Echoes of Dark and Light (36 page)

A feather-light weight landed on my hand, jerking my eyes back to the present. The chickadee’s tiny feet wrapped securely around my finger as she gently picked up the crumbs, one by one. A single hot tear escaped, rolling down my dirty cheek. But I didn’t brush it away; I didn’t dare move.

We dug continuously for three weeks, adjusting the tunnel to deal with heavy, wet clay and rock hard marl, or lime deposits. After receiving no response from headquarters, the general wired a friend to borrow his old-fashioned theodolite to aim the tunnel in the right direction. The use of that tool proved a dangerous risk as Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants had to eyeball the instrument in line of sight, exposing himself to the Rebels’ shootings and suspicions. Toby and I helped some of Pleasants’ men create a diversion. Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants camouflaged himself with a burlap bag while we set up a few trenches away. Then we hooked our caps on the end of our ramrods, jiggling them, tantalizingly just above the rim of the trench, uncomfortably reminding me of playfully teasing a kitten with a string. But nonetheless, it worked, and Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants got his measurements, and I got a musket ball hole through my cap.

One day, when we stopped for a water break, I took the opportunity to edge closer to the ever busy Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants. I had a question for him.

“Sir, do you have a free second?”

Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants gulped down another cupful of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before nodding. “What do you need, private?”

“I wondered if you could tell me how that theodolite thing works.” Curiosity had tickled my brain ever since I’d seen him using it.

A grin cracked though his dirt-encrusted face. “Well, it may take longer than a second to explain, but sit down here and I’ll give it a try.”

As I squatted down next to him he opened a black leather case and carefully pulled out the instrument. He held it up for me to inspect.

“Folks started using these way back in the 1500’s, so they’ve existed for quite awhile. Of course, over the years, a few improvements have been made, but the basic concept is the same.

“Now, to work, the theodolite has to be level, and that’s accomplished using this swinging pendulum doohiggy called a plum bob and these adjustable legs on the stand. Next, notice how the gage can move up and down, plus left to right? Take a closer look there and there,” he said, pointing.

I squinted in close to see better. “I see two scales with a bunch of hash marks and numbers.”

“Good. That’s where we read and set our measurements.”

“But what do the measurements mean?” I asked, still confused.

“Well,” he hesitated, scratching his head. “There’s where it gets a bit complicated. I’m probably not the best man to explain this, but I’ll give it a shot. The entire concept is based on trigonometry and triangulation, math way beyond my understanding. Something to do with triangles: if you know two angles and a line, you can figure out the unknown points.”

He looked expectantly at me as if he actually spoke a language I understood. I cocked an eyebrow in doubt and shrugged.

He frowned, thinking, and then brightened as an idea occurred to him. “Here’s the example my instructor gave me. Say you’re standing on the beach and spot a ship bobbing about on the ocean. And you say ‘Hey, I wonder how far away that boat lies!’ If you had a theodolite, you could figure out the answer. You’d set up your instrument on the beach, making sure that it’s level, then aim it out at a specific point on the ship, say the mast, and then take a reading. That’s one angle. Then walk a straight line down the beach, measuring the distance. That’s your line. Then take another reading at the same point on the mast, and there’s your second angle. Imagine connecting the dots, the two spots on the beach and the ship. You’d get a triangle. And now you have the measurements of two of the angles and one of the lines. With that trigonometry stuff, you can figure the other unknowns or in other words, the distance out to the ship.” He finished with a satisfied smile at the partaking and sharing of this incredible knowledge.

His explanation didn’t quite do it for me. “So, how do you figure that math stuff?”

His smile faltered, then he shrugged. “Heck, I don’t know. But that’s where this handy dandy book of tables comes into play.” He whipped a handbook out of his back trouser pocket. “It’s got all of that math figured up already.”

I flipped through the pages, scanning column after column of numbers. “Huh. So all this will help us dig a straight line? Why can’t we just peer down the shaft and eyeball it?”

“Well, it’s not quite that simple. True, our tunnel basically runs in one direction, but it’s far from a straight line. First of all, since we’re underground, we can’t tell from the mere eyeballing technique if the tunnel remains level; it could be sloping up or down and we wouldn’t be able to tell. Second, as you must have noticed, we hit that thick clay and marl, and needed to slope the tunnel up and over it. Using the theodolite, we know we are digging in the correct direction.”

I sat there for a moment, trying to absorb all of the information presented. “Hmm,” I finally muttered.

“What?” Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants asked with a smile.

“So it’s actually true; some of that stuff they teach in school actually is relevant to real life.”

