Gettysburg: The Crossroads Town

by Tim Black

  “Yes, they rescued the Anderson twins from Fort Mifflin when we visited Philadelphia,” Greene replied.

  “We specialize in saving boys,” Bette wisecracked, and Minerva joined her in laughter.

  Foote turned to the girls. “Can you both ride?

  “Yes,” the girls said.

  “Can Victor ride?” Foote asked.

  “He was in the rodeo,” Bette said.

  “Yes, he’s the rodeo clown,” Minerva said in a snarky comment.

  Bette laughed. She felt good. She and Minerva were friends again. They weren’t competing for the same boy. At least not at this moment. Bette wondered what would happen later if they were successful in rescuing Victor. She thought for a second and decided that Minerva could have Victor if she wanted him. She thought Victor was a bit too pigheaded. But then she wondered what boy wasn’t pigheaded? Perhaps that cute Union soldier who had asked to call upon her?

  “Fine,” said Foote. “We need two horses.”

  “Two?” Minerva questioned. “Don’t you mean three, Mr. Foote?”

  “No, Minerva. Mr. Catton and I will scare up another horse when you get there.”

  “Get where?” Bette asked.

  “To Monterey Pass. Wear dark clothes, girls. Well, I guess it won’t matter if you are under raincoats though. You want to be a bit harder to see. It’s still going to be a full moon tonight, but once the downpour starts and the shooting begins, you should be fine. If you keep your heads down. There is going to be a heck of a lot of shooting.”

  “Who in the world has horses for sale?” Mr. Greene asked.

  “I’m thinking lawyer David McConaughy may have a couple to rent,” Shelby Foote said. “There is no need for his Adams Rifles to be scouting the area tonight, not with the Union army here, Nathan. Many of the town’s horses were moved south of town behind Union lines so there will be a number available I believe. See McConaughy. Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  “What am I, the Godfather?” Mr. Greene asked.

  Shelby Foote chuckled. “Poor choice of words. I was chatting with Marlon Brando before I came along with y’all. You’d be surprised at the number of ghosts that ask Brando play the role of Vito Corleone from that film…” Foote said, then remembered what he was saying before he sidetracked himself with Marlon Brando. “McConaughy is worth a try. Offer to rent two horses for forty dollars and see if he goes for it. He’s a lawyer, Nathan. Have you ever met a lawyer who refused money?”

  Minerva was surprised at the ghost’s cynicism.

  “I can’t say that I have,” Mr. Greene agreed.

  “Well, there you have it then. It is settled. I am going to float out to Victor and tell him our plan. I will coordinate with Bruce, and Mr. Catton can accompany the girls out on the Fairfield Road, sort of en loco parentis de mortuis, if you will excuse my rather poor Latin, in place of parents, the dead, as in this case, the ghosts. Ha!” he added and floated off in the direction of Fairfield, Pennsylvania.

  “Mr. Greene,” Minerva began. “Isn’t David McConaughy the man who bought the land to preserve the battlefield.”

  “He is indeed. Gettysburg National Military Park exists today because David McConaughy had the foresight to buy up the hallowed ground of the battlefield shortly after the battle. He even had a part in the creation of the National Cemetery. His office is on Chambersburg Street. Do you realize, girls, that today is Independence Day?”

  “I completely forgot,” Minerva said.

  “Me too,” Bette echoed.

  “Today, the Confederates at Vicksburg will surrender to General Grant and the Confederacy will be cut in two via the Mississippi River. This is probably the most pivotal week of the Civil War. Let’s go to the Fahnestock Store and buy what you need for tonight. Help me up, Minerva. Hand me my crutches, Bette.”

  *

  By twilight the girls had gathered what they needed for the evening’s adventure. They had rented two horses, saddled the steeds, and donned boy’s overalls and rubberized rain gear, which they purchased from the Fahnestocks, having chosen stylish India rubber capes in lieu of coats, and matching rubber caps. Mr. McConaughy had offered the girls side saddles, but they laughed them off and the attorney merely shrugged and asked them, “Are you Suffragettes?” To which Minerva and Bette said, “Heck, yeah!”

