Leaving Gettysburg

By Curtis Crockett

In this novel of the American Civil War, a disgraced Union colonel races to stop Confederates fleeing Gettysburg.

Pickett’s charge has just ended, the battle of Gettysburg is over. The Confederate army is defeated and must retreat to the Potomac River forty miles away with thousands of wagons full of wounded soldiers, provisions and tens of thousands of animals.

Asa Helms, a private in the Twenty-Sixth North Carolina Infantry, joined the army to oppose the Yankee’s invasion of his “country.” He is torn between serving his country with honor and going home to take care of his wife who is in great need. He faces a long, seemingly impossible march with little food, little hope and the Yankees on his heels.

Captain Louis Young, aide-to-camp to Confederate General James Pettigrew, is fighting to preserve a culture and a lifestyle and possible domination by the despicable Yankees. The defeat at Gettysburg, the horrendous condition of the army and the endless resources of the enemy are causing him to doubt the ability of the Confederacy to gain another major victory and thus independence. His objective is to get the rebel army across the Potomac River to preserve it to fight another day.

Colonel George Gray, an Irishman, is colonel of the Sixth Michigan Cavalry. He is hell-bent on putting down the rebellion before it divides the country that has been so good to him. He is neither a soldier, nor an accomplished equestrian, and has gotten on the wrong side of his superior, General George Custer, with whom he is in constant conflict. He sees a chance to cut off the Confederate army and end the war before it reaches the Potomac.

That is where the journey ends and where each soldier must face the realities of this unnatural war. Asa must choose between escaping across the river or remaining with his wounded friend and facing certain captivity . . .

Praise for Leaving Gettysburg

“A solid piece of Civil War fiction that introduces readers to seldom discussed aspect of the Gettysburg Campaign.” —ARGunners.com

“Curtis Crockett brings the retreat to life in fiction . . . a must-read for everyone interested in the Gettysburg campaign.” —Maine at War

“Paints a vivid image of an ACW army in retreat and a victorious army slowly reorganizing to pursue.” —Historical Miniatures Gaming Society

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casemate Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781636241715

Book preview

1

Asa

Seminary Ridge, Gettysburg

3pm, July 3

No one had given the order to retreat. The assault had collapsed, dissipating into swarms of men hurrying back to the lines in utter disorder. The deafening roars of the Yankee artillery shells had become one big, loud distortion. Men sank into the earth; some sitting on the ground confused, some crying. Others carried broken flagstaffs, their colors lost or shot away. Many were without weapons. Riderless horses with terror-filled eyes galloped up and down the line spreading panic like a dread contagion.

The orderly advance had transformed into a frenzied rout of disorganized, disconsolate men intent on saving themselves. A mere hour ago flags had been flying, bayonets glittering, men cheering, bands playing. Now it was perfect chaos, the world was turned upside down. The hunter had become the hunted.

Asa stood bent over with exhaustion near the spot where he had started less than an hour before. At least he thought it was the same spot. He was disoriented, drenched with sweat. His lungs burned. His parched and shriveled tongue felt like a piece of desiccated leather. He saw no recognizable faces.

The wind caused the battlefield smoke to blow like a thick fog across the battlefield; the noise of guns was dying down like the tail end of a thunderstorm. The Yankees had whooped and hollered, and the Twenty-Sixth North Carolina had lost its colors. Asa’s first thought when he saw the cold, gray faces streaming by was that the hundreds of dead bodies he had passed on the sprint back to his lines had died for nothing.

Where is my regiment? What are we doing in this dreadful place? We’ve been asked to do too much. The army was routed, defeat had descended like a stinging hail.

Asa did not remember if he had even gotten a shot off. There were simply no targets with the Yankees behind that wall, no one to shoot at. He was not a soldier at heart, certainly not an aggressive person. He had been taught not to kill and, in order to accommodate this teaching, often aimed high or did not discharge his weapon at all. But he was no coward either. He had nothing against those Yankees. It was his country they had invaded.

