Echoes of Dark and Light

by Chris Shanley-Dillman

  As I trudged back to the frontlines, I once again had the feeling of being watched. Some instinctive sixth sense twinged with alarm, but none of the original five senses picked up anything of concern. I stopped, ducking behind a tree to take a better account of my surroundings. Only a bright red cardinal revealed his presence, flickered though the branches and cocking his head curiously at me. I debated staying hidden to figure out just what had put the hairs on the back of my neck on end. A glance at the dawning sun reminded me of the passing time and I opted to move forward. Still, whatever pricked at my subconscious still didn’t feel like a threat. Maybe my guardian angel hovered nearby. Just in case, I kept every inch of my mind and body on triple alert as I quickly and quietly made my way back to the troops.

  When I’d last left them, both sides of the armies had been converging at the Cold Harbor Crossroads, and talk of the next huge attack spread down the lines. Cold Harbor itself was an old white-framed tavern positioned about ten miles from the city of Richmond. The Union army had stretched itself out along a seven-mile track with the Rebels digging in across the way. The terrain consisted of varying ridges covered in thick forests, and crisscrossed with muddy swamps and meandering streams. Here and there, a small farmstead had dug out an existence, harvesting tobacco and corn. For added fun, nasty little buggers like chiggers and ticks kept my skin itching and crawling, while my eyes scanned for hidden venomous cottonmouth snakes, and the just as deadly Rebel soldiers.

  The dry roadway offered up choking clouds of dust with every step, and I imagined the horrors of trying to breathe in the storm a marching army would create. Now and then I passed the bloated corpse of a brave horse or mule who had fallen in their harnesses, and left to die from the choking thirst and exhaustion. This war seemed to reach out and inflict death on every creature, not just the ones responsible for creating it.

  Up ahead, I noticed another farm clearing with a tobacco drying shed near the road. Logs stacked with plenty of air gaps framed the structure, topped with a solid roof. The harvested tobacco plants hung from poles inside to dry in the summer heat. Before the war, the nearby city of Petersburg housed a big tobacco industry with quite a few factories. But they received a big blow from the blockaders and had closed. Movement near the shed caught my eye and I quickly ducked behind a tree, Colt aimed at the tobacco shed. As I watched, a scruffy, haunted-looking man crept to the door, scanning the area for witnesses. His clothes hung in tatters, and may have once been a Rebel uniform. The man quickly slunk back into the forest, his skinny arms loaded down with stolen tobacco left over from last year’s crop. I carefully moved back to the road, leaving the derelict be. He seemed to have enough troubles without me turning on him. I’d let the farmer deal with him; I had to get back to the 27th

  The hot sun glared down on me as I finally reached Cold Harbor. I skirted the edges of the army until I reached the mile where the 9th Corps lined up for battle. I quickly settled into the entrenchments with the guys and caught up on the action that I’d missed. I painfully avoided asking about the absent Toby.

  “Nothin’!” Kenny complained. “We’ve been stuck here for hours. The attack has been postponed at least twice now.”

  “How come?” I asked, my heart lurching as I caught sight of Toby stepping out of cover from the nearby trees. He took a seat, perching nearby on a tree stump and began cleaning his rifle with undivided attention to avoid looking in our direction. But then, as if he felt my eyes, he looked up and for a long moment, we stared at each other. Did I see regret and longing mixed in with the sadness? Toby turned back to his rifle without a word. Probably not.

  “Because someone gave the wrong directions to Hancock’s troops and they ended up miles from here,” Preacher explained.

  “Yeah,” Woody chimed in, “and then the poor fellows had to march even farther to reach here, and now they’re plum wore out.”

  “General Grant pushed the attack back to tomorrow morning, before sun up,” Kenny said, spitting out a long stalk of grass he’d been chewing.

  I adjusted my mental calendar. “Tomorrow’s June 3rd, right?”

  Kenny nodded. “We’re wasting time. We could have attacked hours or even days ago. It’s like we’re just giving the Rebs time to prepare. We might as well be over there helping them dig in!”

