“Isn’t it wonderful? All the soldiers!” one asked enthusiastically.
Ginnie frowned, “What soldiers?”
“The army’s here,” they told her. “Our troops have returned. They’re up at the Diamond right now. The rebels were coming back into town, but they ran off when they saw our troops. Come up with us to see them.”
Ginnie felt a momentary excitement, then remembered that her mother was waiting for her at Georgia’s. She shook her head, “You go on without me.” She watched as the girls moved off north, giggling as they talked about the possibility of meeting some eligible soldiers.
She spent the afternoon helping her mother with the chores and watching the baby. Outside, carts and horses rushed up and down the street, causing Georgia to complain about the noise. Watching from the window as the troops milled about, Ginnie wished that one of them would turn out to be Jack.
It was well after dark when she walked back to the house on Breckenridge. Not ready to deal with putting the boys to bed and cleaning up around the house, she walked past the house toward Washington Street and stood for a long moment staring west into the night. On one of the far hills, she could see hundreds of camp fires twinkling in the night. Knowing that so many troops were nearby to protect them was a comforting thought.
Hoof beats broke her reverie and she turned to see two troopers reining in their horses. Both appeared unaware of Ginnie’s presence in the darkness. One dismounted and moved to the side of the road to look at the fires.
After a moment, the trooper turned and saw Ginnie standing there. He tipped his hat to her with a quiet, “Evenin’, miss.”
“Am I glad to see you,” she exclaimed. “Where are you men from?”
The trooper, looking off to the west, said, “The 8th New York Cavalry, Miss. We’re General Buford’s troops.”
“Are you going to be staying here long?”
The trooper, still looking anxiously toward the west, muttered, “As long as we can – as long as they let us, Miss.”
“Who?” Ginnie asked.
“Them.” The trooper pointed toward the distant campfires.
“You mean those aren’t our soldiers?” Ginnie asked, suddenly sensing the tension in the trooper’s voice.
He turned and looked grimly at Ginnie. “No, Miss. That’s an entire corps of General Lee’s army. Thirteen thousand men.”
“But you can hold them, can’t you?” Ginnie asked, feeling the fear creep up her spine.
The soldier sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Miss. There’s only twenty-five hundred of us. But we’ll fight to the last. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Oh, my god,” was all that Ginnie could manage before she fled back to the questionable safety of her house.
Chapter 19
THE FIRST DAY
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
July 1, 1863
Ginnie’s eyes snapped open as she struggled to remember the dream. It trickled out of her mind like water, however, and she was unable to grasp more than a few disturbing images. There was fighting, soldiers were shooting at each other. Her baby was there, but somehow it was lost. She remembered feeling terrible anxiety, looking for the baby, looking for Jack...and finding neither.
Sitting up she realized that it was later than she had thought. The sun was well up and she heard the sounds of Isaac and Harry playing quietly in their bedroom. For once, her stomach felt fine with no trace of morning sickness. Then she remembered the nightmare of the troops outside. They were not a dream, and the fight that was coming would be for real.
Dressing quickly, she looked out the window, but there was no one to be seen. The streets were empty and once again Ginnie wondered if the troops had left in the night. This time she would be thankful for their departure; if there were no troops, there would be no fight.
She fed the boys and busied herself doing some of the necessary housework. Harry kept interrupting her with the same request. “Gin, I want to go up to the Diamond with Tom and Dillie to see the horses and the soldiers. Their mothers let them go yesterday.”
“You’re not going,” Ginnie said for the fourth time. “That’s final!”
“But Dillie got to lead a horse for one of the soldiers. They said today he could ride him, if he goes back.” Ginnie tried to ignore him. Finally Harry said, purposely under his breath, “Well, I’ll just sneak out when you’re not looking.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ginnie said sternly. “If you even try, I’ll take you down to stay with Mama.”
