Throw in Loner: A Story of Gettysburg

By William Sindewald

Throw-In Loner follows the adventures of Sam Richardson, a private soldier in the Thirteenth Alabama Infantry, as he fights his way through the three days of bloody Battle at Gettysburg. Along the way, Sam encounters Kevin Mulroney, a private in the Twenty-Fourth Michigan and a member of the famous Iron Brigade. He meets Elizabeth Schmidt, a local resident who lives on a small farm near the battlefield. Her husband, Jacob, is a member of the 114th Pennsylvania of the Union Third Corps. The story also chronicles the exploits of Johnny Robinson, Billy O’Neal, Jimmy Corchoran, and Dicky McMahon, all privates in the Sixty-Ninth Pennsylvania, as they defend the stone wall on Cemetery Ridge. Relive the drama and the glory of the greatest battle in American history. Experience the terror and the horror of the firing line as the private soldiers of the North and South did. Who will survive the three days of Battle at Gettysburg?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664183810

William Sindewald

William Sindewald is a retired high school physics teacher. He lives with his wife, Deborah, in a small suburb of Chicago, Illinois. He has been a student of Civil War History for fifty years.

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Copyright © 2021 by William Sindewald.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2021913890

ISBN:        Hardcover      978-1-6641-8383-4

                  Softcover         978-1-6641-8382-7

                  eBook               978-1-6641-8381-0

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: 08/19/2021

Xlibris

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Contents

Chapter 1:      Foraging

Chapter 2:      Meeting at the Campus Martius

Chapter 3:      The Opening Shot

Chapter 4:      Pegram Halts the Column

Chapter 5:      The March to Battle

Chapter 6:      The Iron Brigade Takes the Road to Gettysburg

Chapter 7:      Skirmishing

Chapter 8:      The Iron Brigade Joins the Fight

Chapter 9:      The Defeat of Archer’s Brigade

Chapter 10:    The Charge of the Twenty-Fourth Michigan

Chapter 11:    Wednesday Morning at the Schmidt Farm

Chapter 12:    Sam Looks for His Mates

Chapter 13:    The Lull before the Storm

Chapter 14:    The Battle for Herbst Woods

Chapter 15:    The Thin Blue Line

Chapter 16:    Sam Meets Kevin

Chapter 17:    The Full Moon

Chapter 18:    The Sixty-Ninth Pennsylvania in Camp

Chapter 19:    The Long Night of July 1

Chapter 20:    The Early Morning of July 2, 1863

Chapter 21:    Sam Goes Foraging

Chapter 22:    An Accidental Friendship

Chapter 23:    The Third Corps Advances to the Peach Orchard

Chapter 24:    The Sixty-Ninth Pennsylvania Waits for Battle

Chapter 25:    Of Whiskey and Men

Chapter 26:    One Last Hour

Chapter 27:    Barksdale’s Charge

Chapter 28:    Convergence

Chapter 29:    Defending the Wall

Chapter 30:    The Rock

Chapter 31:    The Last Shot of the Day

Chapter 32:    Dawn on Cemetery Ridge

Chapter 33:    The Beginnings of a Long Day

Chapter 34:    Breakfast for Five

Chapter 35:    Broken Hearts

Chapter 36:    Noontime Lull

Chapter 37:    The Bombardment

Chapter 38:    The Advance

Chapter 39:    The Angle

Chapter 40:    The High-Water Mark

Chapter 41:    The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 42:    The Midnight Hour

Chapter 43:    Reunion

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Foraging

T he evening of Tuesday, June 30, 1863, was a pleasant one in south-central Pennsylvania. The moon was nearly full and well up in the eastern sky by half past six o’clock. The sun was still a full width above the long looming outline of South Mountain to the west. The yellow light of the afternoon was turning to orange and even bleeding into red, and the mixture of color was cast on the underbellies of cumulus clouds that floated in peace and perfect silence against the backdrop of a sky that had already darkened from the light blue of day to that deeper blue one sees on the uniform of a Union soldier. Birds were singing just as if the country were at peace. Deer foraged for food in the fields and forests, while rabbits grazed on grass meant for horses and cows that belonged to the many farms that turned the countryside that was a wilderness just one hundred years ago into a patchwork quilt of neatly cultivated fields bordered by an endless network of fences. It was an altogether peaceful setting save for the fact that an army of seventy thousand men who were bent on the overthrow of the national government were encamped far and wide across the area between Chambersburg and Harris burg.

This particular Tuesday evening just happened to fall exactly one day before the great battle that would decide the fate of the nation. Of course, this was a fact unknown by any soldier in either the Army of Northern Virginia or the Army of the Potomac. General Robert E. Lee, who had ordered his widely separated divisions to concentrate near the village of Cashtown, was not even aware that there was a division of federal cavalry in Gettysburg just eight and a half miles to the east. This important fact was unknown to General Lee because he did not know the location of his own cavalry. Lieutenant General A. P. Hill, commander of Lee’s Third Corps, knew that Yankees had been seen around Gettysburg that day; but he had convinced himself that they were merely a regiment or two of local militia and posed no threat. He, therefore, had no qualms about allowing a division of infantry commanded by Major General Henry Heth to march to Gettysburg on Wednesday. The one man in either army who did suspect that a great battle was imminent was Major General John Buford, who commanded the First Cavalry Division of the Army of the Potomac. It had been his troopers that were seen in Gettysburg. Buford, expecting the Confederate Army to advance on Wednesday, spread his troopers out in a wide arc to the west and north of town, thus guaranteeing a clash with the unsuspecting General Heth.

Among the seven thousand infantrymen of General Heth’s division who were unaware that a major battle would be fought on Wednesday was Private Sam Richardson of Company B of the Thirteenth Alabama Volunteer Infantry. To be fair, if he had known what the morrow would bring, it is unlikely that he would have behaved any differently on that pleasantly mild Tuesday evening. Sam—along with his brother Bill, his cousin Jack Richardson, and his friend George Rodgers—was on a foraging expedition. And even if it had been absolutely certain that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would descend upon their campfire the very next morning, these four young Rebels would still have opted to go out on a scouting mission.

