Echoes of Dark and Light (25 page)

It did feel good to share a chuckle with Toby again. The first few days following my outburst, I tried to avoid Toby as much as possible, though since we shared a cabin, latrine duty, drill practice and a cooking fire, I didn’t have much luck. However, I did manage to avoid conversation for about a week. Poor Woody worried himself into a lather over our tiff, as he called it. He badgered us day and night to make up and be friends again. Kenny told him to let us be, that we’d work it out in our own time. Preacher took a different approach and cornered Toby and me in the cabin, barred any escape and lectured us on the importance of friendship and forgiveness. That actually helped, though not in the way Preacher intended. After an agonizing hour of listening to him drone on, Toby and I took one look at each other, and instantly became a team once again. In unspoken agreement, Toby rushed Preacher, grabbing him in a bear hold, pinning his arms behind his back. I grabbed Woody’s leather belt hanging on the wall and wrapped it securely around Preacher’s wrists. Then I pulled my handkerchief, mostly clean, from my back pocket, binding and gagging his incessant words in his throat. Toby hoisted the struggling Preacher over his shoulder while I talked Woody into letting us out with a promise to again be friends forever. As Woody released us from the cabin, Toby dumped Preacher in a heap at Kenny’s feet and together we walked out of camp. Neither of us spoke of our argument. It took a few days to ease back into our comfortable coexistence, though I swore to myself to never let my guard slip again.

In March, we broke camp and once again became an army on the move. We loaded up our belongings, including three days’ rations and forty rounds of ammunition, stuffing everything into our packs. Having to carry our lives on our backs forced almost everyone to ditch at least a few possessions. The night before our scheduled departure, camp became ablaze with bonfires fueled with our homemade furniture. We kept the melancholy of ditching these comforting possessions at bay with robust music. Men pulled out their harmonicas and fiddles, and almost everyone joined in singing songs from childhood, church and country. Most of us stayed up way too late, and then had to cantankerously drag ourselves out of our bunks the next morning, the situation made more painful for the fact we’d be sleeping on the cold, hard ground for the coming months.

For the first few days, soldiers tossed even more castoffs along the roadside to lighten their loads. Winter overcoats and blankets, tattered shirts and dirty woolen under britches, raggedy socks and extra decks of cards littered the miles we traveled. My aching legs, back and feet protested every step of carrying my heavy pack, but I knew I’d soon get used to the rigors of life on the road once again.

Despite some serious teasing, Kenny refused to dump the red silk scarf his lady pen pal had sent him. He not only wouldn’t toss it, but he wouldn’t even untie it from around his neck. The bright scarlet had dimmed somewhat due to grime and sweat, but Kenny wore it like a badge of honor. And we teased him unmercifully.

We headed north to Maryland where we picked up some new recruits. Recently, the government had started offering enlistment bonuses to entice more men to join the ranks. This, of course, created an opportunity for those folk with less than honest intentions. ‘Bounty-jumpers’ joined up for the bonus money and then deserted the first chance available. We wagered among ourselves over which of the new recruits would ditch; I got out of many nighttime guard duties by pinpointing which fellows would run. When Woody asked me how I guessed so well, I told him I rarely gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. Then I caught Toby studying me strangely again.

We veterans also had a blast giving the new recruits a hard time. One would think I’d learned my lesson with practical jokes after the incident with Captain Truckey, but the newbies presented just too good of a target. Besides, it helped them feel part of the group, and we never took it too far. A favorite of ours needed to be carried out right away, when the new guy showed up with his recently acquired uniform and rations. One of us would ask him if he’d received his umbrella. The recruit answered no, of course, and so we’d encourage him to return to the quartermaster and demand to receive his umbrella. Too funny. Usually the recruit would eventually join in on the laughter at his expense, but not always. It helped to choose one’s victims wisely, not to pick a fellow who’d as likely come back and slit your throat in retaliation. Another good joke had to be misinforming a new recruit of the bugle calls, telling him that the roll call song meant a Rebel attack. Then, just before dawn, we’d borrow his boots and trousers, and watch as he ran from his tent in his under britches. Of course, after the first time, we learned the important safety tip of taking his rifle from him as well.

I finally heard some word of my brother! That boosted my spirits tremendously. In addition to the new recruits, we had also picked up two companies of sharpshooters. Robert belonged to a sharpshooter group. As soon as I heard, Toby and I made our way over to their camp and talked to each and every one. Two of them had served with Robert in the Battle of Gettysburg. They remembered him well, ‘an excellent marksman and a great guy’, they said. But he disappeared during the battle and they’d assumed he’d been killed. That part didn’t drop my spirits at all as I knew otherwise. And I felt reassured that someone, anyone acknowledged to serving with Robert; at least Toby and the rest of the guys would know I hadn’t fallen completely off the rocking chair.

Also in Maryland, we got assigned to the Army of the Potomac under General George G. Meade, and learned that President Lincoln had put General Ulysses S. Grant in charge of all of the northern armies. I had heard good things about both generals, and hoped their decisions would help end this war as soon as possible.

In April, we received our Corp badges. I liked the design, a cloth badge with a shield hosting an anchor, cannon and a number nine, for the Ninth Corp. We wore our blue badge (blue for the third division; the first had red and second had white), on our caps. Supposedly, these labels helped Captain Truckey and the other officers recognize us on the battlefield, though I had doubts to their effectiveness, being only two inches wide.

