Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Edward Hunt

  As they walk back toward the front door, Malinda gently tugs at Captain LaPree’s sleeve. He turns, “Could I have a word in private Captain?”

  She directs LaPree into the hallway next to the upstairs steps. Once his men have gone outside Malinda grabs LaPree’s hand. He jerks his hand back she grabs it once again. This time she places a gold Double-Eagle coin in his palm. “This is all the hard money I have, the rest is Confederate. Give my boy at least a week to get our farm in order before he goes off to the Army, please. We have one bale of cotton. If you wait until then I can sell the cotton and I will give you all the money it sells for.”

  LaPree opens his hand and sees the twenty dollar gold piece. He rubs it between his thumb and index finger. He sticks it between his teeth and bites hard it feels good, but more gold from the sale of the cotton will be better, he agrees to the proposition.

  As the scum of Southern society rides toward the front gate, the family watches from the porch. For the present William is safe, but Malinda knows her son is on borrowed time – she does not have any cotton to sell, anywhere!

  Chapter Ten

  HELP ME, PLEASE!

  Robert is conscious enough to hear his Confederate comrades running by his boulder as they retreat. He tries to yell for help, but the words will not come out of his mouth. His fellow soldiers have run off and abandoned him. There is no hope for help. He believes he is dying – and he is dying alone.

  However, help does arrive, in the form of two Yankee stretcher-bearers. The two litter bearers find Robert sitting against a large rock, unconscious. One grabs his arms and the other his legs, and places him on an improvised litter. It is no more than two poles and a blanket, but it serves the purpose. As soon as they lifted him up and began to move Robert is struck in the head with a bullet from a Yankee musket. It is a glancing shot that does not penetrate his skull.

  His vision is blurred, and he cannot see well enough to tell who his litter bearers are. He doesn’t care who they are; if he doesn’t get help soon, he is going to bleed to death. He could see dozens and dozens of soldiers as his two saviors carry him through the woods to a medical wagon. He assumes they are Confederates.

  Neither of the Union men noticed the marks on the boulder as they moved him to the litter. Robert has used his small pocketknife to scratch the letters, “2K168.” If the soldiers noticed the scratches, the letters would have made no sense to them. However, they are unquestionably important to Sergeant Scarburg. Robert thought at least his rescuers were Confederates. He can see them well enough now - they are dressed in blue, they are Yankees! Only hours earlier they were trying to kill each other now these blue-bellies are attempting to keep him alive.

  Before being ordered to leave his father Matthew and the volunteer hospital orderly Charles Babb had made a makeshift bandage trying to stop the foamy blood that flowed profusely from Robert’s chest. They had managed to cover it with his father’s handkerchief and tie his belt around the wound. This slowed the bleeding but didn’t stop it. Foamy blood, the orderly said indicated a lung had been punctured.

  From the field litter, Sergeant Scarburg is shoved into the bed of a blood-soaked wagon. He is piled on top of other wounded soldiers, some too badly injured to offer any objection. The wagon’s grisly condition indicates the wounded and dying soldiers aren’t the first to use this four-wheel conveyance of death. The next hour or so he endures being bounced and jostled on a muddy road more adept for a mountain goat than a horse drawn wagon. He is beginning to believe that he will not survive the wagon trip long enough to find medical help. When the wagon ride ends, he is at a temporary Union hospital south of Gettysburg. An open spot in the middle of the forest bounded on one side by a railroad track. The chief surgeon is Dr. Jonathan Letterman.

  The litter bearers place him on the ground, outside a medical tent. A couple of doctors are using the area for triage. Soldiers with a red rag tied around the arm are given first priority. Those with white ones go next. Wounded men with a black rag are not treated - they are going to die. No one comes to check on him after his first initial evaluation; a black cloth is tied around Sergeant Scarburg’s arm. Even if he had a red or white rag he would be a very low priority. He was the enemy – the Yankee doctors treat their soldiers first Confederates come last, if at all.