At six feet one inch and age twenty-four, Sam was the tallest and the oldest of the four. He was the accepted leader of the pack, although none of the others would have said so out loud. Sam just always seemed to know what was best, and that was enough. After two solid years of service in the Confederate Army, none of the four needed much looking after. They had all endured all-night picket duty in the pouring rain or the biting cold more times than anyone could count. They had stood shoulder to shoulder in the firing line without flinching. Well, not much flinching anyway. And they had been out on countless foraging expeditions together. Indeed, they had been scouting together so often that there was often no need to communicate verbally. Each man knew his role and acted accordingly.

Bill was two years younger and two inches shorter than Sam; and he looked more like their father, Tate Richardson, who had been dark haired and brawny. Sam favored their mother, Carole, who had sandy blonde hair and was thin all of her life. Jack was the son of Uncle Rafe and Aunt Maddie and had been born the same year as Bill. The two boys looked and behaved like brothers from the time they were both old enough to walk. George stood five feet six inches tall in his boots. He had a boyish face that hadn’t managed to produce a whisker yet. Reddish-brown hair, freckles, and an eternal grin made George look like a boy of fifteen rather than twenty-three. He was just a year younger than Sam and one year older than both Bill and Jack. George had grown up on a neighboring farm, and he had been friends with the three Richardson boys since they were all little. In fact, the three farms in Lowndes County just east of Haynesville upon which our four heroes grew up were so close together that if you had been able to cut a square piece of cloth that was one mile on a side, you could have dropped it over all three farms and had some room left over for a watermelon patch and a fair-sized fishing hole.

The four young Rebels left camp thirty minutes after the evening roll call and got about a half a mile from camp when they came to a small patch of woods. They made their way through the trees, which were alive with the sound of birds singing and cicadas chirruping. After picking their way carefully through the woods for one hundred yards, they came to the edge of a wide clearing. Across a ten-acre field of wheat, they could see a modest two-story house painted white and facing a narrow dirt lane. There was a barn fifty feet from the house. The barn was built in the Pennsylvania style—that is, the walls were stone for the first three or four feet, with the rest of the structure being made out of wood that appeared to have recently acquired a fresh coat of white paint to match the house. There was a white henhouse and a corral for horses, although there were no animals in sight. But this was not unusual given the fact that there was an invading army of seventy thousand hungry men within a day’s march of the house. Taking it all in, Sam judged that the farm was occupied and that the inhabitants were fairly well-to-do.

It was the third summer of the war. Sam and his mess mates had been campaigning for nearly two full years. They were lean and ragged and as practiced at the art of finding food as four ravenous wolves. They had been out foraging together so many times, that all four men knew the drill. Still, Sam, as the unofficial leader of the expedition gave his commands. It was part of the drill that he should do so.

Bill and Jack, said Sam, y’all go’round back o’ the barn. Come on up to the hin house from that side. Don’t take more’n y’all kin carry. George ’n’ me’ll knock on the front door ’n’ see if’n anyone’s home.

All right, cousin, said Jack. Keep ’em busy. We’ll get us a roastin’ hin er two.

No more’n two, said Sam. We can’t cook’n eat more’n two. I don’t like leavin’ people high’n dry fer nothin’. Howsomever, if’n they’s any eggs, maybe grab one fer each of us.

Speak fer yerself, brother, said Bill. I’m hungry enough to eat ever’thing in that barn what walks on four legs.

Two is plenty, said Sam. Anyhow, I’m hopin’ they got some coffee. Real coffee. We been boilin’ acorns long enough.

Amen to that, said George with a grin.

Y’all meet up back here when we’re done, said Sam. Let’s go, George.

Sam and George waded through the knee-high wheat, across the yard, and onto the front porch of the house. Sam cradled his rifle in the crook of his arm and knocked three times. They waited for a few minutes, but there was no answer. George looked through the front window but just shook his head.

It’s dark in there, said George. Cain’t see nothin’ through the curtains. Perhaps they skedaddled.

They’re in there, said Sam. I can feel it.

Sam banged harder and longer on the door. There was still no answer. He tried the door handle, but it was locked from the inside. All right then, said Sam in a voice loud enough to be heard through the door, I reckon we’ll just have to break down the door, seein’ as how we are on a special mission from General Lee. Too bad there ain’t no one home to buy supper from. Just gonna have to bust down the door and take what we want. Sam was practically shouting as he said all this. Suddenly, they could hear footsteps within the house. Someone was hurrying to the door. Sam looked at George and winked. They could hear someone fumbling with the lock.

The door opened enough for a man of medium height to show his face. Vut do you vant? he said with a thick German accent. The man wore a pair of round-rimmed spectacles that sat upon a long nose. His upper lip was shaved; but he had a long brown beard, streaked with gray, that hung like Spanish moss from his prominent chin

Howdy, sir, said Sam brightly. His boyish grin made a wide crack in his deeply tanned face. We’uns is foragin’ fer the Army of Northern Virginia. We are authorized by General Lee his self to commandeer whatever vittles we can find. However, we are prepared to pay you for whatever you can spare.

You are Rebels? asked the voice.

Some might call us that, said Sam gravely. Howsomever, we are more properly termed battle-hardened veterans of the Confederate States of America. Now, if you’d be so kind as to make us a offer of food, why, then we can negotiate a fair price. What do ya say, pard?

Vut do I say? I say nein. Nein. I am very sorry, but vee have no food for you. Go now, bitte.

