by Leigh Lee
Eugene longed to tell the captain the truth about Dr. Benton—the drinking and the misuse of medications meant for the wounded. Yet this new commander seemed prepared to make his life a living hell, so he guarded his words. Tilting his chin, he met the Captain’s exacting glare. “Begging your pardon, sir, but while my size has been a constant joke in camp, most here know I do my work, and well, I might add. That is how I made sergeant.”
The captain’s disapproving regard bore into him yet again.
Shifting uncomfortably, Eugene added, “Captain, sir!”
Captain Bradford’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Very well, I will give you a week to prove yourself. If you are worthy, you may continue in your new assignment. If you are not, you will return to preparing the dead for burial.”
Eugene snapped to attention. Anything was better than that. “Yes, sir!”
Captain Bradford slumped in his chair. “Sergeant Adams, I have only just met you, and already you have an exhausting effect. Take the rest of the day to move your belongings to medical supply. You may bunk there. I want you prepared for a busy day tomorrow.” He waved to dismiss Eugene, but not before adding, “Sergeant—use some of your free time to bathe and clean up. Moreover, do something about your hair. You look as if the hounds of Hell have been gnawing on it.” Sniffing curtly, the captain returned to the mounds of paperwork awaiting him.
Not willing to waste a moment of this chance to escape, Eugene left without further comment. This commander was far more astute than Captain Benton had been. He would have to watch himself if he hoped to stay out of trouble with him.
Chapter 2
The hounds of Hell? The arrogant bastard had ruffled Eugene’s feathers. He stomped at a hurried pace off the grounds of the field hospital toward a forest a good distance beyond the encampment. Careful not to call attention to himself, he slipped unnoticed into the trees. Soon he was following a small creek deep into the densest part of the woods. Here the stream of water widened and was partially dammed, creating a deep, shimmering pond. The area was surrounded by a thick growth of briars on all sides except where the path led to the water, giving an air of seclusion and much sought-after tranquility.
The sergeant dropped his uniform to the moss-covered ground. Undergarments followed and from the pile of discarded Union-issued clothing emerged the young womanly form of Eugenia Johnson. She slipped naked into the pond, savoring the coolness of the water. Far enough from camp and well hidden from view, this place was a secret from the other soldiers. Twice during her weeks here in Gettysburg, she had been able to sneak away long enough to enjoy the privacy offered. The welcome respite to immerse her true self completely was a rare happening. Most times, she washed up at a basin with a rag. Afterward, applying a little soot to her face went a long way towards hiding her femininity.
Eugenia reached under a thick bush at the water’s edge and withdrew a small tin she had hidden there. Opening it, she smelled the sweet aroma of a bar of soap, another luxury she had managed to secure. She lathered her body, watching bubbles form around her before they moved toward the dam at the end of the pond, popping as they rushed over the rocks and logs obstructing the water’s flow.
The coolness of the water on this hot July day refreshed her mind. After cleaning her body, she washed her short hair and scrubbed weeks of grime from her scalp. After rinsing, she floated on her back in the clear water, staring up at the sky and the fluffy white clouds floating by.
Three years had passed since Eugenia had defended herself and fled her home in Tioga County. The night Bill Dunlap had tracked her to the cabin was buried deep in her memories, allowed to surface only during quiet moments like these. The shock when she had discovered the sheriff of her hometown had murdered her father had been devastating enough, but then to have him confront her at the cabin had been blinding. It was not until she smelled the smoke on his clothing when all doubt had crumbled away.
Certain that Dunlap’s intent was to kill her as well, she had jumped into action. The shocked expression on his face when he saw his own knife flash in her hand had been truly rewarding. After plunging the blade deep into his side, she had gathered her few belongings, retrieved her horse from the lean-to, and run for her life.
As far as Eugenia was concerned, the sheriff got what he deserved. However, killing a man had exacted a price. Bill Dunlap had held a prominent position in town, and she had little choice but to flee the area and begin a new life. Knowing that the authorities would be searching for a woman, she sought to end the existence of Eugenia Johnson for all time. Cutting her hair short and hiding her feminine curves with bulky clothes, she had since passed herself off as a young man.
After leaving the cabin, Eugenia had followed Pine Creek south to the town of Lock Haven and found work on a barge that traveled the West Branch Division of the Pennsylvania Canal. A year later, pretending more courage than she felt, she signed up for duty in the Union Army’s medical corps. The pay was far worse than what she made working on the canal, but her duties gave her the opportunity to use the knowledge of medicine she had learned from her father.
Her tour of duty over the last two years had taken her to some of the bloodiest battlefields of the war. Despite the horrors, she thought she had become hardened to the grotesque sights and sounds, yet the carnage left from the bitter fighting at Gettysburg had convinced her otherwise.
Much to her surprise, the entire time she masqueraded as a male, no one questioned her gender. Not many looked past the soot, which she applied to her face each day. Fearing that any relationship or friendship might lead to discovery, she had been careful to keep to herself. The men in her regiment seemed happy enough to leave her alone once they realized barbs and taunts about her small stature would go unheeded. It was not long before she had mastered walking and talking like a man, and after a time she faded into obscurity amongst the ranks as just another soldier.
