by Ginny Dye
Dawn began to light the eastern sky as Moses felt solid ground rise up under his feet for the first time in hours. He held his breath and wondered whether the ground would once more sink down into swamp land. Had he finally reached the end of the murky death trap? A wide smile broke onto his face as the ground hardened and began to slope upward. He had done it! He had crossed the swamps of the Chickahominy in the middle of the night and evaded capture!
The smile lasted for only a moment. It was much too soon to celebrate. He had escaped the swamp, but now he had a wide open space he would have to cross. It was sure to be carefully watched by both sides. Gunmen, both Union and Confederate, would be waiting for any unusual movement. They would shoot first and ask questions later.
Moses’ heart sank as he watched the brightening skyline. He would no longer have the cover of darkness to camouflage his movements. Advancing to the edge of the clearing, he crouched down behind a thicket of blackberry brambles and stared out. The smell of fresh fruit tickled his nostrils, reminding him of his hunger. Mindless of the prick of thorns, Moses tore at the clusters of lush blackberries. As he stuffed them in his mouth, he felt a new strength surging through his body. The moisture exploding in his mouth was like manna from heaven.
With his hunger somewhat abated, Moses leaned forward again and stared at the opposing line of trees. How many Union troops were stationed there? Would they start firing immediately when they saw a man moving toward them? Moses sank down on the ground. He was not at all confident bullets would not start flying from every direction as soon as he broke into the clearing. Searching the land as far as he could see, he looked for a place that would offer him at least a little covering as he tried to sneak across, well aware the sky was getting brighter each minute he delayed.
A sudden movement on the Union side grabbed his attention. As he watched, a small unit of soldiers rode out of the clearing. Moses leaned forward to watch what must be an advance group of light skirmishers. There was not much chance he would recognize anyone, but hope kept his eyes locked on them.
“Captain Jones!” he whispered in amazement. A wide grin split his face as his captain, Joe, and several more men probed forward, evidently trying to determine if there was a Confederate presence.
Bang!
Moses jumped as a gun sounded less than a hundred yards from where he lay.
“Get ‘em, boys!”
Moses’ heart sank in dismay as he realized a Confederate unit was stationed directly to his right. He knew he should slink back and look for another place to cross, but curiosity over the action taking place right before his eyes held him where he was.
Captain Jones raised his gun to his shoulder and fired off a round then waved his men back into cover and turned his horse. Joe matched his action and then spun back toward the woods.
“I got one!” a triumphant yell rose from the Rebel side.
Moses groaned as he saw his captain slump in the saddle and then begin to fall slowly sideways.
“Finish him off!”
Moses didn’t even realize he was up and running until he was part way across the clearing and there were bullets whizzing around his head. Zigzagging in a crazy pattern, he dashed across the clearing. He ducked instinctively as a bullet sounded just inches from his head. He felt another rip through the loose sleeve of his shirt, but he kept running. He had only one thought: To reach the captain. From somewhere in his consciousness, he realized his name was being called from the woods. Ducking his head more, he ran even faster.
Suddenly bullets erupted from the Federal side. Joe must have recognized him and was trying to provide cover. Bullets spit over his head from both sides now as he pressed forward. It seemed like an eternity before he reached the captain, scooped him up in his arms, and sprinted into the woods. Moses’ starved body avoided collapsing under the extra weight of the wounded man.
“Keep going, Moses! Get out of here! Here they come!”
Moses heard Joe, managed to nod his head slightly, and then kept running. Or at least he tried to run. Within moments he was stumbling, cursing his own weakness. A tree root rose up in front of him and reached out to snag his foot. With a groan, Moses tripped under his extra burden and fell forward. The ground rose up before him then crumbled away as they crashed down. Moses tried to shield his captain as they tumbled and slid down a brushy bank into a steep ravine.
