Civil War on Sunday

by Mary Pope Osborne

  “Don’t you get it?” he said. “This is it! We found it! The special writing for Morgan’s library! Something to follow.”

  “Yes!” said Annie.

  Jack put the paper into his knapsack.

  “It was handed right to us!” he said, smiling. “We can go home now!”

  “Oh, no! Not now!” said Annie. “We have to help as nurses first.”

  “But, Annie—” said Jack.

  She picked up the food basket. Then she started toward the row of white tents.

  “Wait—we’re supposed to leave,” Jack said weakly. “Our mission is over.”

  The truth was that he didn’t want to help. He didn’t want to be around wounded and suffering soldiers. It was too sad.

  “Bring the water bucket and the ladle!” Annie shouted. Then she disappeared inside the first tent.

  Jack groaned. He knew he couldn’t change her mind.

  He pulled out the list and read the first line: Be Cheerful.

  “Oh, brother,” he said.

  Jack put the list back into his knapsack. He picked up the heavy bucket. Hurrying clumsily after Annie, he tried to smile.

  Jack carried the water bucket into the tent.

  The scene inside was like a nightmare.

  The tent was hot and stuffy. A dozen injured soldiers lay on small cots. Some called for food. Others begged for water or just moaned.

  Jack wanted to rush back outside. But Annie got right to work. She rolled up her sleeves and smiled.

  “Hi, everybody!” she said cheerfully.

  None of the soldiers smiled back.

  “I have good news!” she said. “We’ve brought lunch!”

  Annie moved down the row of cots. She handed out pieces of bread and chunks of potatoes to all the patients.

  “You’ll be feeling better soon,” she said to one sick man. “You’ll see your family again,” she told another.

  Jack looked around nervously. He wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Give them water, Jack!” Annie called to him.

  Jack saw a tin cup beside each man’s cot. He picked up the first cup. Carefully, he used the ladle to fill it with water.

  Keeping his eyes down, Jack handed the cup to the patient. He felt shy and uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to say.

  Jack moved on to the next patient, then the next. He gave each wounded man a cup of water. But he never looked right at any of them or spoke a word.

  Soon Jack and Annie had finished passing out food and water.

  “Good-bye!” Annie said.

  She waved and left the tent. Jack quickly followed her.

  “Let’s go home now,” he begged once they were outside. “We’ve got what we came for.”

  “If we leave now, the patients in the next tent will go hungry and thirsty,” said Annie.

  Jack sighed.

  “Okay,” he said. “But after we take care of them, we’re leaving for sure.”

  He followed Annie into the next tent.

  Just like the last tent, it was filled with wounded soldiers. But the soldiers in this tent were all African-Americans.

  “Hi, everybody!” Annie said, smiling warmly.

  Again, she passed out potatoes and bread. She also talked and made jokes.

  Jack poured water into each of the tin cups. Again, he didn’t speak to any of the soldiers. But as he handed over the last cup, a patient spoke to him.

  “Thank you for your kindness, son,” the soldier said.

  Jack glanced shyly at the man on the cot. He was an elderly, silver-haired black man.

  “You’re welcome,” said Jack.

  He tried to think of something else to say. He remembered Annie’s cheerful words.

  “You’ll get well soon,” he told the patient. “You’ll be with your family again.”

  The man shook his head.

  “No. I’ll never be with my family again,” he said quietly. “My wife and children were sold long ago.”

  “Sold?” said Jack.

  “Yes. We were slaves,” the man said.

  “You were a slave?” asked Jack.

  “All of us in this tent were once slaves,” the man said. “We ran away from our owners in the South to fight to end slavery, to fight for freedom for our people. I ran barefoot for over thirty miles to tell the Union soldiers that the Confederates were going to attack.”

  The man fell silent.

  “You’re a very brave freedom fighter,” said Jack.

  “Thank you, son.” The man closed his eyes.