  They also purchased bandanas and peppermint oil from the Fahnestock Store. Bette went to a glass jar filled with candy and extracted two large lollipops. She handed one to Minerva.

  “Did you ever see the original Independence Day with Will Smith, Minerva? He and a computer geek have to stop an alien invasion. This was when Will Smith was young and yummy,” Bette smiled. “Well, Will gives the geek a victory cigar before they fly off to infect the alien mother ship with a virus.”

  “Is this going somewhere, Bette?” Minerva asked.

  “Yes, my impatient friend, it is. You see, Will tells the guy they can’t smoke the cigars until they defeat the aliens. Well, we can’t lick the lollipops until we rescue Victor.”

  Minerva smiled. “Okay, I get it,” she agreed. “I’ll have to watch that movie sometime.”

  “I have it on DVD,” Bette said. “You can come over to my house when we get back.”

  “If we get back,” Minerva replied.

  “Don’t be a negative Nancy, Messinger,” Bette chided.

  “Sorry.”

  *

  As the girls were mounting their horses in the Diamond, the ghost of Bruce Catton appeared.

  “Sorry if I am late, Shelby and I were going over the plan in detail,” Catton explained. “It’s already beginning to rain out past Fairfield. But your ride will be moonlit until then, I think. Shall we be off, ladies?”

  The girls nodded.

  As they rode out Fairfield Road, Bruce Catton excused himself and floated off in the direction of the Emmitsburg Road and the site of Pickett’s Charge. As they sat side by side on their horses, Minerva asked, “Where’s he going, Bette?”

  “I’m not sure, Minerva,” Bette replied, dabbing her upper lip with peppermint oil. Even though it was beginning to drizzle and the rain helped keep the smell down, she could still sniff the stench in the air. She raised her bandana over her nose and mouth.

  Bruce Catton returned carrying two Colt Model 1860 .44 caliber revolvers. “I found two guns that the Union men preferred. They were lying near the stone wall on Cemetery Ridge. One has two bullets left, the other has four. I hope you won’t have to use them. I’ll put them in your saddle bags so you can reach them if you need them.”

  “I wish I had a nine millimeter Glock,” Bette said as she examined the Colt.

  *

  A despondent Victor sat in the bed of the Rebel covered wagon, wondering how he could possibly escape. John Quincy Adams and his family were still sleeping as the wagon train entered a small town. He knew it wasn’t Cashtown and decided it was either Emmitsburg, Maryland, or Fairfield, Pennsylvania.

  “You are approaching Fairfield, my boy,” Victor heard a voice say. “From Fairfield the Confederates will take the Maria Furnace Road to Monterrey Pass.”

  He turned his head. “Mr. Foote!” he cried out.

  The teamster driving the wagon turned his heard around and said: “I’d be more worried about your neck than your foot, boy.”

  “Ignore the driver, Victor,” Shelby Foote suggested. “Just think, don’t speak. I’ll talk and you just think your response.”

  Okay, Mr. Foote, Victor thought. How do I get out of this mess?

  “How do you extricate yourself from the abyss, my boy?”

  Uh, yeah. Like, how do I escape?

  “Well tonight as you pass through Fairfield Gap on your way to the Monterey Pass, the Federals are going to attack your wagon train in what will be known as the Battle of Monterey Pass.”

  Never heard of it.

  “No, not many people have heard of the Battle of Monterey Pass, but it will consist of ten thousand men. Quite a few men will die tonight. M
any will be captured and taken prisoner. There will be a thunderstorm resulting in a tremendous downpour, and when the fighting begins you will have your chance to escape. The rain will help you get away. It should cover your escape. The attack will act as a diversion for you. The Rebels will be too busy fighting the Federals to be worried about you. I will stay with you and guide you along the escape route and the girls will be coming to the rescue.”

  “Minerva and Bette?” Victor, forgetting himself, said aloud.