Nine? Nine what? said Sam, trying to picture something that would come in groups of nine. The man started to close the door, but Sam was ready for that and quickly pushed the end of his musket through the opening. This accomplished a number of things at the same time. First, it prevented the door from closing. Second, it brought a loaded gun to bear on the stomach of the owner of the house. And third, it got across a message loud and clear that Sam was not going to take nein for an answer. The man jumped back a step as if he’d seen a rattlesnake. Sam nudged the door a bit with his gun, causing it to swing open slowly. There was still plenty of light outside, but very little was making its way inside the house. Even so, Sam was able to discern three more human forms within the darkened room standing in a group a few feet behind the spectacled man.

Well, well, well, said Sam, George, c’mon over here and meet the rest of the family.

Howdy! said George cheerily. How y’all doin’ this evenin’?

The spectacled man retreated and stood in front of a woman and two children. He stared at Sam and George with a stony expression. Sam pushed the door open wide so that he could see them better, but he did not cross the threshold. The man’s wife was small and dark haired. The two children appeared to be around eight or nine. One was a boy and the other a girl, but both were dark haired like their mother.

I can see that we have gotten off to a bad start, said Sam. My name is Sam. This here is George. What’s yer name, pard? The man did not speak. He stood there motionless and wordless as if the act of speaking would be some sort of sin. The silence dragged out for a minute before Sam tried again. Looka here, pard. We’uns don’t want to cause y’all no trouble, but we’re hungry, and y’all got food, and Ah’ve got money. So what do you say we parlee fer some vittles?

When this appeal brought no response, George started to become impatient. Aw, hell, Sam, let’s just go see what they got in the larder. He ain’t gonna deal with ya. George started to move past Sam into the house, but Sam put out an arm to stop him.

Jest hold on, George. We ain’t thieves. I believe this here gent can be bargained with. I jest ain’t made him the rat offer. Sam turned to the man. You see how it is, mister. We ain’t leavin’ without somethin’ to eat. Now, I ain’t sure how long I can keep George here from just walkin’ in an’ takin’ what he wants.

I’m awful hungry, mister, added George with a wolfish grin.

Heintzelmann, said the man, ich bin Herr Heintzelmann, aber vee don’t haff any food. Vee need all vee haff. You go now, bitte. Shoo, he said with a wave of his hand.

The truth was, neither Sam nor George was disposed to force his way into a home, even if that home was in Pennsylvania. Sam and George were both farm boys and had grown up in God-fearing homes. Their mothers had taken great pains to instill in their children a strong sense of right and wrong. These lessons had more or less taken root, at least as far as lessons in manners could take root in the hearts and minds of a couple of mischievous country boys. Two years of war had modified these childhood lessons of etiquette somewhat but had not entirely erased them. For instance, during the heat of battle, Sam would shoot any Yankee who came within range. If a Yankee somehow came within arm’s reach, Sam might try to crush his skull with the butt of his musket. Once the battle was over, however, Sam would be equally as likely to offer help to any wounded Yankee who still drew breath. Sam would strip the britches off a dead enemy, but he would not take clothes from an enemy who was merely wounded. There were some things that Sam would take from a living enemy, including ammunition and federal money. Sam did not consider the taking of money from a Yankee as stealing any more than he would consider taking their weapons away from them stealing. The money funded the war that was being waged against him. It paid for weapons and fed the soldiers who used them. Sam was not a complicated soul. His code of ethics might not make sense to a civilian preacher, but he rarely experienced a moment of doubt when it came to right and wrong on a campaign. George, Bill, and Jack all had similar codes by which they comported themselves.

Vee half no food to give, repeated Herr Heintzelmann.

Perhaps vee could spare a little, said his wife.

Silence, said the husband angrily.

Just then, a baby began to cry in a room upstairs. Heintzelmann’s wife turned and hurried up the staircase to see to the crying child. Sam turned toward George and whispered, They got a baby.

Use the Texan’s ploy, whispered George. Sam nodded. The woman was just returning to the front room, cradling an infant girl in her arms.

Well, said Sam seriously, if’n y’all don’t have any vittles to sell, why, we’ll jest have to settle fer that baby.

Vat! yelled the spectacled man. The woman let out an anguished cry. Certainly, you vould not eat a baby!

Yeah, well, I don’t much care fer baby stew mahself, said Sam. But we gotta bring back somethin’ fer the boys to eat.

I love baby stew, said George enthusiastically.

Mein Gott! cried the man. Zee Rebels eat babies!

Sam and George took a step forward for added emphasis. This did the trick. The man and woman left the room followed by the two older children.

Vee vill find you some food. Vait a moment! said the man as he disappeared through a door. Within minutes, he had returned with a loaf of bread, which he handed over to Sam. His wife had evidently put the baby back in its crib, for she returned to the front room holding a side of bacon, which she handed to George. How is that? asked the man.

It’s a start, said Sam with a smile. Ain’t sure that one loaf o’ bread an’ a pound o’ bacon can take the place of a nice fat little baby, but maybe if you could rustle up some coffee and sugar and maybe a little flour, then we’d have us a deal. Oh, some salt too. Almost forgot.

Mein Gott, said the man as he went back to his larder.

My baby is fat? cried the woman as she followed her husband.

Soon, they returned with four small sacks containing the commodities requested by Sam. George stuffed the flour and salt into his haversack, while Sam did the same with the coffee and sugar. Sam fished a five-dollar bill out of his pants pocket and held it out to the bespectacled farmer.

Here ya are, pard. It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with ya, said Sam.

Nein. Danke, but nein, said the man as he waved his hands back and forth in a gesture of refusal. Bitte, go now. Bitte.

You ain’t gettin’ nine dollars, said Sam. Five is all Ah got.

"He means no, ya peckerwood," said George with a laugh.

Ja! No. Danke, aber no, said the man, shaking his head and waving his hands back and forth.

Oooohhh. All right, then, said Sam. Thankee kindly. Y’all have a nice evenin’. Sam tipped his hat to the Heintzelmann family. George did the same, still laughing at Sam’s mistake.