  A couple of hours pass, Sergeant Scarburg desperately wants a drink of water. “Help me please!” he moans. His throat is parched. Mumbling, he tries to beg anyone nearby for water. At last when he thinks he can last no longer he hears what he thinks is an angel speak to him.

  Although not a heavenly angel, she no doubt is an earthly one clothed as a nurse, who softly says to him, “Soldier! Soldier can you hear me?” The nurse continues, “Can you answer me?”

  Barely above a whisper he answers, “Wa...wa...water!”

  The nurse could barely hear Sergeant Scarburg, but she heard enough to understand he wanted a drink of water. She retrieved a canteen, propped him up and let him drink the cool water until it oozed out the corner of his mouth. Earlier he thought she was an angel now he is sure she was heaven sent.

  She removes the black rag, summons an attendant and has Robert carried inside the surgeon’s tent and places him on a bloody table. A pile of arms and legs almost waist high is visible outside the rear of the tent. Opening Robert’s chest the surgeon explained how fortunate the Sergeant is. “Fortunate? Fortunate?” Thought Sergeant Scarburg, “It’s obvious this idiot has never had a ten inch piece of steel shoved into his chest!” But, the doctor is right the bayonet only nicked his lung and did not hit any other vital organs. The surgeon did what limited care he could, sewed him back up, bandaged his head and sent Robert into a large tent with other injured Rebels. The doctor offered little hope that the Sergeant would survive. Robert was now officially a prisoner of war and a dying one at that.

  His angelic nurse constantly visited him, wiped his brow and gave him water to drink. Occasionally she would change his bandages and give him a tablespoon of laudanum to ease the pain. Sometimes she would bring him a little milk boiled with whiskey and sugar. It was glorious to Robert. Over the following days, he began to improve, but his head still hurt badly. The bleeding had stopped in both wounds; his breathing was labored but adequate. He was conscious enough to speak with his nurse.

  “I want to tell you I appreciate what you have done for me.”

  “You’re welcome Sergeant, but what is your name and regiment?”

  “It’s funny – madam I know I am a Reb, but for the life of me I cannot remember anything except being brought here. I want to thank you for being so kind; I will never be able to repay you for your kindness. If I do not survive would you please get a word to my... my... I know I must have someone; however, right now I do not know who!”

  “Sergeant you are not going to die! You owe me no words of thanks. I believe God put each of us on Earth for a purpose. I think helping injured and dying men on the battlefield is my purpose in life. I feel it as strongly as anything I have ever felt. Sergeant I am not looking for any thanks, seeing you improve in health is payment enough.

  “You are my ‘Angel on the Battlefield’ Mrs? Miss? I do not even know your name.”

  “I’m sorry, it is Miss... Miss Barton... Miss Clara Barton.”

  “Are you in the Army Miss Barton?”

  “No Sergeant I am a volunteer nurse. As I said before this is something, I feel, God has instructed me to do.”

  Robert noticed she wore a plain white blouse buttoned at the neck. On the left side of her blouse over her heart was pinned a small scrap of red cloth.

  “May I ask the meaning of the red piece of linen?”

  “It identifies the few of us as volunteer medical attendants. It is easier for the doctors to find us when they need assistance.”

  “May I make a suggestion? As a religious woman, Miss Barton I suggest cutting your red slip of fabric into a red cross. That will still identify your volunteer status, but the cross will indicate to every
one your belief that your duty to help the wounded is God inspired. Those of us injured are desperately in need of your services.”

  Clara gazed intently out into space thinking about his suggestion. “Hmmm, a red cross. That is an interesting idea Sergeant. I will have to give that some further thought. Oh, don’t worry your memory will return, I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  PICKETT’S CHARGE – DAY THREE

  The Union forces slow their rate of cannon fire and then, to conserve ammunition, cease firing altogether. The Yankee commanders think it will fool the Rebels into believing the Rebels have knocked out their cannons. The ruse works that is exactly what the Confederates believe.