  I popped a squat to ease my back. “At least our guys are out scouting the terrain, getting to know the battlefield, right?”

  Kenny shook his head in disgust. “Are you kidding? The big guys won’t give the order; we’re just supposed to sit here and rest. Like a body can rest with a battle on the way.”

  I scratched my head and then readjusted my cap. “Okay, so General Grant got all of us here, strung out for seven miles. What’s the plan?”

  “Plan?” Kenny blew up. “There is no plan! Only that come tomorrow morning we charge the Rebs.”

  Kenny’s grim face told me he wasn’t joking. I rubbed my tired, grit-filled eyes and sighed.

  Before dawn on June 3rd, the air heavy with a thick fog and clinging mist, our troops lined up for attack. I hadn’t slept more than a few minutes; no one had. Sleep didn’t come easy on a night that could be one’s last. I spent a lot of hours thinking of Robert, wondering if he’d felt scared before battles, if his stomach clenched in a knot or his hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. Part of me couldn’t imagine my big brother suffering anxiety of any kind; he’d always been so brave and fearless. But another part of me, the one beginning to accept Robert as a mere human as apposed to some sort of indestructible hero, knew he’d been afraid, too.

  At 4:30 a.m., the signal fired the start of our advance. Usually depending on my senses, I felt a bit unstable and lost with the mist clinging to my eyelashes, the darkness surrounding and enfolding me, the stomping, swearing and shooting of an army on attack filling my ears and blocking any other sounds. I kept Woody in sight on my left and then found a bit of reassurance at discovering Toby on my right. Flashes of gunfire momentarily blinded me even more, until I learned to pin my eyes on the ground. It didn’t take long to notice the error of failing to scout the area ahead of time. Between the Rebels and us brewed a field of swamps, streams and patches of almost impenetrable vegetation. Our line of attack quickly became broken and staggered as we plowed through the obstacles, breaking our huge army into isolated islands. The entrenched Rebels wasted no time and blasted sweeping rounds of gunfire, taking out hundreds, thousands of our troops. I couldn’t comprehend the sheer numbers of men falling all around me. My legs burned to run for safety, but my orders, and my friends, kept me advancing. Stumbling over the broken bodies, I fired round after round, with no way of knowing if I hit any targets. The nightmare quickly grew worse, and within a half hour the captain ordered us to take cover and hold our position. I dove behind a huge fallen log with Toby and Woody, keeping as much of our bodies hidden while aiming our rifles over the moss-covered bark of our shield.

  As the sun tried to penetrate the thick fog and black gunpowder smoke, I noticed a few men trying to retreat. But Rebel sharpshooters picked them out of the soup, adding to the dead and dying on the field. Their cries raked at my ears, even over the gunfire and cannon blasts. The disaster never once improved in our favor, and finally, at 12:30, General Grant ordered our retreat.

  I couldn’t help stepping on the fallen troops as we desperately returned to our original entrenchments. Shocked and horrified, I surveyed the field felled with thousands of our men. Gasping for air, I quickly inspected Toby for blood and extra holes. Except for the echo of nightmares reflected in his eyes, he seemed okay. I checked Woody and found him clutching a bloody arm.

  “Woody! Are you okay?”

  He offered a wobbly smile. “A musket ball grazed me. It’s just a scratch, honest.”

  I pushed his cradling hand aside to inspect the damage and found a three-inch gash along his forearm. Blood seeped steadily from the wound, but didn’t appear too bad. “You get over to medical and get that bandaged up, okay?�
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  “I’ll take him.” A wide-eyed, soot-covered Preacher appeared at our side. He gently took the pale-faced Woody by the elbow and led him out of the confusion.

  Suddenly, with an icy hand gripping my heart, I realized I hadn’t accounted for someone. “Where’s Kenny?”

  The afternoon dragged on, a torturous wait for both sides, yet an excruciating one for the men left alive and wounded on the battlefield. Thirsty, bleeding and in horrific pain, they cried out for help. But we couldn’t do a single thing. Something to do with battle negotiations between the two sides, or something equally ridiculous. We had strict orders to remain entrenched, helpless to rescue our wounded soldiers. And somewhere out there amongst the thousands of dead and wounded lay Kenny. I felt so utterly useless and smothered by guilt. We could save so many, but instead were forced to hunker down and listen to their moans and cries for help. Had Robert lain on a battlefield like that? Suffering? Alone?

