by J. R. Ayers
“Everybody sins, Padre.”
“True. But there are two kinds of sinners. The first embraces his sin and refuses to repent, which simply means you agree with God that what you are doing is wrong. The second knows he is sinning and hates his sin but can’t stop without the help and grace of God. All men have sinned, but the man who repents and cries out through faith for forgiveness will receive that forgiveness.”
“No matter what he does after that?”
“The key is, once a man has repented and receives forgiveness, he is changed, and he will not want to sin any longer. That is the Spirit of God working in him.”
“So, if I repented, I would never sin again?”
“Yes, you will sin, because you still have a flesh body. The difference would be that you would hate that sin and ask forgiveness and God is just and faithful to forgive you.”
“I don’t know, I always thought I was a Christian because my family is Christian,” Jack said. “And when the Confederacy wins a victory, it’s because we are Christians. Right?”
“The Union people think they are Christians too,” the priest said.
“I don’t mean run of the mill Christians. I mean Christians like followers of Our Lord. Christians like us.”
“Do you follow Our Lord, Jack?”
“Yes. Well, mostly.”
“Have you ever read the Sermon on the Mount?”
“I’m sure I have.”
“Read it again sometime. And try to live out everything Our Lord taught there.”
Jack had nothing to say for a time so the priest said, “We are all humbled to some degree when we are beaten, Jack. Maybe that’s what Our Lord has in mind for the Confederacy.”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said.
“The Confederacy is guilty of unrepented sin.”
“You mean slavery?”
“Yes.”
“You know, if you were not a member of the clergy, you might well be brought up on sedition charges for comments like that,” Jack said. The priest smiled thinly and bowed slightly at the waist.
“Like I said, my dear Jack, I have to speak the truth as I know it.”
“The Confederacy may very well lose,” Jack said. “But it will not happen because we are being punished for our sin. If that was so, then the Union should be destroyed for oppressing the citizens of the southern states.”
“The south was beaten from the very start,” the priest said. “They were beaten when they took their young men from their farms and put them in the army and marched them off to die like dogs in the fields and byways.”
“Now I’m depressed myself,” Jack said. “That’s why I never think about my sins. If I don’t think about them they don’t seem so bad.”
“What sins haunt you, Jack?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. I drink too much sometimes, I use curse words now and then, you know, things like that.”
“No sins of a sexual nature?”
“I haven’t been to the cantina in a long time, Padre.”
“I know, and I’m proud of you. But, what about Miss Hayes? You’ve not had lustful thoughts concerning her?”
Jack fell silent, fighting a growing sense of irritation. The priest’s line of questioning was beginning to make him uncomfortable and he longed to change the subject.
“Miss Hayes and I are very good friends, nothing more,” he said tersely.
“I know. She came to me and begged me to petition the major on her behalf. I got the impression you two were much more than friends.”
“We’ll, your impression was wrong.”
“What happened between you two, Jack? I’m not trying to pry. It’s just that I hope to offer some spiritual advice.”
“Nothing to worry about. Let’s just drop it, shall we?”
The priest rose to his feet and put on his hat. “It is very nice to talk again, Jack,” he said. “If ever you should want to talk again you know how to find me.” Then he was gone, melting into the mottled shadows of the hallway like a ghost.
Chapter 24
Jack was asleep when Campbell retuned to the barracks and though the noise woke him they did not talk to each other and Jack eventually went back to sleep. In the morning he got dressed and left the barracks before Campbell woke up and walked across the drill grounds toward the river to watch the sun come up over the hills. There was a new road cut into the field beyond the city wall that led to the steep hills barely visible in the deepening mist. The trees nearby were heavy with rain and beyond the hills the mesquite and black bramble and Indian grass lay matted on the hillsides. All along the tops of the bluffs overlooking the river flares of light flickered, zigging and zagging along the summit like flashes of lightening. Perhaps it was lightening, Jack thought. But most likely it was the flare of enemy guns firing in the distance, the sound of their reports deadened by the great distance.
To the south at the river’s edge there were badly damaged houses, smashed by cannon balls and burned by bursting shells that had bounced along the ground destroying everything in their path. And everywhere in all directions the grainy black silt of gunpowder residue mixed with rain water covered everything in sight with a thin blackish mud.
The sun struggled to push through the thick clouds as breakfast time arrived and Jack set off to find out what they were serving that day. He found his captain sitting at coffee and he got his own coffee and joined the captain after being invited to sit.
“There’s been quite a bit of bombardment this morning,” the captain said. “Not many direct hits, though. Intelligence tells us the Union forces were supposed to attack some time today, but we don’t believe they will, not in all this rain anyway.”
Jack was more interested in knowing when he might ship out with Colonel John Ford’s unit. The captain said there were reports that the Union was installing a large amount of artillery in the woods along Sabine Pass. There was a battery of naval guns moving into the Galveston Bay as well and a buildup of infantry on the outer shores of Boca Chica and the Matagorda Islands.
“How often are they hitting our position here?” asked Jack.
