Dark Chaos

by Ginny Dye

“Private Moses Samuels,” Moses responded instantly.

  “Already private,” Jamison growled. “I’m giving you orders to turn your men around and head back for our lines. We’ve done all the damage we can do for one night. None of you will do us any good if you end up in a Rebel prison. Not to mention, them Rebs won’t take too well to soldiers they figure are still just slaves.” He paused before resuming, more compassion in his voice. “Get going. That’s an order!”

  “Yes, sir,” Moses responded promptly. He hesitated but then decided being humiliated was better than putting his men in danger. “Which way are our lines, sir?”

  Jamison laughed. “I just found someone who could tell me! Go directly to your left. You’ll stumble onto them eventually.”

  “Yes, sir,” Moses said gratefully and then turned to his men. “Left. March!”

  Exhaustion dogging every movement, Robert wiped at the grime on his face. He knew he needed coffee, but he couldn’t find the energy to walk to the campfire. He heard movement and looked up wearily. Crocker was heading toward him with a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” he muttered gratefully, reaching for the hot steaming liquid. It made little difference what was being passed off as coffee now - it was hot. He raised it to his lips and drank.

  Crocker settled down next to him. “What happened out there, sir?”

  Robert shrugged. “Just routine reconnaissance,” he said casually. The officers had decided the men didn’t need to know their hero, Stonewall Jackson, had been shot and wounded.

  Crocker sat quietly for several moments before he looked up. “That’s not what the men are saying, sir,” he said tentatively, then paused. “They’re saying General Jackson is dead.” Fear was evident in his voice.

  “Nonsense!” Robert said sharply, realizing the rumors would be worse than the truth. He couldn’t be responsible for anyone else’s men, but his at least would face battle knowing the real situation.

  “I heard some of the fellows from North Carolina thought the general’s party was Yankee cavalry and fired on them.”

  “That much is true,” Robert admitted. “Look, the general was wounded, but he wasn’t killed. He was hit in the arm several times. It’s broken pretty badly, but there’s no reason to think he won’t recover just fine.”

  “Lots of others were killed, weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Robert said heavily, once more reliving the horror of the night.

  “I reckon we’re gonna draw back then, huh?” Crocker asked.

  Robert looked up quickly. “Jackson’s orders are clear. We’re to hold our line and advance.”

  “But who will lead us? We need General Jackson!” Crocker’s voice sounded genuinely alarmed as fear sprang to his eyes.

  “General Stuart has been called up,” Robert said confidently.

  “General J.E.B. Stuart?” Crocker asked hopefully.

  “The same,” Robert said firmly. “I have every confidence in his ability to lead.”

  “I’ve heard lots of good things about him,” Crocker admitted, some color returning to his face. “You say the general will be all right?”

  “Of course. It’s nothing but a wound.”

  Crocker nodded and then stood. “I’ll go tell the rest of the men. We’ll be ready when it’s time.”

  Robert smiled as Crocker walked off. This boy straight off the farm probably had no idea what this war was all about, but he was meeting it with courage and determination. Robert’s smile faded. How many fine, courageous men would die before it was all over?

  CHAPTER SIX

  The sun was just peeping over the horizon when Carrie left her father’s house on Church Hill and strode up the hill toward Chimborazo Hospital. There had been reports the night before that the first train loads of wounded soldiers would arrive at the station that morning. Every available space in the sprawling hospital had been readied during the last three days. The summer of 1863 would evidently be a repeat of the previous two. At least this time they were better organized and more capable of meeting the challenge. Experience had sharpened them.

  “Wait for me!”

  A distant holler caused Carrie to stop. A brisk breeze teased tendrils from her bun. She pushed at them impatiently as she gazed north of the city and waited for her friend. Somewhere across the stand of trees, only fifty-five miles from where she was standing, another battle was taking place. She knew little of the sketchy details being relayed to the capital. Every waking minute had been spent preparing the hospital for its newest onslaught of wounded and maimed.