Much obliged, said George. The two young soldiers turned and walked off the porch as the farmer closed the door behind them. Sam and George could hear the lock turning. This caused both men to burst into fresh peals of laughter. Walking back across the wheat field, they were soon reunited with Bill and Jack.

How many chickens you get? asked George.

Well, said Bill, Sam said no more’n two, so we only took three.

What about eggs? asked Sam hopefully.

Nary a one, said Jack. Nests were picked clean ’fore we got there. Farmer Fritz back there musta gathered ’em in fer the night.

Well, said Sam, if’n we get time in the mornin’, we know where the hin house is already.

They all had another good laugh as they walked back to camp. The evening was growing dark, but the moon was nearly full, so the four young soldiers were able to find their way easily through the trees and across the fields as they headed back to camp. They were in high humor because of the success of their expedition and were laughing loudly as Sam described the bespectacled farmer and his reaction when they threatened to eat the man’s baby daughter if he didn’t provide a better meal. As they neared the camp, a voice called out from the darkness ahead.

Halt! said the voice. Who goes there?

Bob, asked Sam, that you?

Give the password, said the voice.

Bullshit, said Sam.

That ain’t it, said the voice.

It ain’t? said Sam incredulously. All right. How ’bout this? The password is, Bob Sutton, why’nt y’all come ‘round fer some vittles when yer done guardin’ the army from surprise attack? Now, give the countersign, so we know it’s you.

We accept yer invitation, said the voice. Advance and be recognized.

Sam and his mates approached Bob, who was leaning against a tree. A second soldier popped out from behind an ancient oak that grew nearby. It was Randall Wilcox. Bob and Randall were both Company C men. Hey, boys, he said cheerfully.

Where y’all comin’ from? asked Bob.

Oh, here an’ there, said Bill. Anyhow, when yer relief shows up, come on by.

We will, said Bob. ‘Night y’all.

‘Night, Bob, said Jack.

An hour and a half later, Sam was poking the campfire with a bayonet, trying to stir it up a bit. Bill was sitting nearby, licking his fingers after having devoured one quarter of a chicken they had roasted on a spit. It was the second of the three chickens that had been plucked, cooked, and eaten in less time than it takes to say it. Sam had set aside a pair of drumsticks for Bob Tucker and Randall Wilcox in case they came around to collect their toll. George was sitting nearby, grinding up some coffee beans and getting a pot ready to put on the fire. Jack was making a run to the creek to fill canteens.

You were rat, Sam, said Bill. Two chickens was enough. I cain’t eat another bite.

Told ya. We need to git this last one plucked an’ cooked for tomorrow before we finish up here, said Sam. It won’t be fit to eat if’n we don’t.

Sam picked up the last chicken by its legs and tossed it to Bill who began plucking feathers. George placed the coffeepot on a rock that had been nestled within the small campfire. It would take ten minutes or so to bring the pot to a proper boil. Fifteen minutes later, the four young men were sitting around the campfire, sipping the sweet, steaming black coffee from their tin cups.

That was good work in the hin house, boys, said Sam.

Yer welcome, cousin, said Jack. But this here sweet coffee beats ever’thin’ else. Ain’t nothin’ in the world Ah’d rather have. Good black coffee, and they threw in the sugar too. That was well done, y’all.

Ha-ha, laughed George. That Dutch farmer didn’t know whether to shit er turn green when Sam told him we’d stew his baby.

That Texas sham works ever’ time up here, said Sam. Ah believe ever’ farmer in Pennsylvania thinks that we’uns eat children. Ah heard it was in the papers.

Yep, said Bill. That lie would never work back home. If’n you threatened a good ol’ boy down there with eatin’ his baby, he’d tell you to take the damn baby and the other two kids too long as ya left him his yaller dog.

Ah believe yer rat, dear brother, said Sam with a wink. Might even throw in the wife.

Let’s play cards, said Jack.

Yeah, said George, let’s do. What’ll we play?

Poker? offered Bill.

Naw, said Sam. Y’all don’t have enough money to bet with me. Let’s play euchre. We can play poker once we whip the Yankees agin’. They’re all gettin’ paid today. It’s the last day o’ the month.

Euchre it is, said Bill. Let’s go me’n George against you’n Jack.

Agin’? asked Sam. Boy, ain’t you had enough?

Y’all don’t stand a chance, brother. Me and George are in cahoots.

Were you and George in cahoots last night, Bill? ’Cause I recollect that Jack and me gave y’all what fer.

That was last night, old man, said Bill. Tonight, we will counterattack ’n’ drive y’all from the field.

Time to throw up breastworks, George. Ah feel threatened. Go on and deal, youngster, said Sam.

Euchre is an extremely old card game, played with a short deck that contains only the nine through ace of each suit. The ace is considered the high card unless that suit is trump, in which case the right and left bowers are the high cards. For example, if clubs are trump, then the jack of clubs is the right bower, and the jack of spades is the left bower. Thus, the jack of clubs would be the highest card for that hand, followed by the jack of spades, the ace of clubs, king of clubs, and so on down to the nine of clubs. A game of euchre is usually played until one team gets ten points. One point is earned by winning three of the five tricks in a hand. Two points are earned if a team wins all five tricks. Four points are earned if a player can win all five tricks without the help of his partner. This is called going it alone. Such a hand is called a loner.

Our four young Rebels owned only one deck of cards among themselves. Sam had found it on the body of a dead Yankee after the second battle of Manassas almost a year ago. The cards were as ragged and travel-worn as the men who played them, and thus, it took careful concentration to ignore the familiar stains and tears on certain cards so as not to gain an unfair advantage. The jack of clubs, for instance, was getting harder and harder not to notice. It had a substantial tear right in the middle of one short edge. The jack of spades had two opposite corners that were dog-eared. If a man held both blackjacks, it was fairly evident to all. The convention was to deal the cards quickly and everyone pick them up and hide the damaged ones among the others as fast as they could.

