Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
Good, Honest
American Stock
Up ahead, death awaited some of them.
Lieutenant Colonel John Randolph Lane understood that grim fact, but at the moment he was distracted by a wave of nausea. After a bone-wearying two-week march from Virginia to Pennsylvania, his regiment and the rest of General Robert E. Lee's army were finally about to fight the Yankees on Northern soil. A mile or so up the road now crowded with Confederate troops, the smoke of battle was rising from a crossroads hamlet called Gettysburg. In the distance, Lane could hear the sputtering toll of small arms fire and the slam-slam-slam of artillery fire. The men of his regiment were moving steadily toward the sound of the guns, but Lane feared his nausea might force him to fall out. Was it bad water or a case of pre-battle jitters? He was unsure. He had been up all night overseeing the brigade picket line, had eaten practically nothing for breakfast and had unwisely gulped down several big swallows of muddy water. Now he felt so nauseous he wondered if he could do his job in the fighting that lay ahead.
Tall and erect, Lane was a robust man with a stocky build. He was three days away from his twenty-eighth birthday, but a chest-length black beard made him look older. Despite his uniform of Confederate gray, he looked more like a farmer than an army officer. Before the war, he was a farmer, turning over the sod every spring in the rolling fields of central North Carolinas Chatham County. He had the hardy look of a man accustomed to the outdoors — a strong face with rough-hewn features — but healso projected a natural dignity that befitted his current occupation. Lieutenant Colonel Lane was now second in command of the 26th North Carolina — one of the largest infantry regiments in the Army of Northern Virginia. His men revered him, and he returned their esteem. Most of the regiment's shirkers were gone now; the last handful had been shaken loose by the hard march north and the prospect of battle. What remained was a regiment of more than 800 well-drilled fighting men.
A year earlier, Lane had endured a hellish night on the battlefield at Malvern Hill with these men. Now, exactly one year later — Wednesday, July 1, 1863 — he was heading with them into what appeared to be an even greater battle. Would he be too ill to exercise command? They were approaching Gettysburg from the west, marching on a well-used highway called the Chambersburg Turnpike. Up the road before them they could see a series of ridges, and from atop the crest of a distant ridge, on the outskirts of Gettysburg, Federal troops appeared to be pouring fire into the Confederate troops ahead. In response, the Confederates — Third Corps troops of Heth's Division — were spreading out in a long battle line on both sides of the pike. The men of the 26th advanced up the road in formation as the chaotic sounds of heavy fighting increased, muffling the rhythmic tread of the marching men. As the troops leading the regiment crested a ridge, Federal artillery fire suddenly shrieked down from the morning sky and exploded on the road just steps ahead. It was their first fire of the battle, and it came unexpectedly, jarring the marching column with a concussion and a loud blast of smoke, flame and debris. The men in front wavered, and the column seemed to hesitate.
"Steady, men!" boomed a calm but authoritative voice. It belonged to the regiment's commanding Officer, Colonel Henry King Burgwyn Jr. Moving alongside the column on horseback, Burgwyn shouted encouragement to the troops, and they regained their step. "Steady, boys, steady," he urged them, and the measured tread of the march resumed. Moments later, Burgwyn ordered the men off the road. They deployed along to their right behind a row of Confederate artillery pieces, and prepared to form a line of battle.
The cool-headed response to the incoming artillery fire was typical of Colonel Burgwyn. He had a reputation in the 26th as a steady man in a time of danger — and one who always put his troops first. He was also known for his youth: Colonel Henry King Burgwyn Jr. was twenty-one years old. Even in an army of so many young men, such youthfulness was exceptional. Yet, Burgwyn's troops followed him devotedly. The Colonel was "cool under fire," proclaimed one of his men, and always knew "exactly what to do." A year earlier, a brigade commander had sparked protests when he tried to block Burgwyn's promotion because of his youthfulness. Soon afterwards the 26th had transferred to another brigade. Now, as the regiment moved into battle at Gettysburg, Burgwyn enjoyed even greater loyalty from his men, who knew he would never send them anywhere he would not go. The young officer had not always enjoyed such enthusiastic support. Lieutenant Colonel Lane could remember when Burgwyn was the most despised man in the regiment.
Lane was a fresh recruit the first time he saw Burgwyn. It was a warm August morning in 1861. He and his company — the Chatham Boys — had just arrived at Camp Carolina, a large training post established about three miles northwest of Raleigh at Crabtree Plantation. The Chatham Boys had arrived by train in the night and could see little in the darkness. In the moming, Lane awoke to a sprawling encampment — rows of tents, smoking campfires and hordes of coughing, laughing, yelling recruits. Looking at the rifle-toting sentries patrolling the boundaries of the camp, Lane suddenly realized the four-month-old war that had seemed so distant was a serious reality. In their fumbling adjustment to soldiering that morning...
