by Tim Black
“Okay, Mr. Greene,” Minerva replied. As she walked to her room she realized that Mr. Greene was unconcerned with his temperature, but he needed to use the chamber pot and he was being polite. In point of fact, Minerva needed to use her chamber pot as well. Thank heavens a maid would come around and clean the chamber pot, Minerva thought.
Twenty minutes later, a refreshed Mr. Greene, his facial color returned to its normal pinkish hue, appeared on crutches in the hallway.
“You seem to be pretty good on crutches, Mr. Greene,” Minerva commented.
“I got accustomed to them as a boy when I broke my leg sliding into second base in a high school baseball game. That experience seemed to come right back to me. It is a good thing I go to the gym and work out, because I have enough upper body strength to handle it. Let us go join our Confederate friends for breakfast,” he said cheerily. “Please go ahead of me, Minerva, you will help break my fall if I trip.”
Minerva laughed and joked. “I’m glad I am good for something,” she said.
“You are, Miss Messinger. After last night, I believe you have a future in medicine,” Mr. Greene said.
Minerva beamed at her teacher’s praise. She felt really great about herself. She had saved her teacher’s life a second time.
This morning, however, there were no Confederate officers in the dining room. In fact, Minerva and Mr. Greene were the only patrons for breakfast. The waitress that served them the day before was back again to take their order, but before they consulted the menu she warned them, “All we have this morning is some fresh fruit from a nearby orchard,” she explained apologetically. “Just peaches. No milk, no coffee. We can make tea, though. The Rebels have been like locusts. They have eaten everything. Folks tell me even some of the springs are running dry,” she added. “Too many men are filling their canteens. There are thousands of men around here.”
Mr. Greene wanted to say that there were over one hundred fifty thousand soldiers in and around the town, which had a pre-invasion population of twenty-four hundred, but he held his tongue.
“Peaches will be fine,” Mr. Greene said. “And a pot of tea.”
“I can do that, sir,” the waitress said. She pointed to his crutches, leaning against the table. “Did you hurt yourself, sir?” she asked.
“I was shot in my leg yesterday,” Mr. Greene said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it serious?”
“No,” Greene said with a bit of bravado in his voice. “Just a flesh wound. A sniper’s bullet, but he was so far away from me, I think the distance slowed the bullet. I think I was shot by friendly fire,” he said.
“Friendly fire?” the waitress asked curiously.
“I think it was a Union sniper on Culp’s Hill,” Mr. Greene explained. “I think he was aiming at a Rebel and hit me by mistake. I was shot by a friend, a Union soldier.”
“That doesn’t seem very friendly,” the waitress commented.
“No, I guess it doesn’t,” Mr. Green conceded.
The waitress gave Mr. Greene an appreciative nod and started to walk away.
Minerva, however, was hungry and stopped the waitress with a question. “Do you have any bread?” Minerva asked.
“Just some day-old, miss,” the waitress said.
“That will do,” Mr. Greene said. “Do you have any jam?”
“I’ll check, sir. I think we may have some raspberry jam. Our baker didn’t report for work this morning, but we didn’t have much flour anyway. Locusts!” she repeated and walked away.
“The Confederates pretty well picked the town of Gettysburg clean, Minerva. The Civil War armies on both sides lived off the land. As a matter of fact, after the battle the natural springs in the area were dried up and Gettysburg had to import wagon loads of water for the residents to drink.”
“That’s amazing,” Minerva said.
“Not really if you consider that there were more than one hundred fifty thousand soldiers in the Battle of Gettysburg.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the first cannonade of the morning. The roar from the artillery made it difficult to chat, but Mr. Greene managed to talk above the din. While the Rebels were firing, the waitress brought them their order of peaches, bread, jam and tea.
When the Confederates stopped to reload, Mr. Greene said to his student, “I expect the Confederates are shelling Culp’s Hill in preparation for an assault. This will be the day that your friend Julia’s brother Wesley is killed. Sometime this morning.”
The cannons resumed firing and Minerva waited.
As the Confederates reloaded their cannons, Minerva managed to say to her teacher, “That is so tragic, Mr. Greene.”
