The Face of Heaven (21 page)

Lord, it must not happen, it must not happen today. But what can I do to prevent it? Keep Levi at my right hand? Corinth was on my right at Brawner’s Farm and I still lost him. What about Joshua? How do I protect him? How will I face his father if he falls today…and Abraham Yoder says I set the example his son followed? How will I escape the blame and judgment if all the boys from Elizabethtown are shot down and only I survive?
What right would I have to live and breathe and return home to help with the harvest while they’re planted in the hard ground of Sharpsburg?

Nathaniel sat up. There was no use thinking this way. It didn’t help. It didn’t change anything for the better. He should just pray, dwell on the thought of Lyndel a few moments as he always did, give the day to God, then get on his feet and drink some of Sergeant Hanson’s coffee and make sure his musket was clean and dry. Get the men up and get some hot food into them. March. Fight. Tear down the Rebel flag and with it the slave markets of Richmond and Atlanta and Charleston. If he couldn’t accomplish those things, he shouldn’t be here. If he couldn’t do those things the South’s way of life would win over the North’s and a million Charlie Prestons would be born into slavery to be lynched at a slaveholder’s whim.

He took a small newspaper clipping from his Bible. Nip had picked it up from an abandoned Rebel campsite in Virginia and was going to use it to light a fire. Nathaniel asked if he could keep it. He propped himself on one elbow and read it for probably the twentieth time, squinting in the blackness.

Forks of the Road, Natchez. The subscribers have just arrived in Natchez and are now stopping at Mr. Elam’s house, Forks of the Road, with a choice selection of slaves consisting of mechanics, field hands, cooks, washers and ironers, and general household servants. They will be constantly receiving additions to their present supply during the season and all will be sold at as reasonable rates as can be afforded in this market. To those purchasers desiring it, the Louisiana guarantee will be given. Planters and others desirous of purchasing are requested to call and see the slaves before purchasing elsewhere.

Gunfire crackled all around him. He got to his feet and watched musket barrels sparkle a few hundred yards away. Nip rolled over and jumped up, his face white.

“Are we under attack?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Nervous pickets. The armies are pretty close together.”

Nip stared at the flashes as another half-dozen Springfields went off. “I kind of hoped Lee’s army might pull out during the night.”

“Robert E. Lee? He’s not like our good old John Pope.”

“I feel kind of hollow in the stomach.” Nip half-smiled. “Maybe the Rebs put something in the ham to turn Yankees inside out.”

Their eyes met.

“Stick close with me today, Nip,” Nathaniel said. “Since I lost Corinth, you’re my brother now, like it or not.”

Nip offered up a half-smile.

“All right, let’s get the fire going!” boomed Hanson. “Who can sleep with all the pickets shooting at hobgoblins? Let’s fry some bread while we have the time. I’ll brew the coffee that stops minie balls cold.” He looked at Nip. “How are ye this morning, soldier?”

“I reckon I could use some of your minie-ball coffee, Sergeant.”

“You still know how to set the wood ablaze?”

“I do.”

“Have at ’er then.” He looked around him. “Corporal Nicolson. Corporal King.”

“Sergeant.”

“Sergeant.”

“Shake the platoon out. Make sure every man has forty rounds in the cartridge box on his hip and another sixty in his pack. If someone’s short, get what he needs from an ammunition wagon. Check that the boys have plenty of percussion caps too. Especially the recruits. And listen—” Hanson stepped up to Nicolson and King and lowered his voice. “When the shooting starts I want you to sing out the loading sequence loud and clear. For two or three reloads. I want to be sure the new lads get it straight. They might freeze up once the Rebs open fire. All right?”

Nicolson and King nodded. And then began to move among the sleeping men.

“Harter. McKeever. Groom. Sala. Ham.” Nicolson’s voice rang out.
“Up and get squared away. You have a busy day ahead of you. We have to help Bobby Lee get packed for his return trip south.”

Nathaniel went toward the farm buildings. “Jones. Keim. Yoder. Plesko. Conkle. Rise and shine and check your cartridge box and cap box. We have some stiff work to do and you’ll need full boxes to do it. Make sure you have another sixty rounds in your pack.”

Nip was feeding sticks into a knot of flames. “Where’s Crum?”

“South Mountain,” Nathaniel said.

Soon the platoon and a few extras from the company were seated around Nip’s small fire, warming their hands, frying bread in butter that had gone bad, choking down Sergeant Hanson’s coffee.

“Private Plesko. Will ye have a mug of America’s finest?”

The young man with soft eyes looked up from the fire. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He extended his tin cup and Hanson poured, the steam rising up.

“Where from, Plesko?” asked Nicolson.

“Indianapolis.”

“What about your family name?”

“Slovakia, Corporal. We’re from Slovakia in Europe. It’s close to Russia.”

Ham whistled. “Too far to walk.”

“How long have you been in Indianapolis?” pressed Nicolson.

“Ten years. Father felt it was right we help the country that helped us. I enlisted on my eighteenth birthday.”

“Good man,” grunted Hanson, standing nearby and taking pulls at his coffee with all the muscles in his face straining.

Plesko sipped at the coffee, stopped, looked at it, and smiled. “Father would say it needed a little more grease.”

The men laughed.

“So McKeever,” said Nicolson, intent on going through all the recruits. “Irish, am I right?”

McKeever nodded. “Not so hard to figure out.”

Nicolson went on. “Campbell. You Scottish?”

Campbell tried to bite into his fried bread but it was too hot and he
winced and almost dropped it in the dirt. “Not been there for a hundred years but yes, sure, Scottish. American first, Corporal.”

