Civil War on Sunday (4 page)

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

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.