After getting a ways into our tunnel, we began having ventilation problems. But the veteran miners had a solution for this as well. Near the entrance, we dug a vertical shaft up to the surface for an air vent, which remained hidden to the Rebels behind some shrubbery. Then we blocked the entrance with a special door built with a square plank pipe inserted through the bottom and running one end down into the mine. Lighting a fire at the bottom of the airshaft heated the air, forcing it to the surface and creating a vacuum to suck in fresh air through the square pipe.
Pretty good, eh?

By July 17
^th
, we’d dug 586 feet, lying right beneath the Rebels’ feet. But we’d not yet completed our mole-like activities, and so dug another tunnel to the left and right measuring seventy five feet in length.

About that time, our Rebel friends had become just a tad suspicious, and began digging a couple of tunnels for themselves. We backed off on our efforts, allowing them to work through their trust issues. We had close calls when one or two of their tunnels almost intercepted ours. Almost, but not quite, and eventually they gave up on that venture. We finally finished digging on July 23. The next step— loading the explosives.

We carried in three hundred and twenty kegs of black powder, weighing twenty-five pounds each. Layering sandbags on top would direct the exploding force upward toward the Rebel fort. A fuse line snaked out of the tunnel’s opening. And then we waited.

The announcement finally came. They would light the fuse on July 30 at 3:30 am. Unlike digging the mine, which included just the 9
^th
Corps, the entire Army of the Potomac would gather for the big show.

On July 29
^th
, at 5:15 pm Toby and I dragged an unconscious Woody to the hospital tent.

“You can set him down right here,” Cora murmured.

Toby and I gently laid the hot, heavy form of Woody onto the table. As Cora softly brushed the tangled hair out of his face, my eyes darted to his chest; a brief wave of relief washed through me to find it rising and falling. I had found him in our tent and knew with one glance that his eyes weren’t closed with sleep. We’d waited far too long.

“Will he live?” I whispered to Cora.

She studied Woody’s still form which told me her answer before she replied. “I don’t know.”

“We should have brought him here weeks ago,” Toby mumbled.

Cora laid a hand on Toby’s arm. “You care about Woody a great deal, and you tried to talk him into getting treatment. Up until now, the choice was his. It’s our choice now, and we will do our best to keep him alive. Regrets are a waste of precious, valuable time.” Cora forced a smile at him and then moved to the supply area to prepare for surgery.

“We should have tried harder,” he muttered.

I felt exactly the same, fighting the clouds of guilt that hung threateningly over my head, but I couldn’t seem to form the words. I met Toby’s eyes across the moaning figure of our dying friend.

Cora returned with a handful of medical staff, including a gruff, exhausted-looking doctor carrying a heavy, blood-stained hacksaw. My stomach lurched and my vision swayed dizzily for a split second. I quickly forced my eyes away and sucked in a deep breath.

“You two need to leave now,” Cora whispered. “I will come find you when we’re finished.”

I started to move away when hot fingers clamped tightly around my wrist. I found Woody’s eyes open and full of fear, latched onto my face.

“Bobbi, please stay with me.” His words, though almost inaudible, came from a conscious and clear mind.

I glanced at Cora for her nod of permission and then quickly took his hand into both of mine. “I’ll be right here with you,” I promised him. His eyes drifted closed again.

Cora gently nudged Toby toward the beckoning fresh air. “Go wait outside.”

I gratefully sank down onto the chair Cora offered, worried my legs wouldn’t hold out during the medical procedure.
Ha, medical procedure! I feel like I should defend my friend against these butchers instead of docilely sitting here while they chop him into pieces!

Cora placed a warm, steadying hand on my shoulder and I glanced behind me to meet her eyes.

“Stay strong for Woody,” she whispered.

I took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, commanding, no begging my body to obey. Woody needed me, and though hard to believe, these doctors would help. I don’t know if I could have sat there complacently if Cora hadn’t stood inches away. Her presence reassured me, just enough.

At a nod from the doctor, Cora held a chloroform-soaked sponge over Woody’s mouth. Then the doctor pulled up Woody’s sleeve. A sickening odor wafted outward, assaulting my nose and stomach. Pus and blood caked the grossly swollen wound. It didn’t even resemble an arm anymore. A new wave of guilt threatened to drown me. I clenched Woody’s good hand tightly and gently stroked his arm. As the doctor began tying a tourniquet just above the elbow, I forced my eyes onto Woody’s pale face. I couldn’t watch. I wished I could cut off access to my other senses as easily.