again. Maj. Nelson Majors explained to his officers and sergeants what would happen. He drew a map on the ground, saying, “Look! Here’s what we’re facing.” Then he said, “See that long, low ridge over there?”
They looked to where he pointed with his stick, then down at the map.
“Over to the north are Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill. Way down on the other end—on the south—are the Round Tops. If we can take either one of those, we’ll have the Yankees whipped.”
“Which one are we going for, sir?” one of his lieutenants asked.
“There’ll be three attacks. General Hood will attack at our far right, General McLaws to his left, and General Anderson to his left. We’ve got to break that line. General Ewell will attack the other side of the line at Cemetery Hill, but the main attack will be on our right. Right there at Little Round Top.”
The attack did not go well. To begin with, General Lee had expressed his intention to strike early in the morning. All of his forces were up and ready, but the Confederate attack did not begin until late in the afternoon.
The key to the entire Battle of Gettysburg may have been the small rise called Little Round Top. A Union general left it unprotected, and only at the last moment were reinforcements rushed to protect this extreme left flank of the Union Army. Again and again the Confederates attacked the position but were beaten back by the furious defense of the Union troops. All day long the attacks rolled. Cannon thundered as artillery pounded both Union and Confederate positions.
It was very late in the day when Tom, thirsty and weary from the hard fighting, rose to lead his squad forward. “Come on, men,” he said. “I think I see a gap up there.”
The soldiers began to advance, but almost at once one man went down and lay still.
Tom leaped forward, rolled him over, and then cried, “Pete, are you hit bad?”
Pete Simmons had blood on the front of his uniform. He gasped something that Tom could not understand, and then his eyes closed.
Jeff too was beside him in a moment. “How is he?” he asked, nervously peering down at Pete’s still face.
Tom held his hand on Simmons’s pulse and shook his head. “He’s hit pretty bad. Let’s patch him up, and we’ll send him back to the field hospital.”
Tom and Jeff worked as quickly as they could, stanching the flow of blood from the wound in Pete’s side. He awoke once while they were doing this and blinked. “Guess … I got shot … didn’t I?”
“You’ll be all right,
Pete. We’re gonna take you to the doctors. They’ll take care of you,” Tom replied as firmly as he could.
Pete’s eyes were glazed, and he had trouble forming words. Jeff leaned forward to hear him say, “I guess … it’s a good thing … I got saved last night, Jeff … isn’t it?”
“It’s a good thing—but you’ll be all right,” Jeff said encouragingly.
Tom called two men, who carried Pete away on a stretcher, and then the attack rolled on.
When night came, both Union and Confederate forces were exhausted. The Confederate offensive had been fierce, but actually they had accomplished little. The lines were approximately where they had been that morning—with one difference. Ten thousand wounded and dying men were lying on the fields where the battles had taken place.
Tom and Jeff made their way to the field hospital, where they found the doctors still working by lantern light. After some difficulty, they found Pete.
He smiled when they came in. “Hey!” he whispered faintly. “Glad you two … are all right.”
“Yes, we’re fine, but how’re you doing, Pete?” Tom asked.
They knelt down beside Simmons, wrapped in a blanket and lying on the ground. “Don’t feel too good … but I’ll be all right,” Pete said. His voice was weak and thin, and he asked for water.
Jeff sprang up to get it.
Pete drank thirstily, then said, “Like I said, Jeff … it’s a good thing … we had our talk last night.”
“You still know that the Lord’s with you?” Tom asked.
“Sure do. Never had anything … like this before. I’ve always knowed … I needed something … but I didn’t know it was God. I ain’t never gonna forget … callin’ on God. I wish everyone … in the whole army … would do it.”
Tom smiled. “Well, when you get better you’ll be able to preach to ’em some.”
“Dunno as I can do that … but I can sure tell ’em … about how Jesus came into my life.”
When Tom and Jeff returned to their squad, they found Henry Mapes and Curley Henson talking.
Curley looked up. “How’s Simmons doing?”
“He’s hit pretty bad. I hope he makes it, but I just don’t know.” Then Tom said, “What’s gonna happen tomorrow?”
“I think we’re gonna have another run at ’em,” Mapes said.
Curley shook his head. “It won’t do no good. They’re up on top of those hills. We’d have to march right across that open field to get at ’em. I sure hope we don’t do that.”
Jeff looked in the direction of the ridge where the Union army lay. “I can’t imagine marching across that field into the fire of the cannon and the rifles of the Union soldiers on top of that hill. They’ll never make us do that,” he said. “General Lee wouldn’t send us into a thing like that.”
“I don’t know. General Lee ain’t been himself this campaign,” Tom said. “Pa said he’s been sick—got some kind of heart trouble. He’s just not thinking like you’d expect Marse Robert to think.”
Tom stared up at the low ridge. “Sure hope we don’t try to go up those hills!”
8
A Walk into Peril
What’s the date?”
Jeff looked over at Tom, who stood in a growth of tall oaks and stared across the open field. “July third,” Jeff replied. “Why you asking?”
Tom did not answer right away. There was something almost pathetic about the way he looked out across the field. He managed a brief smile. “Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July—Independence Day. Back home they’ll be shooting off firecrackers and rockets, and the bands’ll be playing.”
