Echoes of Dark and Light

by Chris Shanley-Dillman

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Bobbi. Everyone needs a bit of support every now and again, even in the best of circumstances. And what we went through today doesn’t even come close to being a good day.”

  “You can say that again,” I snorted, grimacing and rubbing my forehead where my brain had started to pound.

  “Does your head hurt?” she asked, merging naturally back to the medical side of herself. “Sometimes the heavy smoke will cause a headache, not to mention the excruciatingly loud cannon fire, or even just the stress.”

  I nodded. “Or maybe even an approaching monthly visitor.”

  Cora laughed. “That’ll do it, too. I can make you some willow bark tea that might help a bit.”

  “Thanks, that sounds good.” I paused, feeling a bit awkward. But desperation sometimes tops emotional discomfort, so I plunged ahead. “Actually, I could really use some rags. I don’t suppose you have any extra…” I trailed off embarrassed.

  In answer, she dug down in the pockets of her apron and pulled out two handfuls of fresh bandages. She smiled. “I’ve found these work really well. Stick close to me and I’ll keep you well supplied.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” She stood up. “Well, I’d better be getting back to work. The hospital tent needs to be packed up and ready to go by morning.”

  “What happens in the morning?”

  “The Army is heading for Knoxville.”

  “Oh, I’d better get back to my group then.”

  “We’ll talk more later?”

  She asked the question casually, but I could see the intensity in her face. Cora needed a friend. So did I.

  “Definitely!”

  As I walked back towards the battleground, I dreaded what would meet my eyes. Working at the hospital tent, I had only witnessed a fraction of the battle; I didn’t look forward to the full experience, but knew I would participate soon enough. Broken bodies littered the charred crossroads of Campbell’s Station. A hazy stench hung heavy in the air, despite the nighttime breeze attempting to blow through the chaos. A handful of soldiers worked at clearing away the dead, while others set up tents and built fires for the night’s camp on a ridge about three quarters of a mile away. I found it hard to believe that after witnessing and participating in the brutal act of war, a person could even attempt a normal activity like making coffee or drawing a bow across a fiddle’s strings. The sorrow-filled notes of the fiddle did match the mood though, moaning and wailing after the dead. I needed to find my unit; I needed to make sure Toby had survived. And Kenny and the rest. I needed to report back to Captain Truckey.

  “Looks like the baby made it through without a scratch!”

  “Yeah, Mr. Greenie went and hid behind the hospital tent.”

  Jimmy, Kevin and their gang. It appears they all survived the battle with no more than a scratch or two. Yippee.

  “Was itty-bitty Bobbi scared? Did he wet his pants?”

  I tried to ignore their ribs, knowing a retort would only encourage them, or enrage them with me ending up on the bottom of a pile. Not that their words didn’t find their mark. My neck burned as I reminded myself that I’d been under direct orders from Captain Truckey; I’d done nothing wrong. Still, I had to forcibly focus in on Kevin to ask my question, trying hard to block out the others’ voices.

  “Hey Kevin, have you seen Kenny? Is he okay?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Has Kenny ever been okay?”

  His pals snickered.

  Kevin pointed over his shoulder. “Kenny and his pals are over there somewhere.”

  I mumbled a thanks and headed in that direction, eager to both escape their abuse and to see Toby. And the others. He’d said ‘Kenny and his pals’. I prayed everyone had survived unscathed.

  “Hey, look! It’s Bobbi!” Woody’s voice, though hoarse from smoke and overexertion, sounded happy to see me.

  I raised a hand in greeting and hurried over to the group sitting around a welcoming fire. I carefully looked everyone in the eye as I took a seat near the warmth. Preacher. Kenny. Woody. Toby. Exhaustion pulled lines in their faces, slumped them on their logs, but everyone survived, and in one piece.

  “You made it!” Kenny punched my arm.

  “I think that’s my line,” I said. “I’m the one who hid out behind the hospital tents.”

  Preacher handed me a hot cup of coffee. “I’ve worked with the medical crew before, and believe me, their job is no walk in Heaven either.”

