Off To War (War Between The States)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “Not just yet, Bright Eyes, now we serve supper to the menfolk.”

  Elizabeth wanted to give up then and there. Tell everyone who she was and be sent back home to her comfortable life. No, that would not do. This wasn’t about her. John. She had to remember she was here for John.

  Putting his face before her in her mind, she found the strength to make it through dinner service. Then she stumbled to her tent and collapsed in a heap on her mat. The day was over.

  Chapter Three

  Battle

  IT DIDN'T TAKE long for the other women to find out Elizabeth didn't know much about cooking or laundering or more than basic stitching. Melanie reported to her that they all found this rather curious, but they appreciated her willingness to learn. And they seemed pleased with how quickly she picked things up.

  By the end of the first week, she performed all of the basic tasks with surprising proficiency, even if she was slower than the other women. Everyone became most impressed with her drawing skills. In her free time in the afternoons, she would draw portraits or scenes of the camp.

  Melanie continued to feed Elizabeth a running commentary on the men in the unit: who was available, who was married, who was cute, who was plain, who was 'husband material', and who wasn't anything special. Elizabeth's suspicions had been laid to rest. She was certain Melanie would go home with a fiancé.

  Elizabeth and Melanie seldom saw their tent mates as the nurses' time was taken up at the hospital, setting it up to receive casualties, only returning to the tent to sleep. Even then, Sarah wasn't much of a conversationalist. Not even at the behest of the ever-chatty Melanie could they get more than rudimentary pleasantries out of her. Was she shy or tired or just not interested in concerning herself with making friends? Lily, on the other hand, would engage in simple conversation, but was always more interested in hearing about Melanie or Elizabeth than talking about herself.

  Everyone became more and more certain their unit would find themselves in combat soon. After getting to know some of the soldiers, it broke Elizabeth's heart to think that some of them would leave the camp and not return. At least John would be safe. The doctors would stay in the hospital to receive the sick and wounded, a safe distance from any fighting. Still, that was of little comfort.

  “What do you think, Elizabeth?” Melanie asked. They were in their tent, preparing for bed.

  Elizabeth hadn't been paying attention as Melanie went through her evening litany of the men she encountered that day.

  “I'm sorry, what?” Her face warmed in spite of herself.

  “I met the young doctor. What was his name? John. He's handsome. I may have found my match,” came Melanie's gleeful voice.

  Elizabeth dropped her apron. Her John? Was Melanie talking about her John?

  “He has a girl back home,” Sarah piped up, startling Melanie. But she recovered well.

  “Is that so?” Melanie fingered the edge of her pillow.

  “Yes,” Lily said, settling herself onto her mat. “I hear they're engaged.”

  “Well, he didn't marry her before joining up. That says something. War changes people. Maybe I still have a chance. After all, I'm here and she's not.” Melanie met Lily's gaze as she eased herself onto her own mat.

  Elizabeth drifted back off into her own thoughts. War changes people. Was that true? Did war change people? Would it change her? Would it change John? Would it change the fact that they loved each other? Surely not. What they had was so deep, so real. Elizabeth could not, would not accept that war could change that. Melanie didn't know what she was saying. She didn't know John.

  “What do you think, Elizabeth?” Melanie interjected into her thoughts.

  Elizabeth had missed Melanie's question again.

  “I think it's time to get some shut eye,” was all Elizabeth could manage to say.

  “I agree!” Lily said, her voice quite loud.

  Melanie's eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip protruded as she crossed her arms.

  Sarah leaned over and turned out the lantern, plunging the four women into darkness.

  “Melanie,” Elizabeth said, as she slid down onto her thin mat, her voice gentle. “I think you need to realize that one day soon some of these men are going into battle and they're not coming back.”

  “I know that,” she said, her voice quiet and soft.

  “Then why plan futures with so many of them?”

  “Because it keeps me from thinking that way, that there's a clock on their lives.”

  Elizabeth held her breath as Melanie spoke, her voice so quiet.

  “I don't want to treat them that way. I don't want to think about them like that.”

  Elizabeth glanced in her direction, but was only able to see her silhouette in the night. This was a deeper side of Melanie. Elizabeth never could have guessed that there was something more behind all this boy craze.

  “I'm sorry,” Elizabeth whispered. “I didn't realize…”

  “I know,” Melanie said into the darkness. “It's all right. Let's just get some sleep.”

  “All right.” Elizabeth lay down on her pillow and listened to the gentle sounds of the women in her company breathing. But her thoughts were on John and what Melanie had said about war changing people. And it kept her awake long into the night.

  * * *

  Another early rise for the troops. Jacob sighed as he sat up and moved his legs to wake his limbs. This was definitely something Benjamin did not write about. They had been rising well before dawn these last few days. Yawning and stretching, he pulled on his pants first, then his uniform jacket. He had to report soon.

  His tent mate was already dressing as well. It wasn't long before they were both regulation, gun in hand, and ready to go. Making their way outside their tent, they reported to the command post, taking their places in the lineup.

