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The Star of Gettysburg

J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Star of Gettysburg



Produced by Ken Reeder (kreeder@mailsnare.net)





Errata and other transcription notes are included as an appendix





THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG
A STORY OF SOUTHERN HIGH TIDE

by JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER





FOREWORD




"The Star of Gettysburg" is a complete romance, but it is also one of the
series dealing with the Civil War, beginning with "The Guns of Bull Run,"
and continued successively through "The Guns of Shiloh," "The Scouts of
Stonewall," and "The Sword of Antietam" to the present volume. The story
centers about the young Southern hero, Harry Kenton, and his friends.




THE CIVIL WAR SERIES




VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.


PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted Colored Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA GARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.


HISTORICAL CHARACTERS

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT B. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE B. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.

And many others


IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX



CONTENTS

I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY

II. AHORSE WITH SHERBURNE

III. JACKSON MOVES

IV. ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK

V. FREDERICKSBURG

VI. A CHRISTMAS DINNER

VII. JEB STUART'S BALL

VIII. IN THE WILDERNESS

IX. CHANCELLORSVILLE

X. THE NORTHERN MARCH

XI. THE CAVALRY COMBAT

XII. THE ZENITH OF THE SOUTH

XIII. GETTYSBURG




THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG





CHAPTER I

THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY




A youth sat upon a log by a clear stream in the Valley of Virginia,
mending clothes.

He showed skill and rapidity in his homely task. A shining needle
darted in and out of the gray cloth, and the rent that had seemed
hopeless was being closed up with neatness and precision. No one
derided him because he was engaged upon a task that was usually
performed by women. The Army of Northern Virginia did its own sewing.

"Will the seam show much, Arthur?" asked Harry Kenton, who lay
luxuriously upon the leafy ground beside the log.

"Very little when I finish," replied St. Clair, examining his work with
a critical eye. "Of course I can't pass the uniform off as wholly new.
It's been a long time since I've seen a new one in our army, but it will
be a lot above the average."

"I admire your care of your clothes, Arthur, even if I can't quite
imitate it. I've concluded that good clothes give a certain amount of
moral courage, and if you get killed you make a much more decent body."

"But Arthur St. Clair, of Charleston, sir, has no intention of getting
killed," said Happy Tom Langdon, who was also resting upon the earth.
"He means after this war is over to go back to his native city, buy the
most magnificent uniforms that were ever made, and tell the girls how
Lee and Jackson turned to him for advice at the crisis of every great
battle."

"We surely needed wisdom and everything else we could get at Antietam--
leadership, tenacity and the willingness to die," said Dalton, the sober
young Virginia Presbyterian. "Boys, we were in the deepest of holes
there, and we had to lift ourselves out almost by our own boot straps."

Harry's face clouded. The field of Antietam often returned to him,
almost as real and vivid as on that terrible day, when the dead lay
heaped in masses around the Dunkard church and the Southern army called
forth every ounce of courage and endurance for its very salvation.

"Antietam is a month away," he said, "and I still shudder at the name.
We didn't think McClellan would come up and attack Lee while Jackson was
away at Harper's Ferry, but he did. How did it happen? How did he know
that our army was divided?"

"I've heard a strange story," said Dalton. "It's come through some
Union prisoners we've taken. They say that McClellan found a copy of
General Lee's orders in Frederick, and learned from them exactly where
all our troops were and what they intended. Then, of course, he
attacked."

"A strange tale, as you say, a most extraordinary chance," said Harry.
"Do you think it's true, George?"

"I've no doubt it fell out that way. The same report comes from other
sources."

"At any rate," said Happy Tom, "it gave us a chance to show how less
than fifty thousand men could stand off nearly ninety thousand. Besides,
we didn't lose any ground. We went over into Maryland to give the
Marylanders a chance to rise for the South. They didn't rise worth a
cent. I suppose we didn't get more than five hundred volunteers in that
state. 'The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland, my Maryland,' and
it can stay on thy shore, Maryland, my Maryland, if that's the way you
treat us. I feel a lot more at home here in Virginia."

"It is fine," said Harry, stirring comfortably on the leaves and looking
down at the clear stream of the Opequon. "One can't fight all the time.
I feel as if I had been in a thousand battles, and two or three months
of the year are left. It's fine to lie here by the water, and breathe
pure air instead of dust."

"I've heard that every man eats a peck of dirt in the course of his
life," said Happy Tom, "but I know that I've already beat the measure
a dozen times over. Why, I took in a bushel at least at the Second
Manassas, but I still live, and here I am, surveying this peaceful
domestic scene. Arthur is mending his best uniform, Harry stretched on
the leaves is resting and dreaming dreams, George is wondering how he
will get a new pair of shoes for the season, and the army is doing its
autumn washing."

