The Sound of Distant Thunder
Page 22
He tied the man’s hands together behind him, trying not to injure the shoulder more than it was. Then he tied the man’s feet, using the last of the cord he carried in his pack.
“Stay here until someone can get you.”
He spat at Jonas’s feet. “You’re a fool, Billy Yank. You should just shoot me and be done with it. No wonder we’re gonna win this war.”
Jonas left the man, picking up his gun as he walked down the road, heading toward the sounds of the battle. His grip on the gun stock slipped and he looked at his hands, covered with blood. He wiped them on his trousers and kept walking.
A bullet whined past his ears and he dropped to one knee in the center of the muddy road. A body lay to his left, wearing a gray uniform. Jonas didn’t have to look closely to see that he was beyond help. To his right lay a man in blue. His foot twitched, and he moaned. Jonas crawled to him and turned him over.
“Water?” The man gasped, his face pale. “Do you have water?”
Jonas held his canteen up to the man’s lips and he drank as if he was parched.
“Are you shot?” he asked. “Where are you hurt?”
The man’s head moved as if it was too heavy for him. “I don’t know. I’m just cold. So cold.”
Jonas felt his arms, his legs, then opened his coat and had to look away. This man was beyond help also, but not beyond comfort.
“Try to rest.” Jonas gave him another drink, then took off his coat and rolled it into a bundle to put behind the man’s head. As he did, the whine of a Minié ball sounded next to his ear and the slug hit the dirt just beyond where the soldier was lying. Jonas flinched, then looked into the man’s eyes, burning with a light that had nothing to do with his wound.
“Ma, help me,” he whispered, looking beyond Jonas’s shoulder. He shuddered once, and then the light was gone.
Another ball went past Jonas, and he realized the sounds of the battle were coming close again. He crawled off the road and back into the trees, waiting for the fighting to reach him.
NOVEMBER 25
With the return of fine weather after the early November storm, Levi continued taking Katie to Farmerstown on Tuesday afternoons. Katie enjoyed the company, especially since Levi had changed in his attitude toward her. For a couple weeks, she had been worried that he was sweet on her. But lately he had acted no more caring than any other friend, and she was grateful.
On the last week of November when Levi drove to the house in his spring wagon, Katie was waiting for him on the porch. She was surprised to see Millie with him.
“I’m so glad you could come with Levi today,” Katie said as she climbed onto the seat. “I don’t know why I haven’t thought of asking you to come along before.”
Millie gave her a funny look before glancing at her brother. “Levi said you didn’t want anyone else to go with you.”
“Never mind, Millie,” Levi said, spreading the lap robe over both of the girls. “It’s a nice day for a drive, isn’t it?”
The sky was blue, but the brightly colored leaves were gone. Dark brown leaves clung to the oak trees, but the rest of the trees held bare branches toward the sun. As Levi drove, Katie and Millie talked about their friends at church and the quilts each of them were making over the winter. By the time they got to Farmerstown, Katie was ready for a bit of quiet. Levi enjoyed talking, but he wasn’t as chatty as his sister.
Katie went straight to the post office window in the general store.
“Good afternoon,” Mrs. Lawrence, the postmistress, said. “I have three letters for Weaver’s Creek folks today. That will be nine cents’ postage.”
“And I have two to mail,” Katie said, handing her the envelopes. She counted out the pennies to pay for the letters.
“Your young man certainly likes to write, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Lawrence reached into a drawer to get the stamps for Katie’s letters. “All the boys that are off to war do.”
“I’m glad he writes as much as he does,” Katie said. “It’s good to hear from him.”
“It will be even better when he comes home, won’t it?” The elderly woman smiled at Katie as she glued the stamp onto her letters and dropped them in the mailbag.
Millie purchased some thread and a box of cream of tartar and then they were ready to go. Katie wished she could read her letter from Jonas on the way home, as she usually did, but Millie insisted on talking.
“I read in the newspaper that cream of tartar is the latest thing in making cake,” she said, reading the instructions on the box.
“What is it supposed to do?” Katie asked. She had never heard of the product before.
Levi sighed heavily, but Millie ignored him. “It’s supposed to make cakes much lighter than relying on the eggs alone to make them rise. Mother said we could try it, but she didn’t think it could make much of a difference.”
“I’m sure I will continue to use eggs,” Katie said. “I don’t want to add anything unnatural to my cakes.”
“It isn’t unnatural,” Millie said, then she wrinkled her nose. “At least, I don’t think it is.”
Katie laughed. “You might want to learn more about it before you use it.”
Levi grunted. “You and your new ideas are going to land you in trouble one day, Millie. You know what Father says about new ideas.”
“Ja, ja, ja, I know. But it isn’t all that new. We just haven’t seen it here, yet. Besides, the storekeeper wouldn’t carry it if it was dangerous, would he?”
The rest of the way home, Millie talked about a new dress made of soft gray wool that her mother was making for winter until they reached the lane leading to the Stuckeys’ house.
“Stop here, Levi,” Katie said when they reached the bottom of the lane. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
After Levi and Millie drove on, Katie ran down the road to the log bridge. Once under the leaning wall of the ruined house, Katie sat on the log she had dragged there after the snow had melted and opened her letter. Jonas’s straight handwriting greeted her.