The only time Asa could remember being this winded was back home in Union County, North Carolina. His schoolmates had dared him to race the mile back home. They did not have a proper school, but there was a young woman who had volunteered to hold regular classes and teach what she knew. He was not above walking away from a dare. He was too shrewd to take mindless dares from mindless boys. But with Hester looking on he took the dare. He sprinted on his lanky frame the whole mile home like he had sprinted across this Pennsylvania field. Hester Cuthbertson was worth it. She was now his wife and oh how he wished he was with her. Though he had known her all his life they were not childhood sweethearts. He would have preferred it, but you cannot be childhood sweethearts without a mutual affection. That was a long time coming with Hester. Asa had waited. He was never so sure of anything in his life. Hester was his rock, and he did not quite feel whole without her. She was more than half of life, more than half of the both of them. After this war he would make sure that they were never separated again.

Asa’s chestnut uniform, once so proudly clean and pressed, was in tatters. He had not changed clothes, shaved nor bathed in weeks. He still had his gun which was more than most could say. He needed to count his blessings. His breath was coming back slowly and his mind with it. He had a fleeting thought that, since the battle was over, perhaps he could bathe and shave now. A soldier carrying a comrade with a gaping hole in his thigh passed by. They were probably friends. Asa watched them as they passed to the rear. Slowly, they weaved unnoticed through the throng of men. The soldier held on to his comrade with loving desperation.

Asa stifled tears as he searched for a familiar face. His tortured eyes continued to observe the scene from which he had emerged just a few minutes ago. Men still stumbled back to the lines. Some just cowered, their spirits shattered. It was disheartening to see the walking wounded, and some of the able-bodied hugging the ground and running when the firing died down. Every now and then a man turned and fired at the Yankees in anger even though they were out of range. It had been like participating in some kind of depraved potato sack race. Arms, blankets, rifles, and knapsacks were scattered in surreal heaps on the bleeding battlefield. One man who did not appear to have a scratch arose from a crouch and ran 100 yards before a piece of shrapnel from an artillery piece tore into the back of his head only 50 yards from the lines. He kept running for 10 yards and then dropped.

Some of the able-bodied stayed on the ground, fearing that moving they would be shot. They would surely become prisoners later. There were lots of prisoners. Many of the men who were unable to withstand the fire willingly succumbed. These were sights and sensations which Asa had never experienced. Yes, they had seen the Yankees retreating before, but never the Rebels. The Yanks had fought like demons. I never seen them like this. These Yankees do know how to fight. No one expected this shocking rout. Asa pondered whether the army would be able to fend off the Yankee charge which was sure to come. His army was vulnerable.

Asa saw Justin Chandler. He was leaning on his rifle about 10 yards away, looking as if he had given up hope. Justin, oh thank God. He and Justin had gone into the charge together as they had every time since they enlisted. The sight of Justin produced a warm, calming sensation throughout his being. He felt suddenly ashamed for being troubled about the reputation of his state when he had forgotten about Justin in the confusion of battle. North Carolina was only a place on the map, but it was his home, his state, represented by a flag. Hester was there. They were all he knew. But Justin was important. He hastened to his side.

It does my heart good to see you, my friend. Asa beamed his infectious smile as he examined Justin from head to toe. They shook hands and drew into an embrace. Lord we was lucky! We was 250 yards from that stone wall. Just couldn’t go no further. Some of the boys kept goin’ but most turned back. I never seen such a stampede.

Asa, look at you. I can hardly believe it. I was worried about you. Justin stepped back and grew very solemn. I don’t mind tellin’ you I was scared, Asa. Them Yankees all behind that stone wall, as far as you could see to the right and left. There were terrible holes in the lines, boy’s fallin’ all over. We didn’t have no choice. We had to run.

Asa stared ahead and thought, what are we gonna do now? A warm feeling of relief and thankfulness over their survival did not diminish the feelings of shock and shame. He blurted out, It was more like murder than war. Gettin’ back from there was about as bad as goin’ in.

I never seen the Yanks fight like that. It was so shameful. He looked over at the Federals as if he would like to try it all over again.

Asa, ain’t ever heard you talk like that. Don’t go gettin’ contrary on me now. That ain’t like you. Right now, be grateful we’re alive.

Asa looked back at his friend. It’s so good to see you, Justin. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry. You’re right. We’re both alive. I don’t know how we got back, but Lord knows I’m grateful to be here.

