Gettysburg: The Crossroads Town

by Tim Black

  Bette spotted a mason jar with a sign that read “Donations Accepted,” and as the tourists filed out, they fed the container with coins, both silver and gold. Bette sat and waited until Mrs. Burns returned and began to count the donations.

  “How’d we do?” Burns asked his wife who was counting the money.

  “Sixteen dollars fifty cents,” Mrs. Burns replied.

  “Pretty good,” Burns evaluated. “Not bad. Who are you?” Burns said, finally noticing Bette.

  Bette found herself suddenly speechless.

  Barbara Burns intervened. Her husband had an unfortunate habit of intimidating people, especially women. “She came from Mr. Wills. She brought this note. It appears President Lincoln wants to meet you.”

  “Well, tell him to come here. I’ll be happy to meet him.”

  “John,” Mrs. Burns said, shaking her head. “You go to the president, the president doesn’t come to you.”

  Burns smiled. “I guess not, well, hell, where does he want to meet?”

  “At Wills’ house. Watch your language with the young lady present.”

  “Oh, I bet she’s heard that before,” Burns said, smiling knowingly at Bette who couldn’t help but return the old curmudgeon’s grin. “Wills! That sniveling little toad! He didn’t even give me a spot in the parade,” Burns snarled.

  “Well, now he’s asked you to meet the president at his home. I think that’s a bit more than a spot in a silly parade,” his wife said.

  “Well, c’mon then woman,” Burns said.

  “No, John, you know I don’t like politics. That is for men. The girl can accompany you,” she said, nodding at Bette.

  As Bette walked beside John Burns on Chambersburg Street the old man offered her his arm. She didn’t want to take his arm, but she didn’t want to be rude either, and certainly any girl in the 19th century would take a man’s arm when it was offered, she thought. Especially a hero’s arm. What was she supposed to say? That boys didn’t even open car doors for girls anymore? The old man wouldn’t even know what a car was.

  “Do you go to the finishing school?” Burns asked her.

  “No sir, I’m from Mercersburg.”

  “How did you know where I lived?”

  Bette saw an opening for flattery and she used it. “Everyone knows where you live, Mr. Burns.”

  Burns smiled. He was a narcissist, Bette thought. He loved the limelight. “You know Mathew Brady took my photograph,” he said proudly.

  “Yes, sir, I knew that,” Bette said.

  When Bette and the old man entered the town square, there were perhaps a dozen men with notebooks gathered around the entrance to the Wills Mansion. Reporters, Bette surmised. Dozens of reporters had attended the dedication ceremony, recording the events. Tomorrow, everyone in the North would read about the town of Gettysburg once more, but this time they would read about a memorial celebration. Bette heard the whispers as they approached.:

  “That’s John Burns!” “Make way for the hero of Gettysburg!” “Move aside for John Burns!”

  John Burns quickly dropped his arm support from Bette. He needed both hands to wave to his fans. Bette, spotting her group, slinked away from the old man and stood beside Victor.

  “What’s he like?” Victor whispered to Bette.

  “Typical arrogant male,” Bette replied. “In love with himself.”

  Victor chose the wise course and said nothing more. Bette was in one of her male-bashing moods, he thought.

  Then there was a collective cheer and suddenly the door to the Wills Mansion opened and there stood Abraham Lincoln, smiling down at the diminutive old man. Lincoln descended to the landing and offered his hand to the “Hero of Gettysburg” saying, “God bless you, old man!”

  The newsmen scribbled Lincoln’s words verbatim in their notebooks.

  “God bless you, Mr. Lincoln,” Burns replied, and a chorus of cheers met his response. Then suddenly, Burns seemed to be looking around for Bette, but being vertically challenged, he wasn’t able to see over the crowd.

  “Do come inside, Mr. Burns,” the president said. “I would like you to meet some people.”

  Mr. Greene explained that “‘Some people’ turned out to be the famous orator, Edward Everett, Secretary of State William Seward, presidential secretaries John Hay and John Nicolay, Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania and various other governors of the Northern states, including Governor Todd of Ohio whom people incorrectly assumed was Lincoln’s brother-in-law as Mrs. Lincoln’s maiden name was “Todd.”

