Last Ghost at Gettysburg (26 page)

“Well, here we are,” said T.J. “Might as well
have a seat.” Bortnicker started walking toward the far end of the
alcove when T.J. stopped him. “Not there,” he cautioned. “Let’s
park ourselves closer to the opening. If we go that far in he’d
have us trapped.”

“Good idea,” said LouAnne, and they hunkered
down nearer to the mouth of the corridor. The rocks felt cool
despite the oppressive humidity of the evening. She pulled a
Vitamin Water bottle out of her small tote sack and passed it
around as Bortnicker set the palm-sized tape recorder on a nearby
ledge. Each of them was lost in thought, willing the being to
appear.

A half hour went by.

Nothing.

“Maybe this isn’t the night,” LouAnne
whispered. “Or maybe he’s just given up and—”

“Wait,” said T.J. urgently. “Listen!”

And there it was, the familiar far off
sound.

“He’s coming,” said Bortnicker. “Oh,
God.”

“It’s what we want,” reminded T.J. “Be
cool.”

Within minutes the smell was in the air,
declaring his nearness. T.J. looked his compatriots in the eye and
quietly gave each a soft fist pound. “Here we go, guys,” he
whispered, then shot them a reassuring wink. Bortnicker hit the ON
switch of the tape recorder. They heard the galloping hoof beats
slow to a canter, then a walk. The smell became stronger. And
then, Major Crosby Hilliard turned the corner of the alcove and
entered. All three teens immediately stood at attention, LouAnne
literally trembling in fear and excitement.

“Young miss,” he began, taking her tiny hand
in his weathered gauntlet, “it is a pleasure to see you again.
Please do not be afraid.”

“Yes, sir,” she managed, wincing from the
touch of the grave.

“Young Master Jackson, we meet again,” he
said evenly. “It seems now that you are purposely seeking me out. I
think it is time you make your intentions known to me, as we spoke
only briefly last time.”

“How long do we have?” said T.J. bravely.

“As long as it takes,” was the soldier’s
answer.

“Well,” said Bortnicker gently, “why don’t we
all sit then?”

“As you wish,” said Hilliard, seating himself
on a stray boulder. The teens simply slid down the stone wall
behind them and exhaled.

“Major Hilliard,” T.J. began, “since our last
meeting, my friend Bortnicker and I have tried to find out as much
about you as possible so we could, uh, have a dialogue about your
career and the war and...well, all that.”

“Indeed. And where did this information come
from?” Hilliard asked, his eyes steely.

“Charleston, sir,” said Bortnicker. “I
believe that’s where you’re from?”

“Ah, yes. Charleston. The home of my youth.
And what did you find, young man?”

“Well, ah, that you are from a very wealthy
family that owns a large tobacco plantation with lots of slaves.”
Bortnicker shut his eyes, immediately realizing his potential
inflammatory statement.

“A necessity,” said Hilliard tersely.
“Continue.”

All three youths breathed a sigh of
relief.

“Well, when South Carolina seceded from the
Union,” Bortnicker continued, “you sided with your state. After
Fort Sumter fell, you joined Hampton’s Legion.”

“Your information is accurate. Wade Hampton
is a close associate of my family. It is an honor to serve with so
gallant a soldier. And I think that during our various campaigns I
have repaid his trust and loyalty to myself and my family by
fighting bravely at his side.” He shot a look at LouAnne that made
her shiver, as though her blood had run cold. “Unfortunately, not
all who live in Charleston view me in the same light as my
commanding officer.”

“Have you enjoyed being a cavalryman?” asked
T.J.

“I don’t know if enjoyment enters into the
equation,” said Hilliard. “We are sworn to defend our homeland
against the invaders from the North who desire to destroy the very
fabric of our existence. Life in the saddle is incredibly taxing,
periods of boredom mixed with horrible bursts of terror and
carnage. I have seen so much that I would rather forget. Good
friends blown to pieces. Strong men calling for their mothers as
they are wrenched from this world.

“But I do my duty, and I do it well. I have
been twice decorated for bravery under fire, and I would put my
record against any man’s.” He paused a moment, deep in thought.
“But there
is
a certain romance to being a cavalier. We are
modern knights, the vanguard of our army. I could not imagine
myself in any other role during this conflict. Thank God for
General Hampton who gave me this opportunity.”

“How did you come to be here, at Gettysburg?”
asked Bortnicker.