Justin laid his rifle down. It suddenly seemed a useless burden. Only a few of our boys remain in the regiment. Just a handful. I never seen nothin’ like it. I ain’t never run like that. Asa, I hope we can go back and have another lick at ’em.

Justin pick up your rifle. Don’t think like that. There are plenty of Yanks left to prove ourselves tomorrow. This time tomorrow you won’t feel like that. I believe we’re about spent. Besides, whose gonna do the fightin’? Ain’t but half of us left. Maybe we just need to get back to Virginia.

It was difficult to discern the difference between the screams of the officers, the wounded men, and the hysterical horses. Asa’s mind raced back to the charge. Guide right, guide right. Yes, that’s what the major was yellin’. I could not understand what he was yellin’. That’s when I lost Justin.

Shots were still being fired. Thuds, groans, the tramp of thousands of feet were heard as the army attempted to recover. It was a scene so utterly horrifying that Asa wondered how he could ever explain it to Hester. No, I must find a way to put this away in a corner of my mind. Hester must never know about this. But how can I keep it from her?

Private Asa Helms was a member of Company B of the Twenty-Sixth North Carolina regiment, a unit which had lived through three days of hell that would shake the soul of any living being. The Twenty-Sixth North Carolina was a part of General J. Johnston Pettigrew’s Brigade, General A. P. Hill’s III Corps. Pettigrew was a North Carolinian commanding a brigade of Tarheels from General Heth’s Division. Asa heard that Pettigrew was now commanding the entire division after the wounding of General Henry Heth on the first day of fighting. He had seen him stand before the troops on the entire left side of the formation in the charge commanded by General Pickett. He was proud to be a member of the Twenty-Sixth, proud to be a Tarheel. This was not their best day.

This has cost us dearly. It wasn’t worth it Justin. We been fightin’ here for three days and what do we got to show for it? This here today, this was no charge, no contest. It was a death march. We never charged their lines. We walked and walked, never even got to their lines. Them Yankees, they’re fightin’ more fierce. I guess we’re on their ground and this is how they do when they’re fightin’ for their homes and their families. We almost broke ’em but then what? We can’t take all of Yankeeland. Let’s just get back to Union County alive after this war.

Asa was silent. He looked around painfully, straining to see a familiar face. He was always the calm, composed sort. Smart. Not highly educated but born with an innate intelligence that served him well. He never panicked. This battle had shaken him to the limit. For the first time he realized it was a dreadful war.

Justin had to talk through his panic, always in a state of semi-alarm before he could achieve any sense of calm. Perhaps that is why the two became instant friends; they were polar opposites. Justin was from Union County, too, about the same age as Asa. They had not known each other. Asa was rather tall and lanky, not too tall. Justin shorter and thick.

Asa lifted his gun and examined it as if getting ready for inspection. The stock was scratched and gouged. The barrel still shiny. There was no load in the gun, but a percussion cap was lodged under the closed hammer. He could not remember how long the cap had been there.

Think Justin. Need to find our way back. See anybody, a face, a flag? Justin was distracted as if a million miles away. Justin, do you hear me? We need to pay attention. Look around you. We need to get back.

The two had soon returned to their contentious but devoted relationship. They loved and depended on each other more than they knew.

Justin quickly responded, Yes, Asa we need to get back.

It would take the army some time to make sense of its condition. One had to stand still to listen intently through the noise and confusion to perceive the turmoil.

Officers were yelling.

Keep with your company. Find your company.

Yonder, is that the Eleventh North Carolina?

Stay together. We must stay together.

Sure is, let’s go before they disappear. Keep that flag flyin’, boys.

Asa heard two officers say that General Pettigrew was in command of the division now and Major Jones was in command of the brigade. They said he was seen alive with his left arm in a sling. It apparently was not too serious. This was a welcome dose of encouragement at a crucial time. Asa felt good about General Pettigrew and was glad he was still alive to lead them. Suddenly there was turmoil off to the right; soldiers were running, cheering, throwing their hats. Asa could not see what the commotion was. Some of the boys said that General Lee was greeting the men as they came back to the lines, taking the blame, urging them to stand firm. Hopefully, this would do a lot to restore order. Once the Yankees got over the elation of victory, they could counter-attack. Asa questioned a tattered sergeant coming from the right. He was shuffling by, one of his feet not exactly cooperating, like getting out of bed with his leg asleep. Yet he could see that his leg may never awake again.

