RANCOR OF HONOR
By: Jkay
Clash, clash goes the saber against my steed's hide
Kling, kling go the Ravels as onward I ride
And all my bright harness is living and speaks
Under my horseshoe the frosty ground creaks
I wave my buff glove to the girl that I love
Then join my dark squadron, and forward I move.
("Dragoon's Song," by George Boker)
July 1st 1863
The 1st Cavalry Division under Brigadier Gen. John Buford had engaged the enemy.
You will have to fight like the devil to hold your own until support arrives. Colonel Devin replayed his commanding officer's slowly spoken words over again in his mind. It seemed so long ago that Devin had stood with John Buford over looking the countryside. The smell of ripping peaches from the orchard across the meadow, floated in the air. Devin listened carefully as Buford outline the coming attack from Lee's main body of infantry. Buford's two Divisions, the First under William Gamble, and the Second under Thomas Casimer Devin, had to hold the high ground from the Confederate Infantry, till Reynolds arrived with first Corps. Devin's own Second Brigade were fighting a delayed action on the north side, while Colonel Gamble's First Brigade were to the west, four miles from the center of a little crossroads town called, Gettysburg. The two brigades had been fighting for two hours with no relief in sight. The objective was to stand and fight, then slowly give way and fall back, making a fighting withdrawal. From the loud noise of the cannon shots, Devin knew that Gamble's brigade had all ready fallen back to their next position on Herr's Ridge. For the last forty-five minutes the shells from the cannons could be heard thundering across the countryside. Stubbornly, Devin's troopers gave way to their next fallback position, grudgingly giving ground. Devin's brigade was at half strength, his leftmost brigade was falling back to the north of the railroad cut, protecting Gamble's far right as the First Brigade fell back to the Western slope of McPherson's Ridge. Devin's 6th New York Cavalry Volunteers was holding on two fronts, the right half of Buford's defensive line towards the west and north of the town. His brigade was at their last fallback position. There was nowhere else to run. Off in the distance toward the west, the distinctive sound of cavalry troopers' Spencer repeating carbines could be heard.
At 10am, General Reynolds' Union First Corp with Meredith's Iron Brigade and Cutler's Second arrived in support as Buford's dismounted cavalry started to run low on ammunition. Buford and his men had held the high ground for over three hours. Now with Reynolds taking command of the field, Devin moved his men to protect Cutler's right flank as Colonel Gamble's men open ranks, making room for the Iron Brigade. The bloody fighting continued as more infantry arrived from General Howard Eleventh's Corps and behind them, five miles southeast of Gettysburg was the Twelfth.
Slowly Devin buckled the strip of leather about his waist tighter. His battle worn eyes studied the countryside as he repositioned the holster and sword against his hips. No matter how stubbornly they held, Devin's men were about to break. Pulling out his army percussion revolver with it gray finish and wood grips, Devin recheck to make sure it was loaded. Cannon shots exploded all round. Small puffs of white smoke rose in a funnel shape as other shots exploded overhead with shell fragments showering the men with dirt and mud. Devin turned his head at the sound of a galloping horse, one of Buford's young lieutenants raced to his side shouting.
"Sir, with General Buford's complements, you are to fall back." His high pitched voice was hard to understand as the orders rushed out of his mouth as rebel musket shots flew over his head.
Devin right hand came up to stop the yellow haired lieutenant from saying anymore. "Medford," Devin called over the noise of the cannon fire. Devin saw no reason to have the exhausted lieutenant repeat his report. The aide never roamed far from his colonel's side, Medford turned at the voice of his Commander but finished issuing orders to the other officers before he headed over. The continuous sounds of musket fire toward the north made Devin's eyes narrow. Davis was pushing the attack. He waited for Medford to reach his side. In a couple of strides the tall captain was at his side, giving the lieutenant time to dismount. Turning his eyes back to the young lieutenant, Devin was ready for the young soldier to continue. "Take a deep breath son, then continue."