They folded a blanket into quarters and laid it out on the ground near the fire to serve as a card table. Sam poked the embers and added some wood to get the blaze going bright enough to shed some light on the blanket. George jammed his bayonet point first into the ground and fit a small candle into the socket. He lit the candle with a burning twig. Jack did the same near his corner of the blanket. Bill shuffled the cards and cut them once. He dealt each of his mates five cards and then put the remaining four cards in a stack facedown in front of him. He turned over the top card on the stack. It was the ten of clubs.

There it is. Let it begin, gents. Losers fetch wood and water, said Bill.

I just got water, said Jack. Losers fetch it in the mornin’.

Sam picked up his cards and held them in his hand like a lady’s fan. What he saw was the ace of diamonds, the ace and king of hearts, the jack of clubs, and the ten of spades. Sam sat to Bill’s left. Since Bill had dealt the hand, it meant that Sam had the first opportunity to call trump.

Sam

Bill George

Jack

Pass, said Sam, not liking what he saw in his hand.

George sat to Sam’s left. He looked searchingly at his cards. He held the jack and nine of hearts, the king of diamonds, and the queen and nine of clubs. He looked at the ten of clubs that lay face up in front of Bill. He looked at Bill who kept his eyes riveted on his cards.

Pass, said George.

Now came Jack’s turn to call trump. Jack had the ace and king of spades, the ace and king of clubs, and the queen of hearts.

Pick it up, said Jack, which meant that clubs became the trump suit for this particular hand. Jack and Sam as a team were now obligated to win at least three tricks to win the hand. Should Bill and George win three tricks, they would win the hand and gain two points because they were considered to be on defense.

Bill let loose a lungful of air as he picked up the ten of clubs. He then discarded the ten of hearts. Bill now had the jack, queen, and nine of diamonds; the queen of spades; and the ten of clubs.

Clubs are trump. Lord A’mighty, here we go again, said Bill in disgust.

Sam had the first lead, owing to the fact that he sat to the left of the dealer. That is the rule. Sam studied his hand. He could lead with the jack of clubs, which was the right bower for this hand. That would guarantee the first trick. Since each player is obligated to play a card from which ever suit is led, the jack of clubs would necessarily flush a trump out of Bill’s hand and George’s hand. However, it would also flush a trump from Jack’s hand. He decided to lead with the ace of diamonds instead. George was then forced to play the king of diamonds. Jack had no diamonds. He could play a trump, but he only had two, and it was already Sam’s trick. He decided to take the chance that Bill was not out of diamonds. He tossed in the queen of hearts. Bill played the nine of diamonds.

That’s one, said Jack gleefully.

Since Sam had won the first trick, it meant he got to lead again. Sam led with the king of hearts. George played the nine of hearts. Jack was out of hearts. Once again, he had to decide whether to trump a trick that Sam might win. This time, Jack decided he better not risk letting Bill have a chance to take the trick with his trump. Jack played the king of clubs.

Hang me from an apple tree, said Bill. Thought we would get that one.

Bill played the queen of spades.

That’s two, said Jack with a grin.

We can count, Jack, said George with a scowl. Play yer cards and save us the lesson in sums if ya don’t mind. We are already aware that you have studied arithmetic up through and including the number ten.

My apologies, ladies, said Jack in a voice dripping with polite sarcasm. Ah forget at times what sensitive natures you possess.

Eat shit, peckerwood, said Bill with real venom. This caused George to burst into laughter and roll backward and forward.

That’s enough, children, said Sam. It’s only the first goddamned hand.

It was now Jack’s turn to lead because he had taken the previous trick. He now knew that Bill didn’t have any trump higher than a king. What to do? He decided to flush out the ten of clubs from Bill’s hand. Jack played the ace of clubs.

I knew that was comin’, said Bill as he threw in his ten of clubs. Sam tossed in his Jack of clubs.

Sorry, pard, said Sam. It’s all I got.

No talkin’ to yer partner, Mr. Cheat, said Bill.

Don’t be callin’ names, youngster ’less I take you over my knee, said Sam.

Like to see you try that, said Bill.

George threw in his nine of clubs, and Sam scooped the cards up. Sam and Jack now had three tricks, so they were guaranteed to win the hand for one point. If they could take the last two tricks, they would get two points. Sam led with his ace of hearts. George threw in his jack of hearts. Jack played his king of spades. George played his jack of diamonds. Sam scooped up this hand as well.

Hope you can carry us home, pard, said Sam as he laid down the ten of spades. Jack smiled when he saw the spade, but his smile faded when George tossed in his queen of clubs. Jack played his ace of spades, and Bill threw in his queen of diamonds.

Almost had us, boys, said Bill.

Aw, hang it, I shouldn’t ’ve played the ace of clubs when I did, said Jack.

Never mind, Jack, said Sam. We picked up a point.

The deal passed from Bill to Sam. Sam shuffled and dealt. The game went on. First one team winning a hand and then the other. The score eventually stood at six to six with Jack dealing. He dealt everyone five cards. He laid down the remaining four cards and turned over the nine of spades.

Lordy, said George. I haven’t seen a good hand all night.

Poor George, said Jack in a voice utterly lacking in sympathy. When ya learn to play with the cards we give ya, we’ll give ya better cards.

Sam fanned out his cards. He was looking at the jack of clubs; the ace, king, and jack of spades; and the ace of hearts. He was holding the four highest trump, plus an ace from an off suit. It was literally impossible for Sam to lose this hand as long as spades were trump. To save time, any player was expected to throw in his cards the instant he knew that he had the hand won. It was a home rule that helped speed things along during the previous winter when the four young men were cooped up in a small hut for weeks. Since the outcome of this hand could not be in doubt, Sam was expected to throw in his cards as soon as spades became the trump suit. It was the first throw-in loner he had ever been dealt.

