Boys of Wartime: Will at the Battle of Gettysburg by Laurie Calkhoven

“They’ll get them!”
    I was about to go home when a Union general and his staff rode down Baltimore Street from the south. It was only then that I realized how mixed up this battle was. The Rebels were coming at us from the north of town, and the Union soldiers from the south.
    The general stopped at the Courthouse and looked up at the belfry. We thought he would get a better view of the battlefield from our observation deck, so I ran down to the street.
    â€œThere’s a clear view from the roof, sir,” I said. “We can see all the fighting.”
    â€œLead the way,” he said.
    â€œIt started around eight o’clock this morning,” I told him, leading him and a few aides up to the Fahnestock Brothers’ third story. We went through the trapdoor and onto the roof. “At first it was just the cavalry on our side, but the infantry joined the fight about an hour ago. There are a lot of Rebs out there, but I know you’ll beat them.”
    The general greeted everyone with a nod but said nothing more. He used field glasses to watch the battle and survey the land around town. I stood at the ready, hoping he would have more questions for me.
    Seeing things through a stranger’s eyes sure can change your view. I saw that our Diamond was in the center of everything. There were roads all around town like spokes on a wheel, and every single one of them headed straight for the center of Gettysburg. No wonder both armies found us.
    The general pointed out Cemetery Hill to his aides. It was back where they had come from. Was he already planning a retreat? I had no time to ask the question. A scout pounded down West Middle Street at full gallop, shouting for General Howard.
    The general with us called out that he was Howard.
    â€œGeneral Reynolds is dead,” the scout yelled. “You are wanted on the battlefield immediately.”
    I thought about Abel’s simple words. “Dead. Shiloh.”
    Did General Reynolds have children? Would they have to say, “Dead. Gettysburg,” when someone asked about their father?
    All of sudden I was glad my father wasn’t a soldier, but safe in an army hospital treating the injured. I was glad Jacob was a prisoner and not in the middle of a battle.
    General Howard gave instructions to one of his aides to ride back and hurry the rest of the infantry along, leaving some men behind to occupy and fortify Cemetery Hill. Then, in an instant, he was galloping toward the fighting.
    About ten thirty, more infantry soldiers marched down Washington Street, heading for the battle. I had forgotten all about going home. Instead I perched on the plank fence around Mrs. Eyster’s Young Ladies Seminary to cheer them on.
    Their uniforms were the thickest kind of wool. Most men had wool blankets and knapsacks belted to their backs. Cartridge boxes and canteens hung over their shoulders. They had been caught in the rain and dripped water and sweat in the hot July weather.
    They marched on the double-quick through rows of townspeople handing them cake and bread with apple butter and water. The men would grab a tin cup, drink, and fling it back as they ran.
    They didn’t have the easy confidence of the cavalry from the day before. These men were headed into battle. We could hear the shells thundering, the muskets popping. Some of these men would die today. They knew it. Now I did, too.
    Officers urged the people to stop feeding them—we were slowing the soldiers down—but no one wanted to send them into battle without food and water and shouts of encouragement. It was the only thing we could do.
    A military band had set up on the Diamond to play “The Star-Spangled Banner” and other patriotic airs. There was a chorus of bullets and shells behind them. Wounded men limped through the streets. I saw one Union soldier cleaning his hand in a horse trough. A bullet had gone clean through his flesh.
    â€œThere are enough soldiers