Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
A Trip Back In Time
Questions and Answers About the Civil War, and More
For Further Reading
Also Available
About the Author
Copyright
It was the battle of Gettysburg, the biggest and bloodiest of the Civil War.
Mighty armies from the United States’ North and South were fighting to the death. Cannons shook the ground and set the sky on fire. Bullets flew through the air like deadly raindrops.
And in the middle of it all stood an eleven-year-old boy named Thomas.
Just three weeks before, Thomas had been a slave living on a farm in Virginia. And now he was on this battlefield in Pennsylvania, trying to help the Northern soldiers, who were fighting so he could be free.
Thomas had come to bring the men more ammunition for their rifles. He had to get away from here. He needed to get back to his little sister, who was waiting where it was safe.
But then a huge cannonball came sailing through the air. It crashed into an ammunition wagon.
Kaboom!
Flames shot up. Tree branches turned into torches. Razor-sharp strips of metal and nails flew through the air, stabbing Thomas in the leg and cutting his forehead. He dove for cover, rolling down a slippery hill. Gun smoke filled the air, choking him, blinding him. He had to get away!
He staggered across a field, coughing and gagging. Blood spilled into his eyes from the gash on his forehead and gushed from the cut on his leg.
And through the blood and smoke was a terrifying sight: hundreds of rebel soldiers charging across the meadow, their rifles pointed right at him.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Thomas ran, but not fast enough.
He turned and saw a rebel soldier running straight for him. The soldier’s eyes were red with fury. His face was twisted into a crazed grin.
He aimed his rifle at Thomas.
No! Thomas couldn’t die here!
Boom!
Thomas’s chest seemed to shatter like glass.
He jerked back, and fell onto the blood-soaked grass.
Thomas crept slowly toward the squirrel. It was fat and would make a fine supper. Just thinking about it made his stomach rumble. Times were tough on the farm. His owner, Mr. Knox, could barely feed his horses — or his slaves.
Thomas was just about to snare the squirrel when his little sister’s voice sang out.
“Thomas!”
The squirrel darted away.
Thomas turned toward Birdie, fuming. She was only five years old, but she knew better than to yell when he was trying to hunt!
But then there she was, with her crooked grin and twiggy legs, rushing toward him. His heart turned to mush.
“Look what I caught!” she said proudly, holding out her cupped hands.
Inside was a little green snake, covered with mud.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
Thomas had to smile.
That was Birdie: Give her a grimy little snake, and she’d see a butterfly.
Birdie held up her hands and looked at the baby snake, putting her face so close Thomas thought she might kiss it.
“All right,” she said to the snake. “I’m going to let you go now.”
She crouched down and released it onto the dirt.
They watched as the creature streaked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Thomas wondered: Would he and Birdie ever be as free as that snake?
They’d been born slaves on this farm. Their mama had died here when Birdie was a baby. And two summers ago their cousin Clem had been sold away to a plantation down in Mississippi, where slaves were worked half to death.
Clem was only seventeen at the time, but he’d been almost like a father to them after Mama died. He’d watched over them, cared for them, protected them.
And he’d taught Thomas about freedom.
He said that not far from here, in the states up north, slavery was illegal. People there believed it was evil. Clem told stories about slaves who’d run away from their owners. They’d followed the North Star, the brightest star in the sky. They’d traveled for days and days and made it to freedom. They were brave enough to run through dark forests and snake-filled swamps. They were clever enough to outsmart the slave catchers, who tracked them with ferocious dogs that could smell them from miles away.
“But then they make it to freedom, just like we will one day,” Clem would say, his eyes flashing like tiny torches. “One day we will run.”
He’d close his eyes.
“Picture it, Thomas,” he’d say. “Picture it in your mind. Can’t you see us? Can’t you see us all together?”
And Thomas could see it, bright pictures that filled his mind and gave him a flickering feeling of hope in his heart.
But then Clem was taken, and those pictures went dark.
Just thinking about Clem gave Thomas a searing pain, even worse than the lash of Mr. Knox’s whip. Now the only picture in his mind was one of Clem being dragged away in chains.
“Are you sad, Thomas?” Birdie said, looking up at him.
He put his hand on her head. “How could I be sad with you here with me?” he said.
With Clem gone, it was up to Thomas to make Birdie feel safe.
“I’m just thinking about how to catch us a nice supper,” he said.
He sent Birdie back to their shack to weed their garden. But just a few minutes later she was back. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide and scared.
Was she hurt?
“Those men are here,” she whispered, grabbing Thomas’s hand.
“What men?” Thomas said.
Hardly anyone came to the farm anymore. Mrs. Knox was dead. Mr. Knox’s two sons were gone, fighting in the war.
“Those bad men,” Birdie said. “The ones who took Clem.”
Thomas’s heart cracked open.
