Spake As a Dragon (8 page)

“
Who else is in the
house?” LaPree demands as he enters the kitchen. He sees Sary
cowered in the corner. “Well, what we got here – how many of these
slaves you got?”

Malinda answers, “None! I don’t own
any slaves – Sary is a free woman. She did work for a small salary
and found before the War, now she just works for found. I can’t pay
her anything.”

Sary jumps to her feet and gets right
in LaPree’s face, “Git out of mys kitchen you carpetbagger, git
yerself and yer trash out of the Misses house I say!”

Pushing Sary aside, he begins throwing
dishes and pans about the kitchen yelling, “Where is the flour and
meal?”

Seeing that delaying the inevitable
any longer is useless Malinda speaks to LaPree, “The flour and meal
are kept in the flour box,” pointing, “over in the corner.”
Sarcastically she adds, “Why don’t you help yourselves.”

Following behind LaPree, Malinda
watches as he opens the lid to the box. “What the blazes?” The
Captain steps back, turns and screams, “it’s empty!”

Malinda is as surprised as LaPree.
Stunned she replies, “I was trying to tell you we have no food. Now
get out of my house!”

“
Well, I might not get any
food, but I’m not leaving empty handed – that son of yours will
make a fine soldier.”

As they walk back toward the front
door, Malinda gently tugs at Captain LaPree’s sleeve. He turns,
“Could I have a word in private Captain?”

She directs LaPree into the hallway
next to the upstairs steps. Once his men have gone outside Malinda
grabs LaPree’s hand. He jerks his hand back she grabs it once
again. This time she places a gold Double-Eagle coin in his palm.
“This is all the hard money I have, the rest is Confederate. Give
my boy at least a week to get our farm in order before he goes off
to the Army, please. We have one bale of cotton. If you wait until
then I can sell the cotton and I will give you all the money it
sells for.”

LaPree opens his hand and sees the
twenty dollar gold piece. He rubs it between his thumb and index
finger. He sticks it between his teeth and bites hard it feels
good, but more gold from the sale of the cotton will be better, he
agrees to the proposition.

As the scum of Southern society rides
toward the front gate, the family watches from the porch. For the
present William is safe, but Malinda knows her son is on borrowed
time – she does not have any cotton to sell, anywhere!

Chapter Ten

HELP ME,
PLEASE!

Robert is conscious enough to hear his
Confederate comrades running by his boulder as they retreat. He
tries to yell for help, but the words will not come out of his
mouth. His fellow soldiers have run off and abandoned him. There is
no hope for help. He believes he is dying – and he is dying
alone.

However, help does arrive, in the form
of two Yankee stretcher-bearers. The two litter bearers find Robert
sitting against a large rock, unconscious. One grabs his arms and
the other his legs, and places him on an improvised litter. It is
no more than two poles and a blanket, but it serves the purpose. As
soon as they lifted him up and began to move Robert is struck in
the head with a bullet from a Yankee musket. It is a glancing shot
that does not penetrate his skull.

His vision is blurred, and he cannot
see well enough to tell who his litter bearers are. He doesn’t care
who they are; if he doesn’t get help soon, he is going to bleed to
death. He could see dozens and dozens of soldiers as his two
saviors carry him through the woods to a medical wagon. He assumes
they are Confederates.

Neither of the Union men noticed the
marks on the boulder as they moved him to the litter. Robert has
used his small pocketknife to scratch the letters, “2K168.” If the
soldiers noticed the scratches, the letters would have made no
sense to them. However, they are unquestionably important to
Sergeant Scarburg. Robert thought at least his rescuers were
Confederates. He can see them well enough now - they are dressed in
blue, they are Yankees! Only hours earlier they were trying to kill
each other now these blue-bellies are attempting to keep him
alive.