The sergeant was in a heightened state of excitement, I ain’t never seen General Lee in such a state. He’s talkin’ to the boys, tryin’ to quiet ’em some. Ain’t quite fittin’ for a general to say it’s his fault. We all done the best we could. Let’s leave it at that. It ain’t fittin’ otherwise. Where is the 11th? Have you seen the 11th? The sergeant moved on.

As the afternoon labored on like an untrustworthy timepiece it was clear that the army was reacting, preparing. General Longstreet seemed to be changing troop and artillery dispositions to prepare for an attack. Asa still could not see order, but he could see less panic. Men were reuniting with their commands.

Look for a familiar face or flag, Justin. The two strained their already weary eyes. Asa’s blackened nose burned from the gun powder. He was slowly emerging from a state of self-pity and lethargy. It was not battle fatigue. They needed to act. He felt that what he had survived was a larger-than-life event. Larger than he and Justin, larger than General Lee, larger than the war. He would try to make sense of it later. His mind was muddled from fatigue, worry, the sweltering heat. He had to snap out of it. Oh, how he missed Hester!

Where did we start off? Let’s go back. The two slowly searched the lines for their starting point. They knew they were close but sought to locate familiar landmarks like the guns near where they had formed their lines. Recognize anyone?

What is your regiment, Private? Asa asked a confused soldier staring ahead as if he was stumped by a math problem. His uniform had not seen a lot of wear. Asa wondered where he had been in the order of attack.

Twenty-Eighth North Carolina I think, he blurted out after what would have been an embarrassing pause in civil conversation.

Asa pointed toward the left. Over there, Private. The private turned his head but did not move. Apparently recognizing a comrade, he then he moved on toward his regiment.

How is this gonna help, Asa? We attacked in order, we didn’t retreat in order. This ain’t ever gonna help. Let’s sit down. What are we gonna do?

Justin, I know this is hard, but we gotta start somewhere. Look for them guns. We were between the gun batteries. If they ain’t moved.

They started slowly backtracking toward the guns in a single-minded effort, trying to block out the cries of the wounded, the barking of orders, and all the confusion. It was like an enormous scavenger hunt with thousands of men searching, moving, questioning. Each man was single-minded in his purpose.

Ok, see Justin, there’s the guns, they ain’t moved. Now look, just look. Look for a flag, look for a face. Anything familiar? Look.

I’m lookin’, Asa. I’m lookin’.

Asa was unwavering in his search for their regiment, what was left of their regiment. He was trying to motivate Justin. They walked in an ever-widening circle out from the guns. There was no flag. It had probably been captured.

Justin and Asa found their comrades after an arduous search. It was a miracle. After walking past the Twenty-Eighth, they found themselves in the middle of their regiment but would have walked past them if Asa had not bumped into the major, who had his back to him. There was the sergeant. No one liked the self-serving sergeant. Even he was a toned-down version of himself at this somber moment, a welcome sight in this moment. It was a warm welcome but a bittersweet reunion. The blank, pained stares of the 70 or so remaining men, the tattered uniforms mixed with blood and mud were a sorrowful sight.

Pettigrew’s men had been ordered to protect the artillery, and the Twenty-Sixth had formed a skirmish line in front of the division, not far from where they began the charge. Asa felt tinges of pride well up as his mind cleared and remembered the nearly 800 men who had faced the Yankees a mere two days ago and lined up so proudly as they crossed the tiny creek and chased the Yanks up a low ridge. Henry Burgwyn, their young colonel, was killed.

The Twenty-Sixth North Carolina had shrunk to the size of an overgrown company. It was a sad commentary that this pathetic, decimated regiment was now the first line of defense against an enemy attack which could come at any minute.

Asa looked over at Justin. We found our way back. Ain’t beat yet. I do believe if them Yankees attacked us now that they would take good a whuppin’.