The young lieutenant, just out of West Point, squared his slim shoulders and released his breath. Under the watchful eyes of Colonel Devin, the lieutenant slowly repeated his report. "Sir. General Buford requests that you move your brigade back to Cemetery Ridge, Sir."
Staring off to the North as more and more musket fire rained down on them, Devin's strong voice said, "Medford, pull your sentries back slowly. As soon as they meet up with us, the brigade will fall back through town." The young captain snapped to attention then moved back towards the group of officers, handing out each man new orders. One of the dismounted soldiers gave a yell and fell, his carbine falling out of his hands to land by his side. The Union soldier's lifeless eyes stared up at the overcast sky. "Hold the line boys. Medford plug that hole. We must not let them flank our right!" Devin shouted over the cannon fire. Devin turned his attention back to the lieutenant as more and more cannon shots landed close to the ground they were standing.
"Sir, you must fall back now!" The lieutenant shouted. "Sir, Colonel Devin, Sir. That is Union battery firing on you from the rear." The fire in Devin's eyes didn't stop the lieutenant, "Sir, you are ordered to withdraw."
Devin's anger never reached his lips as he stared into the eyes of the young lieutenant, what he saw there made him proud. They say that the eyes are the windows of your soul, as Devin looked into the lieutenant's sea-green eyes, the young man held his stony gaze. There was fear hiding in the background of those eyes, however there was also determination and raw courage riding herd on that fear. "Lieutenant… " Devin started to say.
"Dent, Sir." The young lieutenant answered before Devin could finish, using his maternal grandmother's last name, as Buford had ordered him. However as Devin's eyebrows went up, the lieutenant couldn't help but stand his full height and in a loud voice repeated his full name proudly, "Lieutenant Christopher Dent Larabee, Sir."
A bewildered look crossed Devin's face as he glanced around as if expecting to see Buford waiting calmly on his big black gelding for Devin to join him. He turned to glared back at the lieutenant, shaking his head. "Lieutenant, report back to General Buford that we will hold the right as the brigade falls back through town." The Colonel watched the young man standing at attention. Devin lowered his voice saying, "Son, drop the last bit, there a price on that name and it would not be wise to mention it in the face of the enemy"
"Yes, Sir." Christopher snapped to attention, he turned to mount his horse when Devin called after him.
"Lieutenant Dent, you are to report back to General Buford personally." Devin's eyes harden, he watched as the young man's back stiffen, and then straightened to stand taller. A grin tugged at Devin's mouth. He knew it! Buford didn't send the boy over. "Dent, I said report to the General, not to one of his aides." The Colonel chuckled as Dent's shoulders slumped in defeat. Devin wonder how the lieutenant maneuvered out of Buford's sight, a cold tingle went up Devin's back as he thought of his Commander. His gut reaction told him the young lieutenant was not telling him everything and it made Devin nervous. He needed to get back to Buford at all possible speed. He turned back towards his men ready to issue orders to mount, when the words spoken by the lieutenant stop him in his tracks.
"No Sir, I mean, Yes Sir, Colonel Sir, I'll drop the last name." Before he could say anything else a cannon shell landed a few yards away. The hot shell ejected dirt, mud and shell fragments in the air, leaving a small crater in the earth. Grabbing his horse's reins, the lieutenant pulled the horse's head around to control the frighten animal.
"Off with you boy," Devin shouted as he picked himself off the ground where the blast had thrown him. Musket fire flew over their heads forcing them to retreat behind a wooden rail. A mile long, the rail became the new skirmish line. Then, as if an enormous wave hit, the rebels flew out from under the trees, racing across the muddy field. The front line broke under the mammoth pressure of the rebel charge. The Second Brigade found themselves stubbornly falling back, giving ground till they reached a stone hedge. As a brigade, they climbed over and turned, forming a new skirmish line. Some of the men were on their knees, using the stones for cover. Every fourth man held horses a few yards back, but not one man turned yellow and made a run for it. With the new Spencer repeating Carbine, Devin's New Yorkers had five to one firepower superiority over the rebels and the dismounted cavalry soldiers refused the line. The rebels fell back to the tree, reforming to charge again.
