The toll was costly. Finally, Major Lee said, “There’re not enough men in Hill’s command to take another charge, Captain Wickham—and we don’t have enough here to stand it, either.”
“We’ve lost it all if the Yankees come at our position now,” Wickham agreed, and the two men stood there braced for the attack that would wipe them out—and perhaps the Southern Confederacy as well—but it never came. Once again, McClellan was unable to give the order to send his main force into action.
Slowly the crisis passed, and Thad looked around, saying to Dooley, “I don’t reckon we lost any of the boys in our company—but those poor fellows in that trench sure took it on the chin.”
Wickham called his lieutenants aside. “We’d better move back to help defend the bridge. I have a feeling things are going to get hot there.” His thin face was pale and his voice weak as he added, “The Yankees have tried the left flank and the center—I’ve got a feeling Burnside will make a big move to cross that bridge.”
“If he does,” Beauchamp replied gloomily, “he can sweep to his right and have us flanked.” Then he studied Wickham’s face and said with concern, “You’d better get those wounds taken care of, sir. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Later. Take the men back to their position.”
“Yes, sir.”
Beauchamp walked away with Mark. “I don’t like Vance’s look,” Beau remarked. “Remember how General Johnston died at Shiloh from a wound in his leg just like Vance has?”
“You’re right, Beau,” Mark frowned. “I’ll get Major Lee to order him to the rear.”
But such was not to be, for as they made their way back to the bridge, a spattering of firing broke out, increasing in such volume that it nearly broke their eardrums. “It’s started!” Beau yelled. “Double time, men!”
They stumbled back with lungs on fire, and as they reached Lieutenant Winslow’s line he called out, “Sergeant! Take five men and scout the riverbanks! They may be trying to cross here!”
Tom yelled, “Thad, you and Dooley come with me—and Taylor and French!”
Thad joined the small group, plunging recklessly through scrub oak and tall willows until they reached the river. “Careful!” Tom whispered. “You can bet they have sharpshooters posted just for folks like us.”
They moved more cautiously along the bank, searching the opposite shore and the ridge behind it for signs of the enemy, but saw none.
“What’s that up ahead?’ Thad whispered.
“Looks like a cabin of some kind,” Tom answered, peering through the brush. “Walk carefully—and don’t shoot any civilians.”
They found a half-built log cabin right on the bank of the Antietam with a number of huge freshly cut logs lying beside it, ready to be lifted. “Nobody here,” Dooley said, and they advanced along the bank to where it made a wide bend. Tom was leading the way, then stopped abruptly and moved back. “Bridge is just around the bend—and it looks as if there’re about ten thousand men trying to cross it.”
“Could you see our bunch?” Thad asked.
“No. But we’ll get to ’em if we cut through these woods to the right.”
They fought their way through the thickets, emerging a hundred yards to the left of the main Confederate force. “Keep your heads down!” Tom warned. “We’ve got to get back in the middle of the line. I see a big gap there.”
They ran across the broken ground, falling into place behind some logs, and began firing. The bridge was crowded, as Tom Winslow had said. Blue-clad men jostled each other and were cut down before they could get off. Thad wondered what kind of an officer would send men across to certain death from the blistering fire they ran into, but he had no time to speculate, for the gray ranks were thin and every gun was needed. He continued firing, and for the next half hour a gargantuan struggle took place, with terrific losses on both sides.
Thad discovered he was out of ammunition, and moved forward to the body of a dead infantryman. The air seemed to be full of lead, and he felt a sudden stinging sensation on the right side of his neck, then a warmth as blood trickled down under his collar. He gathered a small supply of powder and balls, and from that point sent his fire across the creek, but he soon had to find more ammunition.
He kept his head down and moved to his left, where a small cluster of bodies provided more powder and balls. The dust at his feet exploded as several balls thudded into the ground, and he threw himself behind a small mound, gasping with the effort. He loaded while lying down, poked his head up, and flung up his rifle for a quick shot.
As he reloaded, he looked around for Dooley, but could not find him. After ten more minutes, he heard a shrill cry from a soldier in front of him, “They’re backin’ off!” Thad looked quickly at the bridge and saw that it was true—for the third time that day the Yankees were routed. He joined in the fierce rebel cry and sent a final shot at the retreating enemy.
But there was still a continuous fire raking the Confederates from the determined Yankees who had taken station in a grove of trees a hundred yards from the creek. The Union men could not advance any closer, for the ground was open and it was certain death to cross it. The situation on his side of the river was about the same, Thad saw—the open field was littered with bodies of Confederates.
The firing slowed down, but never stopped. Most of his company was out of ammunition, and Thad called out to Lew Avery, “Hey, Lew, you got any powder?”
“No. And we better get some quick,” the ex-gambler said grimly. “If they come at us again, we’ll have nothing but bayonets.”
Thad snaked his way along to his left until he came to Lieutenant Beauchamp. “Lieutenant, most of us are out of ammunition.”
Beauchamp stared at Thad, his lips contorted. “I just sent Tom for some—but the word is that we’re to move out as soon as we can do it.”
“Let them have the bridge?”