  General Pickett slowly walks his horse along the long line of his battle ready men until he reaches Longstreet, he asks, "General shall I advance?" Longstreet, now overwhelmed with despondency, does not respond, he simply, with head bowed, lifts his hand into the air. The order is given.

  CHARGE

  Returning to the front of his men, General Pickett turns in the saddle, holding his saber high above his head yells, "Attention Battalion! Dress on the colors! Forward! March! Charge the enemy and remember old Virginia!’ He begins a slow and deliberate advance toward the Union Army nearly a mile away on Cemetery Ridge. Turning to look back, he sees over 12,000 Southerners stretching a mile from one end to the other. The men who survive that day say there was almost total silence as line after line of men in perfect military alignment march without a word being said to a sure death. The only noise heard was the soldier’s gear rubbing against their bodies and the footfalls trampling on the grass of the field. The Union men watch the lines of men in grey in amazed awe.

  In the front row of soldiers are Luke and Matthew advancing toward the Union’s strong, fortified position. Luke turns and speaks to Matthew, “Be brave little brother, looks like we’re going to get to ‘open the ball.’

  The order is given to, ‘Advance at a quick-step.’ Luke glances over at Matthew again. As they begin the slow trot, it is a 90-degree, humid day; sweat is dripping from the end of Matthew’s nose. “Courage, Matthew, courage!” Luke is trying to bolster his younger brother’s resolve, but Luke himself is so scared he does not believe he can put one foot in front of the other. He wants to retreat, but he cannot. Beside him and behind him are his friends, some family, and other neighbors from back home. He will not be branded a coward. He must, in spite of his fear, advance toward the enemy.

  ‘Halt! Prepare to fire by battalion! Battalion! Ready! Aim! FIRE!’

  Knowing this is Matthews first major battle Luke turns to him as they halt, “Matt, throw away that knapsack, your blanket and anything else you won’t need right now. Keep only your gun, bayonet, cartridge box, powder patches and canteen. Stay low, and when I say ‘run’ you run as if the Devil himself is after you, run like you have you never run before, understand?”

  Beginning to get in the range of the Federal cannons they realize the Yankees are using grapeshot; a cannon ball type instrument of death that is packed full of gunpowder and lead balls the size of marbles. When one of these explodes, men drop by the dozens.

  They are getting closer – the deadly musket shots are coming at them in volleys. Men are falling in masses as the rifle and cannon fire cut big swaths in the Rebel line of advancing men.

  The order is given to, ‘Charge Bayonets! Forward at the double quick! March!’ Looking forward, Luke sees the split rail fence beside the Emmitsburg Road. Men are lying all around the ground, many have terrible wounds, others are missing arms or legs. He stumbles over the torso of a young boy whose face is contorted and frozen in the grip of death. His deep blue eyes stare out into eternity, tender eyes his mother will never see again. Some of the men lying face down in the dirt are not hurt, they are too afraid to get up and continue. He does not say it, but Luke empathizes with them.

  Luke sees he and Matthew are only a few hundred yards from the slight protection the split rail fencing might offer. “Run! Matt run! Come on Matt... RUN! Try to get to the cover of the fence!” They, along with hundreds of others turn their orderly march into a headlong flight at full speed toward the totally inadequate protection of the fence. Luke has sprinted at full speed many times before, but this time he believes his lungs are going to explode. He sucks hard trying to pull air in, his forage cap flies off, he jumps over dead and dying men on the ground, but he keeps running. Stride for stride brother Matt is keeping up with him. “Run Matt run. We’re goin’ to make it!”

  Just a few minutes earlier, the pride of the Army of Northern Virginia had been a magnificent line of Confederate Infantry. Now it is a ghastly hodgepodge of bodies without limbs, limbs without bodies, and the mortally wounded lying all over the field. The cream of Robert E. Lee’s Army lie mutilated and mangled upon the battlefield. The remainder is huddled in frightened masses behind the inadequate protection of the wooden fence.

