The Face of Heaven (45 page)

Men in yellow and brown surged against the barricade and were hit
with vicious volley fire. Those that made it to the rails were shot at five or ten paces by musket or pistol or clubbed down by gunstocks. Rebel charges were smashed by hundreds of balls, the strikes sounding to Levi like hail smacking the side of a barn, but a new charge always followed within moments. Union and Rebel standards were ripped by bursting shells or punctured by bullets. Color bearers were killed within seconds of lifting up the Southern Cross or the Stars and Stripes. Officers were blasted from their saddles or crushed beneath dying horses. Thick powder smoke blotted out faces and uniforms and the bodies strewn over miles of dandelions and grass and wildflowers. No matter how many times the Confederate army came shrieking at them, the Iron Brigade and their allies and artillery hurled them back with their own howls and screams.

Nathaniel saw men drop their muskets because they had become too hot from constant firing. They snatched up the Springfields of the dead and wounded and began to use them instead. A bearded giant, his left leg shredded by bullets and a tourniquet tight on his thigh, had a musket under one arm to prop him up and fired another musket at the Rebels. Wounded soldiers ordered into the seminary for treatment balked or pretended to go and then sneaked back without walking through the doors and returned to the barricade. The thin blue line bristled with musket barrels and bayonets and long flashes of orange flame. Firing and shouting encouragement and tying quick tourniquets on soldiers whose wounds were gushing blood, Nathaniel began to believe they could hold out on Seminary Ridge until nightfall and win the day from the Rebel brigades.

He often thought of Lyndel in the building and glanced over his shoulder frequently, afraid he might see her at a window cracked by a bullet or at an open door splintered by shellfire.
Stay back,
he would tell her in his head,
Stay well clear.
He noticed a man with a brass telescope in the cupola once but no woman and for that he was grateful.

He had dropped to his knees to search for extra cartridges in the pockets and cartridge boxes of the wounded and dead. Shot was slapping repeatedly into the fence rails close to his head, when Levi and Joshua gave a loud shout. He glanced up—they looked like ragmen
with all the homemade bandages they had applied to different parts of their bodies. Levi caught Nathaniel’s eye and pointed.

“The left flank is collapsing! The 1st South Carolina is pouring in even though Biddle’s men are fighting like hornets!”

Nathaniel jumped up. “Hold! Hold!” He climbed the rail barricade again. “Maintain your line! Keep firing!” Bullets cut past his head but he grabbed an American flag, clambered up on the barricade as high as he could go, and waved it back and forth. “Stay on the barricade! Throw Johnny back! Do not break!”

But the gray and butternut troops were forcing their way in despite point-blank artillery fire and musket blasts. Attacking Rebels covered the slopes of the ridge, and more were ascending from the valley in long dark lines. Union officers behind him were ordering units to withdraw to Cemetery Ridge or Culp’s Hill through the streets of Gettysburg and to do so as quickly as they could.

“Fall back!” It was Colonel Williams. “The 19th Indiana will fall back to Culp’s Hill! Quickly, men, before the Chambersburg Pike into Gettysburg is cut off! You’ve stalled the Rebel assault, you’ve bought General Meade and the army all the time they need, now get to the heights and dig in!”

Nathaniel gathered his platoon and company as bodies swirled around them and muskets continued to bang and flash. He saw that the 7th Wisconsin were not withdrawing immediately and were covering the Iron Brigade’s retreat—turning, firing, marching toward Gettysburg, turning and firing again as hundreds of soldiers streamed past them.

“We’ll maintain a skirmisher’s line on the 7th’s left flank,” Nathaniel said swiftly. “Pick a target, shoot, turn and march twenty paces, stop and pick a target, shoot. All the way down the ridge and into the town. What does your watch say, Sergeant?”

Ham pulled it from a pocket and snapped the lid open. “It’s just coming on to 4:30, sir.”

“The longer we keep at it and slow the Rebs, the more daylight we eat up. Then it gets less and less likely they’ll charge Culp’s Hill or
Cemetery Ridge. By tomorrow morning Meade and the army will have secured the heights. Are you with me?”

Ham nodded. “That’s what we bought the tickets to the dance for. The final waltz with the prettiest gal.”

The powder-blackened faces with the tall black hats grinned.

Nathaniel smiled back. “All right. God bless you boys. You’ve fought like lions. We’ll talk again in Gettysburg.”

“Amen,” said Levi.

The group of Indiana men went twenty paces, Nathaniel shouting the count, and they aimed, fired, and walked off another twenty. The 7th Wisconsin was marching down the ridge into Gettysburg using their own rhythm—firing to the left, to the right, to the front. Screeching and shooting, the Rebels were coming after them but could never go too fast or get too far before Wisconsin bullets or the volley fire of Nathaniel’s company slammed into them and brought them up short. They couldn’t overwhelm the rearguard action of Union troops so they poured fire into them without letup.

Men fell in masses on both sides as the sun dropped in the sky, closer and closer to the fields and farms of Gettysburg. Nathaniel recited Psalm 23 to himself as his men fought their way from Seminary Ridge through the late-afternoon light that plated the tall grass, the Lutheran Seminary, the battling soldiers, and the small town in brass. The words of the Bible passage, he realized, made more sense to him in the middle of his men’s desperate fight than they ever had in his life.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

“One—two—three—four—five—six—”

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

“Eighteen—nineteen—twenty—”

He restoreth my soul:

“Fire! Reload as we march!”