Harry glanced up and down the stream, and he smiled at the homely sight.
Thousands of soldiers were washing their ragged clothes in the little
river and the equally ragged clothes of many others were drying on the
banks or on the bushes. The sun-browned lads who skylarked along the
shores or in the water, playing pranks on one another, bore little
resemblance to those who had charged so fiercely and so often into the
mouths of the cannon at Antietam.

Harry marvelled at them and at himself. It seemed scarcely possible
that human nature could rush to such violent extremes within so short
a space. But youth conquered all. There was very little gloom in
this great army which disported itself in the water or in the shade.
Thousands of wounded, still pale, but with returning strength, lay on
the October leaves and looked forward to the day when they could join
their comrades in either games or war.

Harry himself had suffered for a while from a great exhaustion. He
had been terribly anxious, too, about his father, but a letter written
just after the battle of Perryville, and coming through with unusual
promptness by the way of Chattanooga and Richmond, had arrived the
day before, informing him of Colonel Kenton's safety. In this letter
his father had spoken of his meeting with Dick Mason in his home at
Pendleton, and that also contributed to his new lightness of heart.
Dick was not a brother, but he stood in the place of one, and it was
good to hear again of him.

The sounds of shouts and laughter far up and down the Opequon became
steady and soothing. The October winds blowing gently were crisp and
fresh, but not too cold. The four boys ceased talking and Harry on his
bed of leaves became drowsy. The forests on the far hills and mountains
burned in vivid reds and yellows and browns, painted by the master hand
of autumn. Harry heard a bird singing on a bough among red leaves
directly over his head, and the note was piercingly sweet to ears used
so long to the roar of cannon and rifles.

His drowsy lids sank lower and he would have gone to sleep had he not
been roused by a shouting farther down the little river. His eyes
opened wide and he sat up.

"What is it, George?" he said to Dalton.

"I don't know, but here comes Captain Sherburne, and I'll ask him."

Sherburne was approaching with long strides, his face flushed with
enthusiasm.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Harry. "What are the boys shouting about?"

"The news has just reached them that Old Jack has been made a lieutenant-
general. General Lee asked the government to divide his army into two
corps, with Old Jack in command of one and Longstreet in charge of the
other. The government has seen fit to do what General Lee advises it
to do, and we are now the Second Army Corps, two thousand officers,
twenty-five thousand men and one hundred and thirty guns, commanded by
Lieutenant-General Thomas Jonathan Jackson, better known to his enemy as
'Stonewall' Jackson and to his men as 'Old Jack.'"

"Splendid!" exclaimed Harry. "Never was a promotion better earned!"

"And so say we all of us," said Happy Tom. "But just a moment, Captain.
What is the news about me?"

"About you, Tom?"

"Yes, about me? Didn't I win the victory at the Second Manassas?
Didn't I save the army at Antietam? Am I promoted to be a colonel or
is it merely a lieutenant-colonel?"

"I'm sorry, Tom," replied Sherburne with great gravity, "but there is no
mention of your promotion. I know it's an oversight, and we'll join in
a general petition to Richmond that you be made a lieutenant-colonel at
the very least."

"Oh, never mind. If it has to be done through the begging of my friends
I decline the honor. I don't know that I'd care to be any kind of a
colonel, anyhow. I'd have to pass the boys here, and maybe I'd have
to command 'em, which would make 'em feel bad. Old Jack himself might
become jealous of me. I guess I'm satisfied as I am."

"I like the modesty of the South Carolinians, Tom," said Dalton.
"There's a story going the rounds that you South Carolinians made the
war and that we Virginians have got to fight it."

"There may be such a story. It seems to me that it was whispered to
me once, but the internal evidence shows that it was invented by a
Virginian. Haven't I come up here and shed some of my blood and more of
my perspiration to save the sacred soil of the Mother of Presidents from
invasion? And didn't I bring with me Arthur St. Clair, the best dressed
man in Charleston, for the Yankees to shoot at? Hello, what's that?
This is a day of events!"

Hoots, cat-calls, and derisive yells arose along a long line. A trim
young officer on a fine bay horse was riding down a path beside the
Opequon. He was as beautifully dressed as St. Clair at his best.
His hands were encased in long white buckskin gloves, and long brown
mustaches curled beautifully up until they touched either cheek.
It was he, this Beau Brummel of the Southern army, who had attracted the
attention of irreverent youth. From the shelter of trees and bushes
came a chorus of cries:

"Take them mice out o' your mouth! I know they're there, 'cause I see
their tails stickin' out!"

"What kind o' hair oil do you use? I know your head's oiled, or it
wouldn't shine so."

"Be sure you keep your gloves on or the sun'll tan your hands!"