  Some men try to climb over the split rail fence. Nearing the top rail they are being exposed to the murderous volleys of musket fire coming from the Union line. Most do not get to the far side. They are killed or wounded and collapse in a pile around the un-injured that cowers on the ground at the base of the fence. Confederate officers move up and down the line of scared men hiding behind the fence urging them, at gunpoint, to advance. The men are hesitant but respond. As if in a wave, they got up and began climbing the fence once again. Luke threw a leg over the top rail extending his hand trying to help Matthew mount the bottom rail. A deafening scream comes from Matt. He is hit. He tries to grab Luke’s hand, but before he can grasp the outthrust fingers Matt collapses upon the ground. Luke jumps from the fence, pulls Matthew up into a sitting position, but an officer forces Luke back over the fence. He has to leave his brother and advance toward the Union defenses. Pickett’s Charge continues.

  As they near the Union line, the Confederates continue screaming the Rebel yell, firing their rifles and running faster and faster. The leading elements of the charge are now beginning to engage the Union forces in hand-to-hand combat. Up and down the long line of Yankee soldiers, each Company’s bugler could be heard above the roar of battle, blowing ‘Infantry Commence Firing.’ The men of both armies fight with bayonets, knives, and rifle butts some even throw stones. It is a fight for survival. Swords sever arms, hatchets split open skulls, and the ground is red as if it had rained blood. If the South had not retreated that horrendous day, not a man on either side would have gone unscathed.

  SPAKE AS A DRAGON

  General George Meade is not the only commander on the field this day with Biblical scriptures on his mind. General Robert E. Lee stands on the edge of the battlefield with his own spyglass to his eye. As he watches the destruction of his army, he recalls two verses:

  ‘And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the trumpet exceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp trembled. (Exodus 19:12)

  ‘...I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth, and he had two horns like a lamb, and he SPAKE AS A DRAGON.’ (Revelation 13:11)

  General Lee, a deeply religious man who reads his Bible daily, has always believed the reference in the Book of Revelations about the ‘two horns like a lamb’ was a reference to the United States. The lamb is a meek, tender loving animal, but when provoked will use his two horns like a battering ram. Today the Battle of Gettysburg was in its third day, and the Ram of the Union Army is battering his Army of Northern Virginia to pieces. General Lee has never seen a dragon, but if one exists its voice surely would sound exactly like the roar of battle taking place before his very eyes - a roar he imagined, that ‘SPAKE AS A DRAGON!’

  After an hour or so of fierce hand-to-hand fighting, the shattered Southern forces started to lose ground and began to retreat. Pickett’s Charge is now turning into a defeat. Not only has Lee’s invincible army been beaten, some of the men were throwing down their arms and
surrendering. Luke, although only slightly wounded, is among the men captured. As the men in blue lead him away, he stares intently across the body littered field toward the Emmitsburg Road and the rail fence, looking for Matthew. There is so many, so many, dead and wounded he cannot distinguish merely one body from among the many. He passes a Union Colonel watching the Confederates as they struggle to return to the safety of their own lines. Luke reaches out, grabs the sleeve of the Colonel’s coat and begs for a brief look through his spyglass, “Please, sir I plead with you! I seek my brother...can I just look one time. He is wounded.” With a look of disgust, the Colonel jerks his coat sleeve free, turns from Luke and walks away as though some vermin had touched his arm.

  The glorious Army of Northern Virginia began the charge with 12,000 brave and fearless men now hardly 6,000 of them are able to walk, crawl or drag themselves back to the woods on Seminary Ridge.

  General Lee rides Traveller out onto the field of blood. Meeting the straggling survivors, he tells them, "It is my fault, it is all my fault!"

  He waits patiently on General Pickett; finally, he sees him, his face is blacken from the gunpowder, his uniform torn his hat missing, blood oozes from the shoulder of his mount ‘Old Black.’ Lee approaches and addresses him, "General upon my shoulders rests the blame. Please assembly your Division we must provide for a counter-attack."

  “General Lee, I have no Division!”