  The day was not done, however. About a half hour later David Wills emerged from his house and announced that it was time to proceed to the Presbyterian Church for a service at 5 p.m. Wills led the group out of his house and Lincoln walked arm-in-arm with John Burns. Secretary of State Seward walked on the other side of the old man. John Burns, who was the center of attention, was smiling profusely and waving with his spare arm to the crowd.

  Victor, standing between his classmates, watched as Burns hurried his gait in an attempt to keep up with the long strides of the 6'4" president. He wondered what the people thought watching as a giant and a dwarf walked side-by-side.

  The church was packed and the upfront rows were reserved for the dignitaries. Victor and Minerva snuck in a side door and were able to find a place to stand to watch and listen. When the president’s party neared their pew, Lincoln stopped and allowed others to fill the row, until only John Burns and the president were left.

  The speeches began anew and Victor began to daydream, thinking for a few minutes of kissing Minerva right there in the church, but he was brought back to reality by the snoring of the elderly John Burns who drifted off during a speech. His elderly head rested on the stoic shoulder of the 16th president of the United States. The speeches were tedious, the sermon seemed endless, and Victor was growing restless when, an hour and a half later, Lincoln’s secretary John Hay came up the aisle to inform the president that his train was ready to depart. After nudging John Burns from his slumber, the president stood up and his pew emptied quickly. Victor and Minerva snuck out through the door from which they had entered.

  “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty we’re free at last,” Victor said, quoting the end of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Victor and Minerva reunited with the others.

  “Were you two canoodling?” Bette asked.

  Minerva frowned at her friend.

  The procession of dignitaries trundled to the railroad station where a train belching smoke awaited the president. Lincoln bid goodbye to John Burns and to citizens of Gettysburg as well. He had only been in Gettysburg for twenty-five hours, but the town of Gettysburg would never be the same.

  Mr. Greene, his students, young Tesla, and twenty-five-year-old Henry Adams watched as the president’s train pulled out of the little station headed for Hanover Junction and its connection to a rail line to Baltimore and Washington City. Victor did a double take as he realized that Shelby Foote and Bruce Catton were in the passenger car with the president. They seemed to be taking it all in, like condemned men savoring their last meal, Victor thought, for he knew that the two Civil War historians were going to be grounded, and not just a month like his parents might impose, but rather for several years. It was doubtful that Victor would ever time travel with the ghost of Shelby Foote again, which was a shame because Victor truly enjoyed having Mr. Foote along. Not that Bruce Catton wasn’t a really good ghost, he mused, but Shelby had such a mischievous twinkle in his eye and was a font of knowledge on the Civil War and shared that knowledge so readily. Victor decided that when he got back to Cassadaga he would read Foote’s three-volume narrative of the conflict, even if it took him the rest of the summer.

  The ghosts of Bruce Catton and Shelby Foote escaped from the president’s train and floated over to the group.

  “Okay,” Mr. Greene said. “I guess that is everybody. I think it is time to return to our high school.”

  “Goodbye, Gettysburg
,” Minerva said.

  To which a girl’s voice replied, “Minerva, is that you?”

  Minerva turned around to see who it was. “Julia? Julia Culp?”

  “Yes,” Julia said, smiling. She rushed to Minerva and hugged her.

  Minerva turned to Mr. Greene and said, “Uncle Nathan, can I catch up with you? I would like to speak to Julia for a moment.”

  “We’ll wait for you by the seminary,” Mr. Greene replied. “But be along in a few minutes, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Minerva replied and began to chatter with Julia.

  “I am sorry about your brother, Julia.”