“It is quite simple,” said Hilliard. “General
Lee felt it was finally time to take the fight to Northern soil, as
our rich farmland in the Southern states was being destroyed. If we
could force the issue by encircling the Yankee capital, perhaps
Lincoln would see the light and sue for peace.

“As always, our cavalry would lead the way.
Hampton’s Legion, under the overall command of General Stuart,
crossed over in Maryland. Our mission was to ascertain the strength
of Union forces in Pennsylvania so General Lee could find the most
direct route to Washington.

“Our first major encounter with the enemy was
at Brandy Station, where we achieved the most narrow of victories
over General Buford’s men, who fought bravely. As explained to me
by my immediate superior, General Hampton, our cavalry force had
been ordered by General Longstreet, General Lee’s second in
command, to protect our advancing infantry’s right flank to the
north and east. General Stuart decided he could fulfill this
mission by passing around the rear of the Federal Army and
disrupting its communications and supply. We had already executed a
similar maneuver during the Peninsular and Sharpsburg campaigns, so
spirits were high that we could again outfox the Yankees.

“On June 25
^th
we encountered a
Union force heading toward Frederick, Maryland. This forced us
farther south, and there were other delays that hindered us from a
planned rendezvous with General Ewell’s infantry at York,
Pennsylvania. So, we kept moving, skirting the Union force, riding
through small towns where, surprisingly, we were greeted as heroes,
especially by the young maidens of the area.”

“I would imagine you and your men cut a
pretty dashing figure,” said LouAnne, who, like the others, was
adjusting to the cloying, sickly-sweet smell of decomposition that
accompanied the soldier.

“Indeed, young miss. Why, in one village we
came to a halt and immediately were assaulted by groups of eager
young ladies from a local female academy who attempted to cut
buttons from our cavalry tunics with knives and scissors.” He
smiled at the remembrance.

“But, really, you were cut off from General
Lee,” pressed Bortnicker.

“Unfortunately so, by two mountain ranges as
well as the Army of the Potomac. But we did come tantalizingly
near to Washington, could even see it in the distance. And we were
capturing supply wagons, mules and soldiers from their rearguard.
Both Washington and Baltimore must have been thrown into a
panic.

“But then, for reasons that only those above
me are privy to, we seemed to lose contact with General Lee. The
many wagons and mules we’d captured were slowing us down, as were
periodic skirmishes with Union cavalry. By the time we got our
bearings and made our way to York, General Early had already left.
Our men were exhausted and had been pushed to the limit of physical
endurance by the time we fought yet another small battle with
Union troops near Hanover, Pennsylvania. Finally, on July
1
^st
a courier from General Lee’s headquarters found us
near Carlisle and delivered orders for us to proceed immediately
to Gettysburg. By this time it was July 2
^nd
and the
battle at this place was well underway.

“We found General Lee at his headquarters the
night of July 2
^nd
, and as I dismounted with Generals
Stuart and Hampton I could sense the unease, bordering on pure
anger, of General Lee’s staff toward our cavalry command. General
Stuart had long been a favorite of General Lee, whom he held in
solemn reverence, but on this night, as I observed from the
background, Lee merely looked at my commander and said, ‘Well,
General Stuart, you are here at last.’ The rebuke in his words was
clearly implied, and I learned later that some on Lee’s staff had
even recommended a court martial for General Stuart for failing to
be the Army’s eyes and ears at this most crucial time.”

Hilliard’s head drooped for a moment, and he
seemed to study the tops of his boots. When he raised his head
again T.J. thought he detected traces of tears in the soldier’s
eyes. “General Stuart violated no orders,” Hilliard explained. “He
simply guessed wrong, on multiple occasions, and in doing so
dragged our Legion along with him. I, for one, burned with the
desire to turn the tide of negative sentiment around, and it seemed
that, although we’d arrived so late, there was still a chance to
snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

“Early on July 3
^rd
General Lee
summoned General Stuart to his tent and dispatched our force to
protect General Longstreet’s left flank as he mounted an all-out
assault on the center of the Union line. General Hampton, I could
tell, was somewhat disappointed that we were being afforded a
secondary, though necessary, role in the upcoming conflict. As for
me, I was devastated. Perhaps I took too much to heart the looks of
accusation in General Lee’s camp. And perhaps I was just being a
fool and attaching too much importance to my own role in the
conflict. But I chafed the whole way as we rode east on the York
Road and turned south to cut off any Federal cavalry in the area.
We sent scouts ahead who spotted Bluecoats, and thus we formed our
battle lines near Spangler’s Farm on the Hanover Road to wait for
the enemy.