“It certainly was. No one knows what happened to Wesley Culp’s body. My theory is that Julia and her sister Anna found Wesley’s body and secretly buried it somewhere.”
“Why would they do that?” Minerva asked.
“Because in Gettysburg Wesley Culp was a traitor. My theory is that the girls were afraid that someone would dig up Wesley’s body and put it on display in the center of town. I mean General Buford left a naked man hanging from a tree in Frederick as warning to others. So the girls might have felt that the people of Gettysburg might have put Wesley’s cadaver on display.”
“In the Diamond?”
“Yes, but it is only my theory, Minerva. I have no evidence for my theory, just a feeling. No one knows what happened to Wesley’s corpse.”
“That’s really very sad.”
The guns resumed and student and teacher ate their peaches and awaited the next lull. Finally, Mr. Greene remarked, “Wesley wasn’t alone. By the end of the day there will be thousands of unburied bodies littered all over the battlefield. Thousands, Minerva. Not has much has been written about the cleanup as was written about the battle, but the task of cleaning up the battlefield and caring for all the wounded men was Herculean.”
Another cannonade abruptly ended their conversation and a hungry Minerva broke off a piece of day-old bread and slathered it with some raspberry jam. The bread and jam relieved her hunger and she heard Julie Andrews in her head singing, “ti (sic), a drink with jam and bread,” from one of her favorite childhood movies, The Sound of Music. Even the Von Trapps were refugees from war, albeit World War II, she remembered. War, Minerva thought, war was awful.
Finally the cannonade subsided and was replaced by blood-curdling screams. The Confederates were assaulting Culp’s Hill.
“What was that?” Minerva asked. “That yell?”
“That was the famous Rebel yell,” Mr. Greene said, and as he explained the yell, into the dining room floated the apparition of Shelby Foote. The dead historian nodded hello. Mr. Greene, in a better mood than the day before, smiled in response. Minerva glared at the dead historians. The ghost ignored her.
“Today’s the big day,” Shelby Foote proclaimed.
“Why?” Minerva asked, grumpily.
“Pickett’s Charge,” Foote explained. “The reason why we came,” he reminded her.
“And the reason why we are stuck here,” Minerva groused. Suddenly, she noticed the waitress staring. The waitress had a confused look on her face as if she was wondering who Minerva was talking to.
“The waitress is staring,” Minerva whispered to Mr. Greene.
Mr. Greene covered his mouth and whispered to the ghost, “We will talk to you outside in a few minutes. Seems the waitress thinks we are a bit balmy talking to ourselves.”
“I will take care of it,” Shelby Foote said and floated off toward the waitress, becoming visible to her for only a split second, but sending a frightened waitress into the kitchen to hide.
When Foote returned to the table, Mr. Greene said “I didn’t know you could do that, Mr. Foote.”
“Oh Mr. Catton and I can become visible momentarily, but it takes a lot out of us. I always feel like I need a nap after I become visible. I mean, think about it, the very idea of a ghost taking a nap is rather ridiculous. We already had a dirt nap,” S
helby joked. “Looks like you nearly joined us, Mr. Greene,” Foote added, pointing to Mr. Greene’s crutches.
“Yes, I almost had my dirt nap, too,” Mr. Greene replied. “Only a flesh wound though.”
“What is a dirt nap, Mr. Greene?” Minerva naively asked.
“Mr. Foote is dead and buried, Minerva,” Greene explained. “Sleeping in the dirt. In his grave.”
“Oh!”
“Why aren’t you watching the assault on Culp’s Hill, Mr. Foote?” Mr. Greene asked the ghost.
“Not much to it,” the ghost replied. “Fizzled out pretty quickly, now yesterday on Little Round Top was a doozey. Victor and Bette enjoyed it, too.”
“They were there? Are they alright?”
“Yes, they are okay, Nathan,” Foote said. “They watched the battle from Big Round Top. They had a great vantage point.”
“Did they see the bayonet charge?” Mr. Greene asked, envy in his voice.