After that, our brief vacation from fighting ended. We marched into Virginia to meet General Lee’s troops for the Battle of the Wilderness.

The Battle of the Wilderness began on May 4
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; however our division had orders to stand ready and wait.

“This waiting around stuff really stinks,” Kenny grumbled as he paced back and forth. “I’d rather be out there in the middle of it instead of just sitting here listening to it all.”

Over the dancing sounds of the springtime-swollen Rapidan River, we could hear the thunder of a thousand troops moving in for battle. Cannons boomed and rifles popped; now and then a faint, agony-filled cry of a dying man reached our ears.

“All in good time,” Preacher soothed without lifting his eyes from his Bible.

I had to agree with Kenny; the waiting proved hard, though marching into battle didn’t pose a picnic either. I couldn’t help bouncing my knee with nerves. I rechecked my rifle for the fifth time, and my Colt for the tenth.

“I think your weapons have to be the cleanest, most well loaded ones in the Army of the Potomac,” Toby teased.

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” I retorted. “Besides, it helps to keep busy.”

“I could read aloud, if anybody would like,” Preacher offered.

“That’d be nice,” Woody finally spoke. The green tint in his face and his hard-clamped jaw eased slightly at the distraction.

The orders to move out finally arrived on the morning of the fifth. The 27
^th
infantry lined up behind Captain Truckey to cross the Rapidan River. The yellow and blue wildflowers cheerfully welcomed the morning sunshine along the grassy bank, dotting our path into battle.

As we marched into position, Toby bumped my shoulder and offered a half smile. “You have direct orders to stay alive and unharmed. Do you understand, Private?”

I saluted him. “Yes, sir, completely, sir. And same to you.”

We stepped onto the pontoon bridge crossing the Germanna Ford. The bridge bucked and swayed with the weight of the army, and keeping my balance became my main focus at that moment.

High-pitched squeals erupted behind us and I jerked around to see a panicked horse rearing at the foot of the bridge. The massive draft horse came down heavy on all fours, near the right edge of the floating bridge. The boards beneath our feet groaned and shifted, dipping towards the river’s cold waters. All forms of balance disappeared, and with arms flailing and boots scraping up splinters, I slid towards the river. Just as my right foot toppled the edge and splashed into the water, Toby managed to grab my pack’s strap, abruptly halting my skid. The bridge crashed back flat as the cavalry officer guided his wide-eyed horse back to firm ground, eventually calming him and regaining some control. Troops on shore quickly threw ropes to the men who had tumbled in and now floated downstream in the fast current. A few tossed troops had managed to hang onto the side of the bridge, and those still standing on top bent down to haul them back up to the wooden planks. Sopping wet, dripping puddles around their feet, the soldiers looked miserably cold and uncomfortable. The officers ordered them back to shore to dry off and rejoin their infantry as soon as possible. Thanks to Toby’s quick reflexes, I only suffered a soggy foot and quickly squelched my way over the remainder of the bridge. The cavalry officer opted tying a blindfold around his novice horse’s eyes and then slowly and carefully encouraged him blindly across the bridge.

Back again on dry land, we marched two miles closer to the front lines and then set up camp for the evening. More waiting. No one even attempted to sleep with the sounds and smells of battle permeating every inch of space. Still, I think I managed to doze now and again, my head resting on my propped rifle. Fleeting nightmares haunted my mind, visions of the fellow I’d shot back at Fort Sanders, his young, blank eyes staring unseeingly into my own.

Shortly after one a.m., we again moved out, making our way up Parker’s Store Road. The darkness surrounded us, concealed us, muffled our marching, but no amount of shadows can completely shield an army, and we advanced with rifles loaded and ready. My eyes peered into the thick trees on either side, ears siphoning the sounds for those of the enemy, nose burning from the gunpowder smells wafting on the light breeze, heart thumping loudly with unease and determination, legs itching to run but held back to a march.

Just as the sun’s sleepy morning rays peered over the horizon, rifle fire exploded all around us. Captain Truckey commanded us to take cover to the left of the road, and we dove into the thick trees of Virginia’s wilderness. Immediately, we returned fire, and the deadening sounds of rifle explosions crammed my ears, bursting inside my head. I fought the confusion that settled like a morning mist. Enemy fire erupted from nowhere and everywhere, and I struggled to focus on the unseen. This time, I didn’t hesitate to return fire on this enemy whom I’d never met. Sometime over the last few months, I had fully accepted my role as soldier, including every consequence, every guilt and every death that went along with it.

“Men!” Captain Truckey yelled above the explosions, “cover fire for General Potter!” He pointed to the division of troops charging across the open field just in front of our covered position.

We fired shot after shot in a continuous volley at the enemy, allowing General Potter’s men to traverse the open field. Despite our efforts, I saw three soldiers catch bullets and stumble down into the green spring grass. I couldn’t imagine the courage required to cross that open field with cannons and musket balls whizzing through the air.

All too soon, our turn arrived, but Captain Truckey led us around the field through the trees instead of across it. I appreciated the added cover, yet a few shots found targets and the wounded wails clawed at my ears. Part of me needed to help them, drag them to safety. But my job kept me at Captain Truckey’s heels; I knew the hospital staff would come in as soon as possible to rescue the men lying in the thick underbrush.