Glory and Ghosts: Josh—The First Summer

By Phil Gutierrez

It was July 2,1863 and sixteen-year-old Ben knew something big was about to happen as he peeked out from behind the bushes along the creek where he fishes . Obviously a great battle had developed between the Yankees and the Rebels around the town of Gettysburg. He did not know he would find Dantes Inferno along the waters of Plum Run.

After he jines up in the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, Joshua is propelled onto the battlefields of the Civil War. While soldiers and generals march and fight, Joshua is quickly indoctrinated in the ways of the army. As he worries about his parents back home, Joshua learns to rely on his spiritual strength to endure the chaos. But as the army of ghosts grows and the Confederacy shrinks, Josh transforms from a young man into one of General Lees hard veterans whose only desire is to survive and see his family again.

Glory and Ghosts shares the tale of a young mans journey into the Civil War as he courageously fights for his beliefs and a glory that may be harder to attain than he ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532030147

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Copyright © 2017 Phil Gutierrez.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-3015-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3016-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3014-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913490

iUniverse rev. date: 12/12/2017

CONTENTS

Prelude

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Epilogue

For: Mrs. Brigitte H. Gutierrez

(My wonderful wife, who believed in me)

Mr. Ron Cunningham & Ms. Bridgett Marie Walker

(Our good Friends & Helpers in this effort and Sailing!)

PRELUDE

There was a maelstrom raging across United States, the Nation was rendering itself asunder: Civil War! Huge armies marched across the length and breadth of the American continent. Young men from the North, East, West and South, answered the call to arms. The romantic prospect of great adventure and glory were irresistible to thousands of young men and boys. The object was the secession from the Union by the Confederates, and the refusal of the Federal Government to permit it. After two years of desperate combat the protagonists met at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a small crossroads seminary town that happened to operate a shoe factory a few miles north of the Virginia border. Josh Simmons was one of those Confederates.

Soldiers charge in the heat of July.

A peach orchard and a wheat field,

Hiding dead men on the ground.

A boy peeked out from behind bushes along the creek where he fished south toward the peach orchard that flanked the fields of winter wheat planted by local farmers last fall. It was about 3:30 o’clock p.m. on that blistering hot July 2nd afternoon in 1863. Something big was about to happen, the youth could feel it in his gut. Mama called it intuition. Something awful scary had been happening since the Rebels and Yankees got to fighting over that shoe factory up in Gettysburg proper. Yesterday there had been heavy fighting around and through town, as the two great armies gathered to batter each other to death. Earlier today there had been a massive battle much closer to town than here. It raged around the picnic ground called Culp’s Hill. The ground there was still covered with soldiers’ corpses, dead horses and mules. West of town there were more bodies. Field hospitals were bloody butcher shops where men screamed and often died. Gettysburg proper was overrun by thousands of Confederate Rebels. Any house, barn or shed of size served as an operating room. Piles of legs, arms, hands and feet marked those spots. That was the reason he had trekked down here, around the two rocky hills, to fish and to escape the madness. He did not realize he would find Dante’s Inferno in the blasted boulders at the foot of the round tops and in the bloody waters of Plum Run.

At first, because he could not fathom the magnitude of the growing conflagration, the sixteen-year old boy was excited about the possibility of seeing brave officers riding chargers leading units of the Grand Union Army as they flooded into the area from Maryland and Washington City. The last couple of days put a damper on such foolish young ideas. First alarm, as Confederates rode into town. Then a sprinkling of fear with a dash of panic when he heard the not so distant rattle of musketry and the booming of artillery late yesterday afternoon over on Cemetery Ridge a mile or so down the road. Why, just this morning there was a terrible ruckus up around Seminary Ridge, southwest of town. There was obviously a great battle developing. The youth and the town’s folk became distressingly aware they were smack in the middle of something sinister and terrible. However, this realization did not stop the naïve youth from venturing out to fish on this day. Then he saw Plum Run.

A few minutes earlier the boy heard a sound like rolling thunder from beyond the orchard and the edge of the wheat. He knew from yesterday’s cannonades the chugging and swishing sounds overhead were cannon balls and shells pounding Yankee lines. Then an even more thunderous barrage from Union lines swished and groaned its own way downrange.

Ben, you get back here out of that crick this instant, yelled the boy’s big brother from further up on the bank, Etwas kommt! (Something is coming!).

I’m coming’, Bobby, I’m coming! Shucks, can’t fish in this mess anyway, he complained, sensing an invisible specter approaching.

You’ll get more’n fish if those Rebs catch ya. Come on then, hurry.