“It was at this moment that I could contain
myself no longer. I approached my immediate commander, General
Hampton, and requested permission to take a detachment of men and
support Longstreet’s assault. I’ll never forget the look on his
face. It was if my good friend had never seen me before, like he
was in the presence of some kind of madman. ‘Out of the question,’
he snapped. ‘Permission denied. You will rejoin your company,
Major, and assist in this maneuver.’

“‘
But General,’ I pleaded, ‘please
allow me to restore the honor of our Legion by taking part in the
assault. Our presence on horseback will only inspire the
men.’

“And then my friend, my mentor, looked me in
the eye and said, ‘Crosby, the attack of the Union center today is
folly. Longstreet himself tried to talk General Lee out of it, to
no avail.’ We heard the crashing of hundreds of cannons as the
prelude to the assault commenced. ‘Crosby,’ he continued, ‘that
farmer’s field that Longstreet’s men are going to try to cross
today will be a bloodbath. I forbid you becoming a part of it!’

“Just then bullets began clipping the edges
of leaves around us. The Federal cavalry was engaging us. General
Hampton said, ‘Now, for the last time, you will obey my orders and
rejoin your men!’”

“What did you do?” said T.J., his voice a
hoarse whisper.

“I spurred Brutus in the direction of
Seminary Ridge and left my post,” Hilliard said, looking forlornly
at the moon. “Perhaps I had gone mad, but I felt I could make a
difference in the assault, as I had made in others. There was no
personal regard whatsoever for my physical wellbeing.

“By the time I reached General Lee’s staff,
who were viewing the battle from the ridge near the Seminary, the
carnage was well underway. Wave after wave of brave Southern men
crossed the trampled fields only to be mowed down by withering
Union fire. The air was full of lung-searing smoke from the
artillery barrages of both sides, but I could still make out
thousands of men from George Pickett’s and A.P. Hill’s divisions
rolling away from Seminary Ridge toward the Union lines one mile
away. It was magnificent and horrible at the same time.

“But something besides Union fire was
hindering the progress of our brave men,” he continued. “There was
a split rail fence that ran the length of a road which dissected
the fields through which our men had to advance—”

“The Emmitsburg Road,” said LouAnne.
“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, young miss,” he said
tightly. “I could see our men being mowed down as they tried to
climb over this roadblock and was amazed that no one else was
addressing this matter. Then I spied General Longstreet, slumped
against a tree, tears rolling down his cheeks that formed streaks
in the gunpowder which coated his face. ‘General,’ I cried, ‘that
fence must come down if we are to have a chance of crossing that
field! Our men are being slaughtered!’ He stared ahead as if my
words weren’t registering. So, without any regard to protocol, I
got right in front of his face and screamed, ‘Permission to attempt
to pull down the fence!’ He looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve
ever seen and weakly waved me toward the battlefield.

“Again, I spurred Brutus and we flew past
General Pickett, who was impotently clenching his fists and
moaning, ‘Oh, my men, my men!’ In a matter of moments, with Brutus
leaping over the shattered bodies of our fallen and shells
exploding overhead, I reached the Emmitsburg Road to discover
huddled masses of our troops along the embankment below the fence,
unable, or unwilling, to climb the fence and thus expose themselves
to the Union fusillade. I rode among them as bullets flew all
around me, imploring them to get up and help me pull down the fence
so our advancing soldiers could pour through. But I was met with
wails of terror or catcalls of derision from those too cowardly to
join their comrades on the field of honor. One sergeant from
Alabama even called up to me, ‘Well, why don’t y’all knock down the
fence y’self and we’d be
happy
to follow you through!’ I’d
had enough and was livid with anger and a sense of impotency. A few
of the soldiers, out of fear and cowardice, I suppose, began rising
and running back towards the rear. This, as the men most forward
were actually breaching the Union line! I reached down from my
saddle as one ran by and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.
‘Turn around and fight, you coward!’ I screamed into his face,
which was white with terror and oh, so young. He struggled and
yelled, ‘Let me go! I’m gettin’ out of here!’ So I slapped him with
my free hand and then...that’s when I felt the pain...a searing
jolt in my back like a white-hot knife plunged deep. I slid from
the saddle and landed face down in the matted wheat of the field
and felt the pounding of footsteps going past me towards the rear.
I wanted to scream or call out, but I couldn’t. Nor could I move a
solitary fiber of my body.