  In the late afternoon, Preacher returned leading a green-tinted Woody, his arm bandaged with a crude and clumsy wrap. The medics had been so swamped, Preacher had finally done the job himself. They settled down next to us in the trenches.

  As dusk started to fall, Woody finally clamped his hands over his ears, unable to stand the wounded cries any further. Tears pooled in his bloodshot eyes and he turned to me imploring, “Why Bobbi? Why?”

  Enough! I had to do something, save at least one, no matter the consequences. I tossed my rifle aside and stood, creeping up to the edge of our entrenchment.

  “What are you doing?” Preacher asked, suspicion clouding his voice.

  His question invited every private in the vicinity to look at me. I ignored them. Peering out over the field, I searched through the collecting shadows for a likely target. With the gathering darkness and unexpected maneuver on my part, most likely the Rebels wouldn’t be able to fire a mortal shot. Though what my own officers would do to me for breaking orders, I could only guess. But if I could save just one life, the risk would be worth almost any punishment.

  “Bobbi, no!”

  Toby’s voice, unheard for days, grabbed at my heart, but I pushed off anyway and darted out into the desecration.

  “Private, return at once!” An unfamiliar officer’s voice bellowed above the agitated chatter that broke out in the trenches.

  I ignored him, sprinting out into the battlefield. Surprise being my main attribute, I had to get as far as I could before the Rebels noticed and started aiming their guns.

  I reached the nearest of the fallen soldiers, and began desperately scanning for one still alive. But before I got very far, a tremendous force tackled me from behind, knocking me hard to the ground just as a volley of musket balls flew overhead.

  “Are you trying to get killed?” Toby demanded.

  I had a mouthful of words I wanted to spit back at him, but the tackle had knocked the air from my lungs and I gasped for a breath.

  “Haven’t enough people died today? Did you want to add yourself to the list? Getting killed won’t help anyone, especially your brother! Answer me, Rivers!”

  Finally, my lungs opened up and I greedily sucked in air. When I could, I turned my head and grumbled, “I might be able to if you got off of me, you big oaf!”

  He rolled to the side, and my breathing instantly got easier.

  “Now explain yourself, Rivers! Do you have a death wish?”

  “Why do you care?” I spit. “I thought you hated me.”

  He stared at me, mouth poised but no words releasing.

  I jumped back in before he’d say something I’d regret hearing. “It doesn’t matter. I just couldn’t stand back there and do nothing! I had to save—” I broke off, my throat clenching tight. “Kenny?”

  Three feet behind Toby, a dirty red scarf caught my eye. We scrambled over the bodies to get a closer look. Kenny. But I almost didn’t recognize his face, blown away and bloodied, almost as red as the scarf his pen pal had sent him.

  “Oh, Kenny,” I choked on the words as tears filled my eyes.

  Toby checked his neck for a pulse even though Kenny had obviously died. Toby shook his head, fighting the sorrow that threatened to swallow him. But he forced it away, along with the tears in his own eyes.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No!” I broke through the grief. “I came here to save someone and I’m not going back without—”

  “Help me, help! Is anyone there?”

  Toby crawled over to the voice, keeping his head down to avoid the musket balls flying overhead. I quickly followed on his tail.

  “Can you walk, soldier?”

  “I…I’m not sure; my foot’s busted up pretty good.”

  “We’ll help you.” Toby turned to me. “Here’s your rescue, Bobbi. Grab his other side and we’ll make a run for it. Ready?”

  His eyes met mine and I found an added source of courage to carry us back to safety.

  “Go!”

  Tripping and stumbling, we took off crouching low and half dragging the wounded man between us. Rebel soldiers jeered and taunted us along with a volley of musket fire. In front of us, Union soldiers cheered us on to safety. Bullets whizzed pasted my ears as the long stretch seemed to grow even longer. Years of my life fell away with each step until we tumbled into a heap behind the embankment.