“At least twice a week. They usually fire two guns at a time, one right after the other with the intent of doing as much damage as possible.”
“I don’t suppose they’re all that effective, though” Jack said.
“No, but they scare the hell out of the citizens. The troops too, if I’m to be truthful about it. There’s nothing like the unknown certainty of a bursting tumbler hurtling through your ranks to scare the pants off of a man. There’s the initial boom, then the crashing sound of the tumbling and then the shriek when it bursts into shards of flames.”
“So, what are we doing about it?” asked Jack.
“Our troops are still in the attack position. We’re just waiting on the word from General McGruder to see if we advance or fall back to Laredo. There’s very good ground for defensive positions along the mountains around Hidalgo County. Many of the heights level out to plateaus and could easily be defended with light artillery and a company or two of infantry.
“The high ground is important,” Jack said. “The main reason we can’t push those yanks off the hills across the river is because they own the high ground.”
“It’s always harder to attack up a mountain.”
“Guess that depends on the mountain.”
“True. But there’s usually trouble trying to make it to the top where it’s flat. You remember what happened at Little Round Top don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember,” Jack said. “But that was a special case because that smart ass Colonel of theirs used some type of ancient battle maneuver that our boys weren’t prepared for. I’m not keen on fighting in the mountains anyway. It’s not civilized. Cannon positioned on mountain tops tend to overshoot. Just like at Gettysburg. They shot down more trees at the edge of that cornfield than any of our boys.”
“What are you going to do if we’re sent back into the hills?” the capta
in asked.
“Follow your orders, sir. I’m a soldier, you’re my commanding officer.”
“Even if you turn out to be nothing but cannon fodder?”
“Yes sir.”
The captain laughed softly and raised his coffee mug. “I don’t know if you’re insane, or one of the most loyal soldiers I’ve ever served with,” he said smiling.
“I’m neither, sir, I’m a patriot. I believe in the Confederacy. And I believe she will prevail.”
“As do I. But we have to be realistic. We’re running short on the necessities. Food in particular is a concern.”
“I myself never get enough to eat,” Jack said. “But I’ve always been a big eater.”
“There should be plenty of food to go around if the yanks would just stop shelling our supply lines,” the captain said. “It makes a difference if a man has enough to eat when he goes into a fight. It affects the way he thinks. It could be the difference between winning and losing.”
“We shouldn’t talk about losing, sir. There is enough talk going around about losing. We have to think about the glory of winning the war.”
“I must admit, Corporal, I’m usually put off by words such as glory, and sacrifice, and the like. There is no glory in the killing of thousands of young men, and the ravaging of a nation. An entire generation of our young men on both sides are rotting in a grave somewhere. And to what end? To achieve glory? Or valor? Or, or. . . what? You tell me Corporal Saylor?”
“Sir, is there nothing sacred in defending yourself against tyranny?” asked Jack “If there’s no glory in battle, then why fight at all?”
“You fight because you are a soldier and that is what you are here to do. Words like glory, and honor, and dedication are nothing but abstract terms to keep a soldier going. Something to make him believe he’s giving his life for a noble cause when he happens to be in the front line of a dressed out squad marching into the mouth of cannon prepared to fire canister rounds. He knows he’s going to die, but it is the job of officers like me to convince the young man that he is sacrificing his life for a noble cause. But, in my mind, there is nothing noble about being shot to pieces without a chance in hell of defending yourself.”
“Sir, why are you telling me this?”
The captain put down his coffee mug and took a deep breath. “Because I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired of the whole bloody affair. But I’m especially tired of bullshitting fine young men like yourself. That’s why I want you to join Rip Ford’s unit. He’s a good man. He has his faults and he’ll bullshit you too, but at this point, he’s much more dedicated to the Cause than I. I’m burned out, Corporal. I need a rest. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”
Jack thought he did, but he would never put words to his thoughts. The captain let him off the hook by taking his hat from the table and rising to his feet.
“I must be about my duties,” he said. “I’m expecting word from our forward guard. It was interesting to talk with you, Corporal Saylor.”
“And you as well, sir.”
After the captain had gone, Jack sat for a long time thinking about what the captain had shared with him. Officers typically spoke very little, and when they did it was to issue orders, and then only to the NCOs. The fact that the captain had shared so much of his personal side with Jack made him feel strange and out of sorts and vulnerable. For the first time in a long time he began to question whether the Confederacy could somehow prevail and win the war after all.
After a breakfast of grits and biscuits, Jack went back to the barracks and lay on the bed watching drops of rain water dripping from the plaster ceiling. It stormed all that day and the wind blew and drove the rain through the town and everywhere there were pools of standing water and black mud.
Jack fell asleep and when he woke it was early afternoon and the rain had stopped and there was a little sunshine showing through the cracks in the shutters. He left the barracks and went out to the wall by the well and stood for a while watching the hills for signs that the Union forces may be on the move. All he saw were the bare wet hills with clouds over the tops of the bluffs and the dripping remains of broken trees. The sun came out briefly and shone on the oily pools of water standing in the holes left by the Union cannon balls. Beyond the ridge there was a row of large rocks extending up the bluffs like the coils of a snake. Jack figured guns could be placed behind those rocks if not for the absence of leafy trees to conceal them.
