Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  Robert didn’t try to deny it. Hobbs knew him too well.

  The silence stretched out between them. Then Hobbs continued, “If I don’t make it, will you tell my mama? Write her a letter and let her know I died fighting?”

  “Of course,” Robert replied. Hobbs had never made such a request. It made him even more uneasy. Hobbs was not just one of his unit - he was a friend. The battlefield had proven the great equalizer. “If something happens to me... will you tell Carrie?”

  “You bet, Lieutenant,” Hobbs promised. “I’ll tell her.”

  The two men sat quietly, waiting for dawn.

  The new day had not fully made its way onto the world’s scene when the first shots rang out, muffled by the misty drizzle and low-lying clouds. Robert sucked in his breath and craned to see in the half-light. Flashes of light from firing rifles appeared due south of his position. McClellan was going after Stonewall Jackson’s men. Robert knew Jackson was waiting with artillery massed around the Dunker church and solid ranks of infantry in the cornfield. The gunfire was sporadic, indicating McClellan was sending skirmishers to test the lines.

  “Get your men ready, Lieutenant!”

  Robert spun around as a sharp call came from behind him. “Yes, sir, Colonel Masters!” he responded. He barely knew the Colonel, but he liked the man’s steady eyes and ready smile. This morning he was all seriousness, his eyes scanning the horizon.

  “Is your horse ready?” Colonel Masters snapped.

  Robert hesitated. He had assumed he would be on foot with his men, but Granite was saddled behind the lines. “Yes, sir.”

  “If you need him, don’t hesitate.”

  Robert exchanged a long look with the colonel. The only reason he would need Granite would be if all the other commanding officers for his unit fell in battle and he had to lead the charge. “Yes, sir,” he said more slowly. The Colonel saluted and rode away.

  Robert turned back to stare at the battlefield. The Federals had put a long line of field pieces on a low ridge facing Jackson’s position. Moments later the early morning exploded as the cannon burst into action. Robert watched in horror as the guns launched a methodical, murderous bombardment that flattened the tasseled corn. He could see scores of fallen men lying with the cornstalks. When the bombardment finally stopped, the Federals once more surged forward. There were still enough of Jackson’s men to fight, but most of his line had been blown to bits. They held their ground but finally gave way before the superior force, and the Federals swept up toward the Dunker church.

  Robert waited impatiently for the order to advance. Now that the battle had started, all fear and uncertainty had been pushed aside. He knew his men were watching him and waiting for his signal. Suddenly a cheer rose from among his men. He spun back toward the battlefield in time to see another line of Confederate soldiers erupt from the woods behind the church.

  “Hood’s men!” the cry rose around him.

  The tattered men in gray quickly formed a line that was immediately ablaze with musketry fire. The deadly barrage broke the Federal line apart. Filling the air with the Rebel yell, Hood’s soldiers charged, deadly in their intent. A cheer rose from Robert’s watching troops as the Federals faltered then began to stream backward. Robert watched grimly as men tried to climb fences, only to hang where they were shot. The cornfield had turned into a grisly obstacle course, fleeing soldiers stumbling and tripping over the dead and wounded. The stout Union artillery once more beat the Confederate advance to a standstill.

  “Here come some more!” Hobbs yelled.

  Robert watched as another division of Union soldiers poured from the woods, intent on beating back the Confederate assault.

  “Lieutenant Borden. Order your men right and then forward!”

  Robert sprang into action. Their moment had come. “Ready, men! Right - march!” His voice rang out clearly. His men sprang into action. Staying low, Robert led his men around the hill and down into the woods bordering the corn field. Hood’s men were being pushed back before the furious Federal assault.

  “Forward!” Robert yelled. Once again the murderous Rebel yell burst forth as his men surged through the trees, surrounded by other Confederate units rushing forward to stop the Union advance. Robert ran forward with his men, firing, reloading, and firing again.