Moses lay still for just a moment, pain piercing his body from the fall. Gingerly he moved his legs and prayed they would still work. Even though every particle screamed in agony, everything obeyed his commands. He took a deep breath, stood, and reached down to once more pick up the captain. He didn’t know whether Captain Jones was still alive. All he could do was get him back to a hospital tent as quickly as possible.
“Don’t move!” a sharp voice commanded. “I’ve got you now, you dirty nigger!”
Moses froze as the familiar voice sounded above him. His mind racing, Moses straightened slowly and stared up into Ike Adams’ raging eyes. Adams must have been in the advance group of Rebels. Was this how it was going to end?
Adams kept his gun trained on him and laughed nastily. “I could hardly believe my luck when I saw you dash across that clearing. I reckon God is on my side, all right.”
Moses took a deep breath, suddenly resigned to his fate. There was nothing he could do. He had no protection and no way to put up a fight. Even if he tried to run up the side of the ravine, it was much too steep. Adams would have plenty of time to fill him with lead.
“I wish I had time to watch you cower down there like the cornered animal you are, but things could get hot around here pretty quick. I reckon I’ll have to have my fun quick like,” he sneered as he lifted the musket to his shoulder.
Moses wondered just for a second where the rest of his unit was. It made him sick to think they were all dead or wounded. How had Adams gotten through all those men? When he heard the click of the hammer on Adams’ gun, life seemed to split into slow motion. He watched the man who had caused him so much misery prepare to kill him, Adams’ sneering face taunting Moses as he looked down the barrel of the gun. Then Rose’s face appeared before him - almost real enough to reach out and touch. “I love you, Moses. I’m proud of you.”
“I love you too, Rose,” he whispered, continuing to stare into Adams’ hate-filled eyes. He refused to look away. He would show no fear now that his time had come. He refused to give him the satisfaction.
Moses jumped when the gun exploded. He was amazed when he felt nothing. Maybe this was what death was like - just kind of passing into another world. He waited for pain to spread through his body. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. Ike Adams, a surprised expression on his face, slowly loosed his grip on his rifle. Moses stared in amazement as Adams slumped forward and then fell to the ground. His rifle clattered down the slope toward Moses, but all he could do was stare at it.
He waited for long minutes, expecting one of the men in his unit to walk up to the edge of the ravine, but no one appeared. Finally he looked down at the unconscious man at his feet. “I’ll be right back, Captain.”
Grabbing hold of tree roots and exposed rock, he pulled himself up the side of the gully and peered over. “Joe!” he exclaimed. Hurriedly, he climbed the rest of the way out and ran to his friend who was leaning against a tree, his head at an odd angle.
“I got him, Moses,” Joe said with a weak grin, pain twisting his face.
“You shot Adams?” Moses asked in amazement.
“Sure did. I don’t know what made that mad man dash right through all of our soldiers, but he sure had only one thing on his mind.”
Moses shook his head. “He was a very sick man. Too much hate destroyed his heart and mind.”
Joe grinned again, a bare flicker of movement on his lips. Then he sobered. “I’ve been hit, Moses.” A pause. “It’s bad...” he gasped weakly.
Moses nodded grimly. “I know. I’ll get you out of here.”
Joe shook his head. “The capta
in...”
“I’ll get the captain out of here, too.”
Again, Joe shook his head. “Too late for me... get the captain.” His voice faded away as his eyes closed. Suddenly they sprang open. “My wife... tell her... tell her I love her... her and little Joey.”
Moses blinked back tears as the shadow of death settled on Joe’s face. Gently he closed the staring eyes. Long minutes passed as he stared into the face of the friend who had saved his life. “Thank you,” he said softly.
A distant gunshot jarred him back to reality. Touching Joe’s arm one more time, he jumped up and ran for the ravine. There was nothing he could do for Joe now. But he might still be able to save his Captain. Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled to the ravine. He stopped abruptly as he reached Adams’ body. Time was critical, but he had to know. He leaned down, grabbed Adam’s arm, and rolled him over on his back. Sightless eyes stared up at him.
