Excerpt from
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GOBBLE ’EM UP


“The worst part o’ this here battle is all the waitin’ we gotta do,” muttered Henry.
“Don’t tell me Wellsboro’s bravest fella is gettin’ edgy,” needled Asher. “You should be thankful that Stonewall Jackson’s boys don’t come chargin’ out o’ them woods after the flank attack they pulled on the Eleventh Corps yesterday.”
“I’d give my ration o’ salt ta know how them Rebs got around us without our knowin’ it.”
“I believe we’re being outgeneraled by Robert E. Lee,” added Professor Phillips. “We aren’t waiting. We’re dallying.”
Henry wasn’t the only nervous Bucktail at Chancellorsville. As darkness washed over the men, they lay fidgeting in their rifle pits checking and rechecking their weapons. The officers prowled about, too, denying the men permission to sleep despite complete silence from the Rebel position effectively screened by dense trees.
Monday was more of the same tense idleness until Colonel Stone suddenly appeared late in the afternoon to hold a hasty conference with the commanders of his three regiments. As the officers bent their heads together to whisper strategy, Willie said, “It looks like the fur’s gonna fly now. We best git ready, fellas.”
“An’ say a prayer fer yer squad while you’re at it,” urged Asher. “If this becomes bloody, we’ll need the Lord’s protection.”
“I’ll rely on m’ shootin’,” Henry said. “It’s the Rebs that will need protectin’.”
“You best be glad Ma didn’t hear ya say that,” chided Willie. “She’d have Pa skin ya alive fer such talk.”
“Well, she ain’t around, is she?”
Colonel Dwight strode with purpose back to the 149th and assembled his riflemen into battle formation. After throwing out a screen of skirmishers to the front, he moved the regiment into its assigned position next to the 150th and 143rd. The battalion then moved cautiously forward on both sides of the Ridge Road leading south.
The woods were particularly thick here, and Dwight cautioned his men not to snap a twig as they crept ahead. The silence was so profound that Willie could hear chipmunks chirping in the brush and the trill of a red squirrel perched in a distant pine. The thudding of his temples made him even more aware of the eminent danger his squad approached with such stealth.
Willie figured they hadn’t sneaked more than a mile when the vague sound of Rebel voices washed from the woods ahead. Roll calls mixed with the drawl of relaxed conversation and the clank of shovels working on fortifications. That the enemy was totally unaware of his regiment’s presence gave Willie hope of success if they attacked with utter surprise in their favor.
Just as Willie reached to cock his rifle, Sergeant Warriner motioned for him to lie down and roll up his right sleeve to above the elbow. With darkness about to fall, the lad knew that in dim light he could now identify his comrades from the enemy by their bare arms. This wasn’t something learned on the drilling fields but from a seasoned sergeant.
Willie lay in the brush quivering with anticipation. He was about to be tested. What would he do? His pulse pounded even harder when Colonel Dwight slipped up to his squad to whisper, “If the enemy advances, hold your fire until they’re close up to you. Then, give it to ’em, jump over their earthworks, an’ gobble ’em up!”
“Gobble ’em up! Gobble ’em up!” repeated Dirk Preston in an excited murmur, while Lon nodded his head like an agitated turkey. Henry, though, rolled his eyes at his brother and stifled a smirk. Then, Willie chuckled, remembering how silly he and Henry got when trying to be serious at weddings and funerals. According to Henry, there wasn’t much difference between the two.
The Bucktails continued to lie still while Colonel Stone surveyed the Rebel position. After his reconnaissance was complete, he signaled for the men to rise and return the way they had come. Dirk emitted a disappointed groan at the order. Lon whimpered like a defeated beast.
Willie’s anxiety escalated as he moved backward one step at a time. Although he tried hard to be quiet, his feet got tangled, and he crashed heavily on his back. The Rebel voices stopped in mid-sentence at the sound of the lad’s blunder. A tense hush followed before one of the Confederates cracked, “Must be a tree fell over yonder. It got bored to death by them yellow-bellied Yanks who’d rather save their reserves than fight.”
Reddening at the insult, Willie rose to creep more cautiously off into the gloom. When he was finally out of enemy rifle range, he glanced sheepishly at his brother and the other members of his squad. Too relieved to chastise him, his friends fell silently into rank to return to the Union lines.