  “Aahhh!” He heard a man only feet from him scream. Robert looked just in time to see him fall, shot through the head. He tightened his lips and continued to drive forward. The shot from the advancing Federals grew even more intense. All around him men threw up their arms, crumpling where they stood, or pitching forward in a strange dance with death. The yells of the Union mixed with the screams of wounded Confederates.

  A flash out of the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. He watched as Colonel Masters toppled from his horse, dead. Blood had turned his uniform crimson before he hit the ground.

  “Forward! Forward!”

  Robert recognized the voice of Major Botler. His men hesitated for a moment, stunned by seeing their colonel fall. Robert knew if they faltered all would be lost. He joined his voice to the command. “Forward!” His men regrouped and continued to surge forward, jumping over the fallen bodies of their comrades.

  The fire from the Federals continued to blast them, the whistling of exploding shells adding to the surreal effect as smoke, trapped by the low clouds, swirled around them, making visibility almost impossible. Robert tripped and almost fell several times as he tried to race over the men who had already succumbed to the fire.

  Another scream jerked his attention to the side just in time to see Major Botler grab his side, his face stunned by surprise. For just a moment, he locked eyes with Robert then tumbled from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.

  His men panicked, turning back to flee from the direction they had charged from the woods. “Forward!” Robert yelled. His voice was swallowed up by the melee. His men continued to run, beaten back by the superior force. Robert glanced over his shoulder at the advancing Federals and turned to join his men. He would have to regroup.

  “Get ‘em boys!” Another long line of Confederate reinforcements shot out of the woods, racing through Robert’s fleeing men.

  Robert breathed a sigh of relief. It would give his men time to regroup before they had to charge back into battle. Once he had reached the woods, he looked around frantically for Captain Dickens. Now that Colonel Masters and Major Botler had fallen, it would be up to him to lead the assault. He was nowhere to be seen. Robert would have to lead the charge.

  Robert spun to look back at the battlefield. The fresh wave of Confederate soldiers was pushing back the Union assault. It would give his men a brief respite. Suddenly he groaned as a yelling unit of Union soldiers poured from the woods. He watched in amazement as they yelled and laughed hysterically, firing frantically as they rushed forward. His blood chilled.

  “Lieutenant!”

  Robert turned around to see Hobbs standing beside him, Granite pawing the ground expectantly. He took the reins reluctantly. He knew he was in charge now. Giving Granite a quick pat, he vaulted into the saddle. “I’m sorry, Carrie,” he muttered. He wished for any other horse to ride into the carnage being played out before him.

  Raising his hand, he made a grand sweeping gesture and yelled at the top of his voice. “Forward! Charge!”

  His men hesitated for just a minute then rushed in behind him, their yell splitting the air. “Forward!” Robert yelled again. Their guns exploded in a wave of flame as his men poured fire into the advancing Federals.

  The Union faltered but continued to sweep on. Robert’s men continued their furious firing, reloading, and firing again. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Federals ground to a halt but never ceased their firing.

  “Give it to them, boys!” Robert yelled. It was the last thing he remembered.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hobbs watched in horror as Robert toppled from the saddle. He could see blood pouring from the lieutenant’s f
orehead, as the front of his uniform turned dark red. He groaned and tried to break through the wall of soldiers to reach Robert’s side. Suddenly, the wave of Confederate soldiers turned and began to stream back toward the woods. Robert’s men had seen him fall. They had lost all appetite for battle as they watched all their commanding officers die before their eyes.

  “No!” Hobbs yelled. “I got to get the lieutenant!” He fought the tidal wave of men but was swept along with them. Tears streamed down his face as he stumbled into the cover of the woods, another contingent of Rebels surging past to stop the newest assault. Hobbs collapsed against the nearest tree and stared out onto the battlefield. He could see Robert lying where he had fallen. More men were falling around him. He groaned loudly, burying his face in the rough bark of the tree.

  “Come on, Hobbs! We gotta get out of here!”

  Hobbs shook his head and jerked away from the soldier pulling at him. “No!” he yelled.

