Lost Cause (14 page)

“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 captain 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.