November 16, 1862
Dear Katie,
I hope you keep me in your prayers as continuously as you are in mine. I often close my eyes and dream of your sweet face, the peace of the home place, and the touch of your hand on mine. Those memories are so real that when I open my eyes again, I am dismayed that I am not with you.
We are in Virginia, and our company has taken part in its first battle. I will not describe it to you, dear one, except to say that I came through it with no hurt to myself. I was forced to shoot my weapon, and I know I hit at least two men, but I pray that the wounds are not mortal. I take comfort in the fact that by wounding those men, I saved lives. That is the only thing that keeps me from total despair.
Good things have come out of that battle, however. I’ve learned that the soldier’s greatest enemy is boredom. My friend George even wishes for a battle to commence sometimes because he is ready for action. I wish for no battles, so I have looked for other ways to occupy my time.
I have made my way to the hospital tent, where they are always in need of an extra pair of hands. I fetch water, change dressings, bathe fevered faces, read the Good Book, write letters, and generally make myself useful. The doctor has taught me some simple skills, such as binding a wound, but don’t fear that I will take up doctoring. Bringing comfort to the sick and wounded seems to be a balm for my own soul. A battle wounds a man in ways that can’t be seen, but helping others has great healing power.
I pray that you continue to be well. In the last letter I received, you gave me the good news about the new little dishwasher in Hans and Lena’s family. I pray the babe continues to grow well and is healthy. When I see death all around me, news of a new life brings much joy.
Continue to pray for me, my dearest Katie. I remain confident that I will soon be by your side once more, never to part again until we are in our old age and are bound for heaven.
Always yours,
Jonas
Katie folded the
letter with care and put it back in the envelope. She leaned against the wall of her little shelter.
She looked forward to each letter, but at the same time, reading Jonas’s letters was a torture she never expected. To read his words and to feel so close to him was comforting, but when the letter ended, she felt bereft, as if she had just said her farewells again. Each letter heightened her longings for him and at the same time was like the stab of a knife in her heart.
Each letter might be the last she ever received.
15
DECEMBER 4
Weaver’s Creek
November 18, 1862
My Dearest Jonas,
I received your letter of November third and am glad to hear that you are well.
You are missed here at home, more than you can know. I visit your mother often, and I think we give each other comfort as we share the news from your letters with each other. She is happy to hear of the prayer group you mentioned. I think one of her greatest concerns is that you may be led away from our Lord and Savior during your time away, so she is comforted to hear the news of the good friends you have made.
Levi has told me that you have asked him to make sure I have everything I need while you are gone, and I am happy to report that he is following your wishes. He has made it his duty to accompany me to the post office in Farmerstown each Tuesday afternoon where I mail my letters to you, as well as letters from others in Weaver’s Creek. I am always overjoyed when there are letters from you waiting for me when I arrive. The postmistress, Mrs. Lawrence, knows of you and watches as eagerly for your letters as I do, it seems.
We had an early winter storm here last week, with a strong wind. I must tell you the sad news that one of the walls of our house has blown down. Papa says he and the boys will help you repair it when you come home, but for now the last wall stands bleak and lonely as a silent testament to our dreams. But, as your mother has reminded me, our dreams continue. The house can be repaired.
I am still working on the quilt I am making for our home. Elizabeth and Ruby come nearly every Thursday afternoon to ply their needles to the task. We have become very friendly, and your sisters refer to me as their sister also, because of your love for me. Elizabeth is happier than I’ve ever known her, in spite of her worry about Reuben. As you know, letters from the South rarely make their way north, so she has had no news. I think of her as a rose that struggled to survive in the shadow of a dark pine tree, but now the pine tree has fallen, and the rose can grow toward the sun.
I must close, as Levi will be coming soon, and I must get this letter ready to be mailed.
Every stitch I make on our quilt holds your name, and every breath I take breathes a prayer for you. Stay safe, dear Jonas.
Your loving sweetheart,
Katie
As Jonas finished reading the letter, he folded it with care and tucked it inside his jacket. He settled back against a tree, thinking of Katie. The news of their house was disappointing, but it seemed that Katie was taking it well. He would rebuild it when he returned home. He would write back to her this afternoon and tell her of the hulled corn they had eaten for dinner and the long hours spent waiting.
He had plenty of time to write to her, now that their regiment had reached the main body of the army a week ago. Thousands of men filled the bluffs above the Rappahannock River, with a view of Fredericksburg across the way. And they lingered there, useless. Rumor was that General Burnside desired to cross the river before the rebel forces gathered on the opposite bluffs, but they were waiting for pontoon bridges to achieve this. Until they arrived, the army was stuck.
As the dull thunder of cannon drifted from the north, up the river, George rushed into camp, grabbing his gear.
“What’s going on?” Jonas rose to his feet. The artillery sounded again, the thunder that meant death.
“Our turn for patrol, I guess.” Hiram shoved his foot in his boot as the regimental bugle call sounded assembly. “And it sounds like we’d better hurry.”