“Oh my yes, but they didn’t get as close as I did. I floated right beside the Alabama boys and Bruce floated right beside Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain as he led the 20th Maine in the bayonet charge. We both enjoyed ourselves.”
“We just heard the Rebel yell a few minutes ago,” Greene remarked.
“For my money, I think the Alabamians had the wildest Rebel yell. Sounded like banshees. We got our butts kicked though,” Foote admitted. “It was quite a show. And today we get to see Pettigrew, Trimble and Pickett charge the center of the Union lines at Bloody Angle.”
“What about Victor and Bette?”
“Well,” Foote replied. “Bruce and I talked about that a bit and we decided that he would stay with them and watch Pickett’s Charge from the Union lines and I would watch the assault from Seminary Ridge. You are welcome to join me,” Foote said. “It promises to be something really special. The greatest infantry charge in American History!”
Mr. Greene begged off. “My leg is a bit gimpy, Shelby,” he said. “And Minerva has agreed to keep me company. We shall remain close to the hotel, but if I hire a carriage I might like to visit Pennsylvania College and see my old freshman dormitory. It is being used as a hospital as we speak.”
“Suit yourself,” Shelby Foote said. “If you will, excuse me, I should float out along Chambersburg Pike to General Lee’s headquarters. Goodbye, y’all.”
“Goodbye, Shelby,” Mr. Greene said.
“Goodbye Mr. Foote,” Minerva mumbled.
The teacher turned to his student and asked, “Minerva, will you go to the front desk and ask if we can hire a carriage?”
“Yes, sir,” Minerva said.
At the front desk, the young desk clerk replied to Minerva’s request with a chuckle. “Missy,” he said, “there isn’t a spare horse in town. The Rebs have confiscated every horse that can walk. And they stole the carriages too as far as I know.”
Minerva reported the bad news to Mr. Greene who took it in stride.
“Well, I guess I can hobble there on my crutches then,” he said. “I really would like to see my old freshman dorm. You know there is a legend about it. In our time it is an administration building at the college. The dorm rooms from my day are long gone. The battle today is south of town and the college is north of town so we should be safe to visit my alma mater. I am pretty sure if we go slow, I can make it on my crutches. Might take some time, though.”
They left the hotel and proceeded from the Diamond up north on Carlisle Street. Before the railroad tracks, Mr. Greene stopped and pointed a crutch at a building. “When I was in college, this was the site of the Majestic Theater, which was the only movie theater in town. Majestic was a misnomer, it was actually pretty crummy.”
On crutches, Greene slowly made his way up Carlisle Street, pointing out where the TKE fraternity house would be in the future. They walked west toward the campus of Pennsylvania College and were met with the vista of Pennsylvania Hall, the main edifice of the institution.
“Back in 1863, this was the main classroom building. Other buildings served as dormitories for the all-male school. As I said, in our time, it is an administration building and there is a good ghost story attached to it. Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course, Mr. Greene.”
“Two college administrators were working late one night on the top floor of the building. They took the elevator from the fourth floor down to the first floor and they weren’t thinking a bit about the Battle of Gettysburg. But the elevator passed the first floor and descended to the basement. When the doors opened the two administrators witnessed a scene of horror. The basement storage space had been replaced by the hospital of the battle. Dead and dying were littered about the floor. Doctors and orderlies in blood-splattered uniforms were running about in the chaos attempting to save lives. They heard no sounds, but saw the images. Frightened out of their wits, they frantically pushed the elevator button to close the doors. As the doors were closing, one of the Confederate orderlies looked up and stared at them with a forlorn expression on his face.”
“Really?” Minerva asked.
“That’s what they said…you know, Minerva, you can take a ghost tour of Gettysburg. Quite a few people have seen a ghost who haunts Devil’s Den, they say.”
“Having been acquainted with Mr. Foote and Mr. Catton, I won’t discount any paranormal activity anymore, Mr. Greene.”
“Indeed, ‘there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt about in your philosophy, Horatio,’” Mr. Greene said, quoting Shakespeare.
“That’s from Hamlet isn’t it?” Minerva queried.
“Very good, Minerva.”
Minerva beamed. More praise from her teacher.