Devin paced behind his men, in front of him stood Lieutenant Larabee reloading his revolver, and beside him was his horse; Devin was astonished that the animal was still alive, not a scratch on him. "Medford, get the boys back into their saddles, fall back, fall back," Devin ordered, firing his revolver as the rebel infantry were lining up to advance again. Devin stood his ground, refusing to leave the men whose horses had been killed earlier. Devin's own gray horse had his legs shattered with the first round of cannon shells. He was on foot, Devin locked eyes with Captain Medford, turning command over, ordering him to get what was left of his brigade out of harm's way. The soldiers that were left gathered closer around Devin and the dismounted lieutenant, pulling the skirmish line tighter to cover the cavalry soldiers racing to their horses. Devin studied his men. They were all good men. He pulled out his saber, stepping closer to young Larabee and said, "Lieutenant, mount your horse and return to Buford, at all possible speed."
Larabee, stared hard across the field at the advancing rebels. He knew this land, if he remembered correctly there was a gully about a yard to the right, just before the tree line. As musket shots buzzed past his head, a plan formulated in his mind. He could see what needed to be done; if they could surprise the rebels, it would work. Larabee turned and faced Devin, handing over the reins of his horse saying, "Sir, take my horse." Devin shook his head no. "Sir, get on the horse," the lieutenant's voice was low and deadly. For his plan to work, he need to move the men now, Devin's eyes widened as Larabee took command. "You over there." He asked one of the older men.
"Private Tobin McKenna, Sir," answered the man.
"Take out those Rebels to the right."
"Yes, Sir." McKenna quarantined the lieutenant as he started to fire his carbine, taking out a rebel with his first shot.
Larabee turned his eyes to another man, one with brown hair, a few years older then him and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, asking, "Soldier?"
"Private Anton Danielson, Sir," the soldier responded.
"See that group of trees, the tall one? When I give the word, fire with all you have and makes us a path." Turning back to the colonel, he said, "You, Sir, mount, now." His revolver came up as he fired at the approaching rebels. At Devin's reluctance to move, the lieutenant turned his attention away from the enemy. "Sir, General Buford needs you. I didn't want to tell you this, but he is down, wounded in the shoulder. He needs you. The First Division needs you. Now Sir, get on the damn horse." Larabee moved his horse around and threw Devin the reins and helped Devin mount. As soon as the colonel was on, Larabee smacked the horse's flank, sending the horse towards Medford and his awaiting men.
With the colonel heading towards the Union cavalry and safety, Larabee turned to the twenty or so men gathered along the hedge, all from the 9th New York. Almost all were older then him and they were looking toward him for leadership. As the men continued to fire at the Confederate rebels, he yelled, "Listen up, men. We don't have a lot of time, when I give the word, Danielson, over there is going to start firing. Then we all stand and fire the carbines at the same time. With luck, we will surprise the beggars and they will fall back. When I give the word we charge forward, go to the left, then turn and go right. About a yard out is a little gully. Jump down into it and follow it around. It's deep in some places so be careful, but run like the devil and don't stop. No matter what, don't stop! The gully runs through the back of the town and those that make it can meet up with the rest of the brigade. Understand?"
Each man mumbled, "Yes Sir," and quickly loaded their carbines, waiting for the
lieutenant's signal to move forward.
Checking his gun, Larabee waited, a rebel officer was moving to stand in front of the gray coats, pulling out his saber. "Ready men," he said, then more loudly, "Now, Danielson!" The rebel officer was the first to go down. "Steady…Steady… Now…."
All twenty men stood, and fired repeatedly, sending white puffs of smoke in the air. The rebels were startled, some fell back to the trees, and others dropped where they stood.