  “There ain’t anything you can do for the lieutenant now,” the soldier insisted, ducking as a bullet whizzed past his head.

  “He saved my life, Walker!” Hobbs hollered. “He saved my life! I can’t just leave him!”

  “He’s dead!” Walker screamed back. “You can’t do anything for him.”

  Anguish tore at Hobbs’ heart. Walker was right. He spun around for one last look at his lieutenant. Suddenly he froze. Robert’s hand fluttered upward as if he were grasping for life. “Did you see that?” he yelled above the firing. “The lieutenant moved. He moved! He ain’t dead!”

  Walker pulled at his arm. “You’re seeing things, Hobbs. Anyway, if he ain’t dead now, he soon will be!”

  Rage tore through Hobbs’ anguish. He jerked away. “So we just leave him?” he cried contemptuously. “Go on, you coward. Run away. The lieutenant saved my life. He would have done the same for you. I ain’t leaving him.”

  Walker hesitated then, his face flamed with shame. He turned around to stare out at the chaos. “You’re right,” he finally admitted, though the fear never left his face. “What do we do?”

  Hobbs turned to search the field with his eyes. He needed time to think. Off to his right, a wounded soldier tried to struggle to his feet. He had managed to reach a crawl position when his body was suddenly jolted by more bullets. He flung one arm in the air, gave an unearthly scream then collapsed. Hobbs shuddered then stared out at his lieutenant again. “We got to shield him from the bullets,” he yelled suddenly. “We can’t get him off the field now, but we can at least keep him from getting shot again. We got to give him a chance!” he yelled desperately.

  “Sure,” Walker agreed. “But what do you have in mind?” His face was ashen as he stared out at the fighting.

  Hobbs scanned the area. “The logs,” he said suddenly. “All those fallen logs. We’ll build a barricade around him.”

  Three more men appeared beside them. Walker grabbed their arms. “The lieutenant ain’t dead,” he yelled. Quickly he outlined Hobbs’ plan.

  Hobbs dashed toward the nearest log. Grabbing it up into his arms, he ran out, mindless of the bullets whizzing around his head. Ducking low, using the log as a shield, he flew to Robert’s side and placed it directly in front of where he lay. From all appearances, his lieutenant was dead. Walker materialized beside him, laid a log on top of his then turned, and fled for the woods.

  The four men made many trips until Hobbs was satisfied they had done the best they could. If Lieutenant Borden wasn’t dead, he would at least not catch any more bullets. When this horrendous battle was finally over, the medics would move in to do their job. Hobbs turned with the other men and ran for the rear of the lines.

  Robert was vaguely aware of a burning in his side, but his head was hurting too badly to identify its source. He reached out his hand once and touched what felt like the rough surface of wood. His mind spun in confusion, trying to make sense of the shots, yells, and screams surrounding him, rolling toward him in wave after wave of fury. Heat pressed down until the temperature in his body rose in rebellion to match it. Smoke swirled around then finally settled on him like a thick cloud. “Carrie..,” he whispered just once before he slipped into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

  Moses was called forward to join the medics when night finally fell on the gruesome fields of Antietam. There were too many wounded to be handled by the normal medical staff. It would take everyone working together to reach the men still desperately clinging to life.

  Moses had not seen any of his unit during the long chaotic day of battle. He had listened, hope soaring - then plunging as cannon boomed and shells screamed across the sky. Union-charge cheers would fade away to be replaced by the piercing Rebel yell, and then the roll of musketry would float toward him on the breeze. He had watched as wave after wave of wounded soldiers stumbled into camp, followed by men on stretchers. They stretched out now like waves upon the sea.

  “Let’s go, Moses,” one of the medics ordered.

  Moses nodded, picked up his end of the stretcher, grabbed a lantern, and made his way out onto the battlefield. The medics had been working all day, transporting wounded men on the periphery. Now that the day was over, they were scouring the field itself.

  “First, we take the ones with the best chance of making it,” the medic said matter-of-factly.

