The Day Sharpsburg Died: A Fictional Story of the Battle of Antietam

By J.T. Ellis

Frederick Lawton was an educated man from Sharpsburg, Maryland, who only wanted to do the right thing for his country by joining the Union forces and fighting the menacing southern states who wanted to tear his country apart. Louise Pentigrass was a beautiful woman who only wanted Frederick as her husband after their paths once again crossed prior to Frederick shipping out for the 2nd Maryland Infantry. Join them for the emotional rollercoaster ride leading up to the battle of Antietam, live in the year of 1862 in the mist of the American Civil War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483655352

J.T. Ellis

Born in Minneapolis, MN the youngest child of 5 to a railroading father and a mother who worked part time at as a supermarket cashier in 1961, J.T. Ellis moved with his family to Superior, WI when just after he turned 6 years old. At the age of 7 his family once again moved to Superior, WI when his father got a promotion, and again moved to Laurel, MT just before his 8th birthday, where they stayed and raised their family. Graduating from Laurel Senior High School, J.T. Ellis started working ambulance in 1982 and in 1986 he moved to Rawlins, WY where he worked as an E.M.T. intermediate until 1991 when he became a Respiratory Therapist graduating from California College for Health Sciences as a Certified Respiratory Therapist. In 1997 he then moved to Two Rivers, WI and is married to the love of his life, Karen. They have a 13 year old son named Michael on their 20 acre farm with 3 horses, 2 cats and their dog, “Sadie”.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by J.T. ELLIS.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/28/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

137870

Contents

ACKNOWLEGMENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

REFERENCES

ACKNOWLEGMENTS

I wish to thank all of those who helped make this book possible. To Antietam Battlefield Historians, and especially to the Washington County Free Library in Sharpsburg, MD for their assistance and prompt responses to all of my technical and geographical location questions.

To Aarika Pavlik; for taking time out of her busy schedule to read and edit the first draft and giving me her feedback, it was most needed and appreciated. Her work was a tremendous help to me when I needed it.

To Carol Hoeffner; for her moral support on this project, encouraging me along the way, it made it obtainable with her on my side.

To my son Michael, for being so understanding when he wanted to go do something and I would be busy working on my writing. Thank you son for your support and love, I couldn’t have done it without you.

I have some very special thanks to go out to some very special people, first to my Uncle, Toby Dick Ellis, for steering me though some tough times after my own father passed away in 2002. For allowing me to use his stage name of Ellis as my pen name, and most of all for his love, support and advise on entertainment, as he is the master when it comes to entertainment. For showing me that there are so many ways to entertain people, whether it is show business, live theater, writing, or just living life on your own terms people have to have entertainment. I love you Uncle Dick.

And to my most beautiful and loving wife, who was my cheerleader, she stood by me during my frustrations with the book and her loving words kept me plinking away at the keys on the computer as I wrote. Thank you darling, for being there for me and for being my love and inspiration and support in all that I do, no matter how crazy it may seem! No one has ever had a better wife then me. You and Michael are the wind beneath my wings.

To my entire family, and friends, you have all made me who I am today, good, bad or indifferent. I love you all.

And to my publishing consultant, Zachery Coleman, your encouragement and enthusiasm have inspired me to the next level.

PREFACE

W hite slavery existed in the English-American colonies prior to and in conjunction with early black or African slavery, though at first only intended to be conditional and not to extend to offspring. "English, Scotch, and Irish alike, regardless of ancestry or religious faith, were, for political offenses, sold and transported to the dependent American colonies. They were such person as had participated in insurrections against the Crown; many of them being prisoners taken on the battle-field, as were the Scots taken on the field of Dunbar, the royalist prisoners from the field of Worcester; likewise the great leaders of the Penruddoc rebellion, and the many who were taken in the insurrection of Monmouth.

Of these, many were first sold in England to be afterwards re-sold on shipboard to the colonies, as men sell horses, to the highest bidder.

There was also, in some of the colonies, a conditional servitude, under indentures, for servants, debtors, convicts, and perhaps others. These forms of slavery made the introduction of negro and perpetual slavery easy." [1]

When immigrants decided they wanted to move to the United States of America to start a new life, many of them could not afford the passage to go to the land of opportunity, they therefore would become indentured slaves, which meant that they would agree to work for a family as servants or work the land and do whatever their masters wanted them to do in order to pay off the debt of the passage that their masters would pay for them. Thus many indentured slaves would eventually work for free other than room and board and it may take months or even years for them to have their debt cleared by their master.

The immigrant would then find gainful employment, which generally would consist of jobs nobody else would be willing to do such as muck out stalls or work in the coal mines or any other dangerous jobs that they could get for next to nothing pay. They would save up their money as best they could and then would send the money over to their family and thus bring them to America all to start a new life together.