Before being ordered to leave his
father Matthew and the volunteer hospital orderly Charles Babb had
made a makeshift bandage trying to stop the foamy blood that flowed
profusely from Robert’s chest. They had managed to cover it with
his father’s handkerchief and tie his belt around the wound. This
slowed the bleeding but didn’t stop it. Foamy blood, the orderly
said indicated a lung had been punctured.

From the field litter, Sergeant
Scarburg is shoved into the bed of a blood-soaked wagon. He is
piled on top of other wounded soldiers, some too badly injured to
offer any objection. The wagon’s grisly condition indicates the
wounded and dying soldiers aren’t the first to use this four-wheel
conveyance of death. The next hour or so he endures being bounced
and jostled on a muddy road more adept for a mountain goat than a
horse drawn wagon. He is beginning to believe that he will not
survive the wagon trip long enough to find medical help. When the
wagon ride ends, he is at a temporary Union hospital south of
Gettysburg. An open spot in the middle of the forest bounded on one
side by a railroad track. The chief surgeon is Dr. Jonathan
Letterman.

The litter bearers place him on the
ground, outside a medical tent. A couple of doctors are using the
area for triage. Soldiers with a red rag tied around the arm are
given first priority. Those with white ones go next. Wounded men
with a black rag are not treated - they are going to die. No one
comes to check on him after his first initial evaluation; a black
cloth is tied around Sergeant Scarburg’s arm. Even if he had a red
or white rag he would be a very low priority. He was the enemy –
the Yankee doctors treat their soldiers first Confederates come
last, if at all.

A couple of hours pass, Sergeant
Scarburg desperately wants a drink of water. “Help me please!” he
moans. His throat is parched. Mumbling, he tries to beg anyone
nearby for water. At last when he thinks he can last no longer he
hears what he thinks is an angel speak to him.

Although not a heavenly angel, she no
doubt is an earthly one clothed as a nurse, who softly says to him,
“Soldier! Soldier can you hear me?” The nurse continues, “Can you
answer me?”

Barely above a whisper he answers,
“Wa...wa...water!”

The nurse could barely hear Sergeant
Scarburg, but she heard enough to understand he wanted a drink of
water. She retrieved a canteen, propped him up and let him drink
the cool water until it oozed out the corner of his mouth. Earlier
he thought she was an angel now he is sure she was heaven
sent.

She removes the black rag, summons an
attendant and has Robert carried inside the surgeon’s tent and
places him on a bloody table. A pile of arms and legs almost waist
high is visible outside the rear of the tent. Opening Robert’s
chest the surgeon explained how fortunate the Sergeant is.
“Fortunate? Fortunate?”
Thought Sergeant Scarburg,
“It’s
obvious this idiot has never had a ten inch piece of steel shoved
into his chest!”
But, the doctor is right the bayonet only
nicked his lung and did not hit any other vital organs. The surgeon
did what limited care he could, sewed him back up, bandaged his
head and sent Robert into a large tent with other injured Rebels.
The doctor offered little hope that the Sergeant would survive.
Robert was now officially a prisoner of war and a dying one at
that.

His angelic nurse constantly visited
him, wiped his brow and gave him water to drink. Occasionally she
would change his bandages and give him a tablespoon of laudanum to
ease the pain. Sometimes she would bring him a little milk boiled
with whiskey and sugar. It was glorious to Robert. Over the
following days, he began to improve, but his head still hurt badly.
The bleeding had stopped in both wounds; his breathing was labored
but adequate. He was conscious enough to speak with his
nurse.

“
I want to tell you I
appreciate what you have done for me.”

“
You’re welcome Sergeant,
but what is your name and regiment?”

“
It’s funny – madam I know
I am a Reb, but for the life of me I cannot remember anything
except being brought here. I want to thank you for being so kind; I
will never be able to repay you for your kindness. If I do not
survive would you please get a word to my... my... I know I must
have someone; however, right now I do not know who!”

“
Sergeant you are not
going to die! You owe me no words of thanks. I believe God put each
of us on Earth for a purpose. I think helping injured and dying men
on the battlefield is my purpose in life. I feel it as strongly as
anything I have ever felt. Sergeant I am not looking for any
thanks, seeing you improve in health is payment enough.