  “You okay?” Toby asked, concerned eyes reading into mine.

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’m tired, and unfortunately a bit wiser in the ways of war, but okay. Boy, that was quite a commotion, eh?”

  “Not really,” Kenny popped a chunk of jerky in his mouth. “Comparatively, it stood on the smaller side of the scale. But a victory none the less.”

  “That was a victory?” I asked, surprised.

  Toby nodded. “We defended our supply wagons and pushed back Longfellow, objectives completed. Plus, the 27th had relatively few losses, three dead and eighteen wounded. Total loss for our side, four hundred.”

  I didn’t quite comprehend how four hundred people dying gave us a victory.

  Everyone fell quiet, staring into the fire. As the high pace of the day slowed, I suddenly felt cold, really cold, and I folded in over my coffee cup, trying to absorb some heat. I scooted as close to the fire as I dared, yet shivers continued to rack my body. Without speaking, Toby reached behind him into our tent and pulled out a coarse wool blanket. He tossed it into my lap and I dug up a small smile of thanks as I wrapped it tight around my shoulders. It helped, a little. But every time I closed eyes, pictures flashed across my lids, pictures of dead soldiers, piles of amputated limbs, pools of dark red blood, the terrified look on the crazed man’s face… I tried instead to focus on the faces before me, Kenny single-mindedly cleaning his rifle, Preacher intently praying with his head bent and eyes closed, Woody staring blankly into the orange flames with his palms wrapped in cotton bandages due to a burn received from grabbing a hot gun barrel (“Woody, that’s the third time you’ve done that! Stop grabbing the rifle barrel!”). And Toby. Toby sat starring up at the few stars peeking out from between the clouds, his usual sparkle hiding behind a thoughtful and solemn frown. My first battle and I had survived, yet I couldn’t help that feel some small part of me deep inside had not.

  Thankfully, none of us had pulled guard duty that night, even with the number of lookouts doubled and tripled in the aftermath of the Campbell’s Station Battle. In fact, I already fought to keep my eyes open; no way could I guard the perimeters, successfully anyway. As I sat there trying to find the energy needed to stand, walk two feet and crawl into my bedroll, Preacher glanced at his pocket watch.

  “It’s about that time,” he announced. “Anyone care to join us tonight?”

  “I will,” Woody chimed in with a yawn. He drained the last of his coffee before he stood, sticking his hands inside his pockets against the advancing chill.

  Kenny stood, too, but passed on the offer. “Not tonight, Preacher. I’m tuckered out. ‘Night all.” He gave a half-hearted wave as he stepped into the shadowed maze of tents.

  “Toby? Bobbi?” Preacher looked at us expectantly.

  “Sure, why not,” Toby agreed.

  “What’s going on?” I hesitated to ask, fearing some additional, over enthusiastic, nighttime training exercises.

  “Relax,” Toby said with a hint of his usual smile. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad?” repeated Preacher with annoyance. “I thought you enjoyed these meetings as much as I do.”

  “Nobody enjoys these as much as you do, Preacher.”

  Preacher waved as he tromped off into the darkness. Toby began extinguishing the fire while he explained. “This is one of Preacher’s ideas; he cooked up the entire thing. See, Preacher didn’t feel having church services once a week constituted enough soul saving, especially for the dilapidated souls of us soldiers. So he got
together with the company’s chaplain to organize a special service following each battle. It’s informal and casual, and whether or not it’s actually good for my religious pathway, I couldn’t say, but it sure does give a guy the necessary quiet he needs to do some thinking.”

  I understood completely. A bit of quiet to do some thinking…or some snoozing if I couldn’t keep my eyes opened.

  “Oh, but don’t tell Preacher that. He’s positively tickled that he’s so personally involved in saving our souls. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

  Toby led us to one of the empty officer’s tents, borrowed with permission for the special services. Men had started to gather, lining along the walls and filling chairs set up in rows. The prime spots, next to the wood stove, were unofficially reserved for any wounded, those with injuries not severe enough to be sent home. The crowd came from every branch: infantry, cavalry and artillery, and though most wore the uniforms of private, a few officers did grace the meeting as well.

