BLOOD AND BLUE RIBBONS: Chp. 19
A STORY OF THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG
Blood and Blue Ribbons
My Memories Of Events From The Great Battle Of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
June 30th – July 3rd, 1863
Abigail Daniels, Summer, 1865
A Novel
Copyright by Elyse Cregar
Thursday, July 2nd, 1863
Evening
A New Battle Erupts
The sound of laughter from inside the Miller kitchen broke into my thoughts.
“Now, soldier, you will be glad not to have those fingers. You will never have to pull a trigger again. Close your eyes. There!”
“Kit, I cannot believe I hear nurses making fun of all these men who are in such pain.”
“Miss Abigail, those men won’t let themselves cry. It would be too sad for the wounded men. The nurses and doctors want to distract them so to keep up their spirits they jest with them. Anyway, many of the wounded men are still alive.
New cannon fire erupted to the east. Kit took my hand and pulled me up from the ground.
“Out there, by that big, wooded hill. See the white puffs? The rebels are hittin’ the slopes on our right flank, moving east at the base of that big hill.”
“That’s Culp’s Hill. I heard some of the Confederates say they wanted to put troops on it yesterday.”
“Well, they are too late, Miss Abigail,” Kit said proudly. “Our Union line is shaped like a fishhook, with Culp’s Hill as the hook. We have a good solid line on the heights all the way to the south. But the rebs . . . they are strung out along miles of front west of us. They have spread themselves too thin.”
Looking toward Gettysburg I couldn’t help wondering where Leonidas might be. Though I had only met him last night, after his Alabama company had dined on our ham and potatoes, I could still feel the heat of his bronzed lips, soft and eager against my own. His shaggy blond locks had tickled my eyelashes as he leaned toward me and new feelings of longing and need had welled within my heart. Was he still in town guarding our house? How I wished I had stayed! He promised he would return. If only I had had the courage to tell my mother I would not leave town.
“Between this farm and that new battle on Culp’s Hill is the creek where I saw that group of colored folks yesterday.”
I studied the area where Kit pointed, but the woods blocked our vision. We were a good half mile from the where the creek crossed the Baltimore Pike.
“Rock Creek?” I pointed. “If you saw the Freeman family moving north up Rock Creek, then Joe Pye and my friends could be right in the middle of the battle on Culp’s Hill. They might be trapped between the armies!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Abigail, there’s not much we can do, least not ‘til the battle is over.”
“Kit, the Freemans, their children and perhaps other families could have sought shelter in McAllister’s Mill. It’s a hiding place for escaping black folks once they cross into Pennsylvania.”
Kit lowered his head, signaling his sense of helplessness to assuage my fears.
“I would accompany you, Miss Abigail, if only . . . I surely would.”
My heart skipped a beat at the sudden hope, quickly removed as we both stared at the blood seeping from his bandaged foot. Tears had sprung to his cheeks as he returned my gaze.
Even as we spoke, the shelling grew more intense on Culp’s Hill. Smoke drifted skyward from the heights and the pounding grew louder. Orange flashes burst from the trees and boulders at the base of Culp’s Hill, nearly two miles away.
The more I thought of Joe Pye and the others hiding in a dark and unfamiliar place, the more I knew I had to act. The mill, located on the Culp’s Hill side of the creek, might become the focus of a fatal blast.
“Kit, I must find Mary Ellen.”
“I’ll rest here,” Kit said, as he slumped down beside a bale of hay.
“I will come back, Kit,” I said, as I put his canteen into his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to think.”
I quickly filled the water buckets and carried them to the front of the house.
Though my body was stiff from bending and lifting these past hours, it felt good to walk upright in the cool night air, around the solid brick farmhouse to the front steps. I reflected on the many happy, sometimes troubled, hours I had spent with Mary Ellen as we had shared our confidences on these worn stairs. Once more I delayed my entry into the house, placing the buckets next to me as I sat down.