  Moses said nothing, stunned by the grisly sight that opened before his eyes. The moon breaking through the clouds outlined the already swollen corpses impaled on the fences they had tried to climb to freedom. Bodies lay across the upper rails, mouths gaping open in death, while piles of their comrades littered the ground around them. The once lush cornfield had become a cemetery. Uniforms of blue and gray mingled, thousands of them, arms and legs of the dead tangled together - united in death. The ground was soaked with blood and gore; the stench of death rose up to blend with the smoke still hovering over the entire surreal scene.

  Moses fought to control the nausea rising in him. He stared in amazement as the medic he was with calmly picked his way through the corpses, his eyes sharp for any sign of life. All Moses knew about the slight fellow with the thinning hair was his name. “How do you stand this, Burl?” he finally muttered, his voice thick and heavy.

  Burl looked up sympathetically. “You learn how to shut off your feelings, Moses. It’s the only way you can stand it. That, and the hope you may find one man whose life you can save.”

  Moses wasn’t sure he would ever be able to shut off the horror and pity threatening to choke him. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as he tripped over a soldier clad in gray. The poor blackened and bloated body rolled slowly until the sightless eyes stared up at him, beseeching him even in death. Tears sprang into Moses’ eyes as he took deep breaths to maintain control.

  “Here’s one,” Burl called quietly.

  Moses leapt forward and helped him lift the wounded man onto the stretcher. It helped to have something to do.

  “Didn’t think you fellas were ever going to get here,” the boy managed to whisper. “Got any water?”

  Moses uncapped his canteen and held it to the wounded soldier’s parched lips. He guzzled it thirstily then fell back onto the stretcher, his red hair tumbling around his shoulders. “This morning I thought this place kinda reminded me of my family’s farm,” he murmured. “I don’t think so anymore.” Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  “Best thing for him,” Burl muttered as he turned and began to pick his way back the way they had come.

  Moses held his end of the stretcher as evenly as he could, watching carefully but trying to block out the image of the dead men he was being forced to stare at. It was going to be a long night.

  Once they had delivered the hapless soldier to the hospital camp, they turned and retraced their steps.

  “Here’s one!” Moses called out.

  Burl appeared at his side then shook his head regretfully. “That one stays for now,” he said shortly.

  Moses stared at him in astonishment. “But why? He’s still a
live!” The man lying before him was in his early twenties. Both legs had been blown away below the knees, and he had a gaping hole in his left shoulder, but somehow he had managed to hang onto consciousness.

  “Help me,” he gasped.

  “We’ll get him later if he’s still alive,” Burl said in a thick voice. “I’ve got my orders, Moses. We’re only supposed to bring the ones in who have a good chance of making it. Then we can go back after the long shots.” He reached over and touched Moses’ shoulder. “Those are our orders,” he said firmly.

  Moses could only stand and gaze at the man staring up at him with mute appeal.

  Burl knelt beside the wounded man. “Someone will be back,” he said gruffly. “Hang on!”

  Hope died in the man’s bleary eyes as he heaved a sigh of defeat and closed his eyes. He had held on through the long, hellacious day, waiting for help. Seconds later he gave his final gasp of breath. Moses lowered his head; the cruelties of war never ceased.

  Moses stumbled on, continuing his search. Gone was his desire to be a soldier. He would do everything he could to help the Union, but the past few hours had sucked all desire for battle out of him. There was nothing glamorous about war. It was horrid, grisly, and inhuman. Confusion spun through his mind. Was it possible the South was so afraid of his people being free they would send countless young men to die such horrible deaths? He shuddered to think of the passions, on both sides, that had ignited a war that would result in what he was experiencing tonight. He had thought the battlefields around Richmond were horrible. He hoped to never again see anything to compare to Antietam.

  Moses lost count of how many trips they made back to the hospital camp. Burl was right. His feelings were becoming numb. There was only so much the human mind and heart could stand before it simply refused to endure any more.