Gallant Boys of Gettysburg

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “He told thee that friend Tom has lost his leg?”

  “Yes, he told me that.”

  “It has disturbed the lad considerably, but—” he stepped aside to let her go up the steps before him “—I think thy visit will do him good.”

  Sarah started to climb the steps, and Claude Poteet called out, “Thee young fellows—are thee dressed? Thee have got a visitor.”

  “Sure, we’re dressed.” Jeff’s voice came down the stairs.

  “Well, go right on up, miss.”

  Sarah mounted the stairs, and as soon as she came to the landing she saw Tom, sitting in a chair, his maimed leg out in front of him. His eyes flew open with shock.

  Sarah did not hesitate. She went to him, put her arms around him, and hugged him hard. “Tom,” she whispered, “you’re safe. I’m so glad.”

  Tom appeared utterly confused and shocked. “Sarah!” he said. “How did you get here?”

  “I got her here,” Jeff said proudly. His eyes were beaming, and he winked at Claude Poteet, saying no more.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Tom protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Nonsense,” Sarah admonished him. She looked him over. “How do you feel?”

  Tom shrugged. “Better than I was.”

  Sarah knew that it was time to face the real problem. “I’m sorry you lost your foot, Tom,” she said quietly. She saw his face flush, and he dropped his eyes, unable to meet hers. She reached out and pushed back his dark hair and added quietly, “It doesn’t matter.”

  Tom looked up and said bitterly, “It does to me.”

  Jeff put in quickly, “Well, now that you’re here, we can do some planning.”

  Tom stared at him. “Planning for what?”

  “Why, how to get out of here!”

  “I don’t see how Sarah can help,” Tom muttered.

  “I’ve already solved the problem,” Sarah announced proudly, and as all three men gaped at her she said, “I’m surprised you didn’t think of it yourselves.”

  “What are you talking about, Sarah?” Jeff asked. “What’s your plan?”

  “Well, the problem is that the road from here to Virginia is clogged with half of the Army of the Potomac. They’re all headed that way to have a shoot-out, because that’s where Lee’s army is. And it’s not going to get any better.”

  “That’s right,” Jeff said thoughtfully. “Washington’s so close to here that from now on the road to Virginia’s gonna be packed with Union soldiers. I don’t see any way around that.”

  But Sarah had thought this through. “The answer is that we don’t go to Virginia.”

  Tom was still staring at her, puzzled. “But we’ve got to go there!”

  “No, we don’t.” Sarah smiled. She wanted to reach out and caress his hair again. She wanted to comb it and take care of him, but now was not the time to start that. When they were free, then they could talk. She saw the rebellion in his face and knew how the loss of his foot had hurt him—had stripped him of his manhood, so he thought. Now she said merely, “We’re going to Kentucky.”

  Silence fell across the room.

  Then Jeff exclaimed, “Why, sure! We can cut west, get on the back roads—and I’ll bet we won’t see any Yankees at all.”

  “That might be true,” Claude Poteet broke in. He gazed at Sarah with admiration. “Thee is a good plan maker, Miss Carter. The roads that way will be almost deserted.”

  “But we can’t go to Kentucky,” Tom exclaimed. “We’re still technically in the army, Jeff. They could shoot us for desertion.”

  “No, they won’t,” Jeff said. “We’ve got men scattered everywhere trying to get back. We’re just taking the long way around, that’s all. We’ll get back sooner or later. But now the idea is to get away.”

  Tom bowed his head, perhaps thinking he would never be a soldier again anyway. Finally he lifted his head. “It doesn’t matter. Kentucky’s as good as anywhere.”

  It was not what Sarah wanted to hear, and she was troubled by the sadness and the doubt in Tom’s eyes. He’s given up, she thought, but I’ll change that when I get him home. Aloud she said, “I’ve got a wagon and a team. We’ll need to fix a place for you to lie down in the back.”

  “Jeff and I can do that quick enough,” Claude said.

  “Sure we can,” Jeff agreed enthusiastically. “And we can think up a story in case we do meet any Union patrols.”

  Soon Ellie came up the stairs. “Well, is thee ready for lunch?”