Struggling between gladness his enemy was dead and sadness that a life could be so wasted, Moses stared at the dead man.
Another volley of shots rang out, closer this time. Moses gave Adams one final look then turned and eased his way back down into the ravine. Without checking to see whether his captain was still alive, Moses hoisted the dead weight on his shoulder, and struggled up the other side of the ravine. He paused just a moment to catch his breath then broke into a steady run toward the rear of the lines.
Moses was gasping for air when he broke from the woods into the camps. He stared around him but didn’t slacken his pace. No one stepped forward to stop him. Everywhere there was wild action as men sprang forward to accompany their units. Napoleon cannon and three inch artillery guns rumbled by on their way to the front. The sound of battle echoed through the air now, rolling forth on every puff of breeze the still day offered.
“What you got there?” a surgeon asked sharply as Moses ran up to the nearest medical tent.
“Captain Jones, sir. He was hit by an advance group of Confederates.”
“Is he still alive?” he barked, motioning for an aid to bring a stretcher.
Moses shook his head as he laid the captain gently on the waiting canvas. “I don’t know. I just got him here as quick as I could.”
“We’ll take care of him now,” the surgeon said in a gentler voice. “If he lives, the captain will have you to thank for saving his life.”
Moses stared after them until the tent door swung shut. There was nothing more he could do. Now that the captain was wounded he didn’t know which person to report to with his information. Setting his face and ignoring the fresh raging of hunger, Moses went in search of McClellan’s headquarters. It might be too late for his information to do any good, but he would still report.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fighting the stream of people flowing past her, Carrie was numb as she moved slowly down the hill. Somewhere in her consciousness she was aware a battle was being fought, but she had long ago lost interest in the actual event. There had been fighting for five days now. The long standoff had ended on June 25, when Lee attacked the Army of the Potomac at Mechanicsville. Every day brought fresh fighting and a fresh flow of wounded into the hospitals. It seemed as if every building in the city bulged with wounded and dying soldiers.
Carrie stumbled slightly as a heavy-set woman, unmindful of her surroundings, pushed past her. She set her lips tightly and continued against the press of people. All she wanted was to get home. Every evening there was a heavy flow of people hurrying to the high points of Richmond to watch the battles. It seemed as if everyone wanted to watch the spectacle. Carrie had sickened of it.
Her father had convinced her on the second day to climb the steps of the Capitol, where a marvelous view could be seen from the roof. Carrie had been most fascinated by the people of the city. As if the hills were a great amphitheater, men, women, and children crowded the slopes and witnessed what they called the grand fireworks - the exploding of bombs and artillery, the rattle of gunfire. She had heard people proclaim how beautiful they were. She could only stare, a sickness gnawing at her stomach. There was nothing beautiful in the roar of battle - it was awful! What they saw as beauty was nothing more than instruments sending death to the ones they loved so dearly. How could these people forget the thousands of wounded filling their city, the thousands of dead waiting for burial, their bloated corpses exploding the coffins built to contain them? Carrie had watched for only a few minutes before she had turned and fled. Not even to please her father would she be a spectator to carnage.
“Watch out,” a man snapped sharply.
Carrie shook her head and tried to refocus her thoughts. She was greatly relieved when a sign loomed to indicate she was just a block from her father’s home. Turning off busy Broad Street, she hurried faster down 24th Street. The sounds of cannon and gunfire pursued her into her house. Carrie longed to stuff something in her ears to shut out the noise.
“General Lee has those Yankees on the run!”
Carrie managed a smile as she looked at the excitement on Manning’s face. “That’s nice.”
Manning stared at her. “That’s nice? All you have to say is that’s nice?”
Carrie looked wearily at their boarder. “Yes,” she stated simply, too exhausted to say more. Then she turned and trudged up the stairs. She could feel his stare boring into her back, but she simply didn’t care.