Half an hour later, some time after nine o’clock, Ginnie heard a distant booming. “Is that thunder?” Isaac asked with a worried look.
Ginnie listened to the rhythmic thuds hoping that Isaac was right. But when higher pitched explosions punctuated the deep booms, she knew immediately that it was artillery. Her worried face confirmed the boys’ fear. Harry, his face tense, asked, “Are they going to shoot at our house?”
She went to them, putting her arms around Harry’s shoulders and looking into Isaac’s frightened eyes. “We’re going to be fine,” she assured them. “Those guns are shooting way outside of town” – she gestured vaguely off toward the northwest – “and our soldiers will take care of those bad rebels.” She hugged them with a little laugh, trying to humor them out of their worry. “If they try to come in here, I’ll hit them over the head with my broom handle.”
Isaac laughed, but Harry’s expression didn’t change. “If those cannons shoot our house, it’ll fall down and we’ll burn up. I’ve seen pictures of how cannons shoot houses.”
“Harry, if the shooting gets any closer, we’ll go down to Georgia’s, all right? We’ll be safe there. And you can see the new baby! Maybe you can even hold him,” she added as an inducement.
“I don’t wanna hold no baby!” Harry said with a frown.
Trying to decide what to do, Ginnie peered out the front window and saw a group of neighbors standing in the middle of the street, huddled together as though for protection, busily engaged in conversation. Telling the boys she would be back shortly, she slipped across the street to the group.
“They’re fighting west of town,” James Pierce was repeating for the benefit of newcomers to the group. “They’ve been fighting since early this morning, and the rebel guns are trained on the northwest corner of town.”
“Do you think they’ll come down this far?” a woman asked. “I don’t want to get caught here if the rebels overrun the place again.”
Pierce answered, “There’s no chance of that. Our boys’ll keep them outside of town. That’s what they’re here for, to protect the town. I don’t think we need to worry.”
“Just the same,” said the first woman, “I think I’m going to leave. I won’t get any sleep tonight, anyway, worrying about whether I’ll wake up in the morning surrounded by Confederates again.” Then with a perplexed look on her face she asked, “What are they doing here, anyway? Why did they pick on Gettysburg, of all places?”
Pierce shook his head. “I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s wise for you to leave. An empty house is an invitation to looting. Look over there.” He pointed to a house at the end of the street vandalized during the earlier rebel occupation. “I don’t want that to happen to my house.” The group stared bleakly at the broken windows, the still-open front door and the belongings scattered in the yard.
A new series of cannon shots sounded, much closer than before. The group, startled by the sound, looked anxiously to the northwest and then eyed each other uncertainly. As they started for their homes, a horseman came riding hard down Baltimore Street shouting as he passed every house: “The rebels are shelling the town. Get into your cellars or you’ll be killed.”
The group fled to their houses. Ginnie ran as fast as she could, cringing and waiting for the first shots to fall. She picked Isaac up by one arm, ignoring his cry of pain and herded Harry to the cellar. The next hours were hellish and Ginnie was afraid she would lose her mind. Between the boys w
eeping and the continuous explosions overhead, the confusion was simply overwhelming.
Finally, about eleven o’clock, she decided that it would be better to go down to Georgia’s where they would be farther out of range. Leaving the boys in the cellar, she went upstairs, packed some clothes, gathered a little food together, then stuck her head out the back door for a minute to listen to the sound of the cannons. She thought it was definitely getting louder. As she listened, she heard a new sound for the first time: tiny snaps that sounded like fireworks. Realizing that this was the sound of rifle fire, she hurried to get the boys ready to leave.
She put the two large satchels on the porch and shifted Isaac to her left hip, then locked the front door. She turned to look for Harry as she slipped the key into her pocket. He was nowhere to be seen.
Alarmed, she ran down the steps to the sidewalk calling Harry’s name. As she looked to the west up Breckenridge Street, she saw a long column of blue-uniformed men trotting rapidly up South Washington Street. And there, right on the corner, watching them with such enthusiasm that he was literally jumping up and down in time to the beat of their feet, was Harry.