  Breathless from her rapid ascent up the hill, Janie joined her.

  Carrie frowned. “I thought you were sleeping in this morning? You weren’t feeling well last night.”

  “I can’t lie in bed when our soldiers are coming in today. The way I feel is nothing compared to the pain they suffer.”

  Carrie sighed heavily, continuing to stare north. “It’s happening again,” she said stonily. “All winter I hung on to the hope that the fighting wouldn’t start again this spring. That somehow someone would find the way to stop this crazy war.” She clinched her fists. “But it’s happening again. More young men will be slaughtered.” She wheeled and stared at Janie. “How long before there are no more boys and men to die? How long? Will the fighting stop then? When they’re all dead?” She didn’t care that her last words were shouted at the sky.

  Janie didn’t reply. She moved closer to Carrie and slipped her arm around her friend’s waist. Together they stood quietly while the sun climbed over the horizon and announced the advent of yet another day.

  Carrie shook her head. “I wonder whether God sometimes wishes he could stop the sun from rising. Stop humanity from figuring out yet another way to destroy itself - to destroy each other.” She took a deep breath. “I wonder whether it’s just as hard for him to hold on to hope as it is for me.”

  Janie turned Carrie toward her. “You’re worried about Robert.”

  “Of course, I’m worried about Robert. I’m also worried about every single man who is fighting this war. South and North,” Carrie said vehemently. “I worry about the wives who will never see their husbands again. The mothers who will never see their sons. The children who will never see their fathers – those who are going hungry because their daddies aren’t around to take care of them.”

  “You can’t carry it all,” Janie said gently.

  “But how do I keep from caring?” Carrie cried.

  “You don’t,” Janie said firmly. “You’ll never quit caring. That’s why you will be such a good doctor someday.” She paused. “You just have to give up the responsibility.”

  “The responsibility?”

  “Yes,” Janie replied. “You can’t be responsible for the people who come into your life. People make choices - good and bad - but ultimately God is responsible for them. We think we want to be responsible for people until we realize it’s difficult enough to be responsible for ourselves.” She stopped and waited for her words to sink in. “You’re only responsible for what you’re supposed to do. In the future, you’re supposed to be a doctor - right now you’re a nurse. You’re supposed to do your best to help those who come under your care.”

  “And leave the rest to God,” Carrie mused. “I think I’m the one who told you that,” she commented wryly. “Why can’t I listen to my own good advice?”

  “Maybe because it’s easier to give it than to live it,” Janie teased. Then she sobered and reached for Carrie’s hand. “It’s perfectly natural for you to be worried about Robert.”

  Tears welled in Carrie’s eyes. “I try not to imagine the worst, but sometimes I get so scared. Then, other times, I’m angry at myself for being so scared.”

  “Angry at yourself for being human?”

  Carrie managed a smile. “Where did you learn to give people so much room to be human?” she demanded. “Don’t you know that takes away half the fun of feeling like you’re a horrible person?”

  Janie laughed but then looked pen
sive. “I’ve told you a little about my Grandma Alice. She was the most special person I’ve ever known. I was heartbroken when she died four years ago. Now I’m glad she didn’t live to see what is happening to her beloved country.” She shook her head. “Grandma Alice taught me to let people be human. She used to tell me folks could play all kinds of games to make other people think they were always thinking and doing the things God wanted them to. She said it made them feel better about themselves. At least they thought it did. She told me there wasn’t a person alive who could always do and be whatever they thought God wanted them to.” Janie paused, remembering. “She sat me down one afternoon after a friend had hurt my feelings. I can still see her sitting there, her silver hair outlined by the blue cover on her rocker. Anyway, she asked me if I was angry. I told her, of course, I wasn’t angry - just a little hurt. Grandma Alice just smiled and told me, of course, I was angry, and that it was okay to feel that way. That it was just human.” Janie chuckled. “I was pretty excited at first. I asked her if that meant it was okay to feel any way I wanted to, any time. That sounded like a pretty great thing to an angry ten year old.”