  Troops gathered around, helping us to our feet, clapping our backs and sharing the commentary. After someone dragged in a stretcher to carry the wounded man to the medical tent, the commotion drifted down again. I looked to Toby, hoping to find a smile of renewed friendship. But he turned his back on me without even a glance, and disappeared into the crowd. My heart broke and dropped like a dead, brittle branch in the wind.

  Captain Truckey appeared at my elbow. “Private Rivers, a word please.”

  I signed and turned to face my punishment.

  I really needed to be alone, so I made my way out of camp and climbed to the top of a nearby ridge. By the time I collapsed at the top, out of breath and near out of hope, darkness descended around me, holding me close.

  Perched on a rocky outcropping, I stared out into the night as pinpoints of light sparked to life below me. One by one, campfires flared up to share warmth with the weary soldiers, appearing like sparkling stars in the nighttime sky.

  “Mind if I interrupt?”

  I leapt to my feet, spun around, drawing my Colt on the intruder.

  Toby.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I really don’t blame you for pointing your gun at me, but do you mind?”

  Oh. I shrugged and repocketed the pistol, sitting back down on my cold rock. Inside, I grabbed a hold of my heart and tried to slow its erratic pounding.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asked, indicating the rock next to me.

  I shrugged again. Part of me felt immensely glad to see him. The other part of me wanted to shove him over the edge.

  He squatted down, stretching his long legs out in front of him with a groan. He pulled out a tin of cold beans and offered them to me. I shook my head.

  We sat in silence for a while, the echoes of camp drifting up to mix with the cicadas’ soft hum.

  Finally, I felt able to speak, though I hesitated in case he rebuked me once again. “I can’t believe Kenny is dead.”

  “Me, too. He was a good friend.”

  “A lot of good people lost their lives today. I’ve heard they’re estimating seven thousand soldiers died within twenty minutes, a complete massacre.”

  Toby scratched the bearded stubble on his chin. “Rumor going around that General Grant regrets ordering the attack.”

  “So many dead…”

  “But one less thanks to you. I checked on that soldier we pulled out. His ankle’s busted, but he should recover. Maybe have a limp the rest of his life, but at least he has a life.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Did you get slammed for disobeying orders?”

  “Two weeks of latrine duty.” />
  Toby smirked. “You’re getting to be a real good ditch digger.”

  “I certainly can recognize a big pile of crap when I see one.”

  “You’ll be able to shovel it with the best of them by the time we get out of this bloody war.”

  “If we get out…”

  We dropped into an awkward silence. So many hadn’t survived. How many more would fall?

  “Bobbi?”

  “Hmm?

  “I never thanked you for saving my life in The Wilderness.”

  I glanced over at him, barely able to discern him in the darkness.

  “I said some cruel things to you, and I apologize.” He paused for a moment. “At the time, I was awfully messed up. Meeting up with my brother shocked me, dragged all the rotting feelings up out of the depths. Loosing my family had hurt worse than any musket ball wound, and I grabbed a hold of that hurt and aimed it back at you. I realize now that Randy would have killed me, and probably you, too. You did what you had to, saving both of our lives…and I appreciate that.”

  I broke my stare, turning to look instead at my dirty, ragged fingernails. “I, uh, tried to aim for a wound, honest—”

  “I know, I know,” Toby interrupted. “Even the sharpest sharpshooter has an off day, especially with a dislocated shoulder. You did your best.”

  We fell quiet again, and I tried to absorb Toby’s words. After a few moments, Toby laid a hand on my shoulder and I turned to look at him.

  “Bobbi, we’ve both lost loved ones in this war; heck everyone has. But when I saw you run back out into the battlefield today, I…I don’t think I could survive loosing my best friend.”

  We camped out at Cold Harbor until June 12th when General Grant decided to move the Army to Petersburg. He planned to cut off the train depot that supplied the city of Richmond. We packed up and marched out, arriving at the James River on the 13th. We camped there that night, with plans to cross the next day.