"Oh, my, it's mother's pretty boy, goin' to see his best girl!"

The young officer flushed crimson through his brown, but he knew it was
no use to resent the words of his tormentors, and he rode steadily on,
looking straight before him.

"That's Caswell, a Georgian, of Longstreet's corps," said Sherburne; "a
good soldier and one of the bravest men I ever saw."

"Which proves," said St. Clair, in a tone of conviction, "that clothes
do help make the man."

Caswell passed out of sight, pursued by derisive comment, but his place
was taken quickly by a new victim. A man of middle age, in civilian
clothes, came riding slowly on a fat horse. He was a well-known sutler
named Williams and the wild lads did not confine themselves to hidden
cries, but rushed from the shelter of trees and bushes, and held up worn
articles of apparel, shouting in his ears:

"Hey, Mr. Williams! The soles of these shoes are made of paper, not
leather. I bought leather, not paper."

"What's the price of blue silk neckties? I've got a Yankee sweetheart
in New York, and I want to look well when our conquering army marches
into that city!"

"A pair of blankets for me, Mr. Williams, to be paid for when we loot
the Yankee treasury!"

But Williams was not disconcerted. He was used to such badinage.
He spread out his large hands soothingly.

"Boys," he said, "those shoes wore out so fast because you chased the
Yankees so hard. They were made for walking, not for foot races.
Why do you want to buy blankets on time when you can get them more
cheaply by capturing them from the enemy?"

His answers pleased them, and some one called for three cheers for
Williams, which were given with a will, and he rode on, unmolested.
But in a few minutes another and greater roar arose. Now it was
swelling, continuous, and there was in it no note whatever of criticism
or derision. It was made up wholly of affection and admiration, and
it rolled in unceasing volume along the stream and through the forest.

The four lads and Sherburne sprang to their feet, shading their eyes
with their hands as they looked.

"By the great Jupiter!" exclaimed Sherburne, "it's Old Jack himself in a
new uniform on Little Sorrel! The boys, I imagine, have heard that he's
been made lieutenant-general."

"I knew that nothing could stir up the corps this way except Old Jack
or a rabbit," said Happy Tom, as he sprang to his feet--he meant no
disrespect to his commander, as thousands would give chase to a rabbit
when it happened to be roused out of the bushes.

"Thunderation! What a change!" exclaimed St. Clair, as he ran with the
others to the edge of the road to see Stonewall Jackson, the victor of
twenty battles, go past in a uniform that at first had almost disguised
him from his amazed soldiers. Little Sorrel was galloping. He had
learned to do so whenever the soldiers cheered his rider. Applause
always embarrassed Jackson, and Little Sorrel, of his own volition,
now obeyed his wish to get by it as soon as possible.

"What splendor!" exclaimed Harry. "Did you ever see Old Jack looking
like this before?"

"Never! Never!" they exclaimed in chorus.

Stonewall Jackson wore a magnificent uniform of the richest gray,
with heavy gold lace wherever gold lace could be used, and massive
epaulets of gold. A thick gold cord tied in a bow in front surrounded
the fine gray hat, and never did a famous general look more embarrassed
as the faithful horse took him along at an easy gallop.

All through the woods spread the word that Stonewall Jackson was riding
by arrayed in plumage like that of the dandy, Jeb Stuart himself.
It was wonderful, miraculous, but it was true, and the cheers rolled
continuously, like those of troops about to go into battle and confident
of victory.

Harry saw clearly that his commander was terribly abashed. Blushes
showed through the tan of his cheeks, and the soldiers, who would not
have dared to disobey a single word of his on the battlefield, now ran
joyously among the woods and bushes. Harry and the other three lads,
being on Jackson's staff, hid discreetly behind the log as he passed,
but they heard the thunder of the cheering following him down the road.

It was in truth a most singular scene. These were citizen soldiers,
welded into a terrible machine by battle after battle and the genius of
a great leader, but with their youth they retained their personality and
independence. Affection was strongly mingled with their admiration for
Jackson. He was the head of the family, and they felt free to cheer
their usually dingy hero as he rode abroad in his magnificent new
uniform.

"I think we'd better cut across the woods to headquarters," said Harry.
"I want to see the arrival of Old Jack, and I'd wager any of you five
cents to a cent that he'll never wear that uniform again. Why, he
doesn't look natural in it at all."

"I won't take your bet," said Happy Tom, "because I'm thinking just as
you do. Arthur, here, would look all right in it--he needs clothes to
hold him up, anyway, but it doesn't suit Old Jack."