“
You are my ‘Angel on the
Battlefield’ Mrs? Miss? I do not even know your name.”

“
I’m sorry, it is Miss...
Miss Barton... Miss Clara Barton.”

“
Are you in the Army Miss
Barton?”

“
No Sergeant I am a
volunteer nurse. As I said before this is something, I feel, God
has instructed me to do.”

Robert noticed she wore a plain white
blouse buttoned at the neck. On the left side of her blouse over
her heart was pinned a small scrap of red cloth.

“
May I ask the meaning of
the red piece of linen?”

“
It identifies the few of
us as volunteer medical attendants. It is easier for the doctors to
find us when they need assistance.”

“
May I make a suggestion?
As a religious woman, Miss Barton I suggest cutting your red slip
of fabric into a red cross. That will still identify your volunteer
status, but the cross will indicate to everyone your belief that
your duty to help the wounded is God inspired. Those of us injured
are desperately in need of your services.”

Clara gazed intently out into space
thinking about his suggestion. “Hmmm, a red cross. That is an
interesting idea Sergeant. I will have to give that some further
thought. Oh, don’t worry your memory will return, I’m sure of it.”

Chapter
Eleven

PICKETT’S CHARGE – DAY
THREE

The Union forces slow their rate of
cannon fire and then, to conserve ammunition, cease firing
altogether. The Yankee commanders think it will fool the Rebels
into believing the Rebels have knocked out their cannons. The ruse
works that is exactly what the Confederates believe.

General Pickett slowly walks his horse
along the long line of his battle ready men until he reaches
Longstreet, he asks, "General shall I advance?" Longstreet, now
overwhelmed with despondency, does not respond, he simply, with
head bowed, lifts his hand into the air. The order is
given.

CHARGE

Returning to the front of his men,
General Pickett turns in the saddle, holding his saber high above
his head yells, "
Attention Battalion! Dress on the colors!
Forward! March!
Charge the enemy and remember old
Virginia!’
He begins a slow and deliberate advance toward the
Union Army nearly a mile away on Cemetery Ridge. Turning to look
back, he sees over 12,000 Southerners stretching a mile from one
end to the other. The men who survive that day say there was almost
total silence as line after line of men in perfect military
alignment march without a word being said to a sure death. The only
noise heard was the soldier’s gear rubbing against their bodies and
the footfalls trampling on the grass of the field. The Union men
watch the lines of men in grey in amazed awe.

In the front row of soldiers are Luke
and Matthew advancing toward the Union’s strong, fortified
position. Luke turns and speaks to Matthew, “Be brave little
brother, looks like we’re going to get to ‘open the
ball.’

The order is given to,
‘Advance at
a quick-step.’
Luke glances over at Matthew again. As they
begin the slow trot, it is a 90-degree, humid day; sweat is
dripping from the end of Matthew’s nose. “Courage, Matthew,
courage!” Luke is trying to bolster his younger brother’s resolve,
but Luke himself is so scared he does not believe he can put one
foot in front of the other. He wants to retreat, but he cannot.
Beside him and behind him are his friends, some family, and other
neighbors from back home. He will not be branded a coward. He must,
in spite of his fear, advance toward the enemy.

‘
Halt! Prepare to fire by
battalion! Battalion! Ready! Aim! FIRE!’

Knowing this is Matthews first major
battle Luke turns to him as they halt, “Matt, throw away that
knapsack, your blanket and anything else you won’t need right now.
Keep only your gun, bayonet, cartridge box, powder patches and
canteen. Stay low, and when I say ‘run’ you run as if the Devil
himself is after you, run like you have you never run before,
understand?”

Beginning to get in the range of the
Federal cannons they realize the Yankees are using grapeshot; a
cannon ball type instrument of death that is packed full of
gunpowder and lead balls the size of marbles. When one of these
explodes, men drop by the dozens.