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

“Seven—eight—nine—ten—”

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

“Lieutenant, Nip is down, Lazarus is down!”

For thou art with me;

“Nineteen—twenty—turn, aim, fire!”

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

“Reload as we march! One—two—three—four—”

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

“Joshua is down! Joshua is down, sir!”

Thou anointest my head with oil;

“Eleven—twelve—thirteen—fourteen—”

My cup runneth over.

“Fire!”

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

“Levi!”

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord.

“Fifteen—sixteen—seventeen—eighteen—”

For ever.

When the shot hit him he thought he had been kicked by one of the Wisconsin officers’ horses. He was spun in a full circle and thrown to the ground. Grass and dirt was jammed into his mouth and under his fingernails. He heard a sharp blast of volley fire. When the world stopped moving he stopped moving too. A monarch butterfly lighted on his arm and stayed there for an hour, unafraid, before making its way across Seminary Ridge to a cluster of wild roses.

28

T
he heavens opened and rain pounded like hammers on the canvas of the hospital tent. Hiram came riding up, his coat drenched, his hair plastered to his skull. He jumped off his horse and ran in.

“Davey! Lyndel!” He looked at them and looked at the doctors. “Lee is retreating! His troops have already withdrawn from the town and from Seminary Ridge!”

Lyndel put down the sponge she was using to clean a leg wound. “Are you certain?”

“I thought it was only a rumor and went to check for myself. They’re leaving. Wagons with the wounded are at the front.”

“All the wounded?”

“No. The townsfolk say the most severe cases have been left behind. And there is more news. General Grant is on the verge of capturing Vicksburg. It could have already surrendered.”

“How can you know that?”

“I cabled my newspaper after I rode into town. They told me that dispatches had arrived that were dated July first. The word then was that the Confederate commander knew he could not fight his way free of the siege and would seek surrender terms. I would not be surprised if Vicksburg had surrendered by now, but we won’t know for sure until the next steamer shows up in Washington with more dispatches.”

“I’ve lost all track of time in here. Is it Saturday or Sunday? What is the hour?”

“Today is Saturday, July fourth, Lyndel. Independence Day. It’s well after seven in the evening.”

Lyndel threw a cape over her shoulders. “Doctor, may I take an ambulance?”

A nearby physician lifted his head from a Rebel corporal’s shattered chest. “Go ahead, Mrs. King. Bring in all you can. Please stop by and see how the doctors are faring at the Lutheran Seminary.”

“I will, sir. Davey, are you coming?”

Morganne was drying her hands on her apron. “Yes, of course.”

“Mrs. King.”

Lyndel stopped as she was about to leave the tent. “What is it, Doctor?”

“I hope you find your husband.”

She nodded and put up the hood of her cape. “Thank you.”

Hiram drove. Lyndel looked at the thousands of bodies as they rounded the back of Cemetery Ridge into the open. She had seen so much horror and killing that she thought she was past feeling anything, but the sight of so many dead in rain-black butternut and gray made her ill. She seized Morganne’s hand.

“Too much…it’s too much,” she said.

Morganne put an arm around her. “I’m sorry.”

Hiram flicked the reins. “George Pickett’s disastrous charge yesterday afternoon. Terrible.” He glanced at the two women. “You realize that with Vicksburg’s fall and Lee’s defeat here it changes everything about the war?”

The storm lashed the gray and green ridges and fields. The whole dark sky seemed to be sliding to earth. Horses lay dead beside the soldiers. Lyndel scanned the men they went by for signs of life. Most appeared beyond help, their heads and limbs shot open or crushed. Then an officer rolled painfully over onto his back and opened his mouth to try to take in some drops of rain.

“Stop!” cried Lyndel. “Hiram, stop the ambulance!”

“But Nathaniel would be near Seminary Ridge.”

“There is a wounded man alive right here.”

She climbed down and ran to the man, who was choking on the
rainwater. Lifting his head she helped him get his breath back before placing a canteen to his mouth.

“Drink this, Major.”

“Thank you…God bless you…thank you.” His eyes were swollen shut and oozing blood. “Can’t see…can’t see you…”

Morganne knelt by them. “You’ve been blinded.”

“A shell knocked me down.”

“It could be fragments, sir. A doctor might be able to get some of them out. We’re getting you to a hospital.”

“Thank you…thank you.” His hand groped for Lyndel’s hand. “I prayed someone would come for me.”

Lyndel wiped his face with a cloth. “Can you walk, Major? There is an ambulance just here.” As she cleaned away the last of the blood and dirt her hand stopped. “You’re Nehemiah Hargrove.”

He clutched her arm. “How did you know that?…Who are you?”

Morganne saw the look on Lyndel’s face. “What is the matter?”

“He caught two men on our farm. Charlie Preston and Moses Gunnison. He lynched the one and forced the other back into slavery.”

“You…you know about Charlie and Moses? You were on that farm?” He shrieked. “Have mercy! Don’t leave me here! I want to see again! I’m sorry! I been baptized since!”