Last Ghost at Gettysburg (32 page)

“I’ll be dressed in a minute. Bortnicker’s
out scavenging some coffee.”

“Well, we should have some bacon and eggs on
the griddle soon. As you can see, I got pressed into cook service
last night as a ‘punishment’ for blowing off last year’s
reenactment. But today our regular cook’s on duty. In real life
he’s a fireman, so you know
he
can cook!”

It only took T.J. a few minutes to throw on
his brogans and hat, and then he was outside among the living. Even
at this early hour people were going here and there, preparing for
the long day ahead. T.J. brought their tin plates to the
72
^nd
’s campfire, where Bortnicker met him with two
steaming cups of coffee. They got their bacon and eggs, which
smelled heavenly, and sat down amongst the troops. As soldiers came
and went, Uncle Mike introduced them to the boys. It seemed like
the unit was one big happy family, and that the boys’ relation to
Mike earned them instant acceptance into the club.

They were just finishing their meal when
Colonel Pelham approached the gathering, looking all business.

“Okay, men, it seems like most of us are
here. Let’s meet in the field to our right in ten minutes for a
little drilling.” After some playful groans the men drifted toward
their tents to stow their mess kits and suit up.

T.J. and Bortnicker slipped their drum slings
over their shoulders and grabbed their sticks before a quick walk
to the field where the 72
^nd
Pennsylvania was
assembling. A sergeant formed the unit into four lines of six men
apiece and had the boys bookend the front lines next to the U.S.
and regimental flags.

“At ease, men,” began Pelham, and the troops
relaxed. “First, I want to welcome you all back for another year at
Gettysburg. It looks like we’re going to have two fine days for
reenactments, though it will be very warm and humid, so remember to
drink water whenever possible. Just about everyone’s here, so no
introductions are necessary, except that we will have two new
drummers replacing my sons, Mike Darcy’s nephew T.J. and his friend
Bortnicker.”

At that, Bortnicker did a quick drum roll
that drew a few chuckles. T.J. merely turned and waved meekly to
the assemblage.

“As I was saying, we will be formally
participating as a unit in today’s and tomorrow’s reenactments.
Some of you who got in early today were able to hook on to other
units for the Brickyard Battle, and I’m sure you represented us
admirably. So, let me give you an overview of today’s action, which
they’re calling ‘The Wheatfield—Harvest of Death.’

“On the morning of July 2, 1862, Robert E.
Lee was liking his army’s chances at Gettysburg. His men had driven
the enemy from the field and now occupied the town. The Union
forces held the high ground south and east of town. Lee decided to
try a flanking maneuver, with General Longstreet’s 1
^st
Corps engaging the Federals on Little Round Top, and General
Ewell’s 2
^nd
Corps hitting the Federals on Cemetery Hill
and Culp’s Hill as a diversion.

“Unbeknownst to Longstreet, the commander of
the Union’s 3
^rd
Corps, General Dan Sickles, ordered his
men off the rocky hill and positioned them in the fields in front
of the Round Tops. Why he decided upon this tactic is a subject of
debate to this day.

“So, when Longstreet’s troops arrived on the
afternoon of July 2
^nd
, he was surprised to find Federal
troops in the Peach Orchard, the Wheatfield, and Devil’s Den.
Longstreet launched his attack and found that Sickles had left his
flank open by abandoning his superior position. He took Devil’s Den
and moved in on the Wheatfield. Sickles desperately sent for
reinforcements to bail him out and General John Caldwell’s division
of the Union 2
^nd
Corps rushed to the rescue. They were
immediately engaged in fierce hand-to-hand combat. Six times the
field changed hands in just over two hours, and two of the Union
brigade commanders were killed.

“In the end the Federals held off the
Southerners, and units from Pennsylvania were among those who saw
action. But by the end of the day the Confederates had lost about
1,400 men and the Union around 3,100. It was some of the most
furious fighting of the war.

“We will try to capture the essence of that
struggle for the thousands of spectators who will be attending. As
always, we will be coordinating with units from New York,
Connecticut, Massachusetts and New Jersey, among others. I will be
attending a commanders’ meeting after we’re done here.