Though reluctant to leave the peace and calm of the pond, Eugenia climbed out and reclined on a patch of velvety moss to dry. She closed her eyes to continue her line of thought, only to find the stern face of Captain Jeffery Bradford waiting in her mind. Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her throbbing temples with trembling fingers. After all she had done to disguise herself, she sensed a threat in those all-seeing blue eyes. For some unknown reason, he seemed to pay closer attention to her than anyone else ever had. No, this captain might not be one she could fool for long.
Yet therein lay the problem. Captain Jeffery Bradford attracted her as no other man had. Today she had been incapable of maintaining her usual aloofness. Ignoring his virile body had been impossible. When he had placed his hands around her waist and lifted her from the trap, she should have been worried that he might notice her tiny and feminine frame. Instead, all she could focus on were his incredible blue eyes, full lips, and weakening nearness of his superb body.
Indeed, while in the medical corps, she had never been attracted to a man. Life in the U.S. Army of the Potomac did not allow for heady contemplations, especially for a female desperately trying to hide her gender. So what was different about this man? Why was she more drawn, and less capable of controlling her reactions around him? She could not afford to begin acting like a lovesick woman now. Good heavens.
Common sense told her she should not tarry in seeking a transfer to another regiment. This attraction, or whatever this was, had to end. Why the woman hidden within had decided—now of all times—to show up and demand attention was something Eugenia could not fathom. Regardless, something about Captain Bradford pricked at her senses creating contemplations of marriage, family, and children—lots of children.
The snares and dangers of carrying on her ruse right beneath his arrogant nose might be great fun, and thrilling, but she couldn’t let herself forget that the game could land her in prison for murder should her identity be found out.
Of course, if the captain discovered who she really was, spying would be the most apparent reason a woman would masque
rade as a man in the army. Spies were sent to prison as well and sometimes executed.
Damn Sheriff Bill Dunlap!
Eugenia had thought by running and changing her life, she would escape the horror, but no, it followed her. The sheriff’s ghost haunted her dreams and ruled every aspect of her life since. In many ways, she was more a captive now than if she had been tried in a court of law and imprisoned for her crime. Some days, the image of her body hanging from a wooden gallows seemed preferable to the life she led now. Though she had never been able to find a word about the sheriff’s death in the papers, she was sure the price on her head was large, because she had murdered a lawman.
It was time to return to the drudgery of camp life, so Eugenia began to dress. There was still much work to do before evening mess call, and the rumbling in her stomach reminded her she was hungry. She pulled on her threadbare underclothes and reached for the yards of muslin she used to bind her full breasts. Winding it several times around her chest, she managed to flatten the rounded curves that would give away her secret if ever allowed to bounce freely. Shrugging into her uniform, she pulled on the oversized boots. Once again, the one known as Sergeant Eugene Adams followed the meandering creek back to camp.
Later, after supper, Eugenia returned to her old quarters to collect the few belongings she possessed. Every minute she had spent at her previous post in the dead house had been a mental agony. Her new duties in charge of supply and hospital records would be a welcome change. Perhaps she could even get some much-needed sleep without the moans and shrieks of dying men filtering into her dreams. In the supply tent, Eugenia set up her cot and climbed onto it. Despite its unyielding stiffness, she soon fell into such a deep slumber, not even the blast from a Napoleon cannon could have awakened her.
Morning brought new strength and vitality that Eugenia had not felt in a long time. Indeed, she noted as she viewed her image in the mirror, she even looked well rested. The circles under her eyes had faded, and there was a healthier hue to her cheeks. With a big stretch, she yawned feeling refreshed. It was a good feeling to look forward to her day. Luck might be on her side at last.
Running her fingers through the tousled mop on her head, she yanked her cap down low and inspected her image in her mirror. The brightness of her eyes and skin did not help her cause. With regret, she opened the small tin of soot she kept in her pocket and smudged her face. Better, she decided.
She stopped by the mess tent and grabbed a cup of coffee and a biscuit, then headed back to Medical Supply.
The new inventory still sat stacked in crates. Almost two weeks after the end of the battle, medical supplies were finally starting to arrive. The movement of wagons out of town filled with artillery supplies from the two armies had crowded the roads and delivery of much needed medical supplies was delayed. By noon, Eugenia’s head spun with unfamiliar names, such as Extractum Ipecauantae and Pilulae Catharticae Compositae. She uncorked one labeled Spiritus frumenti and held it under her nose. Replacing the cork, she set it back on the shelf with the others and laughed. Despite the long Latin term, the bottle contained nothing but plain whiskey.
After a difficult few days of lifting crates and organizing the medical inventory, Eugenia had medications, tinctures, elixirs, salves, ointments, and bandages accounted for, labeled, and stored in their proper order. She then penned a requisition requesting the supplies still needed at the field hospital. After taking the order to Captain Bradford for his signature, she had it dispatched to Washington.