  Woody, Toby and I stood at the back while Preacher joined the chaplain up front. The chaplain wore a long black coat over a civilian suit. A neatly trimmed beard, more gray than brown covered his face, with dark brown eyes peering out over half spectacles. He held an open Bible in his smooth-skinned hands and a welcoming smile on his thin lips. When his smile grew broader and brighter, I turned to see who had caused it.

  In walked Nurse Cora Davis, dressed in a pressed, dark blue dress and matching hat. Every eye in the tent zeroed in on the pretty nurse. She smiled politely as she surveyed the room, though her smile spread to include her eyes as well when she saw me.

  “Well, if it isn’t Private Rivers!” She walked over to join us. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “And yourself, ma’am.” I nodded my head with a smile. “Nurse Davis, this is my tent mate, Toby, and another friend of ours, Woody.” I had to remind myself to remain formal and reserved. I didn’t need anyone suspicious over a friendship between a single female nurse and a single, supposedly male soldier.

  “Gentlemen,” Cora nodded at each before turning back to me. “Well, Private Rivers, you’ve survived your first battle and you’re still in one piece. How does it feel?”

  “Just fine, ma’am.” For some reason, I had to fight an atypical giggle that threatened to erupt and send out seeds of suspicion to everyone within hearing distance; I guess the reassurance of sharing a secret can do that to a person.

  “Good, good. Well, I’d better take my seat. It was nice to meet you both, and Private Rivers, I hope we shall speak again soon.”

  I watched as she made her way across the tent, a pathway forming curiously before her like the dividing sea in the Bible. If I hadn’t caught the sly wink she’d sent me as she turned away, I’d almost have thought I’d dreamt our conversation earlier. She’d covered her tracks to my secret so well, she’d almost fooled even me. I smiled at the thought.

  “Do you fancy Nurse Davis, too?” Woody asked, breaking through my thoughts.

  “No, no of course not,” I objected a little too quickly.

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be the only one, not by far,” Toby said. “Almost every single man in the camp has eyes for Nurse Davis; even some of the married men like to take a look. So, what’s the matter, don’t like beautiful blondes? Or are you a raven-haired admirer?”

  Not the female variety. “Oh, she’s pretty enough,” I answered back, struggling to play it nonchalantly. “Just not my type.”

  “She sure seems to like you,” Woody objected wistfully. “She hardly ever talks to the fellows outside of the hospital tent, and she singled you out right away.”

  “Oh, that’s just ‘cause we met at the hospital today. I sort of helped with an amputation.”

  I guessed that explained it enough, and thankfully they dropped the subject. As the chaplain stepped forward to begin the service, voices lowered and almost all eyes directed to him. I noticed that Preacher and one or two others continued to watch Cora, and I really couldn’t blame them. With all the ugliness surrounding us, with guns and killing, amputations and seemingly wasted death, it felt a bit of a relief to gaze on a pretty sight. Then I noticed another pair of eyes not on the chaplain, and I turned to Toby.

  “What?” I whispered a bit too harshly. His scrutinizing eyes made me extremely uncomfortable.

  “Nothing,” he murmured, and quickly shifted his eyes to the front.

  The chaplain spoke an interesting and thought-provoking sermon, at least the part I listened to. So much so, that it provoked my thoughts right off of his speech onto a tangent of my own. The chaplain started off reading the Ten Commandments from the old testament. But when he reached the one about not killing, my mind zeroed in and wouldn’t let go. Just where did that commandment fit in during wartime?

  I had never pulled the trigger on any person. Deer, yes. Possum, coons, ducks, heck yes, though always to put food on the table, never for fun or sport. But now I found myself in the middle of a raging war, and in the very near future, I almost certainly would find myself gun barrel to gun barrel with another person. Would I be able to pull the trigger? Would I really be able to look someone in the eye and rip his life out and stomp it into the coals? And if so, would that make me a murderer? Would God be disappointed in me? If life ran in the normal spectrum, I’d take these weighty questions to Robert. But life hung far from normal, and Robert…only God knew where Robert was. I missed him more dreadfully than ever.