  Jack wanted to know more about slavery. But he didn’t want to bother the weary patient. He pulled out the Civil War book.

  He found a picture of African-Americans standing on a platform. The men, women, and children had chains on their hands and feet.

  Jack read:

  In the 1800s, the United States was divided over the issue of slavery. The North wanted the country to end all slavery. But the South wanted to keep slaves because more than four million African-American slaves worked in the huge plantation fields there. This disagreement between the North and South led to the Civil War.

  Jack looked down at the man’s face. He looked very weary.

  Jack pulled the nurse’s list of rules from his knapsack.

  Lessen sorrow and give hope, he read.

  Jack put the list away. He leaned close to the man and spoke in a soft voice: “One day your great-great-grandchildren will be doctors and lawyers,” he said.

  The man opened his eyes.

  Jack went on. “They’ll help run the government and schools. They’ll be senators and generals and teachers and principals.”

  The man stared hard into Jack’s eyes.

  “Can you see the future, son?” he asked.

  Jack nodded. “In a way … ” he said.

  The man smiled a beautiful smile.

  “Thank you, son,” he said. Then he closed his eyes again.

  “Good luck,” whispered Jack. He hoped the brave man would live to enjoy freedom.

  “Ready to go home now, Jack?” said Annie. She had finished passing out the food.

  Jack nodded.

  As he and Annie stepped out of the tent, they heard someone shout, “She’s back!”

  A horse-drawn wagon was barreling into the camp.

  “Who’s back?” asked Annie.

  “Clara Barton,” a patient said. “She runs this hospital.”

  “Clara Barton!” said Annie. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Who’s Clara Barton?” asked Jack. He’d heard the name before. But he couldn’t remember who she was.

  “Who’s Clara Barton?” said Annie. “Are you nuts?”

  She ran to meet the wagon.

  Jack still didn’t remember who Clara Barton was. He pulled out the Civil War book and read:

  Clara Barton was a famous Civil War nurse. When she began nursing, she used her own money for her supplies. She drove a horse-drawn “ambulance” right onto the battlefield to help save wounded soldiers. For this reason she became known as the “Angel of the Battlefield.”

  Jack put the book away. Then he hurried to Annie.

  He looked at the woman sitting in the driver’s seat of the wagon.

  She doesn’t look like an angel, Jack thought.

  The woman was very small. She had a plain, serious face and dark hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a long black skirt and a black jacket.

  In the back of her wagon were more wounded soldiers in torn, bloody uniforms. They moaned and cried out.

  Nurses, both men and women, were putting the wounded men on stretchers.

  Clara Barton wiped her forehead. She looked hot and tired.

  “Can we help you, Miss Barton?” Annie asked.

  “Who are you?” said Clara Barton.

  “Jack and Annie,” said Annie. “We’re volunteer nurses. What can we do, Miss Barton?”

  Clara Barton smiled.

  “First, you can call me Clara,” she said. “Second
, would you ride with me back toward the battlefield? There are more wounded waiting to be picked up.”

  “Sure!” said Annie.

  Jack didn’t answer. After seeing all the suffering men in the wagon, he was afraid of getting closer to the battlefield.

  “And you?” Clara asked Jack. Her dark, serious eyes looked right into his.

  Jack didn’t want to admit he was afraid. “Sure, no problem,” he said.

  “Very good,” said Clara Barton. “Let’s go.”

  Jack and Annie climbed up into the driver’s seat next to her.

  By now, all the soldiers had been taken out of the wagon.

  “Take care of my new family members,” Clara called to the nurses.

  She snapped the reins. The horse-drawn ambulance rolled off, sending up clouds of dust.

  The wagon jerked and swayed as it bumped over the dry ground.

  Jack felt as though he were frying in the hot sunlight. Dust from the road filled his throat and eyes.

  The boom of cannons grew louder and louder. Jack heard popping sounds, too, like the noise of firecrackers.

  “What’s that popping noise?” he shouted, blinded by the dust and sunlight.