Ginnie ran west to the corner, half to recover Harry and half to get closer to the soldiers, the sight of whom had filled her with relief. A small crowd had gathered along South Washington Street, and they were cheering and clapping as the soldiers ran by at the double-quick. There seemed to be an endless line of them moving north. She heard someone mention, “Eleventh Corps,” though she wasn’t certain what that meant. Cannon fire could still be heard in the distance, and the whole scene had an unreal air to it. The celebration seemed out of tune with the booming of cannon which might at any moment destroy the houses around them. But, if there was to be salvation for them, these men, moving smartly up the road in spite of their obvious weariness, would be the ones to bring it.
Women offered tin cups of water to the soldiers, who broke ranks and stopped for a moment to drink. Their officers shouted at the soldiers and, in tired and impatient voices, asked the people lining the road not to slow their progress. But the drinks continued to be offered; the soldiers stopped in little clusters to cool their thirst, then marched off with smiles, promising to protect their benefactors from the outrages of the nearby enemy.
Ginnie caught Harry by the shoulder and started to draw him away. But he protested, “Aw, Gin, let me stay and watch. You wouldn’t let me see the horse soldiers this morning.”
She looked back at the house with the two heavy satchels still sitting on the porch, and realized that her back was already tired from Isaac’s weight. Glancing to the left down South Washington Street, she saw an endless line of soldiers flowing toward them. There must be thousands of them, she thought, certainly enough to defeat the rebels on the hills to the west. Realizing that it would be a while before the procession ended, she relented. Admonishing Harry not to stir from the spot, she walked briskly to Georgia’s house and deposited Isaac. Returning to collect Harry and the clothing, she rattled the doorknob once again to make certain it was locked. She picked up one of the satchels and helped Harry with the other, and together they set off down Baltimore Street.
Up ahead they noticed another parade, this one going in the opposite direction, heading south. As she caught up with them, she saw that the huge column was made up of rebel prisoners, perhaps a thousand of them, stretching for several blocks. The column was composed of the most wretched, dejected, filthy men she had ever seen. Some were dressed in gray or butternut battledress. But many were simply barefoot and clad in rags, the remnants of their tattered clothing no longer having any appearance of the military to it. The men shuffled along, looking totally exhausted and humiliated. In contrast, the Federal soldiers who escorted them, spaced every few feet on either side of the captives, were neatly dressed as they walked with their rifles at the ready. Civilians lined the street, many jeering at the defeated enemy. As Ginnie walked past them, she could not help staring at their faces, and one young prisoner caught her eye for a second. She was surprised that he looked not like an invading terror but like a lost little boy, almost like her brother.
The farther down Baltimore Street they went, the more Union soldiers they encountered. When they reached her sister’s house, Ginnie was surprised to find it surrounded by Federal troops. A great number of them stretched out along the Emmitsburg Road and up the Baltimore Pike toward the cemetery. They seemed to be everywhere. At first she was disturbed by the noise and commotion caused by all the military activity, which totally transformed the atmosphere of this normally quiet corner of Gettysburg. Then, realizing that the safest place to be was at the center of the Union army, she relaxed a bit.
She took Harry into Georgia’s tiny house and started to ask her mother what needed to be done, when a knock was heard at the front door. There were two doors in the house, the front door that opened to Baltimore Street from the parlor, and a side door which led to the kitchen. Over the past two months Georgia had begun using the parlor as her bedroom in order to avoid having to negotiate the narrow staircase to the house’s second level. Ginnie, therefore, opened the kitchen door to call the visitor around to the side door. A large Union soldier appeared, his hat respectfully in his hand. He looked pleadingly at Ginnie through dark, expressive eyes.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said, “but I just saw you go in the house. Do you have any food you could spare? We’re short on rations and some of my men didn’t eat all yesterday.” Ginnie was uncertain how to respond. Mary appeared beside her in the doorway and sized up the soldier. He added quickly, “I’ll be glad to pay you.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said. “We’re glad you’re here to protect us. Ginnie, give him some bread.”