Pass, said Bill.

Pick it up, said Sam. And put yer cards down, Jack. I believe I will go it alone.

Jack picked up the nine of spades and then laid his cards face down. Sam laid his five cards down on the blanket in a neat little fan. George whistled.

Whoooo! Would you look at that? Sam has himself a throw-in loner. And that’s game, gents. Bill, looks like you and me are fetchin’ wood and water agin’.

Bill threw his cards in without saying a word. He got up and walked away. George followed. Jack sat for a moment, grinning. Sam sat still, but he wasn’t smiling. He stared at his cards still lying in a fan where he’d laid them down: three spades and the jack of clubs. He felt a lump in his throat and a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was like the feeling you get when a family member or a close friend dies, and you realize that you will never be able to see or talk to them again. He felt lonely. A sudden inexplicable depression crept across his mind, and he had to resist an urge to get misty-eyed.

Something the matter? asked Jack.

Naw. I just don’t like the looks of them three spades. A throw-in loner in spades. Makes me wonder, is all.

You spooked?

I dunno. Maybe a little. We four have been together a long time now. God only knows how many scrimmages we been in, and here we all are, still above ground when so many good boys have gone under. I just don’t like the looks o’ them cards is all.

Jack looked down at the cards. He felt his mood dampen. He shuddered. I know what you mean, Sam. I just had me the damnedest feeling. Like maybe we just played our last hand of euchre. Have you ever had the feelin’ like yer next fight will be yer last? Pick ’em up, will ya?

No, sir. Can’t say I’ve ever had that feelin’, said Sam as he gathered up the cards.

I think I may be havin’ it now. Ever talk to a feller who had it?

Ben Baylor. Right before Chancellorsville. He tried to give me some letters from his wife that he’d kept. Ah told him Ah was as likely to get shot as he was. He said no, I was not, but he’d take ’em to the captain if’n Ah wouldn’t keep ’em. Sure enough, he stopped a bullet the next day. Sam pointed to his forehead as he said this.

Well, I dunno what I’m feelin’. I don’t have nothin’ on me that I’m willin’ to part with until I’m sure I’m gone up. All the same, if I was to die tomorrow, could you and Bill please get me underground? Maybe mark the spot somehow? I’d hate to be one o’ them poor bastards that gets throwed into a ditch with a whole regiment o’ corpses.

Sam nodded. Jack got up and followed Bill and George. Sam gathered up the cards and reordered them into a deck. He sat there for some time, staring into space and absentmindedly shuffling the cards over and over. It was something about the way those three spades looked and the way that their game ended. There was no way to know when the next battle would be. It could be tomorrow. It could be a week from now or even a month. Still, they had been marching around Pennsylvania for a week. Old Abe Lincoln could be counted on to make trouble over something like that. They hadn’t seen the Yankees up close since they left the Rappahannock; but for all Sam knew, the whole damn Army of the Potomac could be just over the next ridge.

Sam slept soundly that night on top of his blanket. It was too warm to cover up. Bill, George, and Jack were sleeping nearby. The four young soldiers enjoyed one last night of peaceful slumber together, blissfully ignorant of the future. Sam snored occasionally; and in the morning, he arose to have a pee before reveille.

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Chapter 2

Meeting at the Campus Martius

P rivate Kevin Mulroney—a weary member of Company E, Twenty-Fourth Michigan Volunteer Infantry—lay on his blanket with his head propped on his haversack, looking up at the early-morning sky. A few persistent stars were still shining brightly enough to twinkle hopefully through an atmosphere that was gradually fading from the dark blue of an infantryman’s coat to that lighter shade of blue that matches his trousers. Kevin’s two closest friends and messmates, Nathaniel Delaney and Benjamin Ginsburg, lay nearby, each still in the arms of Morpheus. The rest of the company, regiment, and brigade were in similar states of repose in a field just southwest of the bridge that carried the Emmitsburg Road across Marsh Creek on its way to the small town of Gettysburg, Pennsylv ania.

Reveille had not been sounded yet, but Kevin knew that the inevitable wakeup call could not be long in coming. When it came, it would be the signal for thousands of men to begin their day. Once that happened, there would be no privacy and little time. And so, he lay quietly, simultaneously contemplating the distant stars and the state of his bowels. The question uppermost in his mind was, Should I get up and go take a dump or go back to sleep? Attempting to defecate when you are pressed for time and when you aren’t sure if you really have to go is always a gamble. You might say that it’s a bit of a crap shoot. If you use the small amount of time available and you aren’t successful, then the time was wasted, and that is always frustrating. If you wait until the regiment is up and about, then it is nearly impossible to find a spot to go that isn’t in full view of the brigade. The answer was not immediately forthcoming, so he reached out with his mind to take stock of the rest of his body. It was only right that all parts with a stake in the decision be allowed to contribute to the debate. His legs ached from the long hot marches of the past week. He had a broken water blister on his right heel, which was stinging at the moment. He knew that once the next march began, the blister would go through stages, starting with that unique sharp pain that felt like a piece of broken glass in your shoe and steadily decreasing as blood and sweat lubricated the sore until he wouldn’t feel it much at all. Every time he stopped marching for a while, the open sore would scab over enough to start the pain cycle all over again. His left big toe was developing a blister as well. The skin between his inner thighs and his scrotum was rubbed raw, and another long hot march would probably cause it to burn like fire. To go along with all those aches and pains, he seemed to have a new itchy bump on his face, probably the result of a mosquito having its way with his cheek while he slept.