Asa was overwhelmed with emotion as he gazed at his good friend who looked 100 years old and a million miles away. He patted his shoulder. This time he would keep a close watch on Justin as he did not want to think for a minute that he could lose him again.

Maybe we can rest some now, at least our minds. These boys may need our help. We may need theirs.

Their regiment was on picket duty for the night. They would rotate the watch in their own prescribed way and make sure that the enemy was monitored while allowing the precious rest to those who so urgently needed it. Asa and Justin figured out a system where one would stand watch while the other slept. Asa stood first watch and kept an eye on Justin so he would not be discovered. Sleep was always an elusive luxury for the soldier, especially in the midst of a campaign. But on this night, they slept the soldier’s sleep of sleeplessness, punctuated by unadulterated terror and distress which rivaled combat itself. It really was no kind of sleep.

Asa awoke startled. He was behind the pickets. His eyes opened and he was still consumed in his dreams. The artillery guns standing a few feet off seemed like giant grasshoppers. Men were sleeping in various combinations of curious positions. Some spoke in hushed tones. All eyes were trained on the Yankee lines.

Justin? Justin, you here?

Asa’s head shot up as he realized with great horror that he was asleep on picket duty. Normally a soldier could be shot for falling asleep on picket duty. Nothing was normal about this night. It was still dark with a tinge of orange in the sky as the sun was contemplating the dawn. He could hear the wounded crying piteously. The air needed wringing out like a wet rag. Surely it would rain. He was surprised to find his gun in hand without any remembrance of participating in picket duty.

As Asa’s mind was seeking full clarity, he remembered Hester speaking to him. Asa honey, you are sweet and sensitive. You would sooner be pickin’ flowers than shootin’ a gun. You ain’t made to be a soldier. We wasn’t taught like that. I don’t see nothin’ good comin’ of it. Tears welling up in her hazel eyes were ready to release down her cheek. Her hair was jet black like a Cherokee with high cheek bones. Hester always said that her great-grandmother was Cherokee. She was almost as tall as Asa and strong. She was a physically imposing girl. She could run hard, carry wood, and chop down a tree as well as any man. This sometimes made it hard for Asa to treat her as the delicate and needy person she was. Her placid manner of speech betrayed her physical presence. Please don’t do nothin’ rash. Nobody’s makin’ you go. We must pray about this.

Theirs was always an honest marriage. They kept no secrets and were almost always truthful with each other. But Asa did not always consult Hester on such occasions when big decisions were made, and he had already made up his mind about it.

Hester, I have prayed this thing out. I reckon I need to go and fight for my country. I know your heart is breaking, honey. Pay no mind to it. You can be sure I will be careful. He held her tenderly for a few minutes. He did not like this any more than she did, and he prolonged the embrace long enough for his lone tear to dry.

Asa don’t be so foolish. Of course, you’re gonna be careful. I don’t doubt that. But them Yankees are gonna be careful too, careful to kill you. I can’t lose you. My life would end.

Hester, we will talk to your ma and pa. You can live with them. I’ll send money home. This Yankee affair, it won’t last long. I love you more than my life, Hester. I wouldn’t leave you if it weren’t terribly important. She melted under his embrace. He gave her a gentle kiss and went to sit outside. Hester knew to leave him alone. She was certain he would go. Before he left, they made a silent pact that Asa could go as long as he came back alive. They both knew that he had no control over this, yet it was the only way they could bear it. He would try not to make himself a target. He was volunteering to serve, not to kill.

Asa made a point never to contradict Hester, but as he sat on the battlefield after such a day, he was darned if she wasn’t wrong. If he survived this battle, he could live through the war. Yet his confidence was tainted by encroaching doubt and dread not in himself but in his country. His warm feelings of Hester kept him going. And there was his faith.