  “Yes, poor Wesley. My sister Anna and I found his body on our uncle’s hill. Anna wanted to bury Wesley in Evergreen Cemetery, but I thought our neighbors might dig up his body and put it on display at the Diamond.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We took him to my uncle’s house. He had fled the area when the Rebels came. I went into his cellar and saw a window seat that held blankets and linens. It was about the size of a coffin. So Anna and I pulled the window seat away from the wall and dug a grave, taking the extra soil outside and spreading it around. Then when Wesley was in the grave and the dirt was put over him, Anna and I moved the window seat back over him. You have to promise on your hope of heaven that you will never tell anyone where he is buried, Minerva.”

  “I won’t, Julia.”

  “I came looking for you after the battle. Where did you go?”

  “Ah…back to Mercersburg,” Minerva lied.

  “And you came back for the dedication of the cemetery.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “The president gave a pretty bad speech,” Julia opined.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think folks might remember it when the war is over.”

  “I doubt it,” Julia said dismissively.

  “I’d better catch up with my family.”

  “Are you walking back to Mercersburg tonight?”

  Minerva had to think quickly. “We are going to stay at the Seminary with the ah Zieglers,” she lied. She gave Julia a final hug and ran down Carlisle Street to the Diamond.

  “Goodbye, Minerva!” Julia Culp called.

  “Bye, Julia,” Minerva shouted back. She remembered Mr. Greene’s theory about the disposition of Wesley Culp’s body: his theory was correct. She would have to tell her teacher. And then she realized she promised Julia she would never tell. “Sorry, Mr. Greene,” she mumbled. “I can’t tell you.”

  She headed out on Chambersburg Street and caught up with the group at the road, which turned into the Lutheran Theological Seminary. From there the group walked west on the Chambersburg Pike with young Tesla in the lead. Sure footed, the seven-year-old scientific genius led the group directly to where the cloaked portable was parked. Henry Adams, Nathan Greene and his students followed young Tesla inside. The ghosts of Bruce Catton and Shelby Foote didn’t budge. Henry Adams became testy and stuck his head out of the classroom door. Only Adams’ head was visible and to a passerby it might appear to be a decapitated head speaking.

  “Get in here you two!” Adams demanded.

  “We’ve been thinking, Henry,” Shelby Foote said with a wry smile. “Bruce and I figure we won’t be traveling very much anymore so there is no reason for us to go back right now. I know old Thucydides will be a tad riled up about it, but Bruce and I figure we might as well stay here and watch the rest of the war. Tell the old guy we will be willing to surrender and come back when Robert E. Lee gives General Grant his sword at Appomattox a couple years from now. When Marse Robert surrenders so will we!”

  “If you do this, you will be banned from travel for eternity,” Adams said, his blood pressure obviously rising, as shown by his crimson face.

  “C’est la guerre,” Shelby Foote replied.

  “Henry, think about it,” Bruce Catton said. “The only place that Shelby and I ever wanted to travel to was to the Civil War. This is our heaven. To be able to watch it as it happened, well that’s worth eternity to both of us.”

  “Henry, you need to take your seat,” young Tesla ordered. “We are ready to leave. They aren’t coming, and in your present form you can’t do anything about it.”

  Henry Adams’ head disappeared inside the portable and young Tesla closed the door.

  “The portable is all yours, Mr. Greene,” young Tesla said. “You can use your computer or the remote, either one will work.”

  After making sure that everyone was strapped in, Nathan Greene set the computer and pressed the Travel button. The portable took off smoothly, more smoothly than it had in the past, and young Tesla saw the smile of satisfaction on Mr. Greene’s face.

  “I made a few adjustments for turbulence. It should be a much smoother ride,” Tesla explained.

  And it was. It was the smoothest landing that Victor ever experienced. However, when they arrived back at Cassadaga Area High School, young Nikola Tesla and Henry Brooks Adams were gone, replaced by their ghosts, and in the case of the Serbian scientist a grown-up, albeit dead, Nikola Tesla, with those brooding black eyes. Two puddles of clothes covered two sets of shoes on the classroom floor.

  “That was fun!” Tesla said, noiselessly clapping his ghostly hands.

  Normally dour Henry Adams was smiling as well.