One night, long ago, Mary Ellen’s brother, Willie, sat with me on this very step. Even at thirteen, I knew I was in love with him. He had spoken then of Philadelphia, of being part of the excitement of a growing city, of a new beginning away from farm chores. Perhaps, I now told myself, my childish fantasies were just that. Two years ago Willie had moved on to a new life, far away. He had enlisted in the Pennsylvania 90th Volunteer Regiment when the war broke out.
My thoughts drifted, untethered from the reality surrounding me. The past few hours of tending to the wounded were written on my clothes. Stiffened with dried blood from my bodice to the hems of my cotton skirt and petticoats, my smock was no cleaner then the linen bandages soaking in scattered buckets. How would I ever untie the clotted lacings on my ankle-high shoes?
Now the thought of leaving the apparent safety of the Miller Farm felt like a fool’s errand. But it was possible I could find Joe Pye and the Freemans, with their own three children. I could even bring my brother home by moving east around Culp’s Hill on this moonlit night, following the familiar paths of my childhood. Ma would be relieved to have her son safe in her arms again. She would understand why I had taken such a chance, why these new attacks had changed our hopes for his safety and the safety of our colored neighbors. Ezra and the others could first accompany me to a safer hiding spot I knew of across Rock Creek. Perhaps Wind Cave! Pa might be home as well. My heart soared at the thought of seeing Pa.
Mary Ellen walked out of the house. Without a word she sat next to me and placed her head on my shoulder. I leaned back on her long hair and felt it blowing gently in the evening breeze. We reached for each other’s hands, gripping them tightly. A tear dropped on my hand. Was it mine or hers?
“Ma hasn’t stopped since early this morning,” she said. “My grandfather is sleeping, though how anyone can sleep during this chaos is beyond me.”
I nodded. How could I broach my concerns to my friend? My new fears, my new feelings?
We both sat up and turned toward each other.
“Abigail, how are you? I saw you wiping the dining table after the wounded men were taken to the barn. I have never seen so much blood. So much suffering.”
I nodded, still silent.
“There is more news,” I said after a few moments, careful as to how I voiced my thoughts. “I learned it from Kit, the young soldier asleep on that hay bale.” I pointed to him. “He described the many battles taking place around Gettysburg. Can you not hear the new cannonades on Culp’s Hill?”
As I explained my fears for Joe Pye and the others to Mary Ellen, she withdrew her hand from mine.
“Abby, how can we leave the farm? We have no idea where the Freemans or any of the negro families went. And the ones your friend Kit saw, how do we know that boy is Joe Pye? With all the white and colored people fleeing town in the past few days, it could be any child.”
Mary Ellen shook her head as she pulled back her long hair. Her skin was tanned; her face, burnished from hours of garden and field work, shone in the light from the oil lamps inside.
“Mary Ellen, listen to me. Remember Wind Cave, where we used to picnic and tell secrets? Where no one could ever find us?”
“That was years ago.”
“I know. But the old mill is still there. McAllister’s Mill is across the creek from the boulders of Wind Cave. You know the mill has been a hideout. Hundreds of escaping slaves have hidden there on their way north. Ezra, Lilly and their children may be hiding there right now! They wouldn’t have walked much further south from town or they would have found themselves in Maryland! But the mill could be blown up! What if the Freemans are trapped there? Henrietta and the twins? What if Joe Pye is trapped, too?”
A full moon began its ascent, lending a nightmarish blue light to my surroundings. As my new friend continued to observe me in the eerie glow, I knew I had to find a way to reach the old mill. But was my mind playing tricks on me? Perhaps I was sick with the fever. Would I wake up to realize these past hours had all been a nightmare of my own creation?
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Hal Jespersen volunteered his time and expertise in creating the accompanying map of Gettysburg. You may see more of Hal’s carefully drawn and extensive collection of maps at his website cwmaps.com
The FREE chapters to follow will post on my Substack Section: Blood and Blue Ribbons, generally on Saturdays and Wednesdays. This novel appears as a Section on my Substack site: MORE CATS, PLEASE!
Post for Wednesday, May 14: Chapter 20
To read more about the Battle of Gettysburg, please visit my non-commercial website: Bloodandblueribbons.com . There you will find a brief history of the Maine 16th Volunteer Infantry Regiment at Gettysburg on The Stories tab.