“I heard them talking,” Birdie said, her words choked by tears. “They’ve come for you!”
Thomas heard voices from across the field; Mr. Knox calling for him.
“Boy!” Mr. Knox was yelling. “I need you now!”
Thomas stood there, frozen.
He heard Clem’s voice in his mind.
Run!
Thomas grabbed Birdie.
And like that little snake, Thomas and Birdie disappeared into the shadowy forest.
Thomas carried Birdie on his back, walking deeper and deeper into the woods.
It got dark, and he found the North Star.
The night sounds rose up — the hoots of owls and the shimmer of crickets. Animals shrieked and howled. His back ached from carrying Birdie, his muscles twisting into knots of pain.
But he didn’t stop. They needed to get as far as they could from the farm.
Because soon the slave catchers would be after them.
Clem had told Thomas about those men, who chased down runaway slaves and collected rewards for returning them to their owners. Their dogs were vicious and as big as mules. Thomas could practically smell the stink of their hot breath, hear their snapping jaws, and feel their teeth ripping into his flesh.
<
br /> The night got darker and darker. Danger seemed to be everywhere — looming in the trees, glowing in the eyes of the night creatures peering from bushes. Twice, Thomas stopped, too terrified to take another step.
They should go back!
He could lie to Mr. Knox, swear they’d gotten lost chasing rabbits. But he knew what happened to runaways — they’d be whipped, or worse.
Thomas kept going.
Finally the sun started to rise.
The shadows disappeared and the birds started singing.
In the distance, Thomas saw fields and farmhouses.
It was too dangerous to walk through a town during the day. They’d find a place to hide and wait until dark. Birdie was so tired. Thomas brought her down to a stream and helped her wash up. Just up the bank was a fallen tree with some soft ground on one side and a leafy bush on the other — a perfect hiding spot. He sat down and Birdie curled up next to him.
Within a minute she was fast asleep. And Thomas dozed, too.
He didn’t sleep long, and he woke up thirsty.
He went down to the stream for a drink. He washed the dust from his face and soaked his battered feet. For a few seconds he let himself believe that he and Birdie were on an adventure together, that maybe Clem was even waiting for him just up the hill.
But then there were new sounds:
Running footsteps, snapping twigs, the pounding of horses’ hooves.
Thomas hurried back up the bank, diving through the bushes and into the dirt next to Birdie.
“We see you there!” a man’s voice bellowed.
The slave catchers!
A rifle clicked.
“Come out now,” another voice snarled. “Or we’ll shoot you.”
Birdie looked at Thomas, too terrified to even cry.
“They won’t hurt us, Birdie,” Thomas whispered, praying this was true, trying to keep his voice steady.
But his entire body was trembling.
He heard the sound of stirrups clinking, of boots on the ground.
The men were coming!
Thomas stood up and was about to shout, “Don’t shoot us!”
But then he caught a glimpse of the men.
There were two, and they weren’t facing Thomas and Birdie. Their rifles were aimed up into a tree. And they were wearing gray uniforms, the same as Mr. Knox’s sons had worn when they went off to war.
Thomas quickly ducked back down.
Something was strange.
He turned to Birdie and put his finger on his lips. Then he peeped up again, trying to get a better look.
There were no dogs anywhere.
Was it possible …?
“We see you up there!” one of the men called up into the tree. “Get down now or we’ll blow you to pieces!”
They were not slave catchers. They were soldiers.
They weren’t looking for Thomas and Birdie!
But who were they chasing?
Thomas studied the men. One of them was very tall, with a straggly beard. The other was skinny with a bushy brown mustache.
There was a rustling in the tree the men stood beside. A boot appeared, and then someone dropped onto the ground.
A man. He looked to be around Clem’s age.
He wasn’t tall, but he looked powerful. His face was smudged with dirt, and his tangled brown hair was matted with leaves. He was wearing a uniform, too, a dark blue one. It was torn and soaked in sweat. His expression was fierce as he rose slowly to his feet.
Thomas guessed he was a Yankee — a soldier fighting for the North.
Thomas didn’t know much about the war — just that the North and South were fighting against each other. He had no idea why.
Suddenly Birdie started to whimper.
Thomas ducked down, pulling her to him.
Didn’t she know to stay quiet?!
And then he saw what Birdie was whimpering about: The biggest skunk he’d ever seen was only a few feet from them, nosing around in the leaves. It didn’t seem to notice Thomas and Birdie … yet.
He held Birdie tight to his chest. He couldn’t worry about the skunk now.
He craned his neck so he could keep an eye on the soldiers. He wished they’d just do their business and get out of here.
“You’ll be sorry you ever came here, boy!” growled the tall Southern soldier. He took a pistol from his belt. And as quick as a snakebite, he smashed it into the blue soldier’s face. There was a sickening cracking sound. The blue soldier fell to his knees, blood spurting from his nose.