Another consideration was that if he did decide to get up and go find a private spot somewhere, Murphy’s law dictated that the regiment was sure to wake up, feed itself, and start marching without him before he returned. Just the thought of that made him tense, making the whole enterprise seem uncertain. Kevin hated having to catch up with the regiment once it had begun marching. On the other hand, if he decided not to go now, then he might have to go once the march started. He hated having to fall out of the ranks just to go take a dump. It made him feel weak. He didn’t like feeling weak. I hate this fookin’ army soometoimes, he thought.

Oh hell, he whispered to no one. Better wait, Oy soopose.

Kevin tried to get back to sleep; but tired as he was, slumber eluded him. He looked up at the stars, and his mind wandered back to a time almost exactly one year previously when he had picked up a copy of the Detroit Free Press on his way home from working on the docks.

Oy should’ve bloody well gone straight home that day, he thought.

The paper was dated July 18, 1862. Kevin had glanced through the various articles until his eyes came upon an announcement.

Men of Detroit!

Do Your Patriotic Duty!

Defend the Union!

On Tuesday, the twenty-second of July, a meeting will be held at the Campus Martius for the purpose of raising a regiment of volunteers to defend the Union. The Honorable Judge Henry Morrow, Mayor Duncan, and Sheriff Flannigan will be in attendance. Do not hold back! Now is the time to drive the Rebels from our midst. The meeting will begin at 3:00 p.m. Do not pass up this golden opportunity to serve your country.

Kevin held the newspaper in hands that had been made powerful and calloused by handling thousands of pounds of boxes and grain sacks on the docks of Detroit as had his father before him. He stared at the article and tried to gauge his own feelings. As a young man of twenty with patriotic leanings, Kevin longed to go off to war and serve his state. He also yearned for that particular test of manhood that one can only find in battle. No man can say how he would cope with the terror of the firing line until he stood shoulder to shoulder where the lead was flying. Kevin was reasonably confident that he could stand the trial, but there was only one way to find out. He had come close several times to enlisting in the Union Army as Michigan organized one regiment of volunteers after another. But he had never yet followed through because there were other considerations.

Kevin’s father, David Mulroney, had recently left the docks and moved his wife, Mary, two daughters, and three sons to a small farm he had purchased. The farm was three miles outside of Detroit city limits. It had taken Davey Mulroney years to save enough to make the down payment for the small holding. The parcel of land came with a house, barn, henhouse, outhouse, a good well, and a twenty-acre apple orchard from which the Mulroney family hoped to make a profit. Maybe, someday, they might even be able to expand. But Davey Mulroney had borrowed a modest sum to afford the purchase. This was the reason that, each day, Kevin had been riding one of the two horses belonging to the Mulroney family to the docks. The twenty dollars he earned each month helped keep the wolves from the door until the fall harvest, which would hopefully set them on their feet. His family simply needed the money he earned on the docks. If he suddenly left for the war, someone else would have to make the daily ride into the city to perform the backbreaking work. His younger brothers were too young. Michael was fifteen and strong, but the docks were no place for a fifteen-year-old boy. Mathew was only twelve. That would mean Father would have to go back to work on the docks and leave the daily operation of the farm to Michael and Mathew. The thought of his old pa hauling crates and grain sacks was enough to make Kevin forget about his dreams of finding glory on the battlefield. Still, he thought he might attend the meeting just to see what they had to say.

On Tuesday, July 22, 1862, Kevin got permission from his foreman to attend the meeting. The foreman was a slave driver on the dock, but he was also a Union man through and through. He told Kevin to go ahead and to come on back to finish his shift if he decided not to join. Godspeed if he did join. By the time that Kevin reached the Campus Martius, the meeting was in full swing. Mayor Duncan had already spoken. The crowd was enthusiastically applauding the words of the Honorable Judge Henry Morrow, Now is not the time to hold back! You men may do what you feel is best, but as for myself, I am taking the field, come what may!

The crowd cheered itself hoarse. Kevin looked on thoughtfully. He wanted to cheer. He wanted to join the army. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the consequences of his actions. Protecting the country meant abandoning his family. It was something he just wasn’t prepared to do. There was a young man with brown hair and blue eyes next to Kevin, cheering and yelling enthusiastically for the Union. When the young man saw that Kevin was not cheering, he said, You gonna cheer or what? Are you one o’ them secesh bastards that broke up the meeting last week?

Kevin turned to see if the person was addressing him.

Were you talking to me? asked Kevin.

Yep.

Me? Secesh? No, mate. Oy’m for the Union, all the way. Oy’m jest thinkin’ it over.

Thinking about a thing doesn’t get it done. Doing a thing gets it done.

Is that so? And how about you? Are yeh goin’ to join yehrself? Yeh’re cheerin’ loud enough.

Me? said the young man. I’m thinking about it.

Well, said Kevin, someone once told me that thinkin’ about a thing don’t get it done. Now, as for me, if Oy decoided to join the army, Oy’d have to give up me job, and me ol’ pa would have to go back to work. So loike Oy said, Oy’m considerin’ the entoire matter.

Did you hear the man who spoke earlier? Said he’d pay five dollars to the first one hundred men who signed up, said the young man.

And, said a new voice, the federal government has offered a one-hundred-dollar bounty to every man who signs for three years or the war.

This last was uttered by a tall thin man of twenty-one. He had black curly hair and a nose large enough to deploy a six-gun battery upon.

Benjamin Ginsburg, he said as he held his hand out to Kevin.

Kevin Mulroney, said Kevin as he took Benjamin’s hand and shook it firmly.

I’m Nathaniel, said the other youth. Nathaniel Delaney.

There was more shaking of hands before they returned to the topic of conversation.

A hundred dollars, yeh say? said Kevin. When, exactly, do yeh suppose they pay out?

I believe that they pay it in two installments of fifty dollars. You wouldn’t see the first installment for months, though, knowing the government. But there are some local businessmen who have donated money to help any man who joins.

How do you know so much? asked Nathaniel.

My father runs a bank. He knows everything and anything that happens with money in Detroit, said Benjamin.