“We’re all Americans first, right, lads?” thundered Hanson. “Look what the good Lord’s put together here. Jones is Welsh. ’Keever’s Irish. Plesko is Slovak. Campbell’s a Highlander. Keim, Yoder, and King are German, by the sounds of their English. Groom—what’s that?”

“England.” Groom stared up at him, the coffee in his hand untouched. “Before 1700 we were here. Fought in the Revolution.”

“Well done. On the winning side, I’m guessing.”

The young man with curly black hair didn’t smile. “Grooms are always on the winning side.”

“Are they? Then we should make quick work of the Army of Northern Virginia today.”

“I should think so.” Groom poured his coffee slowly into the ground. “Not fit for Jeff Davis, Sergeant.”

Hanson frowned. “That’s magic elixir there, Private. It doesn’t do to go wasting it.”

“I imagine an oak tree will spring up from this spot. An oak tree could handle your concoction. Not having a stomach.”

Joshua Yoder lifted his cup and tried to break the feeling Groom had cast over the breakfast fire. “It may not work for him. But it works for the Germans among you, Sergeant. My family background is Westphalian, mind you. Though I suppose there’s not much difference.”

“Fine brew,” agreed Levi. “Is there enough for a second?”

Hanson shook off Groom’s insult. “There is. Just enough, lad.” He leaned over and emptied the pot into Levi’s cup. “You get the bottom too, Private. How’s that?”

“It will keep me going all day. I wish I had this on the farm.”

“I’ll send you the recipe when the war’s over.”

“Maybe today then,” smiled Nip who was happily seated beside Nathaniel.

“That’s the spirit,” grinned Hanson.

A drumroll broke in upon their chatter. Lieutenant Davidson walked his horse along the turnpike as the drum continued to beat.
“Sergeants. Prepare your men to move out. Get what food you can inside you.”

He stopped and looked at Hanson’s platoon by the fire. “Isn’t that a cozy sight? Were you up all night, Sergeant?”

“Since about four, I’d say, Lieutenant.”

“All set for a good morning’s work it looks like.”

“We are, sir. There’s no coffee left or I’d offer you a spot.”

Davidson laughed and moved on. “I’ve heard about your coffee. I think we should serve it up to the Rebs. They’d head back to Virginia and Alabama lickety-bang.”

Hanson watched Davidson urge his mount along the road. “Very few appreciate the finer things in a soldier’s life.”

“Like Grandma’s Tippecanoe coffee,” said Nicolson getting to his feet.

“Aye. Grandma’s Tippecanoe coffee. Had your fill then?”

“I have. Ham’s had. Everyone’s had—except perhaps Private Groom and a few others.”

“They’ll regret it when the balls are whistling past their ears,” growled Hanson. “The breeze alone will knock them flat.”

He glanced over at Campbell and McKeever and Plesko who were still squatting by the fire. “What is it, lads?”

“Will we…will be marching today, Sergeant?” asked Campbell.

“Marching? Aye, there’ll be marching, there’s always marching.” He smoothed down his mustache with his hand. “But there’s likely to be some brisk work too. Today you’re going to see the elephant. Stick close to your corporals. Stick close to the man on your left and on your right. Do what they do. Go where they go. You’re part of a proud regiment and a proud brigade. We look out for one another. You’ll be all right.” He winked. “And you’ve had the coffee.”

Nathaniel gathered Joshua and Levi around him. “I’d like to offer up a prayer. We are Amish. We fight not because it’s something we enjoy. None of us would be regular army, would we? The three of us have volunteered to bear arms because we want to live in a free country and we wish all the people within her borders to have that freedom. No one is to be left out,
ja?
It’s not freedom for some men or women
over there but no freedom for these men and women over here. It’s one grand liberty for each human being. And we pray that all may one day have that same liberty of the spirit in Jesus Christ by their faith,
ja
? Today we load the gun and fix the bayonet so that tomorrow the African woman and child and man sit down at their table without fear, without the whip, without a price on their heads. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Nathaniel removed his black Hardee hat, bowed his head, and prayed in German. Levi and Joshua took their black hats from their heads as well. All about them bedrolls were tied to packs, muskets were checked for dirt or rust in the dim light, men went to munitions wagons by the side of the road for extra cartridges and caps. But the three stood within a circle of peace. It seemed to each of them, for those few minutes, that they had returned to Pennsylvania and, when they opened their eyes, they would see the barns and porches and chokecherry trees and smile. When Nathaniel finished and they lifted their heads and lifted their muskets, not one of the men didn’t feel some measure of disappointment—instead of barns and haystacks and chokecherry trees and rocking chairs on porches they saw cannon and cavalry and soldiers with long dark guns.

General Gibbon had the Iron Brigade moving out of their bivouac by Joseph Poffenberger’s farm. Columns of men in blue were marching into what little light five o’clock in the morning gave them. Rebel artillery began to boom far ahead and shells crashed onto the turnpike among the soldiers advancing toward Sharpsburg. Nathaniel watched Levi’s and Joshua’s faces whiten as they saw bodies tumbling through the air or fall shattered to the ground. Captain Langston pelted up the turnpike on his mount with Lieutenant Colonel Bachman at his side. Bachman shouted at the 19th Indiana to cross to the west side of the road by David Miller’s barn. They had no sooner lined up there than Gibbon ordered them into the woods. The 7th Wisconsin went in with them.

“Take a look at the enemy’s standards!” called Langston as his
company climbed a fence and went into the trees with the rest of the Indiana regiment. “It’s time to reacquaint ourselves with some old friends!”