When she handed him a couple of loaves, the man thanked her and said, “How much do I owe you?”
Mary shook her head, motioning for him to leave. “You do the fighting, and we’ll try to feed some of you.” When he was gone, Mary said to her daughter, “You’d better mix up some dough. He won’t be the last one to come begging.”
The soldiers arrived in a steady stream, and the women handed out what food they could spare. Many offered to pay, but Mary said, “I haven’t charged the others, so I won’t charge you. You just be sure to keep them rebels away from us.”
When the food was gone, except what they were saving for their supper, they told the soldiers to come back later after they had had time to bake more bread. Ginnie left the dough to rise and, taking the water pail and a metal ladle, went to the windlass well behind the house and let down the bucket. The day was hot and the dust stirred up by hundreds of soldiers hung in the air, making it seem even hotter and more uncomfortable. She was perspiring heavily as she cranked the bucket back up and filled her pail. Lugging it to the street, she approached a group of cavalrymen standing on the sidewalk in front of the house and asked if they wanted a drink of water. They eagerly lined up around her, offering her their canteens to fill. She ladled the cold water into dozens of canteens and cups, looking into their sweat-streaked faces as they thanked her for her thoughtfulness.
In no time the pail was empty, and she returned to the well for more. She made the trip many times in the next hour and a half, sometimes with a soldier coming along to help crank, but often having to work the windlass by herself. She began to wear a path through the dry grass between the well and the sidewalk. Her arms and back ached from the labor, and her dress was soaked from the waist down. There seemed to be no end of soldiers waiting for the cool water in her bucket, but before long her mother called for her to come help with the baking.
Half an hour later, a little after four o’clock, the level of noise in the streets suddenly increased. Ginnie stepped out the kitchen door to see what was happening. Galloping horses thundered down Baltimore Street, dragging artillery caissons and supply wagons, their drivers whipping the teams in a frenzy of speed and confusion. Mixed in among the wagons were dozens of mounted officers, shouting orders, wheeling, dodging in
and out among the teams, and turning to look back toward the north. As Ginnie followed their gaze, she could see hundreds of soldiers running toward them from town.
A wagon went by her, then turned sharply and stopped in front of the hotel. Two men jumped down from the seat and went around to the rear of the wagon, where a dozen men were piled together, writhing in pain. Many of them were drenched in blood. Ginnie could not tear her eyes away from them. As the drivers carried one man toward the hotel, he let out a scream which verged on madness. The sound struck terror into Ginnie’s heart; she felt lost in the middle of a hellish nightmare.
She moved unwittingly toward the wagon to look at the other men still inside, but was distracted by another group of soldiers coming toward her on the sidewalk. Two of them were dragging a third between them; his head was bowed and he seemed unable to walk. As they passed her, Ginnie could see that his face was covered with blood which was dripping directly on the sidewalk as they pulled him along, his inert feet smearing the blood in a dark trail behind him.
She lifted her gaze from the first individuals she had noticed, and realized that the whole street was filling with a mass of wounded and fleeing Union soldiers. There seemed to be an endless stream of them, panicked and out of control, some running madly down the street, others hobbling along using their muskets for crutches, some crawling on hands and knees. Soldiers hurried quietly in groups or ran singly through the mob as though pursued by devils. The wounded appeared in increasing numbers, hastily bandaged in bloody rags, displaying every type of injury, carried on stretchers or roughly tossed across the shoulders of other men. Every so often a soldier would simply fall on the ground, sometimes to be helped by his comrades, sometimes to lie there while the torrent of escaping humanity parted to flow around the inert body.
The Calm and the Strife Page 25