Artillery, raised its voice in a raging crescendo, like an impending lightning storm, but the sun blazed bright and hot. The boy heard the family dog barking from the Run then suddenly yelp and scurry back. But the boy had yet to see any soldiers.

What young Ben and his family did not yet realize was that the farm, town and its environs lay smack in the middle of ‘No Man’s Land’ between the two opposing behemoths. Artillery ‘King of Battle’, crisscrossed the sky for a half hour or more before it lifted. Then, something ominous and hugely dangerous stirred in the wheat field west of Plum Run, producing an unnatural swaying of the yellowing stalks not caused by any wind: They were bayonets. Ben swiped at a sweaty swatch of brown hair covering his forehead, simultaneously glimpsing flashes of red banners and butternut brown or gray clad mobs moving out from under the cover of trees in the orchard and into the open wheat field. With the soldiers came the steady roll of snare drums, while far in the rear he heard what sounded like a band. Gradually, the crunching produced by thousands of marching feet grew until it seemed God had loosed a biblical plague of giant locusts into the wheat. But no, not locusts, Rebels! Rank upon rank emerged from the tree line into the wheat; sergeants bawling, Dress to the right, close those ranks boys! Officers wearing shiny buttons waved swords overhead, some with campaign hats carried on sword tips, encouraging the mass of yelling, mismatched, bearded soldiers on; For your wives, your sweethearts and the South! He saw no horses here, only forests of rifles and bayonets gleaming in the sun.

The boy’s calloused hands hardened by farm work, flew widespread to his mouth in shocked surprise and growing terror. Union gunners found the range and airbursts blossomed like black, demon flowers above the advancing formations. The whine of shrapnel intermingled with screams from the newly wounded, accompanied the mob’s advance. Cannon balls came bouncing low over the creek into the densely-packed ranks striving to reach the boulders along the Devil’s Den, tearing men to pieces, leaving huge gaps in the lines. Mighty geysers of rock, soil, equipment. And bodies shot upwards into the air from shells impacting amid the men. The moans and cries were a wail straight from Hell! The youth wanted to run, to shout a warning; to disappear. But he was rooted to the rocks along the creek which provided accidental cover, unable to move or call out. He could only stare at the end of the world across the trampled, blood spattered ground. The mass of humanity parted, enveloping Ben’s hiding place. Oh, he wasn’t invisible to the attacking soldiers, but they saw he was harmless.

The men and boys charged, bellowing the Rebel Yell, cursing or silent, as they disappeared into the smoking void.

The packed ranks seemed endless; the dying eternal. General Longstreet led almost fifteen thousand soldiers that day. Suddenly, there was a monstrous, crackling, rippling sound as if the very heavens were torn asunder. A storm of bullets, and canister shot reaped a bountiful harvest before the boy’s unbelieving eyes. Union infantrymen and sharpshooters fired a manmade tempest into the wheat field from the foot of the hill and fortified positions further north on the flank. This crop screamed, cried and turned the ground and boulders wet with its crimson blood.

Another storm came whistling down from the ridge above, magically turning the wood in which the boy lay into a honeycomb of sunbeams slanting onto the forest floor from a thousand bullet holes in the vegetation. Splinters of wood from trees and a rain of shattered leaves filled the hot air as deadly bees buzzed everywhere. The boy received a heavy blow against his shoulder that literally threw him forward onto his face. The last thing he saw before darkness brought oblivion from the numbing pain was the dirty face of a bearded, scraggily Confederate soldier looking down on him with compassionate eyes. Best get out of theah boy, you are smack in the middle of this heah fight! Then, he was gone and the face of a small drummer boy replaced him, staring hard at the boy, hands frozen in mid beat as he scuttled behind the marching men; …for their wives, sweethearts and Texas!

Later, gray clad, blood soaked survivors dragged their broken bodies and flagging spirits back across that killing ground. They found the wounded youngster unconscious and carried him back to their departure point where he was turned over to medical personnel … while the bands played on.

CHAPTER I

The young Georgian felt isolated, exposed and alone. Alone while surrounded by fifteen thousand other soldiers of the First Confederate Infantry Corps. At that moment, he was in fact one of those soldiers; as one with them as a soldier ant is part of its colony. Joshua Simmons felt confused and focused all at the same time. He was seriously frightened but also exhilarated. With the natural optimism of youth his life and death were stark realities to him a t this moment. He swam in a sea of sound. It made it hard to think. That was the purpose of his training, to overcome times like these. The youth was slightly built, but tough. He had a headful of light brown hair and eyes to match. His journey here began three months ago. He rode through swamps with guerrillas who smelled like gorillas much of the time and he saw the results of the Yankee blockade of the South. This knowledge filled him with rage and resolve.