  The driver swiveled around and laughed. “You didn’t get a chance to kiss your girlfriends, eh boy?”

  Victor wanted to give the teamster the Italian salute, but Shelby Foote cautioned Victor from using his middle finger.

  “It won’t help matters and might make things worse, my boy,” Foote warned.

  This is embarrassing, Mr. Foote. Having to be rescued by the girls. I’m supposed to rescue damsels in distress, the damsels aren’t supposed to rescue me. I feel as ridiculous as the Anderson twins. I’ll never live this down.

  “Swallow your silly male pride, my boy. Being rescued by the distaff side of the species beats hanging from a tree any day,” Shelby Foote advised. “I’ve overheard the Rebels talking about hanging you when they get near Waynesboro.”

  Where’s that? Victor asked as he rubbed his neck.

  “On the west side of the Monterey Pass. The girls will be riding horses and I will scare you up a horse to ride. I know you have the pluck, my boy. I remember Ford’s Theater. I was impressed.”

  “I almost caught him, too,” Victor said aloud.

  “Caught who, boy?” the teamster said.

  “I was just talking to myself, mister,” Victor replied.

  “You best be talking to Your Maker, boy,” the driver laughed. “You will be meeting Him pretty soon.”

  Victor seethed at the driver’s sarcasm, but held his tongue, although a procession of four-letter words invaded his mind.

  Foote remarked with a chuckle. “Such vocabulary, Master Bridges,” he teased. He laughed and said, “In fairness to Mr. Booth, my boy, he had a broken leg. You should have caught him. I thought you were a track star.”

  Victor blushed. The old ghost was right, he should have caught Booth. He shook off the image and thought, How are you going to get me a horse, Mr. Foote?

  “Leave that to me,” Foote said. “After you’re on that horse, head back to Gettysburg if the girls haven’t caught up with you. If you are really lucky tonight, perhaps you will even meet Brevet General George Armstrong Custer.”

  Victor perked up. Custer? Here?

  “Yes, Custer and his Michigan cavalry brigade played a major part not only in the Battle of Gettysburg but in the Battle of Monterey Pass. He was quite the dandy, too.”

  Boy, that would be swell to meet Custer, Victor thought.

  “I’ll see if Bruce and I can arrange it for you, my boy,” Foote said. “Victor, this battle is going to be all chaos and confusion. The thunderstorm will block out the full moon and make it dark and difficult to see. Soldiers will respond to enemy muzzle flashes. Lightning will silhouette the position of the troops. And the fighting will last nearly until dawn. In our time, there is a little park in Pennsylvania that is a memorial to the battle. Hang in there, I’m going to float back to Bruce and coordinate our efforts.”

  *

  The girls rode through the little town of Fairfield without incident and Bruce Catton led them to the Maria Furnace Road as the drizzle of the rain began to increase in intensity, although their visibility was not yet impaired. After a few miles, Minerva and Bette came upon Union calvary. Bruce Catton explained that the troopers were part of the Michigan cavalry brigade commanded by George Armstrong Custer.

  “Wow, Custer!” Bette shouted. “Will we meet him?”

  “Perhaps,” Catton said.

  At this juncture, Shelby Foote joined Catton and the girls and reported on Victor. In the background was distant gunfire.

  “Victor is safe. He is in a covered wagon in a wagon train along Maria Furnace Road. Shooting has started. And a downpour should start any moment now. It will be a mess. Bruce, we are going to have to keep an eye on the girls as well as Victor and get them all safely back to Gettysburg.”

  “Roger that, Shelby. Uh oh, here comes a captain of the cavalry. He isn’t smiling.”

  An officer and two troopers rode up in the rain to confront Bette and Minerva. “State your business, boys,” the captain said.

  Now they think I’m a boy, Bette thought, frowning.

  “We are trying to find our brother, sir,” Minerva said.

  The officer was startled. “Are you a girl?”