  “What did she say?” Carrie asked, caught up in the story, envisioning the wise little lady on her porch.

  “She just laughed and told me there wasn’t anything wrong with being honest about my feelings as long as I got to work and tried to make them right. She told me it was okay to be angry with my friend, as long as I then tried to forgive her so the bitterness wouldn’t eat me up.” Janie stared off into the distance. “She told me people could get so caught up in trying to impress God and each other that soon the world would be full of people just playing games. She said God was perfectly capable of handling honesty.”

  “Your Grandma Alice sounds like Old Sarah,” Carrie said. “She was the wisest woman I’ve ever known. She could see things so clearly.” Then she chuckled. “And she always saw through my games.”

  Janie nodded. “I guess the longer we live the wiser we get. At least I hope so. My dream is to someday be like Grandma Alice.”

  Carrie hugged her friend. “I’d say you’re well on your way.” Then she pulled back. “We’d better get to the hospital. God might be ultimately responsible, but I still have a job to do.”

  Within minutes they crested the hill and reached the plateau where Chimborazo Hospital was sprawled. Carrie gazed over rows and rows of long, white buildings separated by wide lanes. Fewer than a dozen buildings had patients - men who were convalescing from wounds received from the winter fighting at Fredericksburg.

  “Sometimes I pretend this is just a normal hospital,” Carrie said softly. “Then I’m so proud of its well-ventilated buildings, the gardens, the bakery, the brewery, and all the animals we keep to provide meat for the men.”

  “I know what you mean,” Janie responded. “All the pretending will end today, though, when the first train load rolls in.”

  “Then it becomes an overcrowded, smelly place where thousands of men will die this summer. Where thousands of men will lose an arm or leg. Where thousands of men will lose their dreams of the future.” Carrie straightened and spoke to herself sternly. “But I’m not responsible for that, am I? I will do everything I can to make life better for just one person at a time.”

  A vivid picture of Robert flashed into her mind. Her last glimpse of him had been his turning to wave as he rode away from the house, his dark hair shining in the sun, his hand raised in farewell, and his big smile encouraging in hope. He had looked so tall and strong - so very handsome. Carrie stifled the ache that threatened to overwhelm her and turned toward the nearest building. “See you tonight.” She didn’t bother to say have a good day. Under the present circumstances that wasn’t really possible.

  Dr. Michael Wild was checking on a few of his patients when Carrie strolled into the building. She watched as his cheerful green eyes beamed down from under his thatch of red hair. Carrie owed this man so much. He had given her her first chance to use her medical knowledge. In the last year they had become a team. There was never enough medical help when the hospitals filled with wounded soldiers. Though Carrie didn’t yet have the credentials to be a doctor, in many ways she acted as one. Dr. Wild had taught her so much. In return she had passed on the knowledge Old Sarah had bequeathed her about wild herbs and plants. The shortage of medicines was daily becoming more critical as the Union blockade of the coast tightened. The renewal of fighting would mean many men would go without the medicine they desperately needed.

  Carrie was waiting at the door to her ward when the first wagonloads of men rattled up the hill. The long morning had passed with no sign of the wounded. It was now early afternoon. Reports of Union cavalry raids had been filtering in, but they were too vague to offer any real information.

  Carrie steeled herself as the first men were carried in. A sick feeling pulsed in her throat, though, when her first patient was carried to her. The man looked about thirty years old. His face was crusted with blood and dirt, a gory bandage plastered to his filthy, stringy hair. A gaping hole in his tattered pants revealed a ragged bullet wound, and the awkward twist of his left arm told her it was broken. His eyes, somewhere between blue and gray, were already bright with fever from the infection that had settled in.

  “Hello, soldier,” Carrie said cheerfully.

  “Hello, ma’am.”

  “What’s your name?” Carrie asked as she cut away the material around the wound.