“What are you doing?!” the other gray soldier yelled. “Our orders are to bring back prisoners, not beat them to death!”
“Shut up!” the tall man bellowed, his voice so vicious that the other man backed off.
Thomas’s heart pounded. He hugged Birdie closer, putting his hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear the curses and cries.
The tall man stepped up and kicked the blue soldier, who doubled over, groaning in pain. Then the fallen man looked up, and somehow, his desperate eyes found Thomas, peering through the tangle of leaves.
Thomas felt a strange jolt.
That look: He’d seen it before.
It was the same look Clem had had when the men took him away.
The tall man placed the barrel of his pistol at the side of the blue soldier’s head.
“You’re gone, Yankee,” he said, clicking back the hammer.
Thomas’s mind was swirling.
He looked at the skunk. And without really thinking, he lunged for it, grabbing it by the tail.
Hisssssssss!
It reared around, snapping its little jaws. Its sharp teeth almost clamped down on Thomas’s cheek.
“Hey!” he called.
The tall man looked over at Thomas, his eyes flashing with surprise, and then fury.
And then, with all of his might, Thomas hurled the skunk toward the men.
Thud.
It landed right in front of one of the horses.
There was a split second of silence.
And then an explosion of noise — screeching horses, shouting men, the shriek of the skunk.
“Stay down!” he whispered to Birdie.
But Thomas only kneeled, watching the scene of panic.
The horses reared up, their heads twisting in fear as the air filled with the rotten smell.
The men, coughing and gagging, struggled to calm the horses. They grabbed for the reins, dodging the horses’ flying hooves.
But the horses broke free and bolted into the woods at full speed.
The men shouted to each other.
“Get the horses!”
“Hurry!”
“Just leave him!”
They thundered into the woods after their animals.
Thomas sat there for a few seconds, stunned and choking in the sour cloud.
Then he came to his senses. He and Birdie had to get out of there!
Those men could be back any second!
“Come on, Birdie!” he said, ready to run.
But then voices rang out in the distance.
More soldiers!
“Corporal Green!” a voice boomed. “Green! Where are you?”
A group of five blue soldiers hurried over, led by a man with a thick silver beard. They huddled around the injured man.
“It was the rebels, Captain Campbell,” the bloodied soldier — Corporal Green — rasped. “They were on horseback … cavalry, I think. They attacked me, sir, back near our camp, when I was getting some firewood. They chased me here. They were halfway to killing me.”
“I hear reports that there could be hundreds of rebel cavalry around here,” the captain said. “Let’s get back to camp, before this stink kills us all!”
The men helped Corporal Green to his feet.
“Can you walk?” said the captain.
“Yes, sir … but wait.”
The corporal turned and looked over to where Thomas and Birdie were hiding.
Thomas huddled against the fallen tree, his heart pounding.
But suddenly six sets of curious eyes were looking down at Thomas and Birdie.
Birdie smiled at them, and Thomas saw their eyes soften.
And then Corporal Green held out his hand to Thomas.
“I’m Henry,” he said, shaking Thomas’s hand. “Captain,” Henry said, turning, “meet the boy who saved my life.”
The bugle blared reveille, and Thomas sat up with a start.
All around him he could hear the sounds of sleepy men, groaning and cussing at the bugler.
Birdie was curled up next to him. She snuffled, but didn’t wake up. In her hands was a little doll Henry had made for her, a tattered sock stuffed with straw, with two cracked buttons as eyes. From the way Birdie clutched it to her heart, you’d think it was made of gold.
Thomas peeked his head out of the tent and looked around the army camp, which stretched out across a huge field. There were hundreds of tents, crammed together in rows. A few early-rising soldiers stood groggily and shaved in front of mirrors hung from tree branches.
There were more than six hundred men here, Henry had explained, just one regiment of the huge Union army. They’d been camped here for three months, waiting for their next big battle with the rebel soldiers of the South.
At first, Thomas was sure he and Birdie wouldn’t be allowed to stay here.
But the story of Thomas and the skunk had swept through the camp. Soldiers came up to Thomas, smiled at him, and patted him on the back, said that the Union army should start shooting skunks out of their cannons. And soon enough, Thomas felt almost like he and Birdie belonged there. They got their own tent. There was plenty of food, and Birdie had never been happier. She had the run of the camp and spent most of her days helping two older soldiers, Lester and Homer, with the supply wagons.
Les even made her a new dress, out of an old flour sack.
For the first time in Thomas’s life, his ears didn’t ring with the sound of Mr. Knox shouting, “Boy! You get here now!” He didn’t drop to sleep at night aching from his head to his toes. He woke up in the morning looking forward to the day — to helping the men with their chores, listening to their stories, and watching them practice their battle formations and shooting.
I Survived the Battle of Gettysburg, 1863 Page 1