Are you going to join? asked Nathaniel.

Me? replied Benjamin. My father would kill me. No. Not on my life.

Mine too, said Nathaniel. He owns a butcher shop. He didn’t even want me to come to the meeting.

Well, replied Kevin, it looks as though it’s up to the loikes o’ me to save the fookin’ country so yeh’re fathers can keep makin’ money in peace. Is that it?

That’s rather harsh, said Benjamin, wouldn’t you say?

How is it harsh? asked Kevin. Isn’t that about the soize of it? Oy’d be leavin’ me old man in a toight spot if Oy joined. And yet, here Oy am ready to join. Oy’ll be layin’ me loife on the loine, whoile me father has to go back to work on the docks and take care of a farm too. All the whoile, you lot will be takin’ yeh’re ease back here in Detroit.

Wait, said Nathaniel, did I just hear you say you’ll join? I thought you said you were just thinking it over.

Errr . . . said Kevin. Well, Oy’m almost . . . err . . .

That was a fine speech, said Benjamin. "And you paint a fair picture of things, if you actually join. But I’ll tell you something, my Irish friend. If you join, so will I! I’ll show you that a banker’s son can do as much for his country as a farmer’s son. Or a dock worker. Whatever."

Errrr . . . said Kevin. Well, that’s—

Oh, heck, said Nathaniel, I guess if you two are willing to go, I will too. So what do you say now, Mulroney? Shall we go for being soldiers together?

Errr . . . uuhhh . . . well . . .

It’s settled, said Benjamin. He now had a strange light in his eyes. An aura of patriotism was beginning to emanate from within Benjamin, reinforced by newfound courage to defy his father on behalf of a noble cause. It is not easy for a wealthy man to forsake the comforts of a rich home to take up the rifle and sleep on the ground in the rain. But once a soul has resolved to forego his comfortable lifestyle and endure such a sacrifice, it can fill him with a power of inner nobility that is hard for another to grasp. Kevin had never known such a privileged life and so was not grasping it at all.

You know, offered Kevin hesitantly, this is a mooch bigger decision than—

Oh, pshaw, said Nathaniel. You were all big talk a minute ago. You said it was up to you to save the ‘fookin’ country,’ remember? You going to back out now that we’re joining up?

Oh, ho, replied Kevin. So you’re going to do it, then, are yeh?

Well . . . stammered Nathaniel, yes! Yes, by god, I am.

Come on, said Benjamin. Let’s do it now. Before anyone loses his nerve.

Now, jest hold on one minute, said Kevin. Things ain’t that simple. Oy can’t jest walk away from me job and me family without a word. Me old man is countin’ on the money Oy bring home to pay the mortgage on the farm. Even if the country is goin’ to hell in a handbasket, Oy can’t let me family down.

Don’t worry, replied Benjamin. If money is all you are worried about, then stop worrying. Leave it to me. Benjamin proved true to his word.

The three new friends left the Campus Martius, which was still full of men and women cheering the speakers who were alternately calling for volunteers and pledging their support. They first went to the stable where Kevin had left his horse. Then, they proceeded to the dock, where Kevin informed his boss that he was leaving. Kevin’s foreman bade him good luck but couldn’t pay him off right away. Kevin would have to wait until the end of the month.

Don’t worry, said Benjamin. Trust me.

They then went to the bank owned by Mr. Ginsburg. Nathaniel and Kevin waited outside while Benjamin went in to talk to his father. Within twenty minutes, Benjamin emerged from the bank with a big grin on his face.

What did he say? asked Nathaniel.

Well, he wasn’t pleased. He said that if I wanted to throw my life away, that was my business. He also said that if I was stupid enough to get killed, he would write me out of his will. I don’t think he meant it, though, because he shook my hand and then actually embraced me. He hasn’t done that since I was, well, ever.

They all had a good laugh over this before moving on to the butcher shop where Nathaniel’s father was busy with a side of beef. Nathaniel left his friends outside with Kevin’s horse, but they could see him talking to his father through the large plate glass window that comprised most of the storefront. To Kevin’s eyes, Nathaniel appeared to be calm as he addressed his father and pointed to his two new friends through the window. Mr. Delaney seemed to take the news stoically. He looked through the window at Kevin and Benjamin and then just shook his head sadly as he offered his hand to his eldest son. Within minutes, Nathaniel was back outside. He was sobered by his father’s reaction, which he had expected to be louder and more argumentative. Instead of being met by a show of temper, Nathaniel had been confronted with only sadness and resignation as if his father had known all along that his son would eventually take this possibly fatal step.

Well? asked Kevin.

He . . . he just wished me God’s speed and farewell, said Nathaniel gloomily. He also told me to come by and say goodbye to Mother before I left for good.

Cheer up now, said Benjamin with a smile from ear to ear. We are almost there. Just one more family to inform. Then, we will come back and be soldiers.

It took them over an hour to walk to the Mulroney farm. They talked and laughed at times; but all the while, Kevin was dreading the moment when he would have to inform his father that he was leaving the family. There was no way for his father to be happy about this. Kevin already knew what he would say. Can’t you wait until next year? Once the harvest is in, then you can go.

Mr. Mulroney was just coming out of the barn when he saw the three young men leading a horse up the double-rutted lane that led from the road to the farm. He could see that Kevin was one of the three, but he didn’t know the other two. As he had never seen his son bring home friends before, and because he was from Ireland, Mr. Mulroney couldn’t help assuming that he was about to hear some bad news. He stared at the three young men as they approached; and by the time they had finished their journey up the lane, Mr. Mulroney had already deduced why Kevin had come home early from work with two other young men.

Kevin, Nathaniel, and Ben covered the remaining distance to the barn in a short time. After introductions and handshakes all around, and stabling the horse, they all went inside the modest two-story home, where Mary Mulroney was finishing her preparations for the