  “Okay,” Mr. Greene said. “Before we leave, let’s make sure we didn’t have a butterfly effect anywhere. Victor, pull down the map of the country.”

  Victor pulled down the map and the class examined it. No Confederate States of America.

  No Franklin instead of Tennessee. The presidents were intact. No changes there.

  “I dread having to report to Thucydides.”

  “It is not your fault, Mr. Adams,” Victor said.

  “Well, students, we came back a few hours after we left, so no one will be the wiser. As you know I will have a new A.P. class in the fall, but I want to keep the History Channelers together. I think we might be able to find a few new recruits in the class. Only five students signed up for the class. I am thinking of going to Jamestown in September, how does that sound? Jamestown 1607. Pocahontas, John Smith, the Powhatan Indians. I am going to work on ear buds that translate Powhatan into English, but we must know sign language just in case. Perhaps Mr. Tesla might like to come up with a suitable device for us. What do you say, Nikola. Care to stay around a little while?”

  “Certainly. Would you introduce me to a science teacher?”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  Victor just smiled. Mr. Greene was ready for another adventure. And Victor was ready for a date with Minerva. As they walked out of the portable, Victor stopped Minerva to ask, “Doing anything tonight, Minerva?”

  “Uh huh.”

  His hopes dashed, Victor mumbled, “What?”

  “Going over to Bette’s to watch Independence Day.”

  Bette smiled. “You can come too, Victor, but you can’t spend the night,” she added. “That’s only for us girls.”

  “Okay, I’m in,” Victor said. It was better than nothing.

  The End

  Appendix

  Selected Civil War Books by Bruce Catton

  Bruce Catton published several books on the Civil War, among them:

  Mr. Lincoln’s Army, Fairfax Press, 1984

  Glory Road, Fairfax Press, 1984

  A Stillness at Appomattox, Fairfax Press, 1984

  The Coming Fury, Phoenix Press, 2001

  Terrible Swift Sword, Phoenix Press, 2001

  Never Call Retreat, Phoenix Press, 2001

  www.americanheritage.com/users/bruce-catton

  Selected Civil War Books by Shelby Foote

  The Civil War: A Narrative, Vintage Press 1986

  Volume 1: Fort Sumter to Perryville

  Volume 2: Fredericksburg to Meridian

  Volume 3: Red River to Appomattox

  Stars in Their Courses: The Gettysburg Campaign, The Modern Library 1994

  The Diary of Sarah Broadhead />
  In 1864 Sarah Broadhead had two hundred copies of her diary printed for her family and friends. Moved by the work of the United States Sanitary Commission in providing aid for Civil War hospitals, Mrs. Broadhead donated seventy-five copies of the diary to raise funds for the commission. The original title of the booklet was The Diary of a Lady of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and did not include her byline. The diary is in the public domain and I have reprinted it here in its entirety. Ken Burns quoted from Sarah Broadhead’s diary extensively for his documentary on the Civil War. And of course, Shelby Foote was an integral part of the PBS series.

  June 15, 1863

  To-day(sic) we heard that the Rebels were crossing the river in heavy force, and advancing on this State. No alarm was felt until Governor Curtin sent a telegram directing the people to move their stores as quickly as possible. This made us begin to realize that we were in some danger from the enemy, and some persons, thinking the Rebels were near, became very much frightened, though the report was a mistake.

  June 16–

  Our town had a great fright last night between 12 and 1 o’clock. I had retired, and was soundly asleep, when my daughter Mary cried for a drink of water. When I got up to get it, I heard so great a noise in the street that I went to the window, and the first thing I saw was a large fire, seemingly not far off, and the people were hallooing, “The Rebels are coming, and burning as they go.” Many left town, but, having waited for the fire to go down a little, I returned to bed and slept until morning. Then I learned that the fire was in Emmettsburg (sic), ten miles from here just over the Maryland line, and the buildings were fired by one of their townsmen. Twenty-seven houses were burned, and thirty-six families made homeless, all effort to stop the flames being useless, as, owing to everything being so dry, they spread with great rapidity.