Their short cut took them through the woods to the general's quarters in
time to see him arrive and spring hurriedly from Little Sorrel. The man
whose name was a very synonym of victorious war was still embarrassed
and blushing, and as Harry followed him into the tent he took off the
gorgeous uniform and hat and handed them to his young aide. Then as he
put on his usual dingy gray, he said to an officer who had brought him
the new clothes:

"Give my thanks to General Stuart, Major, but tell him that the uniform
is far too magnificent for me. I value the gift, however, and shall
keep it in recollection of him."

The major and Harry took the uniform and, smoothing it carefully,
laid it away. But Harry, having further leave of absence went forth and
answered many questions. Was the general going to wear that uniform all
the time? Would he ride into battle clothed in it? When Harry replied
that, in his belief, he would never put it on again, the young soldiers
seemed to feel a kind of relief. The head of the family was not going
to be too splendid for them. Yet the event had heightened their spirits,
already high, and they began to sing a favorite song:

"Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails;
Stir up the camp fires bright.
No matter if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade's rousing song
Of Stonewall Jackson's way."

"It's a bully song!" exclaimed Happy Tom, who had a deep and thunderous
voice. Then snatching up a long stick he began to wave it as a baton,
and the others, instinctively following their leader, roared it forth,
more than ten thousand strong.

Langdon in his glory led his cohorts in a vast circle around Jackson's
quarters, and the mighty chorus thundered through verse after verse,
until they closed in a lower tone with the lines:

"Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
Old Blue Light's going to pray;
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it's his way!
Appealing from his native sod
In forma pauperis to God
Lay bare thine arm--stretch forth thy rod,
Amen! That's Stonewall Jackson's way."

Then Happy Tom threw down his stick and the men dispersed to their
quarters. But they had paid Stonewall Jackson a tribute that few
generals ever received.

"You're a wild and foolish fellow, Tom Langdon," said Dalton, "but I
like you for this thing you've done."

"You'll notice that Old Jack never appeared while we were singing,"
said Langdon. "I don't see why a man should be so modest and bashful.
Why, if I'd done half what he's done I'd ride the tallest horse in the
country; I'd have one of those Mexican saddles of yellow leather studded
with large golden-headed nails; the stirrups would be of gold and the
bridle bit would be gold, too. I'd have twelve uniforms all covered
with gold lace, and I'd have hats with gold-colored ostrich plumes
waving in them after the fashion of Jeb Stuart."

"Don't you worry, Tom," said Dalton. "You'll never have any excuse for
wearing so much gold. Have you heard what one of the boys said after
the chaplain preached the sermon to us last Sunday about leading the
children of Israel forty years through the wilderness?"

"No, George; what was it?"

"Forty years going through the wilderness," he growled. "Why, Stonewall
Jackson would have double-quicked 'em through in three days, and on half
rations, too."

"And so he would," exclaimed Harry with emphasis. The great affection
and admiration in which his troops held Jackson began to be tinged with
something that bordered upon superstition. They regarded his mental
powers, his intuition, judgment and quickness as something almost
supernatural. His great flanking movement at the Second Manassas,
and his arrival in time to save the army at Antietam, inspired them with
awe for a man who could do such things. They had long since ceased to
grumble when he undertook one of his tremendous marches, and they never
asked why they were sent to do a thing--they had absolute confidence in
the one who sent them to do it.

The great excitement of Jackson in his new uniform passed and the boys
resumed their luxurious quarters on the leaves beside the Opequon.
Sherburne, who had left them a while, returned, riding a splendid bay
horse, which he tethered to a bush before rejoining them.

"That's not the horse I saw you riding at Antietam, Captain," said
Langdon. "I counted that fellow's ribs, and none show in this one.
It's no business of mine, but I want to know where you got that fine
brute."

"No, it's none of your business, Tom," replied Sherburne, as he settled
himself comfortably, "you haven't anything in the world to do with it,
but that's no reason why you shouldn't ask and I shouldn't answer."

"Drop the long-winded preliminaries, then, and go ahead."

"I got him on a wild ride with the general, General Stuart. What a
cavalryman! I don't believe there was ever such another glutton for
adventure and battle. General Lee wasn't just sure what McClellan meant
to do, and he ordered General Stuart to pick his men and go see.

"The general took six hundred of us, and four light guns, and we crossed
the Potomac at dawn. Then we rode straight toward the north, exchanging
shots here and there with Northern pickets. We went across Maryland and
clear up into Pennsylvania, a hundred miles it must have been, I think,
and at a town called Chambersburg we got a great supply of Yankee stores,
including five hundred horses, which came in mighty handy, I can tell
you. I got Bucephalus there. He's a fine steed, too, I can tell you.
He was intended to carry some fat Pennsylvania colonel or major, and
instead he has me for a rider, a thinner and consequently a lighter man.
I haven't heard him expressing any sorrow over the exchange."

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