A month to the day from starting her new duties she was able to tackle the mountainous task of updating the hospital records. The battle had left a staggering number of wounded and dead. The disorganized, hastily jotted entries in the record books during the three-day engagement needed verification, and it was Eugenia’s chore to decipher the record. She had to document the names of all the soldiers treated within this ward—their rank, type of injury sustained, and whether they had survived or not. Of those who survived, Eugenia had to coordinate each soldier’s recovery information, including the name of the permanent hospital to which each man was sent. Names of the dead needed entry on a separate list entailing cause of death, the date of burial, and location of the grave, if that could be determined so many weeks later. Verifying the records was tedious work, and many times, due to the sketchiness of the written accounts, the trail led nowhere. Still, the work was a welcome change from her former duties.
Eugenia did not see much of Captain Bradford and the first few weeks under his command were uneventful. She did notice he seemed more fastidious in nature than his predecessor and preferred order to things. When he was not doing surgery, the commander worked diligently to organize the mountains of paperwork that Captain Benton had left undone. Many a night Eugenia walked past his tent to retire for the evening, only to see his lamp still lit.
Almost from the start, Captain Bradford gained high regard among the men. Despite his tendency to be arrogant at times, he did not seem to be such a bad fellow. His patience and sense of humor were in sharp contrast to Captain Benton’s foul moods. Around camp, the other surgeons and assistant surgeons raved about this new captain’s ability to remain calm in times of great calamity and distress. Many claimed it was his ability to think on his feet, along with his attention to detail, that made him an excellent surgeon.
Because of her interest in medicine, this was an exciting time for Eugenia. The captain did not seem to mind answering her questions and would stop his own work to explain new medical and surgical techniques. Once Captain Bradford learned how dedicated Sergeant Adams was to his duty, he began to give more responsibility to Eugenia. He even took the time to instruct her on the preparation and storage of those pills in greater demand.
The morale of the entire camp improved because of the new commander’s presence. Although he held the camp to stricter schedules and made each man accountable for their duties, it was easier to take pride in one’s work, especially during the hardships of war, when there was a commander who held his men to a higher standard and showed appreciation for their efforts.
One day, around noon, Eugenia received an order for supplies needed in the dead house. Prior to this, she had managed to delegate the chore of replenishing supplies there to someone else. However, this time all the orderlies were busy. With her arms full of the needed items, she crossed the camp to the place she hated the most.
No matter how much time she had spent there, going back would never be easy. As she entered the ward, a critically wounded Confederate soldier called out to her. Eugenia tried to ignore the man, but his pleas grew louder and more insistent.
His anguished voice broke. “P-please, I know I am dying. A moment is all I ask.”
The orderly who had taken over Eugenia’s duties was busy tending to another. He barked for silence, saying he would be there shortly. Eugenia hurried to unlock the supply locker and began filling the empty slots, anxious to be gone.
Again, the rebel soldier cried out. “Please, I beg you.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the man staring directly at her.
Eugenia gulped back waves of guilt. She rushed through her task and then feeling like her heart was in a vise, she knelt beside the Confederate soldier’s pallet. He was the longest survivor in the ward and she remembered him well. On the day of his arrival, the hurried orderlies had left him on a blanket with nothing else to shield him from the damp ground. Eugenia had smuggled some hay out of the stables to place beneath his blanket to make a more comfortable bed.
With the severity of his wounds, Eugenia was surprised to find him still alive, let alone conscious. “What is your name, soldier?” she asked.
“They call me Fred,” the young man whispered through cracked lips. His voice shook and trailed off. He tried without success to move his injured arms. The futile attempt caused Eugenia’s heart to lurch, and it was all she could do to watch the piteous sight.
“There is a letter for my family, but it appears I am unable to reach it,”
he replied, his breathing growing weak. “Could—you? It would be a great comfort to me if it could be posted.” A violent fit of coughing seized and racked his body, and when he spoke again, his voice was so faint that Eugenia had to put her ear close to his mouth to hear him. “Please. The address is on the envelope. Would you see to it?”
The desperation shining in his fevered eyes was so pressing that she was sure her heart would explode. The tragedy of the moment was excruciating, and she had to fight to control her emotions. Eugenia nodded, opened the soldier’s jacket, and found the letter. Its envelope was damp and stained with blood, and only the town was still legible.
Fred nodded his thanks and closed his eyes. Eugenia slipped the envelope into her own pocket and reached for the chart that lay near the patient’s feet. According to his record, Fred had lain unconscious on the battlefield for days in the torrential rains that had plagued the rescue efforts following the engagement. Labeled as a John Doe, this was the first time he had regained consciousness since his arrival. Eugenia scratched out “John Doe” and wrote “Fred.” When she looked back to ask Fred his surname, she found the poor young man shivering violently. Grabbing another blanket, she covered him and tucked the edges under his frail body.
This scene was all too familiar. She had watched too many men from both sides of the conflict die. Tears of misery flooded her eyes as she watched yet another man exhale for the last time. Suddenly all the suffering and death of the last few weeks seemed unbearable. A silent prayer for the soldier’s soul moved her lips. After pulling the blanket over his face, she laid the chart on his chest to signal he had expired.
His death seemed so senseless. She did not know the details of this man’s life, where he was born, or whether he had been married or not. All she knew was that the poor soul had died far from home with no loved ones to comfort him in his last moments.