Janie was sitting in her bed and staring at a book when Carrie reached their room. Janie managed a weak smile and a wave of her hand, but she didn’t speak. Her face revealed she was as drained as Carrie.
Carrie smiled in return and then slowly removed her clothes. She knew she could never cleanse her mind from the smell of death and sickness permeating the hospital, but clean clothes would give a little relief. Crumpling her soiled dress and apron into a ball, she stuffed it in a bag to carry it down to May who would wash it in hot water the next day. Clothing never totally lost its odor, but at least it was diminished. She wrinkled her nose, tossed the bag toward the door then slipped into a fresh dress. She had saved three to wear just at home. All the rest were designated hospital dresses. The remainder of what had once been an extensive wardrobe had been donated for transformation into bandages, uniform material, or whatever else the ladies of Richmond deemed it suitable for.
Once she was in clean clothing, Carrie collapsed gratefully on the bed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.
It must have been the sound of silence that wakened her about an hour later. Blinking her eyes to make them focus, she looked toward Janie’s bed. Her friend was wide-awake, staring at the window. Carrie listened carefully. “Is the battle over?”
Janie shrugged. “I think so. At least for today,” she said then paused. “A new batch of wounded will be coming soon.”
“I don’t think it will ever end,” Carrie responded, a deep despair threatening to overwhelm her. Would Robert be in this newest batch? Was he already lying wounded in one of the hospitals? Or would his name take its place on the list of dead soldiers?
“I don’t know if I can take much more,” Janie murmured, tears choking her words.
Carrie leaned forward, drawn by something she had never heard in her friend’s voice. Janie was always the strong one. Always the one who held onto hope when Carrie was struggling to find something to hold on to at all. There was no strength in her voice now - only the helpless sound of a child who has lost her way and fears she will never see home.
Janie stared at her. “This war is too terrible,” she whispered. “Four more soldiers developed gangrene today. I’m afraid they’ll have to amputate. Two more died. And Jimmy...”
Carrie stood and moved to sit on Janie’s bed. “Jimmy?” she asked softly, taking Janie’s hand. “Did something happen to Jimmy?”
Janie managed to nod. “He was doing so well...”
Carrie frowned and waited for her to go on. She had heard many stories about Jimmy. He had been brought in after the battle of Williamsburg and had fast become a favorite of Ja
nie’s. He was always laughing, always teasing - even when pain seemed to twist his pleasant face. Janie had worked to treat all the patients the same, but Carrie knew Jimmy held a special place in her heart.
The silence stretched as Janie’s eyes swelled with tears. “What happened, Janie?” Carrie asked again, though she was sure she knew the answer.
Janie shook her head and stared up, tears now streaming down her face. It took her several more long minutes before she could speak. When she finally spoke, it was with a limp laugh. “I remember him pulling that gun he had hidden out from under his pillow when the surgeon said he was going to take his leg.”
“I remember,” Carrie responded. “He said if the surgeon tried to take his leg it would be the last thing he ever did.”
Janie nodded. “The surgeon left it, but there were some badly splintered bones in his thigh. We’ve made him lie still for over a month, afraid what movement would do. All we could do was splint the leg and hope it would heal.” Her voice broke.
Carrie waited patiently, stroking her hand. Janie would tell her when she could. She was already certain she knew the outcome, but Janie needed to talk. It would help release some of the pain.
“Jimmy just couldn’t lie still any more. This morning he grabbed a pair of crutches and hobbled all around the ward, laughing and joking with some of the men just brought in. I was thrilled to see him up and about. He was so happy,” she whispered. She shook her head then forced herself to continue. “I was tending another soldier when one of the nurses rushed up to me. Said Jimmy was calling for me. When I got there, there was blood shooting from his leg. I did the only thing I could think of; I grabbed my handkerchief and pressed it into the wound.”
“He severed an artery?” Carrie asked, a sinking sureness in her heart.
“That’s what the doctor said. Said it would be impossible to go in and repair it. He got that look on his face, just shook his head, and walked away.”