Slavery goes back many years before the United States of America’s founding colonies. It pre-dates all of modern civilization as we have come to know it, and in some countries is still a common practice, even in countries where it is outlawed, the ruling governments turn their wondering eyes away from the slave business.

The purpose of this book is not to examine these types of slavery, but rather to talk about the black slaves at the start of the Civil War, and to give the general feeling of both sides of the issue. In the course of the Civil War at least 2,778304 men enlisted in the Union Armies, many of them enlisted more than once,[2] this is however an approximation based on the best guess of scholars who have studied the civil war at great depths. Throughout the years since the Civil War, the facts and myths have in some ways converged together. Schools teach that the Civil War was waged to end slavery. Facts show that Lincoln had no intention of abolishing slavery when he first took office and in fact he felt that his presidential and constitutional powers did not provide him with the authority to abolish slavery. For Lincoln, the Civil War was about one thing and one thing only, the preservation of the Union. When he freed the slaves with the Emancipation Proclamation in 1862 after the battle Antietam, he did so under the War Powers Act that gave him greater power than a peace time president would have. He used his executive order privileges to pass this order through. He did not free all of the slaves, that didn’t come until after his assassination before Congress passed the 13th amendment. Lincoln’s proclamation simply freed the slaves of the rebelling states, it did not free the slaves of the states who had slavery, but fought for the North, such as Maryland and many other states. When Lincoln freed the slaves in the rebelling states, he did so as a military move. Lincoln felt that by freeing the slaves in the rebellious states that would cause the plantation owners to defect from the Confederate Armies to go home and work their plantations rather than risk losing their entire estates, and it worked to a certain extent. Many Confederate soldiers left the army to go back home and bring in the crops and work the land. However there were many black slaves that also fought for the Confederacy. They did so because many of them saw the north as invading their homes and territory as did the whites.

This book is made up of factious main characters surrounded by names of people who really did exist and activities that did in fact happen. I have taken some creative license on a couple of real people to add more flavor to the story I am telling. The real people that I took creative licensing with had played minor roles and were not high level players in the actual Civil War.

For the sake of the book, facts and fiction are intertwined into one story. Any resemblances between the main characters and actual people are strictly coincidental and not intended to represent any one person. The following story is a wartime love story which the author hopes will grip your heart and soul and also make you feel like your right in the thick of battle as well. To transport you back in time to the 1860’s where the strife in the country was so thick and real that you can feel the participants` joys and sorrows, their hopes and dreams, their grief and pain and struggles.

CHAPTER ONE

The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

M y story begins on the grounds of an old mansion in the rolling hills of Virginia, just outside the city of Washington DC. The ground is covered up to knee height with a low lying fog for as far as the eye can see. As I stand before many others in my raggedy old clothes and shoes with holes in the soles. My socks are a mere tattering of threads dangling down at my ankles. I see many others here in the same condition as I find myself. On this, a crisp spring morn, the sun’s a washed over my body with a warmth and glow, as the last of the winter’s wind blows turning into a warm spring breeze. The cherry trees are all a bloom with their beautiful sweet smelling blossoms. The sounds of the birds as they announce their return from their winter retreat, and fill the trees and the sky with their songs, dotting the wisps of clouds that float gently high in the air with their black silhouettes.

I have been wondering these hills on this mansion estate for what seems like an eternity. Many of my brethren, who like me, roam aimlessly, wondering around these 624 acres of this sloped estate with its boundaries marked with high black rod iron fencing and gates with a golden emblem emblazed in the center of them. Our skin is pale; our stare is blank, for we have earned our spots here from war, a war of the most inhumane kind. One that will surely go down in history as one of the bloodiest conflicts ever fought on the hallowed grounds of this wonderful United States of America.

In the distance, one can hear a solemn drum beat to a slow cadence for those who can still march, "Brump . . . . Brump . . . . Brump . . . . Brump, as the slow cadence continued on and on, constantly echoing through the trees and slopes of the land. The sounds of the hooves of the horses pounding on the ground with a rhythmic clipity clop, clipity clop with a near deafening thumps of the equines feet. The horses are well groomed as they prance on parade to honor those who can see. Oh to be able to behold the sight for tis so breath taking and awe inspiring it sends chills up one’s spine.

This is the land of presidents and the normal man, the well to do and the less fortunate, the educated and the ignorant, the wondrous and the humble, all milling together under no social hierarchy, for social status here counts for not a single thing.