  “Frank Boscomb,” he said weakly. “I don’t reckon I’m doing so good, am I?”

  “Oh, I’d say you’re not doing great, but you’re doing better than a lot I see go through here,” Carrie responded confidently.

  “I sure don’t want to lose that leg.”

  Carrie inspected the wound. “I think you’ll be keeping your leg, Frank. It looks like a clean wound. You’ll have a fever for a while, but you’ll be all right.”

  Frank sagged back against the pillow in relief. “Really? You hear so many stories, you know. I got a buddy who lost both an arm and a leg.”

  “I’m sorry,” Carrie said sympathetically. “You’re going to be lucky this time.”

  Now that Frank knew he would keep his leg, he began to talk of other matters. “I guess that’s the second time today I’ve been lucky. I thought those Union cavalry men were going to cart up us North before we ever got to a hospital.”

  Carrie waited, knowing he would tell her the whole story. The soldiers were usually eager to tell of their exploits on the field, and she was always thankful for any information. Especially when Robert was involved in the battle.

  “We were coming in on the train. I reckon we were only ten or so miles away when a bunch of Yankee cavalry stopped us.”

  “Ten miles?” Carrie asked in surprise. Evidently the rumors of Union cavalry raids were true. What did their presence so close to the city mean? Had Lee been defeated? Was Hooker coming into the city? She pressed down the questions and concentrated on cleaning the nasty wound Frank had received. She would know soon enough.

  “Yes, ma’am. We figured those boys wouldn’t let us go, but they did. Just asked us a bunch of questions and let us come through. I guess they knew we weren’t going to do them any harm, and I don’t think they were in mind to take prisoners.” He paused. “From all I hear, we did pretty well yesterday. General Jackson took his men around and surprised Hooker at his right flank.” He chuckled. “Some boys said those Yankees were running so fast they were stumbling all over each other.” Then he sobered. “Don’t reckon the luck lasted though. It’s too bad about old Stonewall.”

  “What is?” Carrie asked sharply.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m afraid we’re short on news up here in the hospital,” Carrie said more calmly. “What happened to General Jackson?”

  “According to what I heard, he got shot by some of his own men last night. They thought Yankee cavalry was coming through. Killed a bunch of his party and wounded the general.”


  “How badly?” Carrie asked in alarm. She knew how important Jackson was to the Confederacy.

  “Hard to tell.” Frank shrugged with his good shoulder. “Some rumors said he got killed. Others said he’d lose his arm. Some guys said his arm was hurt but he would fully recover. Take your pick,” he grinned but then sagged against the pillow, with obvious pain rippling over his strong features.

  “Enough talking, soldier,” Carrie ordered firmly. “We’re going to get that bullet out, and then I’m going to set your arm.”

  “I didn’t know the South had women doctors,” Frank said in surprise.

  “They don’t,” Carrie smiled. “Yet,” she added firmly. “Would you like someone else to care for you?” she asked more gently. “Once the wounded really start rolling in you won’t have a choice, but you do right now.”

  Frank regarded her evenly for several long moments then shook his head. “It looks like you know what you’re doing.” He paused. “I had a lady friend up North who wanted to be a doctor.”

  “You’re not from the North with that accent,” Carrie teased as she leaned closer to make sure the wound was clean.

  “Went to school in New York,” Frank grunted, his face tightening as Carrie probed deeper in the wound. “Came back South a few years ago.”

  “What happened to your friend who wanted to be a doctor?” As long as Frank had the energy to talk, Carrie had decided to let him. It would help keep his mind off the pain.

  “She started going to the Women’s Medical College in Philadelphia, but she dropped out. Said she didn’t want to be one bad enough to stand people yelling and spitting on her. Seems some people up there don’t like the idea of women doctors.”

  “I see,” Carrie said casually, knowing Frank was watching her closely. “I’m sorry she gave up on her dream.”

  “Why do you want to be a doctor?” Frank asked suddenly.

  “You mean why would I want to put myself through what your friend went through?”