  “Musket fire!” said Clara.

  Jack remembered that muskets were long, old-fashioned guns.

  “What are those flashes?” asked Annie.

  Jack tried to open his eyes and see what she was talking about.

  He saw bright flashes of light in the distance and puffs of smoke in the sky.

  “Cannon shells exploding,” said Clara Barton. “Shells are like small bombs. They have ruined much farmland.”

  Jack squinted at the passing countryside. The ground was filled with ugly holes. Long ditches were also cut through the fields.

  “Did the shells make those ditches, too?” he asked.

  “No. Those are trenches the soldiers dug for a battle,” Clara said. “Each side digs their own. Day after day, they sit in the trenches, firing their muskets at one another.”

  Jack tried to imagine how terrible it would be to sit in a trench all day, waiting to be shot—or waiting to shoot someone else.

  “We have to get some water,” said Clara.

  She drove the wagon to a narrow creek. A stream of water flowed downhill, running over rocks.

  The wagon came to a halt. Jack heard a whistling sound, then another.

  “Keep low!” cried Clara.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “Cannon fire!” she said.

  Jack and Annie crouched down in the driver’s seat.

  Jack felt a rush of panic. He pulled out their list. His hands were shaking as he read:

  Be brave.

  Oh, great, he thought.

  Another cannon shell whizzed overhead, then another.

  The ground exploded over and over in flashes of light. Dirt clods flew everywhere. Clouds of smoke and more dust filled the air.

  The horses neighed and whinnied.

  Be brave! Jack thought. Be brave!

  The firing came to an end. The horses calmed down. The smoky air began to clear.

  Clara handed Jack and Annie each a canteen.

  “Fill these quickly,” she said. “We have no time to waste.”

  Jack’s legs felt wobbly as he followed Annie to the creek. They filled their canteens, then climbed back into the wagon.

  “Keep alert,” said Clara. “Look for the wounded as they come off the battlefield.”

  She snapped the reins. The horses started off again.

  As they bumped along, Jack looked ahead for wounded soldiers.

  “There!” said Annie.

  She pointed to a man limping toward them and waving his arms.

  The man looked very young, more like a teenage boy. His uniform was torn and bloody. It wasn’t a blue uniform, though. It was gray.

  Clara pulled the horses to a stop.

  “But he’s a Confederate soldier,” said Jack.

  “When someone is hurt, you give them a helping hand, no matter who they are,” said Clara. Her voice got softer. “I have seen courage and kindness on both sides of this war. Sometimes things are not as simple as they seem.”

  Jack was glad they had stopped to help the soldier.

  He jumped out of the wagon.

  “Do you need a helping hand?” he asked the young man.

  “Thank you,” the soldier said softly.

  Jack helped him into the back of the wagon. The soldier lay down on a pile of blankets and closed his eyes.

  Jack climbed back onto the seat beside Clara. She snapped the reins, and they rode on.

  They came across more ragged men resting in the shade of an oak tree. These soldiers all wore blue uniforms.

  Again, Clara stopped the horses.

  “See if any of those men need a ride to the hospital,” she said to Jack and Annie.

  Jack glanced at the soldier sleeping in the back of the wagon.

  “Can a Confederate and a Union soldier be together?” he asked worriedly.

  Clara nodded.

  “Sometimes men are simply too sick and tired to be enemies anymore,” she said. “Sometimes they even know each other. Many families and friendships have been torn apart by this war.”

  “Let’s go,” said Annie, hopping out of the wagon. Jack followed her.

  They carried their canteens to the men under the oak tree.

  “Hi!” said Annie. “Does anyone need to go to the hospital?”

  “Only John, our drummer boy,” a soldier said. “He’s suffering from heat stroke. But we all need some water, miss.”

  Jack saw a young boy lying on the ground. His eyes were closed.

  “Oh, Jack!” whispered Annie. “He looks just like you.”

  The boy did look a lot like Jack—just a few years older.