  “Yes,” Claude said and then added, “Miss Carter’s taking our young friends away. They’re going to Kentucky—to her home.”

  Ellie Poteet considered this and then said practically, “They can leave as soon as we cook enough food to last them all the way there. Come now. Time to have lunch.”

  Ellie Poteet was as good as her word. All the next day she cooked, and the kitchen was fragrant with the smell of roast turkey and frying meat and fresh bread.

  At dusk the day following, Tom made his way down the stairs, aided by Jeff and Sarah.

  Sarah knew he hated to lean on them, yet he refused to be carried. The trip hurt him, but he bit his lips and said nothing.

  The wagon had a canvas top and was loaded with fresh-smelling food. Inside was a bed made of straw ticking and clean blankets.

  Tom stood behind the wagon and said his goodbyes to the Poteets. “I thank you folks,” he said. “I didn’t know Yankees could be so generous.”

  “I think folks that know the Lord are the same, both North and South,” Claude Poteet said. He took the young man’s hand and shook it.

  But Ellie pulled his head down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thee has good friends, and thee must trust God to make up thy loss,” she said.

  Tom stared at her. She was telling him to put his loss aside, to get on with his life. But all he could do was murmur, “Thank you, Mrs. Poteet, for everything.” He eased himself into the wagon.

  The other good-byes were said. Jeff also took a kiss from Mrs. Poteet and shook Claude’s hand, thanking them profusely.

  Ellie reached her hands out to Sarah. When Sarah took them, she pulled her closer, saying, “Thee has a good man, but he is fearfully hurt.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t mean his leg. He can overcome that. But he is hurt inside, in his spirit. Thee must be very patient.”

  Sarah knew exactly what the woman was saying. “I know. You must pray for us, Mrs. Poteet, you and your husband.”

  “Indeed. Thee knows I will do that.” Then she said, “Will thee write me a letter?”

  “Of course, I will.”

  “Good. I will be expecting great things from thee and from thy young man.”

  Sarah flushed. She said quietly, “I love him very much.”

  “He will need all of thy love and all of God’s love too,” Ellie whispered.

  Then they were all in the wagon. Jeff and Sarah were on the front seat, Jeff driving. He spoke to the team, and they started down the lane.

  They looked back and waved until they turned onto the road and the Poteets disappeared into the darkness. Jeff said, “Fine people. They’ve saved Tom’s life.”

  “Yes, and they’re devoted to each other. You could see that, couldn’t you? And fine Christians too.”

  The wagon rumbled along. The moon was full, and the dark sky was spangled with stars, so that the road was clearly visible.

  Sarah looked back into the wagon once. She could not see Tom’s face, but she whispered, “Are you all right, Tom?”

  There was a long silence, and Tom said gruffly, “I’m all right.”

  Sarah heard the hurt and doubt in his voice, and as she turned back to peer down the moonlit road she prayed, “O God, teach me how to help Tom be the man You want him to be.”

  13

  Perilous Journey

  An owl uttered an eerie call somewhere deep in the woods. The yellow light of the campfire made a dot in the darkness.

  Jeff
watched Tom descend from the wagon after their fourth night’s journey, which had begun at twilight. Using the rough-hewn crutch that Jeff had whittled with his bowie knife and hatchet, he came up to the fire and lowered himself carefully, gritting his teeth to keep back a cry of pain.

  Tom leaned back on an elbow. He was obviously feeling better now, though his leg still hurt considerably. The Poteets had included some pain-killing medicine along with the food that they had sent along, but it had been only a small amount, and he had taken the last dose yesterday.

  “How are you feeling, Tom?”

  Tom looked across the fire to where Sarah was putting a piece of ham in the frying pan. She had left her bonnet off, and the firelight illuminated her dark hair. She was smiling at him.

  “All right,” Tom said. His tone was flat, and he did not return her smile.

  Sarah set the pan on some rocks over the glowing coals, and the ham began to sizzle almost at once. “We’ll all feel better when we have breakfast,” she said. She went over to the wagon and came back with her hands full of eggs. Stooping down, she began to break them into another skillet balanced on the rocks. “It was nice of the Poteets to give us all these groceries,” she remarked.