“No choice.” His face was red with anger, and he waved his arm in an abrupt gesture. “Am I supposed to leave Major Lee down there? I won’t do it!”
“Major Lee?” Thad asked, and then as he looked down toward the stream, he saw through the smoke a dead horse not ten feet from the bank. Straining his eyes, Thad recognized a gray uniform—an officer’s. “Is—is he dead, sir?”
“No!” Beauchamp exclaimed. “He’s hit, but he’s alive. Even if he weren’t wounded, he couldn’t move. No man could cross that open space without taking a dozen balls.”
Thad stood there, struck dumb, but finally asked, “How’d he get down there, Lieutenant?”
“The Yankees broke through and Lee led a group down to repulse them. I tried to pull him back, but he spurred away. They broke the Yankee’s charge—but most of our soldiers didn’t make it back.”
“We can’t leave him, can we, Lieutenant?”
Beauchamp’s face was dark with anger. “How can we get him, Novak? We’ve lost half our company—and if we tried to send a force down, the men would be cut to shreds before they even reached him—much less got him back.” He gritted his teeth in determination, then ordered, “Move down the line and have the men get all the ammunition they can from the dead. Maybe the Yankees will move off and we can try it.”
Thad could see that Lieutenant Beauchamp entertained no real hope of success, but the corporal did as he was ordered. He stealthily moved to the end of the line where the creek curved sharply, giving Beauchamp’s order, then made his way back.
As he returned, a thought flashed through his mind, which he dismissed as fanatical. But by the time he reached Beauchamp, with Captain Wickham beside him, Thad made a decision.
“I passed the word along, sir,” he informed him.
“We’re pulling out in half an hour,” Wickham spoke up. “Orders from General Longstreet.”
Anger flashed in their eyes, and as they turned away, Thad swallowed hard, then said, “Sir, I think I know a way we might get Major Lee off that beach.”
Both men swung back instantly. “How?” C
aptain Wickham asked.
“Well, when I was with the patrol under Tom Winslow that scouted the riverbanks, I saw something I think might work.”
“Speak up, Corporal!” Beauchamp snapped. “What was it?”
“There’s a log cabin half built, sir, right beside the bank.” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead, feeling foolish trying to tell these officers anything. “And I was thinking, if we could float one of the logs, a couple of us could keep behind it. We could move the log downstream and bring it up to where Major Lee is pinned down on the bank. Then we could jump out, bring him to the log—and, then we could keep down and let the current take us around the bend down there.”
The two officers looked at Thad with disbelief. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard, Corporal!” Beauchamp exploded. “Why, every marksman over there will be shooting at that log!”
“They can’t shoot through a log, though, can they, Lieutenant?”
“But—you’d never get Lee from behind that horse into the water,” the Captain protested. “They’d pick you off in a second!”
Thad dropped his head for a moment, and when he raised up, his eyes glowed with pride. “We can try, sir!”
His answer silenced both men, and Captain Wickham burst out, “By heavens, it’s the only chance we’ve got! What do you say, Lieutenant?”
Beauchamp stared at Thad, then said slowly, “If I were the one down there, I’d like to think somebody here was doing something to get me out!”
“We’ll try it,” Captain Wickham decided. “Thad, get anybody you need to go with you. When we see the log touch the shore and you make a run for Major Lee, we’ll have every rifle we can find loaded. We’ll blast those Yankees with all we’ve got!”
Thad nodded, whirled, and ran down the line, calling out but keeping his voice low, “I’m going to get Major Lee back from the Yankees—anybody want to go with me?”
Several men laughed, but Dooley was at his side instantly. “Let’s git on with our rat-killin’, Thad. How you plan to work this here miracle?”
Studs Mellon appeared at Thad’s left, said nothing, but nodded.
“Can you both swim?”
“Swim? Shore!” Dooley snapped, and Mellon nodded again.
“You won’t need your rifles,” Thad told them, placing his own on the ground. “Let’s go!”
He led the two toward the rear at a run, and then swung right, plunging into the thickets that sheltered the creek. He made no attempt to explain his plan until he arrived at the cabin. There he paused and while the two listened, he told them what they were going to do.
Dooley just grinned. “Well, I wish to my never! It’d take a scudder like you to think of a thing like that!”
“It’ll probably get us all killed,” Thad said slowly.
“Naw, it’s just nutty enough to work!” Dooley retorted. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Mellon had been studying the logs carefully. Now he said, “They’ve left a bunch of ropes here, Thad. I think we ought to tie two logs together. If we have just one, it’ll roll over and over and we’ll never hang on to it. But two will ride better.”
“Hey, that’s good, Studs!” Thad exclaimed. “Let’s do it!”
They chose two logs fourteen inches in diameter, pulled them near the water, then secured them together at several spots, using the ropes Mellon had noticed. “Ought to do ’er!” Dooley said with satisfaction.
“Gonna be hard to hang on to this thing,” Studs said thoughtfully. “Why don’t we tie some more rope to the ones that are on and pull ’em to the end so we can hold on without exposing our hands.”
“Well, Studs, you do beat all!” Dooley exclaimed. “They’d have shot our hands off if we’d tried to hold on any other way.”