  “We better get him to Clara’s ambulance right away,” Annie said.

  She handed her canteen to one of the tired soldiers. Another soldier lifted the drummer boy to his feet.

  The boy opened his eyes and mumbled a few words. He tried to walk, but he swayed as if he were about to faint.

  “Wait—” Jack grabbed the boy. “We’ll give you a helping hand,” he said.

  The drummer boy put his arms around Jack’s and Annie’s shoulders.

  “Just a little further, John,” Annie said. “You’re doing great. Just a little further … ”

  The drummer boy moved as if he were walking in his sleep. His head hung down. His feet shuffled in the dust.

  “Take good care of him!” one of the men called. “We can’t do without him!”

  Clara Barton had turned the wagon around. She helped Jack and Annie lift the drummer boy into the back.

  “The soldiers said he has heat stroke,” Annie told Clara. “His name is John.”

  The boy lay down next to the sleeping Confederate soldier.

  “He does have heat stroke,” Clara said. “The other boy also has a high fever. We must get them to the hospital at once. Can you two stay in the back of the wagon and do as I tell you?”

  “Sure,” said Jack and Annie.

  Clara dampened two clean cloths with water from Jack’s canteen.

  “Gently press these cloths against their faces to help cool them off,” she said.

  She gave the cloths to Jack and Annie.

  Then she went to the front of the wagon and climbed in. The wagon started forward.

  Jack and Annie gently patted the soldiers’ faces with the damp cloths. Jack looked at the young men lying side by side. The two seemed far more alike than different.

  In another time and place, they might have been friends, Jack thought.

  Finally, the wagon arrived at the field hospital. The Confederate soldier was put on a stretcher and carried to a tent.

  Two soldiers wearing bandages put the drummer boy on a stretcher.

  “Could you stay with John awhile?” Clara Barton asked Jack and Annie.

  “Sure,” said Jack
.

  “Try to bring down his fever,” Clara said. “A nurse will give you ice packs to press against his skin. Find me when his fever is lower.”

  The drummer boy was carried into an empty tent. Jack and Annie followed.

  John was put on a cot. Then a nurse brought some rags and a bucket filled with ice. Jack and Annie were left alone with the boy.

  Jack wrapped some ice in a rag. He pressed the ice pack against the boy’s head and neck and arms. Annie fanned the air to cool John off and to keep away the flies.

  Jack felt so hot he pressed an ice pack against his own face for a moment. Then he looked up drummer boys in his Civil War book. He read:

  The Civil War was the last war to use drummer boys. The drumbeat was used to give orders to soldiers. Different beats told them when to eat, how to march, and even how to fight. On smoky battlefields, the boy’s drumming helped soldiers find one another and keep together.

  “Wow,” said Jack. He closed the book, pulled out his notebook, and wrote:

  Suddenly, John shouted. Jack looked up from his notebook. The drummer boy was still asleep, but he was waving his arms as if he were having a nightmare.

  Annie shook the boy’s arm.

  “Wake up, John,” she said. “You’re okay. Wake up.”

  The drummer boy opened his eyes.

  “You were having a bad dream,” said Annie. “You’re safe now. You’ll see your family again soon.”

  “No! No!” the boy said. He sounded frantic. “I have to go back to the battlefield.”

  “No, you don’t have to fight anymore,” said Annie. “You can go home and be safe.”

  “No!” the boy said. “They need me! They need my drum!” He sounded more and more upset.

  Jack thought about their list.

  Put aside your own feelings, he remembered.

  “Okay, John,” said Jack. “You can go back as soon as you feel better.”

  “Jack!” said Annie. “He’ll get hurt or killed! I’m afraid for him!”

  “Me too,” Jack said softly. “But we have to put our own feelings aside. That’s one of the things on our list.”

  Annie sighed.

  “Okay,” she said sadly. She looked at John. “If you want to fight again in the Civil War, you can. If that’s what you really want.”