  When the eggs began to bubble up, she used a broad-bladed knife to free them from the pan. Skillfully she flipped them over and smiled again at Tom. “You want yours with the yolks runny, right?”

  “That sounds all right,” Tom said.

  Jeff dumped a load of dry wood close by and stood beside the fire. Sniffing, he said eagerly, “That smells good. I hope we’ve got enough grub left to last us to Kentucky.”

  Sarah turned over the last egg and studied them. Picking up salt and pepper, she applied both liberally. “How far do you think we are from Kentucky, Jeff?”

  Jeff pulled his hat off and scratched his head. “Can’t really say, being as we don’t have a map—but I figure another day or two we ought to be in shooting distance of it.”

  “I’ll be glad to get there.” Sarah carefully placed two eggs on a tin plate. Then she hewed off a piece of ham with a sharp knife. Rising, she said, “Here, Tom. Eat all you can.”

  Tom took the plate and the fork and began cutting the eggs. After chewing thoughtfully on a bite, he said quietly, “That’s real good, Sarah.”

  Sarah gazed at him for a moment and then returned to distribute the rest of the eggs. “Coffee’ll be done in a minute.” She sat down and ate slowly, listening as Jeff described a deer he had seen while out gathering wood.

  “I wish I’d had a rifle,” he said. “I could have hit him easy. Then we’d have had meat all the way home.”

  After that, conversation began to lag around the campfire. Tom rarely had anything to say.

  They had been traveling at night and getting off the road into the woods during the daytime. Two days ago they had heard—several times—what they thought was cavalry. Now, as they were farther and farther away from the road that led to Virginia, Jeff felt safer and more confident.

  “Do you think it would be safe to travel in the daytime now?” Sarah asked. “We could make a lot better time that way.”

  Jeff chewed on his piece of ham. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. There’s not likely to be any Federal troopers here. I don’t see why we couldn’t start traveling during the day. What do you think, Tom?”

  “Be all right, I guess.” Tom’s tone was noncommittal. He sipped at the coffee in his tin cup and leaned back on his elbow, staring into the flickering yellow flames.

  He had lost weight since he had been wounded, and now the planes of his face showed clearly as the fire reflected its light on him. There was a different quality in him somehow that disturbed Jeff. Tom had always been lively, but now all of the excitement and dynamic life seemed drained out of him. The shell that had taken away his leg had taken away some of his spirit too.

  “Well, then,” Jeff said with finality, “we’ll do it. We’ve been traveling pretty hard tonight, so let’s sleep three or four hours. Then we’ll get a fresh start.”

  They finished their meal, and Jeff went down to the creek to scour the dishes in the sandy soil. When he came back, he saw that Tom had stretched out with his head braced on his rolled-up coat. He was not asleep, however, but was staring straight up into the sky. Sarah was rolled up in her blanket, and Jeff wondered if she were asleep.

  He put more wood on the fire and sat watching as the blaze consumed it and it crumbled into glowing ashes. Then he too rolled up in his blanket and went to sleep.

  They rose at dawn, ate the remains of the ham, and washed it down with creek water. Tom crawled back into the wagon, and they resumed their journey.

  The sun was almost exactly overhead when Jeff heard the sound of horses approaching.

  “Listen!” He pulled back on the lines, stopping the chestnuts. “You hear that?”

  Sarah cocked her head to one side and listened intently. “I think so. A lot of horses coming, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is!” A worried look came over Jeff’s face. “When that many horses come, it’s likely to be cavalry.” He looked to both sides of the road desperately. “No place to get off the road here. We’ll have to hope they don’t stop. Get up, hosses!”

  They had traveled not more than a hundred yards when a line of blue-clad troopers appeared over the crest of a hill. There were possibly twenty of them.

  A youthful lieutenant led the troop, and as they drew near the wagon, he threw up his hand and cried out a command. The column halted, and the lieutenant advanced with a grizzled sergeant close behind him.

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” Jeff said immediately. “Nice-looking troop you got there.”