The wind rose and the clouds gathered over the hills and the rain returned coming down in sheets and a squad of Union troops poured from behind the rocks slipping and sliding and yelling like banshees. A gray wall rose up from the mesquite thickets across the river and rushed up the hills to meet the descending blue wave. Jack watched in awe as the opposing forces fought in the rain like animals and men fell in the mud and blood mingled with the rain and the smoke of the muskets rose in the air like smoke from the pit of hell.
And then as quickly as it had appeared the blue wave pulled back from the fray and backed up the hill until it disappeared over the cloud-encased summit. Then the bombardment commenced and the Confederate forces withdrew to the mesquite along the river and the rain fell as the cannon balls splattered the muddy hillside with iron shrapnel sizzling and crackling in the rain like lightening.
The Yankees did not come again and after a while the shelling ceased and the day grew quieter and between the wailing of the wind and the whisper of the rain Jack could hear the sound of men groaning and crying out for help and water and mother and all the while the clouds grew thicker and pressed down upon the hills like a funeral shroud.
Jack ran to the infirmary and helped get the ambulances hitched to the horse teams and stood out of the way as the dressing stations were stocked with supplies and cheered the ambulance drivers on as they rushed across the bridge to collect the wounded men. The wounded came back in groups, some in ambulances, some on stretchers, some walking, and some on the backs of men that made it through the fight unscathed. They were all wet to the skin and most were scared and weeping and desperate for any measure of comfort they could find.
The priest arrived with a rosary in his hand and rain on his face and went to work praying with the wounded and giving absolution to the recently dead. With the heavy cloud cover the night came early and the wind still blew but the rain had stopped and a heavy mist silently settled over the town. The bombardment began anew to the south below the river where the Union guns were concentrated high above the river.
As the surgeons and nurses worked feverishly to treat the critically wounded, Jack and Corporal Campbell and their captain armed themselves with muskets and took a position by the arched bridge to protect the rear of the wounded as they crossed the river on the way to the infirmary. They expected another frontal attack but it did not come. The Confederate troops stationed in the mesquite across the river held their position taking cover behind the deadfalls on the river bank as the balls fell in front of them and kicked up dirt and rock creating a mini avalanche.
The Yankees did not attack again that night but Jack heard a courier tell the captain that Union reinforcements were on the way from Galveston Bay and they were to prepare to retreat. The captain was dubious because he had not heard it from General Mcgruder and Colonel Ford was yet to cross the river bridge to check on his wounded. When the colonel did arrive, he said his latest orders were to hold Brownsville at all costs. “If those blue bastards make it across the river, we’re all done for,” he said grimly.” The courier was adamant that orders had come down through the chain of command that they should retreat to Laredo.
“I’ll have to verify it,” Colonel Ford said. “Until then, we hold this position.”
The major surgeon was predictably concerned at the prospect of a hasty retreat. “If it becomes necessary, how are the wounded to be evacuated?” he asked the colonel.
“They’re not. We take as many as you think you can save and leave the rest.”
“Tha
t will be a hard thing to do, colonel.”
“It’s all hard, major. It’s all so damn bloody hard.”
Chapter 25
A message came from General McGruder the next evening and the retreat started immediately. Colonel Ford’s men withdrew from across the river and split in half, one group remaining by the bridge to fend off any advancing Union troops and the Calvary riding ahead to scout the road to Laredo. Jack and Campbell helped load the men with survivable wounds into the ambulances and then took down the mess tent saving the flour and corn meal and bacon and then they emptied out the infirmary and loaded medical supplies into supply wagons. They worked tirelessly in the rain clearing out the extra ammunition from the armory and filling the field artillery barrels with crushed rock and red mud. It rained steadily without a break and the rain fell into the river and the water rose until the bridge began to take on water.
“Good!” Colonel Ford shouted above the keening wind. “Let’s see those bastards cross over now!”
An hour later the camp was nearly emptied out and some of the town people began to stir about saying they wanted to evacuate too rather than face the Union forces. As Jack and Campbell headed across the square to join up with Colonel Ford’s men they saw a stout Mexican woman loading the girls from Lupe’s cantina into a mule-drawn wagon. There were six girls in all and they were wearing much more clothing than Jack had ever seen them wear. Two of the younger ones were crying and one of the more devilish girls smiled at Campbell and cupped her hand in a crude gesture indicating she wanted either money or a scrotum to squeeze. She had full red lips and black eyes and black hair and brown skin the same shade as saddle leather. Jack stopped long enough to ask Lupe where the girls were going and she said, “Matamoros, or maybe Tampico. When the fighting stops, maybe we will come back. Adios, puta.” Then she climbed into the wagon and laid the reins to the bedraggled mule and drove away heading south along the soggy river bottom.
Jack and Campbell went on their way and Campbell said, “Too bad we’re not going their way. That would be an interesting trip.”