Since childhood he had not been inclined to participate in fishing, hunting, or roughhousing among the other boys. That is not to say he could not take care of himself. Far from it. He was lean with chestnut brown hair and did not have an ounce of fat on his dark-complected body. He did not have a lot of book-learning, but his mind was sharp as a tack. Every boy knew that if he crossed Asa or hurt someone without cause that he could expect swift, decisive action. He never started a fight, but always finished it once begun. There was always a reason for his aggressive action. But he did not take joy in hurting humans or animals. He could not stand the sight of a deer taken down. Asa did not have many friends outside his tiny church. Most of his friends attended the Baptist chapel nearby, if at all. His family followed the preacher Meekins, who preached a God of the chosen who did not believe in war or killing, a no-nonsense God. Asa had a better idea than most what God expected of him. But he believed these teachings only up to a point; not when a boy bullied him or anyone else in school or elsewhere. Not when it did not make sense. This is, for the most part, what guided his actions.

The Yankees had not attacked. Justin soon became aware that it had been a busy night; staff officers carrying messages, observers on the line to check any troop movement of the Yanks. There was a consensus not only that the Yankees had decided against an attack but there were also no signs of preparations. Asa was filled with a stronger sense of assurance that he had been spared death. For now, he had kept his promise to Hester. He looked up at the first sensation of fresh, falling rain. It was so wet, and he was so thirsty. He kept his face turned toward the sky to catch some drops and allow it to clean his soiled face. Asa thought, how nice. I wonder how long it will last.

2

Captain Young

Seminary Ridge, Gettysburg

10am, July 4

Captain Louis G. Young displayed the usual intense attention, and devotion to his superior as they discussed the division’s placement. It was mid-morning, July 4. The sky was spitting rain. General Pettigrew’s wound proved to be less than life-threatening. He seemed to be adjusting as well as one could expect to his new role as division commander which he had held for a little more than 24 hours after the wounding of General Heth. Part of his confidence stemmed from his excellent staff. The frown on General Pettigrew’s face concerned Captain Young. The general had lost that bright look he always had in the hour of danger. Yet he had not worked him under such circumstances, his army in defeat. The captain could not use his mouth to form the word ‘defeat’.

Captain Young was as concerned for the army as he had ever been and for good reason. But now his main focus was on his immediate superior, General J. Johnston Pettigrew. He was more than a friend, he was his mentor, his hero even.

General, are you well? I fear we will need your services if you are able. The captain looked intently at the general’s wound. I believe we were asked yesterday to achieve more than we could.

General Pettigrew was oblivious to the rain. Captain, the first hour or two after the attack would have been the best time to counter-attack. We could have been swept away. But the army recovered quickly through the sound actions of General Lee. He and General Longstreet and many other officers quickly restored order. The Yankees are not likely to attack now. If they do, we are prepared. I am grateful for your attention. I do believe…

May I see the wound, sir? Captain Young examined the general’s wound being very circumspect, as was his custom, in how he removed the dressing. He took his time to inspect every aspect of it. Pettigrew was growing inpatient as the captain scrutinized the arm. What did the doctor say? Sir, are you in pain?

No Captain. Well, just a tolerable amount. Nothing I cannot manage. Please, I can function perfectly well.

General, this does not look serious. But for your own good, and for the good of the men, we must ensure that your wound will heal if you resume your duties. Men have died from less.

Captain, I have no intention of giving up my command. I am ready to die, at perfect peace with the prospect.

Captain Young smiled. He gently let go of the general’s hand as he looked at him with an admiring gaze. General to think you could have spent the war in Europe as a man of leisure and letters. I dare say you are more comfortable discussing Faust in a roomful of intellectuals speaking German than leading men into battle. He waited briefly for a response, waited until the general made eye contact. You did not have to fight this war. You could have read about it in the newspapers.

What society, Captain? Yankee society? I would rather die. Captain, anyone would think you were my personal physician, so professional are your attention and care. I understand your concern. You are always looking out for my interests. Do not think that I do not appreciate it. I have seen the doctor. I am fine. There is little pain. General Lee has been meeting with General Hill all night. I do not believe that General Hill is well. I assume Longstreet and Ewell were present as well. We will soon have our orders. These men must have their rest. We have to hold this ground.

Captain Young was aide-de-camp to General Pettigrew. He had a mustache and goatee of dark, curly hair, all of which he kept neatly groomed. Back in Charleston he had worked with his family’s export business. At 30 years old he was handsome, well-proportioned