Jonas grabbed his own gear and trotted to the center of the camp where Company C gathered and took his place in line, just in time to face the captain as he gave the orders.
“Men, our regiment will be meeting with the enemy on the north end of the line, where they are attempting to cross the river in a flanking maneuver. Two Union regiments are already engaged in the battle. Our regiment will march double-time down the bluffs to the river and the battle.”
Jonas swallowed. A battle. The skirmish they had fought a few weeks ago had been minor, according to the seasoned soldiers in the unit, and didn’t compare to a full battle.
“Make sure you have ammunition and your rifles are ready.” Captain Wentworth rode his horse up and down the line, searching the faces of the men. “I expect no less than your best effort, men. If we fail in this battle, we leave the entire Army of the Potomac open to attack from the north.”
A bugle call sounded, and Captain Wentworth drew his sword. “Double-time, men. Follow me.”
Lieutenant Wilson kept the formation together as the company moved to a quick jog. Jonas followed the man in front of him, his face sweating even though the weather was nearly freezing. They went on this way for a mile, while the sounds of the artillery grew closer. By the time they came to a halt, the air was filled with shouting and gunfire. An artillery shell struck the ground a few feet away from Jonas and bounced into the trees.
“Here, men. This is our line.” Captain Wentworth pointed along a small ridge leading from the river up the bluff. “We hold this line. Lieutenants, keep your men engaged at all times. We will not retreat.”
Lieutenant Wilson led Jonas and the rest of his squad down the slope to a point where the trees ended, just yards from the river. “This is our spot, men.” The sound of firing increased, and he glanced behind him toward the enemy forces. “Get ready as best you can. Pile up rocks or driftwood for shelter and stay down. Wait for the order to shoot and take your time. You want to make every shot count.”
He might have said more, but his voice was swallowed up in the sounds of the battle. Fifty yards away, a group of ragged men started running toward them.
“They’re trying to flank the line,” Wilson yelled, jumping behind Jonas and the other men as he drew his pistol. “Hold your fire . . .”
Jonas checked his rifle. All was ready. The charging enemy soldiers turned into a sea of gray and brown. The bayonets fixed on the ends of their rifles flashed in the sun.
“Ready, men,” Wilson said.
Jonas lifted his rifle to his shoulder. The smoke grew thicker as the enemy discharged their guns. Minié balls hit their targets with sickening thuds. Lieutenant Wilson fell against Jonas, and he turned to see what the man wanted from him, but staring eyes looked toward the cold blue sky.
George, crouching next to Jonas, saw what had happened and looked at Jonas with panic on his face.
Then his face hardened as he gave the order Wilson couldn’t. “Fire!”
Jonas lifted his rifle as he had been trained and shot in the direction of the smoky cloud. He reloaded and fired again, tears blurring his vision. Had he hit anyone? Was his aim true? He shot again, the roar of the weapons nonstop in his ears. He couldn’t see any men. Couldn’t see anyone beyond George on his right. The man on his left had been hit and groaned as he rolled on the ground.
The shooting lessened and Jonas laid down his gun, turning to the wounded man beside him. He recognized him but didn’t know his name. The man held his thigh, and below the knee his leg was mangled. Jonas used the man’s belt for a tourniquet, and the bleeding slowed.
George grabbed Jonas’s shoulder. “We fought them off! They’re retreating!”
A man down the line heard George. “They’re only getting ready for another charge. They’ll be coming back, so stay on your toes!”
“Jonas, check to see if any of the other men around us are wounded.” George turned back to the line. “Make sure your rifles are loaded, men. Be ready.”
Three times the enemy charged and was repulsed, until Jonas finally heard the thin bugle call of retreat from across the river. The artillery fire ended, and then the gunshots lessened and finally died away. Quiet descended before anyone on their line moved. Jonas checked his cartridge box. He had used eighteen out of his sixty rounds of ammunition.
Eighteen shots fired at the enemy.
As the smoke cleared, the dead and wounded could be seen lying on the battlefield. A man out on the mud flats along the river lifted an arm toward the heavens, and then it dropped. Jonas leaned over the pile of driftwood George had piled up for a shelter and got sick. Groans and cries for help rose all around him, but he huddled behind the barrier, his hands over his ears.
He couldn’t pray. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand. His hands trembled as he wiped his eyes.
“Jonas, the captain is coming,” George said, pulling him to his feet. “Stand at attention.”
George’s prodding worked, and Jonas stood as the captain rode toward them. The officer’s left hand was bandaged, and his hat was gone, but he had a smile on his face. “Good job, boys. Good work there.” He encouraged each of the men as he came down the line. He pulled his horse to a halt in front of George and Jonas.
“Private Watson, I hear you took over command of your squad after Lieutenant Wilson’s death.”
George saluted. “Yes, sir. Someone needed to, sir.”
“That is very true. You are now a sergeant, Watson. Your squad will report to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, Weaver.”
Jonas tried to straighten his shoulders.
“Your bravery speaks well of you. I saw you administering aid to the wounded, even in the midst of battle.”
Jonas swallowed. “I wouldn’t call it bravery, sir. It’s only what I felt I needed to do.”