  “Yes, sir,” Minerva replied. “I have been all my life. This didn’t seem to be a night for dresses,” she added. For emphasis Minerva removed her rubber cap, and her hair, which she had so carefully tucked beneath her headpiece, sprang to life and slid down over her ears. The rain felt rather refreshing on her hair, Minerva thought, looking at the surprise on the officer’s face.

  After a moment, the captain laughed. “Are you both girls?” he inquired.

  “Guilty,” Bette said, but she kept her rubber hat on.

  Now the two troopers snickered behind the captain who was smiling. “Well, I don’t know what to do with you two. I am going to take you to see General Custer.”

  Minerva put her hair beneath her cap again.

  Foote and Catton beamed approval and Bette and Minerva led their horses after the captain through a gauntlet of gaping cavalrymen who looked at the girls with amusement.

  The girls followed the Captain over to a makeshift tent and stood behind him just outside the entrance. Inside the tent, which was lit by a square glass lantern containing two glowing candles, the young general with the droopy mustache was looking over a hastily drawn reconnaissance map. Rain tapped incessantly on the canvas trying unsuccessfully to enter the tent. “We have to stop the Rebs from reaching Williamsport, general,” an aide said, then turned to the captain and the awaiting girls.

  “What the hell do you want, captain?” Custer shouted.

  “Begging the general’s pardon, we picked up these two girls along the road.”

  “Huh? Girls? Bring them here!” Custer said.

  Minerva wondered if Custer was a womanizer. She certainly didn’t want to be womanized, she thought, not by the man who slaughtered Native American women and children at Washita in 1868. Five years from now, she calculated. Only five years from now. But in 1863, Custer was a bona fide hero, not a genocidal general.

  “They look like boys,” Custer said, disappointment in his voice.

  Bette took the initiative. “General, we came to retrieve our little brother. The Rebs snatched him up and took him away and we figure the Rebs are around here somewhere and so is our brother.”

  “Well, this is as far as you go,” Custer said.

  Catton whispered to the girls. “Tell Custer you know the area and you can show them the way through Monterey Pass.”

  It was Minerva’s turn. “General, we can show you the way through Monterey Pass.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Minerva hesitated. She looked to the ghost.

  “Yes!” he replied in a voice of exasperation.

  “Yes,” Bette said. “That’s what we call it.”

  Don’t let us down, Mr. Catton, Minerva thought. Show us the way.

  “I will, Minerva.” Catton said.

  “So tell me about the area,” said Custer looking at his recon map. Catton looked at it as well, but Minerva couldn’t see it. He gave Minerva the details from the map and she repeated them to Custer verbatim.

  Custer nodded. “It’s like you read my map,” he said. “But you couldn’t have. Okay, I will put you girls with the advance company, but I want you to stay put if there is any shooting, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” the classmates replied.

  “Do you always answer together?” Custer said, bemused.

  “Ye
s, sir,” they repeated.

  Nicely done, ladies, Catton critiqued. Shelby Foote, who had floated in to talk with Catton, was too busy laughing to add his commentary.

  As the girls rode out with the advance company of Custer’s 2nd Michigan Brigade, the rain began to pelt their rubberized capes in a downpour. They couldn’t keep their trouser legs from getting soaked, and the Federal cavalry unit slowed to a crawl until the flash of a rifle stopped the column in its tracks.

  Bette, who had seen the muzzle flashes on Little Round Top knew immediately they were under fire. A bolt of lightning highlighted their position, exposing the outline of the Federal troops to their enemy. A trooper ahead of Minerva fell from his saddle.

  “Dismount!” came an order.

  “That means us, too, Minerva!” Bette shouted.

  Minerva and Bette quickly dismounted, held their mounts by their reins and moved the horses from the road to the shoulder just in time, for the Rebels let loose a volley of canister shot from a cannon guarding the Monterey Pass. The minie balls cut down two horses and two troopers. Minerva wanted to rush to comfort one of the horses that was lying on its side and twitching in agony. Bette, sensing her friend’s compassion, grabbed Minerva’s arm and looked at her sympathetically through the rain drops. “There is nothing you can do, Minerva.”