I see Lieutenant General Phillip H. Sheridan, a four star general, facing east, off in the distance holding court with several of the enlisted men and some of the officers. He points eastward towards the City of Washington as if he is forming assignments to the men around him. Always the man on guard and one who continuously plans his battle strategy, with his men lovingly at his side and are willing to die for him. He showed great bravery once when his troops were retreating in a disorderly fashion, he spurred his horse, Rienzi and charged towards the enemy, shouting to his troops to turn around and charge. The men saw this and their fear melted away, like a pan of snow on a Franklin stove, as they began to see that even with the enemies mini balls whizzing past Sheridan, he sat steady in his saddle and charged forward with his sword in hand held high. Oh what a gallant sight that must have been. A short man in stature, but a large man in legend, he was only 5 feet 5 inches tall, but a giant among men.

These hills once belonged to a man named George Washington Parke Custis, who died on October 10, 1857, a mere 4 years before the War Between the States. His daughter Mary Custis then inherited the property from her father, lived there along with her husband Robert. It had been engrained in Mary, from an early age a reverend and sacred respect for this mansion, and for her Great Grandfather, George Washington, for you see George Washington Parke Custis was the grandson of Martha Custis Washington, George Washington’s wife, and the adopted grandson of George Washington.

The mansion sets atop a small hill overlooking a great valley. It has a grand but humbling yard, green flowing grass grace the slopes in front of the mansion with a grand rose garden surrounded by flat stones sitting upright like a little two foot fence. The pleasant smell of the blossoming buds emanating in the air with sweetness most becoming, culminating along with the other smells of the spring that leaves a sweet taste on your tongue. There is a great veranda that leads to the majestic, massive front doors. The columns of the portico are made from a peach colored marble, as are the massive granite blocks, with a beautiful dark grain running through the granite that make up the outside walls of this wondrous home. In the distance every so often you can hear the crack of several riffles going off at the same time in a solute for a new arrival of a courageous military man. Oh how these hallowed grounds are bustling with activity. The marching soldiers in their dress uniforms and crowds of civilians in their finest; mingling with other old soldiers who are milling around as if neither interacts with the other, yet we all see and smell the activities going on around us. Virginia, has a diverse collection of people and it appears that nearly every race, color and creed of person representing all types of beliefs and culture culminate the rag tag group before me. Many appear confused and lost while others appear happy and gay, while yet others appear angry and distant in their emotions. All of them endlessly milling around the grounds; aimlessly, as if there is no other place to go. We go through the same motions day after day, week after week, month after month. With no urgency in anything we do.

CHAPTER TWO

"I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring

the ridicule of others, rather than to be false,

and to incur my own abhorrence."

—Frederick Douglass

T o understand me is to know me. First you must appreciate from which I came, my background, my family, my history and my story. I was born and raised in a town in northwestern Maryland named Sharpsburg, in Washington County. A fair sized community of about eleven hundred residents, Sharpsburg is small enough to be considered a sleepy little farming hamlet, yet large enough that one found mostly what they needed there in May of 1861, their basic needs were well met and if not, Hagerstown was just 14 miles away. Maryland was a slave border state one of a few that fought on the side of the Federals.

My father was a merchant in Sharpsburg, so I guess you can say my family and I lived a slightly more privileged life than that of most. A wealthy family, you might ask? In which I must reply Hardly, we merely were not as destitute and beholding to any as others may have been, but debt still loomed over my family’s head as did most families. Even though we were a little better off than most, we did not believe in slaves, because to us there was a Christian, moral and ethical issues with this ungodly institution.

Basically we believed that Slavery was just plain wrong and we were against it right down to the very core of our beings. We had no place for it, we believed no matter what color you were black, white, red or yellow, it didn’t matter what religion you were nor where you came from, if you did an honest day’s work, you deserved an honest day’s pay. If you minded your own business, and stayed on the right side of the law, then you deserved to be left alone and to live your life as you see fit, you make of yourself what you will, but that wasn’t the mind set of many people back in the mid 1800’s, many people both from the north and south believed that it was a birth right to own other human beings, that whites were better, more intelligent and entitled to own blacks. They believed it was their constitutional right, their birth right and that the government could not, nor should not interfere with this right to own another human being, and they were willing to fight, willing to die to preserve this right.

I am the eldest of four children belonging to my parents, three boys and one girl. My sister’s name is Christy, and is six years my younger, and at the tender age of sixteen, her innocence could get her into trouble therefore, my pa keeps the shotgun loaded with salt rock just inside the front door to discourage any of the many unsavory young men in town and the surrounding area at bay. Christy has dark, long flowing wavy hair and a beautiful smile, she is about five feet, four inches tall with a slender and womanly form, not that much unlike an angel.

Next in line to Christy is my brother Paul; he is almost 19 and is a strapping young man, muscular and broad in the shoulders. A quiet sort of fellow, slow to anger, but hell on wheels once you get him riled up. Paul has blonde hair, blue eyes and stands six feet