“I guess so.” Jeff did not like the way Tom was acting, but he had noticed that almost all the soldiers lined up in the grove of trees along Cemetery Ridge were not their usual selves. “I wish we were there,” he said somewhat nervously. “Back home.”
Tom seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. He kept looking up at the ridge where the Yankees were entrenched.
From where they were stationed in the center of the battle line, Jeff could see the whole fishhook-shaped line of Union troops. Right in the middle was a stand of trees, and they could plainly see the enemy moving back and forth, bringing guns into position and throwing up some kind of breastworks out of logs.
Tom’s face was pale when he turned to Jeff. “I just hope we don’t have to go up that hill,” he said.
Jeff looked at the open field, then up at the Yankee guns on the crest of the ridge. “Why, even I know better than to cross an open field with the enemy on a hill on top of you!”
What Jeff did not know was that Gen. Robert E. Lee had been engaged in a debate with Gen. James Longstreet concerning the wisdom of the planned attack.
For two days, General Lee had sent the Army of Northern Virginia to batter the Union lines. Now he faced General Longstreet, saying, “The enemy was strong on both his flanks, but there has to be a weakness somewhere, and that has to be in the center.”
Longstreet looked at the open field, then at the thousands of Union soldiers and massed artillery at the top of the ridge, and said with some heat, “General, I’ve been a soldier all my life, and I have to tell you that, in my opinion, no fifteen thousand men who ever marched can take that hill.”
But for once General Lee was not able to make the correct decision. Perhaps it was because he was accustomed to having Stonewall Jackson present to carry out his commands. Other officers seemed unable to accomplish the tasks he ordered.
Even now the attack had not gone as Lee had planned. Longstreet had moved slowly, and Jeff and the men of his squad had been crouching in a stand of trees all morning while the sun beat down in hot waves.
Jeff took off his hat and mopped his brow. He was thinking about having to march up that hill when he heard footsteps and saw Jed Hawkins approach.
Jed had a strained look on his face as he plopped down beside Jeff. “Well,” he said, “bad news.”
“What is it?”
“Pete Simmons—he died last night.”
The news of Pete’s death depressed the squad even more. They had lost many men, and Simmons had been one of their best—a little hard to get along with at times but a good soldier. Now he was gone.
Jeff clamped his lips tightly together, saying nothing. But he was thinking, Poor Pete. He had his whole life before him, and now he’s gone. Then a second thought came. I sure am glad Tom and I talked to him about the Lord. He was saved before he died, and that means a lot.
Ten minutes after Hawkins returned, a terrific roar of guns suddenly rent the afternoon air. It caught Jeff and Tom off guard, and both of them flinched.
Jeff looked down at the Confederate artillery, which was belching smoke and fire. They were shooting as fast as the gunners could reload, and then, looking upward, Jeff saw the shot and shell strike among the Union troops at the top of the ridge.
“They won’t be able to keep that up for long. We don’t have that much ammunition,” Tom shouted over the roar.
He had no sooner spoken than shells began to explode around the Confederates. Although the Southerners were hidden by the line of trees, the Yankee gunners on the ridge began shooting at will. Explosions rocked the earth. One struck so close that dirt was thrown all over Jeff and Tom.
It would be the greatest artillery duel that had ever taken place in America. Cannon roared, shells exploded, and men on both sides were killed and maimed as the exchange went on.
Behind them the officers were running about, getting their orders, when Maj. Nelson Majors came striding through the trees. “Get ready, boys!” he said. “General Lee says we’re gonna take that hill! We’ll file in with General Pickett’s men.”
Nelson Majors, like most of the other officers assigned to make the charge, was unhappy. All of them could see that they would have to cross at least a half mile of open field under the guns of the enemy. But orders were orders, and the generals began to step out, calling for their men to fall into battle positions.
The
long lines formed. The Confederate guns were quiet. Out of ammunition, Nelson Majors supposed. He looked up and down the lines, waiting for the command to go forward. He felt a moment’s heart-wrenching fear, for he knew what was coming. Many of these fine young men under his command would be dead in less than half an hour, but there was no turning back. He drew his sword, lifted it, and, when the command came, shouted, “Forward, men. Be good soldiers now.”
Jeff advanced, beating his drum slowly, and he heard its drumbeat echoed as drummers on the far end of the company did the same.
Battle flags fluttered in the slight breeze, and unit flags whipped as the soldiers marched. There was a pride in them that caused them to keep their lines dressed and trim, and up on the ridge the Federals looked down with admiration.
“You gotta give it to those Rebs,” a Yankee lieutenant breathed softly. “Look at ’em! Coming like they’re on a parade ground.”
“They won’t keep those ranks long,” another officer said. “But they do look great, don’t they? Never doubted that the Rebs had courage. But they’re fools for coming up that hill.”
There was no cover whatsoever for the marching columns. Instead there were fences and stone walls that had to be hurdled as the troops advanced. But up they went. Heat waves shimmered on the gentle slope, grown over with ripening grain. Up they went toward Cemetery Ridge.
From time to time those who stayed behind in reserve saw the lines disappear into small depressions, then emerge again, the uneven ground making their march more difficult. Some men were so overcome by the sun that all they could do was stumble blindly forward.
Far down the line, General Pickett watched his men parade across the slope. He was proud of these men, most of them Virginians, and the coal black horse that he rode stamped the earth, excited by the sound of the drums.
Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Page 6