Larabee yelled, "Charge!" and the men raced forward, firing their carbines as they ran. Larabee fired his revolver. As he reached the gully, Larabee turned and faced the rebels, firing his last shell, giving the last man time to jump down. He moved to jump down into the gully, when hot lead exploded next to his face. Larabee was dazed, barely on his feet, when Danielson and McKenna grabbed his legs dragging his body down into the gully. Each private took one of Larabee's arms and they made a dash for it, falling, getting up and running for their lives.
At the sound of the Spencer carbines firing at the same time, Devin turned his mount around and watched in dreaded amazement. "Good God!" he whispered, as he watched the lieutenant and the New Yorkers stand, and fire their carbines. He heard the lieutenant yell, then Devin's New Yorkers charged straight toward the rebel line. The rebels turned and ran from the charge. The Union soldiers, turned left and suddenly a yard out they turn right, as one body the New Yorkers jumped, only the lieutenant was left on the grassing area. The lieutenant disappeared from Devin's sight when a cannon shell landed and swallowed him up. "Good God," he repeated. Devin could only pray that the shell had killed the lieutenant. There was a reason Buford kept the boy at his side, if he was still alive and fell into the wrong Rebel hands, Christopher Larabee would be dead before the fortnight. There would be no Prisoner Exchange for the lad, like other sons with well placed fathers. Musket fire over his head shook him out of his shock. Slowly he moved his exhausted men through town, dodging heavy shelling from his rear and the shots being fired at them from the Confederate line.
The sun was setting before Devin rode into sight of the flags of the 1st Cavalry Division waving proudly in the air. They were encamped in the Plum Run Valley. Devin rode straight for the flags knowing that is where he would find General Buford. His heart was heavy, and saddened that he would be the one to bear the news to Buford that his godson was lost, assumed dead. At the worst Devin feared that Buford, his mentor, was dead or dying. Coming to a halt, he issued orders to his troop commanders to make camp and he headed over to find General Buford.
Dismounting the horse that was forced on him, he heard a boisterous voice coming from inside the tent. There was no mistaking the stern voice of Buford and from the tone, he was enraged. Taking a deep breath, Devin moved to enter the tent as Buford yelled. "How could you of lost him? You were ordered to stay by his side. He's your lieutenant!"
Devin heard a weary voice answer, the rest of his words too muffled to understand.
"I don't care what Christopher told you to do. He was your responsibility, Sergeant Wilmington."
Again the muffled voice tried to explain.
"No, I do not care, find him!" Buford yelled. Devin lifted the flap, took a step inside the tent, and raised a small prayer to the Lord as he saw Buford sitting at the edge of a cot, while his surgeon poked around his right shoulder. Devin studied the young man standing before Buford. The sergeant was tall, clean shaven, standing over six-foot, slim and dark haired, and young, so very young.
Finally the surgeon pulled a long, narrow piece of shrapnel out of the shoulder. Buford's face tightened around the eyes, but the man never gave a cry. "Keogh, give me my shirt," Buford hastily told his aide, Captain Myles Keogh. The surgeon, and Keogh, used to the General's way, just ignored him and the surgeon finished wrapping the wounded shoulder. Slowly Keogh helped Buford back into his blue cotton shirt, and tried to keep the general off his feet. Devin quietly listened as the sergeant, in a low voice, explained what happen after Buford was wounded and pulled off of his horse by Lieutenant Larabee. How Larabee had ordered Wilmington to stay with Captain Keogh and look after the general after seeing the courier that was sent to Colonel Devin fall from the same cannon shell. The lieutenant said that he would personally take the orders to Colonel Devin. Buford's eyes bored into Wilmington, turning away only when he saw Devin standing at the opening of the tent. Buford searched behind Devin, hoping to see Christopher slide around and in his youthful stroll pop down in the empty chair, laughing about his adventure with Keogh. His eyes dropped and he turned his head away at the sad expression on Devin's face. Dismissing Wilmington, Buford half heartily listened to Devin's report, his heart heavy with sorrow. How could he write and inform his best friend, the man he went to West Point with, the man who was a brother to him? How could he write to tell him that his only child was dead and that he, Buford, broke his promise to watch over the boy?