  The lieutenant nodded briefly. His sharp, black eyes fell on Sarah, and he considered her for a moment. She was wearing a plain gray dress and a bonnet, but her good looks were obvious even in such garb.

  “Where you headed for?” the lieutenant demanded.

  “Going home,” Jeff said. “My brother took sick, and we’re trying to get there so he can get better.”

  “Sergeant, have a look!”

  The heavyset sergeant got off his horse, groaning as he did so, and stalked to the rear of the wagon. He lifted up the canvas that served as an apron and stared inside. “One man back here, lieutenant,” he called out.

  “I’ll have a look myself.” The lieutenant expertly moved his horse around, leaned out of the saddle, and peered into the wagon.

  Jeff glanced back. Tom had closed his eyes and was pretending to be asleep or unconscious.

  For what seemed a long time the lieutenant stared at Tom, then straightened up. He brought his horse about and faced Jeff and Sarah. “Where’s your home?” he demanded.

  Jeff decided that the truth, as close as possible, would be the best. “Pineville, Kentucky,” he said.

  “Where you coming from?”

  Desperately Jeff took a chance. “Near Jessieville,” he said.

  Actually this was not made up. There was a very small village called Jessieville not far from Gettysburg. It probably had no more than four or five families and one store, but he had seen the name on a handmade sign. “It’s a few miles back—way back in the woods,” he added glibly. “But my brother, he took sick. Not doing well, either, as you can see …”

  The lieutenant stared at him unblinkingly, then his eyes went to Sarah. “What’s your name, miss?”

  “Sarah.”

  “These men your brothers?”

  “No, sir. We’re neighbors. Our families are neighbors. I was visiting, and when Tom got sick I decided I’d better get along home with them.”

  Jeff knew that the lieutenant was in a precarious position. Kentucky was a border state, almost equally divided between supporters of the Union and supporters of the Confederacy. It was almost impossible to tell who anybody was. Jeff and Sarah sounded Southern, but then so did everybody else in Kentucky. If the lieutenant was assigned to be on the alert for any movement of Confederate troops, he was p
robably bored out of his skull because there were no Confederate troops in this area.

  “You run across any Confederates back down the road?”

  “No, sir, we didn’t see none,” Jeff said, which was true enough since they had been traveling by night. “Some of the Rebels in this part of the world?”

  The lieutenant shook his head. He appeared somehow dissatisfied with the trio but unable to put his finger on anything wrong. “Well,” he said finally, “you’d better get on your way.” He raised his voice and said, “Come along, sergeant.”

  The two of them took their place at the head of the column, and the lieutenant cried out, “Forward!”

  The troop advanced at a slow trot, stirring the dust, and when they were gone Jeff said shakily, “Wow! I thought he was gonna get us for a minute there.”

  “So did I,” Sarah said. She turned around. “Are you all right, Tom?”

  “I’m all right.” There was a pause, and he said, “That was a close one. Maybe we better get off the road.”

  Jeff shook his head. “No, I think we can keep on. If they were gonna get us, they would have taken us right now.” He spoke to the horses, and they leaned into their collars and once again pulled the wagon along at a moderate gait.

  They paused to camp at a small creek, where Sarah cooked supper under the shelter of the trees. The wind was rising, and she said, “It looks like it might rain.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a little rain,” Jeff said. “It’s been mighty dusty.” Tom had not yet joined them, and he lowered his voice, looking at the wagon cautiously. “Sarah?”

  “Yes? What is it, Jeff?”

  “I’m worried about Tom.” Jeff rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes troubled. “He’s just not himself since he got hurt.”

  “No, he’s not,” Sarah agreed. She was busily putting the meal together, but now she straightened up and followed Jeff’s gaze toward the wagon. “He’s always been so easygoing and cheerful. I haven’t seen him smile since that night I came to you.”

  “It’s just like he’s had all the life drained out of him,” Jeff murmured. “I kept thinking he’d get over it. And he is doing better. He’s not likely to die of fever. His leg’s clean—no infection.” He shook his head sadly. “I hope he don’t stay like this all the time.”