  The morning of November 17th came entirely too early with the bugles blasting the safe refuge of my dreams. Still, it took a nudge from Toby to bring me to the surface of consciousness, and I fought it every step of the way. I’d been dreaming of home, walking along the sandy shores of Lake Superior with a crisp breeze blowing through my hair. Reality greeted me with bloody visions of yesterday’s battle spearing my aching head. We broke camp with the sun just beginning to light the sky as we resumed our forced march toward Knoxville.

  Within a week, General Burnside had the city of Knoxville surrounded and in a siege. The once prosperous area now had the neglected look most southern cities suffered these days, with peeling paint, cracked windows, busted boardwalks, missing shingles, human and animal waste littering the streets, and townsfolk peering nervously out from behind faded curtains.

  The army assigned our infantry to Fort Sanders, which lay in the northwest corner of Knoxville. Steep, almost vertical walls surrounded the fort, walls that dropped directly into a twelve foot wide and four to ten foot deep ditch that encircled the fort for further protection. We expected Lieutenant General Longstreet’s forces to attack any day.

  On the morning of November 28th, directly following drills, Captain Truckey pulled us aside.

  “Men, we’ve been given a special assignment from General Burnside himself. Our orders are to exit the fort and build barriers to deter Longstreet when he attacks. Half of you will stand guard while the others work on the barriers. Afterwards, we are to continue to stand guard until further notice. Fall in!”

  I lined up behind Toby and Woody, but wasn’t surprised when Captain Truckey approached me. I expected to get the speech about not risking undertrained soldiers and then be ordered to report for latrine digging or some other undesirable task. I swore under my breath at the extra ribbing I’d get from Jimmy and his gang for skipping out on the front line again.

  “Private Rivers, though I still hesitate to put you on the front lines, the recent events of Campbell’s Station have rendered us short-handed. You will report with the rest of the 27th as directed.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Toby offered a sympathetic shrug with a half smile before facing front and marching out in line. The unexpected appearance of his dimple brought a smile to my own face, but it quickly vanished with the whiny, sing-song voice from one of Jimmy’s gang behind me.

  “Aww, does little Bobbi have to report to the nursery again to get his nappies changed?”

  I ignored him, or tried to, and followed
Toby and our unit to the front gate. Monstrous wooden doors cranked open and a plank bridge lowered across the ditch. I glanced down into the muddy chasm as we crossed. The almost vertical sides would prove difficult to climb out of without ladders or ropes, and I wondered who had come up with the clever design for the fort. I also wondered if its defenses had ever been tested before now.

  A supply wagon met us on the slope above the fort to deliver rolls of telegraph wire. Half of us spent the next few hours stringing up the wire between tree stumps while the other half stood guard, eyes glued to the forest edge beyond on the lookout for advancing Rebels. Periods of gunfire and cannon blasts had been exchanged over the past few days, so we knew they hid in the nearby forests, and they knew that we knew. Both sides played a waiting game to see who would make the first major move.

  After we crisscrossed the slope with telegraph wires, we joined the rest of the unit in keeping watch. The cold crawled up into my bones as I sat in the damp air. And soon boredom reached in to numb my brain. I had to do something to keep alert.

  “Hey Toby, Woody. Questions?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Questions for what?” Woody asked, confused but enthusiastic for almost anything.

  “It’s a game,” Toby explained. “One of us thinks of something and the others have to guess by asking questions. Maybe it will help keep me awake.”

  “The only things keeping me awake are my cold toes,” I admitted, sheepishly.

  “The only things keeping me awake are the Rebs hiding in the woods.” Woody added, but looked confused when Toby and I laughed.

  “Okay, I have something in mind,” I began.

  “Person, place or thing?” Toby asked.

  “Place.”

  “Is this place close or far?” Toby shifted the weight of his rifle to his other shoulder.

  “Very far.” I edged over a few inches in order to better see a group of shadows in the woods.

  “Next question,” Woody jumped into the game, “does this place have strawberry pie with cream?”