Thad said, “Sure am glad you came along, Studs.” He gave Mellon a look of appreciation that seemed to embarrass him.
“Another thing,” Mellon suggested. “You two midgets stay with the logs when we get there. Ain’t neither one of you could lug the major. You just don’t let that log raft run off whilst I’m a’fetchin’ him. Sure would feel foolish if I got back with him and the raft was already gone.”
Thad and Dooley exchanged glances. “But, Studs,” Thad said, “that’s the hardest part. I figured to do that part myself.”
“Well, just readjust yore thinkin’,” Mellon grinned. Then he sobered. “I—I wouldn’t have done this yesterday, Thad, but I feel different today. You know what I mean?”
“I know, Studs,” Thad replied. He turned to Dooley and explained, “Studs got saved last night.”
Dooley’s eyes fixed on Mellon, but he said only, “We better git at it, then. The company’s gonna pull out pretty soon.”
They moved into the water, leaving their shoes behind and pushing the makeshift raft ahead of them. The water was cool, and Studs said, “You remember what I told you my ma always wanted me to do, Thad?”
“Be baptized? But—there’s no chaplain to do it, Studs.”
“Couldn’t you? I mean, we’re already in the water—and it don’t take long, do it now?”
Thad was speechless. He had been at only one baptism, and could not remember clearly what the words were, but the pleading look in Mellon’s eyes persuaded him. He moved through the water and said, “I baptize you, Studs, in the name of Jesus Christ—and of the Holy Ghost, and of the Father, too.” Then he pushed Studs’ head under.
Studs came up, shook his face clear of water, and there was a smile on his battered lips. “Ma shore would be proud of me, wouldn’t she, Thad?”
“Sure, she would, Studs!”
Then they took hold of the ropes, Thad wondering all the time how long he had to live. He was not afraid to die, but he hated the thought of failure. God, let us get that man out of there, he prayed as the current took them.
“Don’t let this thing get too far in the middle,” Dooley warned. “Mebby the Yanks will think it’s jest a loose log.”
But as soon as they floated within range of the Union line, they all heard a cry, and several slugs thunked into the logs, while others sent up small geysers of water around them. “Keep her steady,” Thad said. He had taken the front position and looked back to see the heads of Dooley and Mellon bobbing steadily beside the logs away from the Union side. Then he turned and instructed, “When I call out, try to pull this thing into shore. We can’t let it swing out, or they’ll have a clear shot at us.”
The firing from the Confederate line had ceased, and Thad knew they were saving up for a volley. He saw the dead horse lying on the bank not more than fifty feet downstream from them, and despaired to see that it was closer to twenty yards from the creek than ten. “Major Lee!” he called out in a low voice. “Major Lee, can you hear me?”
“Yes!”
Thad felt better then, and called again, “Get ready to leave. We’re coming down behind some floating logs.”
“I can’t walk” was the calm answer. “Don’t risk yourselves for me.”
“You just be ready, sir,” Studs Mellon said. “I’ll have to handle you rough, but it’s better than you’d get in a Yankee prison.”
“Do what you have to, soldier,” Lee answered.
They were only fifteen feet away when Thad said, “Now!” and they all three kicked frantically. It’s not going to work! Thad thought, for the logs did not seem to budge—then they moved toward the shore, and he managed to position the front of the raft about five feet ahead of where the dead horse lay on the bank. “Ready, Major?”
“Ready!”
Mellon slowly moved forward to the bank, gathered his legs under him, then in one terrific burst cleared the creek and in short bounds covered the distance to the horse. A startled cry went up from the Yankees, and a single shot slapped into the dead horse. Mellon snatched the officer up in his huge arms and plunged toward the logs, his face contorted with the strain. As he cleared the horse, a fusillade of shots from the Confederates broke out, and dirt flew all along the
Yankee line. Most of the enemy ducked—but not all—as the balls shredded the thickets that covered them.
Mellon reached the bank, but just as he did, a shot hit him in the chest, stopping him as though he had run into a wall. “Studs—!” Thad shouted, but could do nothing. Mellon moved forward and managed to let Major Lee fall in behind the raft—and then two more shots struck him in the body. He fell backward but Thad reached out and grabbed his clothing, pulling him into the water
“Hang on to that rope, Major!” Thad cried. “Dooley—shove off!”
Both of them shoved with their legs, and now every man in the Yankee line knew what had been done, and the shots fell thick as raindrops. The current moved very slowly, and Thad felt the logs jump as hundreds of slugs tore into them—but the raft begin to move along the stream.
“We’re gonna make it!” Dooley screamed. “Major—can you hang on to that rope for a few minutes?”
“Yes—I’m all right. It’s just my leg that’s hurt.”
There was nothing to do but drift and endure the hail of lead that the angered Yankees poured into the craft. Thad had his right wrist secured with the rope, and with the other hand he pulled Mellon close, keeping his head above the water. He felt the shattered body give a lurch. Then Mellon opened his eyes, and for one moment, he saw Thad.
“I done—good! Didn’t I?”
“You did fine, Studs!” Thad replied. “Hang on, now. We’ll be out of this soon.”
The Last Confederate Page 32