The date was, July 2, 1863. The place, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The reasons for the youth’s tumultuous emotions were sane and understandable on his part, totally insane and incomprehensible on the part of the Nation. About 170,000 American soldiers; 75,000 Confederate, 95,000 Union, were embroiled in a monstrous battle for domination and the youth found himself smack in the middle of it. Specifically, at this moment, in the middle of a gorgeous summer afternoon, the sun shining bright and hot from an azure blue sky over well-kept fields, orchards and farms smelling of fertile earth and hay, there were two divisions of General Pete Longstreet’s Confederate Infantry Corps. There were about 12,000 men plus Johnson’s division from General A.P. Hills Third Corps (another 7200 troops) about to attack Yankee positions a half mile away. The assault formations were waiting for the preparatory artillery barrage to lift before beginning their advance. The Yanks of course, were shooting back. So, there was the barking of dozens of field pieces firing outgoing salvos, with hundreds of incoming rounds whistling and rustling overhead, lit fuses leaving contrails in the sky above. The explosions were continuous and deadly. Joshua and the company were lying down behind rows of cannon limbers on ground covered in rich, aromatic clover and alfalfa during this inferno, waiting for the order to stand up in attack formation. However, lying low in grass or under fruit trees did not fully protect the soldiers from bombardment. Men were hit while waiting for the command to advance. Had a cat been caught in this barrage it would have gone berserk. Josh felt like that cat, but he was a newly trained soldier. Joshua was not concerned with any of the command details, nor did he know them. He was concentrating mightily on his individual duties and actions. It was hard to think. The young soldier was surrounded by soldiers as unsophisticated as himself, although most all of them had some combat experience, him included. Why, just a little while ago these boys were running around under orchard trees hollering and roughhousing; throwing apples and stuff. Then the order came to fall in, dress on the colors and lie down in the direction of the huge Northern army. That corps was dug in, or standing in ranks to the left front and not far in front of the two rocky hills they had been told was their objective, at least initially.

As a very young, mostly green soldier, his world was the sergeants, the lieutenants and his squad. The other boys in the squad were generally as unsophisticated as himself. Lee’s army in general, was a tough, combat hardened organization; rough, cocky recruits were numerous. Many of the recruits were terrified, despite their outward bravado. The immediacy of Union accurate artillery fire did not allow for much introspection or rational thought for anyone. It was a morale breaker for battalions, much less a young soldier as green as Josh. He just experienced and obeyed.

His actions were to a certain extent, predictable. He would stay put and do as he was told. Obeying orders was the fundamental building block of his basic training the past three months in Virginia. Like all recruits, he was drilled in the manual of arms until he felt his own arms might drop off. He learned how to load, fire and maintain his rifle/musket in the military manner. He was trained on how to march alone, in squad, platoon, company, regiment and brigade strength. His transformation to soldier from civilian life included, personal appearance, military bearing, memorization of a soldier’s general orders, chain of command, and indoctrination in the philosophy for which he fought; although that escaped him now. Unlike many new soldiers in Confederate armies, he was exposed to rifle and cannon fire in a training setting. Many of the things a private soldier must know were hammered into his head in that three-month period. He was physically conditioned and hardened by march and maneuver the entire time. Lucky recruits received some instruction in the art of bayonet fighting, and hand to hand combat. Above all, he was indoctrinated and disciplined to be a cog in the huge wheel that was the Confederate Army; notwithstanding dire shortages. Therefore, none of what was happening at that point in time was totally foreign to young Josh Simmons. Nevertheless, the enormity of this day just overwhelmed him.

The shock of the bombardment rendered him naked, helpless against the shot and shell of enemy artillery. Fortunately, for the infantrymen lying under thick cover of trees and high grass, incoming cannon fire was aimed specifically at the ranks of guns lined up in front of the hidden men. These batteries fired towards the Yankee positions as fast as their cannoneers could load. The combatants were engaged in counter-battery fire. Of course, many of the Federal shot missed their mark, or in the case of solid shot, the balls hit their intended targets, or not, only to ricochet past cannon and limbers into infantrymen lying behind the guns. Hundreds of men were killed or wounded in this manner.

Bombs continued flying overhead, adding many more contrails across the sky. Some rounds burst in air, among tree branches, or impacted against the earth. Every few seconds, howls and cries of men and animals hit invaded the souls of Josh and his mates, terrifying them. Joshua was sure he would be hit. At that moment, an artillery limber loaded with ammunition to Josh’s right front detonated with a shattering explosion, sending men, material and burning debris hurtling into the air.

The dreaded command echoed down the lines, On your feet, boys! The command was repeated until it could longer be heard.

Lord God, watch over your poor son now …, chanted the youth over and over, "Give me courage