A man sporting a white beard was standing outside the residence of the president of the college with a sad look upon his face. Mr. Greene said, “I believe that is Henry Baugher, president of Pennsylvania College. He lost his son at Shiloh last year. Right now, in his house he is hiding a Union officer from the Confederates. Actually, it is his wife who is hiding the officer in her ladies’ closet, if I remember correctly. I want to hobble over to Dr. Baugher and meet the old man, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” Minerva said. She walked behind him, ready to catch her teacher or break his fall if he slipped.
“Good day, sir,” Mr. Greene said to Henry Baugher.
Baugher managed a weak smile. “Good day, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I am Nathan Greene from Mercersburg, Dr. Baugher. This is my niece Minerva. I was interested in the college.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Greene, we don’t admit girls.”
Minerva couldn’t hide a frown. Sexists, she thought.
“I know that sir, it is for my nephew,” Mr. Greene said. “Do you mind if we look about the grounds?”
“Well, Mr. Greene, I’m afraid the Rebels took over our classrooms for a hospital. But if you wish to walk about, feel free. No one has been shooting around here today.”
Minerva and Mr. Greene walked into Pennsylvania Hall. “In my day, we called the building Old Dorm,” Greene explained. “I was on the fourth floor. We need to go down to the basement.”
Remembering Mr. Greene’s story of the two administrators, Minerva was stunned to see the story become reality in the basement of the building. There were scores of wounded and dying men lying all over the floor. The number of men scattered on the floor in Pennsylvania Hall dwarfed the number of men that she had seen at the courthouse.
A surgeon yelled to Minerva, “Are you a nurse? I don’t care if you are a woman, I can use a nurse to help. Come here and hold this man’s leg down,” the surgeon ordered.
Minerva, as if in a trance, obeyed the surgeon’s order before Mr. Greene could object.
“We’ve run out of chloroform,” the surgeon said to the patient. “I am afraid this is going to hurt a little bit, son,” he said.
“Hurt a little bit” was an understatement. As the surgeon began to saw away at the man’s right leg, the patient screamed in agony. The surge
on stopped and tossed Minerva a leather strap with teeth marks indented in the leather. “Put the strap in the boy’s mouth, girl,” he ordered as an orderly came to replace Minerva on holding down the man’s leg.
The soldier bit down and through the leather strap and fell unconscious. That was a relief, Minerva thought, although she held the leather strap in place in case the young man woke up. She looked at the soldier; he was eighteen or nineteen, she estimated. She noticed when he bit down on the strap that he was missing a few teeth. He certainly could use a bath. He smelled to high heaven. Everyone in 1863 could use a bath, Minerva mused. They stank. At least the Philadelphians had used perfumes to cover their stink, she remembered.
She watched the surgeon cut through the man’s leg and then carelessly toss the limb to the floor where an orderly retrieved it and placed the appendage on a growing pile of limbs in a corner of the basement. Just like in the alleyway behind the courthouse, Minerva thought, recalling the first gruesome pile of limbs that she saw.
The surgeon moved on to another soldier and an orderly cauterized the wound, preventing the soldier from bleeding out. Then he and another orderly took the amputee to an empty space on the floor and placed him there. Minerva wanted to flee the madness and, when the surgeon who had ordered her to help went to the far side of the room, she scooted to Mr. Greene who was standing by the door.
Seeing Minerva’s horrified face, Mr. Greene simply said, “Let’s go,” and led her from the room. Every floor was the same. Classrooms were turned into triage centers. Minerva and the teacher climbed to the fourth floor. Mr. Greene checked the stairway to the cupola. No one was there. He led Minerva up to the cupola. It was surprisingly unoccupied. From the cupola they had a panoramic view of the countryside.
They saw the Confederates gathering in force on Seminary Ridge. They could see the cupola at the Lutheran Theological Seminary and it was occupied with Confederate officers.
Mr. Greene pointed to the stone house on the Chambersburg Pike below the Lutheran Seminary. “That’s Lee’s headquarters,” Mr. Greene said. “I suppose Mr. Foote is floating around there somewhere.”