  All the soldiers stood at attention while the captain walked up and down the line, inspecting the troops. Jacob held his breath as the man passed by. On occasion, the captain would find what he considered a sloppy appearance and yell at the soldier. For the most part, they were a ship-shape unit, if not by nature, by fear of this particular captain. Their captain had a reputation for remembering anyone who dared show up sloppy. Thus far, Jacob had escaped that nightmare.

  After inspection, they were released to breakfast. Would it be a warm breakfast? That all depended on what foodstuffs were available. This morning, it was the hardtack bread rations and some cooked bacon.

  Jacob ate his food in silence. His mother would make him flapjacks and maple syrup if he had a test or needed cheering up. And he could use a good breakfast like that on days like this. He appreciated the women who had given up so much to come stay at the camp and cook for the soldiers, but they could not compare to his mother's home cooking. Especially the blonde girl they called Elizabeth. Whenever she had been cooking, the men groaned. It just wasn't her strong suit.

  Forcing down the last of the hard tack, Jacob saw the captain signal the troops to line up for their morning run. After a quick breakfast each day, they would line up again for maneuvers. This could mean any number of things physical. They would run for some length of time every morning. Sometimes they would have exercises where they had to crawl with their muskets in hand, climb with them, or practiced hand-to-hand combat with their bayonets. And then there was his least favorite – taking apart their muskets and putting them back together.

  Jacob moved toward the front of the line for their morning run. He seemed to be one of the faster men in the camp. At least he could keep up his speed throughout the duration of the run.

  The captain counted them off and they started moving.

  Though he never dared breathe a word of it, he found the morning run invigorating. He enjoyed the fresh air, the scenery, and though he was sure most of the men did not find the run enjoyable, the camaraderie was something to be appreciated.

  So they were off, out into the field. Jacob allowed his mind to wander when a couple of other
soldiers began shouting at him from behind.

  “Hey, you trying to make us look bad?”

  “Yeah! What's in your head?”

  “Show off!”

  He had gotten a bit further ahead of the rest. Should he yield to their teasing? Or bite back at them?

  “You're just jealous,” Jacob yelled back. That would bug them. After all, it was the same heckling every morning. A handful of them would get together after morning drills and chide each other. It almost seemed like everyone had a certain thing the others would tease about. They ribbed Frank about how he always had a piece left over during musket drills. George would be razzed about his poor time on ground drills. And they hassled Jacob about his running.

  “What are you doing? Running from the front lines?” Were they trying to make him mad? It wasn't working. Jacob turned his head for a second, eyeing which ones managed to keep up with him.

  “No, I'm leading a rag tag group of misfits,” he howled back. He would show them they weren't getting to him.

  A hand landed on his shoulder.

  Jacob glanced back. One of them had gotten close enough to touch him.

  “So, one of you can actually run!”

  Jacob feinted left and right, dodging this other soldier who tried to grab him. It brought back memories of him and Benjamin playing in the backyard when they were boys. He hurled out taunts. The guy behind him started to pant and lose his gain. Slowing down a bit, Jacob turned while still jogging.

  “What now? Can't keep it up, Old Man?” He laughed.

  The troops seemed as if they were chasing him.

  Old Man sprinted faster.

  Jacob's eyes widened. Old Man just might get him. He turned back around and picked up the pace. As he did so, the path dipped. His feet caught and he stumbled, hitting the ground hard.

  Old Man was so close behind him that he crashed into Jacob as well. They both lost their breath, the wind knocked out of them.

  The captain was soon on the scene. “What is wrong with you two? Moore, Johnson!”

  Jacob was just then catching his breath and pulling himself to his feet. The fall did not injure him. Old Man didn't look too good though. When he got up, he couldn’t put weight on his ankle.

  “Moore, you get Johnson back to the infirmary. Move out!”

  Jacob extended a hand to help the man. “What's your name?”

  “Daniel. Daniel Johnson.” The man said, grimacing as he once again tested his weight on the injured ankle.

  “Well, Daniel, congratulations on figuring a way out of morning drills.” Jacob offered the man a smile. “I just hope the captain doesn't clean your clock for it later.”

  Daniel chuckled, leaning on Jacob while they limped back to the hospital.

  Once there, it wasn't long before the doctor had wrapped Daniel's ankle and told him to take it easy for the next few days. As the doctor walked away, Jacob decided to get one more jab in.

  “See, I knew there was a way to slow you down!”

  Daniel gave him a cross look and Jacob knew he had made a lifelong friend.

  * * *

  Troop movement outside the thin fabric walls of the tent awakened Elizabeth. They would have risen before dawn in order to practice maneuvers. If she strained her ears, she could hear the artillery unit doing the same thing, loading cannons to prepare for battle. Would it be today? Would the men head to the front lines today?

  Making slow movements, she sat up and stretched. Heavy breathing nearby alerted her that Melanie still slumbered. Elizabeth was not so blessed to be such a deep sleeper. Sarah and Lily, of course, were already gone.

  Elizabeth begrudgingly moved out of the tent and toward the women's common area. How she longed for those cozy mornings when her vanity was but a few steps away from her warm bed and she could freshen up in the privacy of her own bedchamber! Still, she had become accustomed to this new level of modesty, walking about in her nightshift, nodding to the women she passed on the way to the common area.