“So, right now let’s get in some close order
drill so we can look good entering the field this afternoon. Our
forces will be assembling at 4:00 P.M. sharp on this very field.
Are there any questions? Okay. And one more thing. Make sure you
have brought a plentiful amount of percussion caps for your rifles.
Last year too many soldiers ran out, and there’s not much else you
can do after that but become a casualty. Which brings to mind
another minor problem we had last year. Fellows, I know this is
Gettysburg, the event everyone looks forward to, but we can’t have
an authentic battle without some casualties. We’ve never had to
resort to drawing straws or things like that before. So, now I’ll
ask you: who’d like to volunteer to be killed or wounded in today’s
battle?”

Slowly, about one third of the men’s hands
were raised.

“Great. That should do it. And one last
thing. Don’t feel the need to apply any fake blood if you’re shot.
The spectators are so far removed that they’ll never see it.
Sergeant McAllister, are you ready to give the men a little
workout?”

“Yes, sir!” piped a beefy veteran whose
leathery face reflected many days of reenacting in the hot sun.
“Company...forward, march!” They started moving, and Colonel
Pelham barked, “Let’s hear those drums, boys!” T.J. and Bortnicker
looked across at each other, nodded, and began an easy tattoo.

The 72
^nd
went forward, left,
right, front and back. It was hot, boring and tedious, but within
minutes they began looking like the veteran unit they were. They
boys were proud to be leading the way. After a half-hour McAllister
had them form a line, shoulder-width apart, to practice “loading”
and “firing” their weapons. It was at this time that the unit held
its weapons inspection in accordance with reenactment rules. Only
a couple of the men had vintage rifles, including Darcy’s
Sharps.

“Still using that, Mike?” said McAllister,
checking the gun over after Mike had ‘presented arms.’ “Not afraid
to ruin it?”

“It’ll be fine, Sergeant,” smiled Mike. “It’s
not like we’re firing live rounds, you know.”

“True, but you have a priceless antique here.
It was used in the actual battle, right?”

“Which is precisely why I should use it,
sir!” smiled Darcy.

“Touché,” said McAllister, handing it back
and moving onto the next man.

The regiment re-formed for dismissal by
Colonel Pelham and then returned to camp. By this time tourists
were all over the place. T.J. noticed that he and Bortnicker were
getting quite a few looks from young ladies, and Bortnicker really
played it up, taking a page from LouAnne’s Charney House routines.
They wandered around the village, stopping for a snack here and
there and interacting with the other attendees. It was great fun to
be the center of attention.

“I’m really starting to like this soldiering
thing,” said Bortnicker, waving back to a high school-aged girl
with pink hair who’d winked at him.

They finally returned to their tent and lay
down for an hour to rest. The midday heat had become oppressive,
and both boys had drunk numerous tin cups of water from the
regimental jugs that had been set up near the headquarters tent
before sacking out.

It was Uncle Mike who woke the boys with a
hearty “Up and at ‘em, lads, the Rebs are coming!” They popped up
smiling, pulled on their tunics and hats, slung their full canteens
over their shoulders, adjusted their drum kits and made for the
pasture.

It was an awesome sight to see upwards of a
thousand men assembling into their regiments, forming ranks.
Momentarily confused, T.J. was relieved to see the smiling Pat
Garvey motioning him over to where the drum and fife corps was
preparing to lead the column onto the field. They hustled over and
fell in next to each other, their hearts pounding.

“Good luck, T.J.,” said Bortnicker, who was
sweating profusely.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he replied. “Remember,
we’ll just join the 72
^nd
when they break off from the
column. As long as we stay within earshot of either Pelham or
McAllister we’ll know what to do.”

“Gotcha.”

And then, officers on horseback rode to the
front of the column, the musicians struck up
Garry Owen
,
and they were off to battle.

As they entered the “battlefield” the crowd
erupted in anticipation. The boys easily blended with the other
drummers and marched proudly, their heads high.
It’s so much
easier when you know you’re not gonna die,
thought T.J.

Suddenly, a few cannon, which had been placed
to the rear of the entering armies, opened up. T.J. had to keep
himself from flinching every time one discharged. Now mounted
officers were everywhere, deploying regiments to their prearranged
areas. T.J. caught sight of Colonel Pelham and the 72
^nd
and the boys made a beeline for their group.