  Once she arrived, she gathered some water to pour into the simple bowl. She splashed some water onto her face, hoping to liven her features and wake her senses. Rinsing her hands as well, she then dumped the water so the bowl would be ready for the next woman who came by.

  She was more alert on the trip back to the tent, but not always in better spirits. It was still too early, and she was still in naught but her nightclothes. Upon returning to the tent, she made her way over to her bag and pulled out yet another simple frock she had acquired from the maidservant in her parents' home. Time to get ready for another day.

  Home. Ah. Just thinking of her parents' home brought back memories that seemed thousands of miles away. It had been quite an adjustment for her to be wakened by troops or a bugle blowing. At home, she was roused from sleep by a maid coming into her room to open the curtains and help prepare her for the day. She was then helped into her attire and her hair was done for her. Next it was downstairs to a hot breakfast prepared by the family cook. Elizabeth could almost smell the numerous pastries and breakfast meats that she could indulge in each and every day. Then her day would be filled with hobbies and the things she wanted to do, not the menial tasks that filled her days here. Yes, she had taken that life for granted. When she had made the decision to leave, she had known all this would be left behind, but she had neglected to realize what an adjustment it would be.

  Once dressed and her hair pinned, she shook Melanie.

  “Time to rise and shine,” she said in her brightest voice.

  A groan was the only response.

  “See you at breakfast?” Elizabeth said, not truly asking a question.

  Melanie waved from under her blanket. Her new friend was not a morning person.

  Elizabeth grabbed her papers and charcoal and stepped out of the tent. She wouldn't have a lot of time to herself. Breakfast would start soon, and then they would be on to the tasks of the day.

  Moving a little ways outside camp and up the hill to afford herself a bird's-eye view, she found a spot to settle. This little patch of grass was far enough away from the sentry's post to not give him grief, but far enough up the hill to still have a good view of the camp. So she plopped down, and without ceremony, began to sketch. She had not the chance to capture the morning maneuvers and now was a prime opportunity.

  This had become her favorite spot for the view. There were the family tents, the men's tents, her tent, the hospital, the place the women did laundry and cooked. On one side of the camp, the soldiers were marching in lines and on the other, the artillery unit worked with the cannons. The camp already buzzed with activity and she tried to capture it all on paper.

  Elizabeth could never have imagined this place would affect her so, but she had already formed relationships with so many of the people she came in contact with. If anything happened to any of them it would devastate her. Yes, Melanie had indeed been right in what she had said. War changed people. This war was already changing this girl who had been born to privilege and never faced any real hardship in her life.

  Looking with an artist's eyes, Elizabeth's gaze swept over the camp again as she put the finishing touches on her sketch. Two figures walking on the outskirts of the camp caught her attention. They looked in her direction and waved. She responded in kind, narrowing her eyes to focus them. Who would come to join her in the moments to come? Seconds later, she realized it was John and Dr. Smith. And they were headed straight for her!

  Searching for some place to hide, she came up short. There was no where to go. And they had already spotted her. Elizabeth swallowed hard. So this was it. John would finally discover her. It would only be seconds now until they were close enough. She braced herself for his reaction as the two men came ever closer. Any moment her features would be clear enough that he would know.

  Boom! The sound of cannon fire filled the air. Elizabeth hit the ground, covering her ears. Had the troops set off a cannon by accident? As she sat upright again, she noted that John and Dr. Smith had c
rouched and were looking around, perhaps wondering the same thing. She glanced over at the artillery unit. They scurried about, seemingly just as confused.

  From her perch on the hillside, she saw a scout flying toward camp from the south. His form appeared out of the forest line moments after the cannon fire.

  The two doctors ran toward the camp. Had they spotted the scout as well?

  Elizabeth followed suit.

  Camp was in utter chaos. Elizabeth tried to make her way to her station to get some information from her direct report, but there were too many people moving about. The troops moved in one direction, like a wave. It was difficult to push against them. At last, she spotted Melanie.

  “Mel!” She called out, “Mel!”

  Melanie jerked her head in Elizabeth's direction and grabbed for her hand. Together they pushed through the crowd and found a space next to a tent out of the rush.

  “What's going on?” Elizabeth panted with effort.

  “It's the Confederates. They're here!”

  Elizabeth's heart stopped. What would happen to them all? To John?

  “The troops are marching out to meet them,” Melanie continued.

  Elizabeth nodded, feeling numb. “What can we do?” Her voice shook.

  “Pray. Pray and get to your station!” Melanie squeezed Elizabeth's hand once more before heading back out into the throngs of people.

  Was this truly her friend Melanie? So levelheaded in the face of crisis? Though Elizabeth was on laundry duty this morning, the last thing anyone would need, she did as Melanie had said.

  * * *

  The Moore family sat around the dinner table. From the outside looking in, one might never know this was a family torn apart by war, a family missing two of its members as they gathered this evening. But Henry Moore knew differently. Their presence was indeed missed by each member. And their empty chairs served as reminders of their absence. Still, those present reveled in the closeness they shared. And they put on brave faces for the others in their company. It was in the final stretches of the meal when, as the women watched, he produced a letter from his pocket.