Across the field the Confederates, who
numbered roughly as many as the Federals, were doing the same. They
wore a variety of outfits, especially the enlisted men. A few of
the officers were dressed as elaborately as Hilliard, though this
was primarily an infantry engagement.

The boys took their place alongside the
regimental colors, which were held aloft by a guy named Jerry who
was by day an auto mechanic in Harrisburg. Then the shooting
commenced, and it became a blur of action, with the unit moving
forward, then falling back, to mimic the actions of the Union
troops on July 2, 1863. The rolling volleys of percussion caps were
incessant, and the smoke stung their eyes. Here and there a soldier
suddenly clutched his chest or leg or head and went down, some
immediately lying still, others writhing in agony and
screaming.

“You dyin’?” Bortnicker asked,
rat-tat-tatting away.

“Not today,” answered T.J. He was having too
much fun. And yet, the whole time he kept scanning the Confederate
lines, wondering if it could even be possible that Crosby Hilliard
would show up to join the battle. Suddenly, Uncle Mike, who was a
few yards to the side, gripped his stomach and keeled over, deftly
laying his antique Sharps rifle in some tall grass as he fell onto
his back. T.J. reflexively ran over and looked down into his
uncle’s face. “You okay?” he panted.

“Sure,” said Mike, smiling. “I’m just gassed.
Man, it’s hot out here. Besides, I’d rather die today than
tomorrow. Hey, get back to drumming!”

T.J. grinned and rejoined Bortnicker, just as
Jerry the color bearer got shot. “Don’t let the colors hit the
ground!” cried Bortnicker and, shucking his drum strap, caught the
pole on the way down.

“Good catch!” said Jerry, lying on his
side.

“What do I do now?” said Bortnicker, in a
panic.

“Ah, just wave it around and stuff!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Suddenly,
Bortnicker was running back and forth, exhorting the
72
^nd
Pennsylvania forward. Sergeant McAllister, caught
by surprise, said, “Well, lads, you heard the boy. Forward we go!”
And with that, Bortnicker led a charge into the line that ended
with some realistic looking hand-to-hand combat with a unit from
Alabama.

T.J. couldn’t help but smile. You had to hand
it to Bortnicker. He always managed to make things interesting.

Finally, after about an hour, the
Confederates began to fall back. Union soldiers squeezed off a
couple more rounds, then raised their hats and cheered “Huzzah!” As
the spectators roared, the Union column once again formed up and
the boys—after Bortnicker had returned the flag to Jerry, who had
made a miraculous recovery—joined the front of the column to lead
the victorious Union force from the field. The PA announcer
reminded the crowd to drive safely.

Back at camp, the 72
^nd
Pennsylvania was still on a high. Remarks like “One of the best
ever!” and “I didn’t want it to end!” filled the late afternoon
air. Colonel Pelham told the troops they’d turned in a fine
performance, “...including our heroic drummer boy, Private
Bortnicker!” to which Bortnicker took a deep, theatrical bow as the
men laughed uproariously. Uncle Mike just shook his head.

As the boys returned to their tent,
recounting the events of the afternoon, they were met by the vision
of LouAnne Darcy, in her full costume, holding a frilly umbrella
aloft to shield her fair skin from the sun. “Oh, it is my valorous
defenders, who have returned from the bloody battle safe and
sound!”

“You saw me out there?” said Bortnicker.
“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Of course, though I watched it from the rear
with the rest of the civilian reenactors. Mom dropped me off just
as the fighting started. You guys did great. Now, let’s go get some
cold lemonade. I’m dying in this dress!”

The boys stowed their drum kits and slung
their tunics over their shoulders as they escorted LouAnne around
the grounds. Once they’d had their fill of lemonade, they were off
to the photographer’s booth, where the two serious looking
recruits, holding repro pistols for effect, stood behind the
seated LouAnne, who struck a coquettish pose. It was a really
interesting process. The photographer, a bald, whiskered old gent
in period garb, lost himself under the curtain attached to the rear
of the huge daguerreotype camera, which was perched on top of a
tall tripod. “Hold the pose for at least six seconds!” he cried
before taking the shot. Then he retrieved the negative and laid the
blank film in a bed of chemical solution. As if by magic, an image
began to take shape. The finished vignette couldn’t have been more
authentic looking, right down to the serious faces sported by the
boys.