The Cellar (9 page)

Jimmy was the last to make it into
position, he had been long at the latrine.  Sarge growled at him as he was
dressing the line and went on.  Ike heard his brother take a deep breath and
looked his way in time to get a forced grin, a grin that he could now remember. 
“Well Ike, I think that elephant is about to arrive”

“Wish he’d waited until after breakfast.”
Ike replied.  Both were trying to get their spirits up. 

“Stand up there O’Donnell!” Sarge barked
at Johnny.  “Oh, you are standing up, I forgot.” He said chuckling, trying to
help relieve the tension by picking on Johnny.

“Half a league, half a league, half a
league onward, all in the valley of death rode the six hundred.”  Jimmy quoted
the Tennyson poem that he and Ike had memorized.  As if to punctuate his
sentence three booms from artillery could be heard to their south.

“Cannon to the right of them, cannon to
the left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered!”  Ike said
quickly before Jimmy could respond.

Johnny stood between the Lowery brothers,
looking first at Jimmy and then at Ike as they recited their lines of poetry.  For
once he was speechless, the only poem he had memorized started out “There once was
a lady named Cager,” and somehow it didn’t seem appropriate so he squared his
shoulders and looked forward and tried not to shake. 

“Forward March” came the call and the line
moved forward.  Ike remembered how it had been a relief to finally be moving,
occupied with the mechanical action of motions practiced for months to the
familiar sounds of bugles and drums.  The regiment marched with as much precision
as was possible as they dodged briars, shrubs, and saplings.

Shooting continued to their front as
pickets and skirmishers from both sides exchanged fire.  White tailed deer ran
toward the regiment and leaped through the ranks of soldiers as if they weren’t
there.  Rabbits and squirrels scampered about looking for cover and nearly
tripped up a few of the marchers as they fled their homes in hopes of escaping
the noise.

The blue line came to the edge of a weedy
ravine and halted.  On the far side of this small valley stood another line of
men in blue uniforms.  Both lines stood as if frozen and stared across at the
other, there was no breeze and the flags hung limp.   Most were convinced that
these were enemy troops in spite of their colors.  The cut of the uniforms was
somehow different and their regimental flag didn’t look right.  The Colonel had
spoken with his counterpart on the other side for a few moments when a small
wind came up and floated the flag away from its pole.  Someone pointed out that
the flag was from Louisiana and the Colonel gave the order for his men to
retreat by columns.  The blue coats on the other side began to level their
muskets in the direction of the Illinois men.  The rim of the valley gave the
Union men cover as they retreated with bullets whizzing and whining inches over
their heads.  They would learn some time later that this was a regiment from a
Louisiana Military Academy, who were still in their blue Federal Uniforms for
lack of any better.

“I think I know how them rabbits felt!” 
Johnny puffed as they were retracing their steps.

“I wish we could run as fast as those
deer.”  Jimmy replied as they approached their campsite.

For the first time of many the regiment
heard a sound that would chill their blood and resound in many nightmares for
as long as they lived.  The Confederates let loose the high pitched ululating
scream that would be the last thing that many a Yankee soldier would hear in
this world.  Johnny would say later that the “Rebel Yell” sounded like Satan’s
rabbit dogs yelping after their prey.

The regiment marched past their camp and
formed their next line on a slight elevation just beyond rifle range of the
line of tents, where the enemy had stopped.  The Colonel gave the order for
them to lie down.  There they waited for their pursuers.  Their wait was extended
as the Rebels looted the camp.  They could see men running in and out of tents,
pillaging for food and whatever spoils took their fancy.  The commanding
officer of the Louisiana Regiment berated his men and ordered them to stop
their plundering and re-form.  He had to fire his pistol in the air to get
their attention and it took several minutes to get them back in to line.  This
activity gave the Illinois regiment time to prepare.  They had the advantage of
a row of sassafras saplings that had proliferated at the edge of the fallow
field where they had stopped to face the enemy.  Lying behind the raised root
wads of the small trees gave them a small but effective cover.

Soon the enemy was coming towards them. 
The blue coated Louisiana men marched with the movements they had learned from
Hardee’s tactics, the same book the Illinois men had drilled from for months. 
When the Rebels came within range, the Colonel gave the order to fire.  The
blue line kept coming, but with frequent gaps where men had been felled.  Ike
had made one of those gaps, having killed the first of many secessionists he
would fire upon in the months to come.  The men scooted backwards and rolled on
their backs to reload while others took their place on the firing line. 

The Rebels stopped, took aim and fired at
their attackers, but did little damage other than raining sassafras twigs on
the heads of their foes.

Union artillery men were plying their
trade and made even bigger holes in the approaching line.  After two barrages
of canister rounds the Confederates broke and began their retreat.  With a loud
‘hurrah’ the Union Regiment rose and followed, stopping only to fire their guns
at likely targets.  As they gained on the Rebels, an occasional man would stop
and take cover behind a tree and fire back.  One of these managed to line up
Jimmy in the iron sights of his musket.  Ike’s brother fell beside him.  Ike
dropped to the ground next to Jimmy and held him in his arms as he drew his
last ragged breaths and coughed out his last words.

“Theirs not to…make reply, Theirs not to question
why, Theirs but to….do and die……, Into the valley of death………” Jimmy said, his
voice fading with the last words.

“Rode the six hundred.” Ike said in
response.  Seeing that there was nothing else to do, he closed Jimmy’s eyelids,
picked up his gun and moved forward. 

Johnny was standing over the man who had
shot Jimmy, bayoneting his corpse again and again, crying and screaming curses
at the bloody cadaver.  Ike put a hand on the small man’s arm as he thrust the
bayonet once more into Jimmy’s killer and stopped his butchery.

“I cain’t give Jimmy back, but I killed
that son of a bitch!”  Johnny blubbered.

“I know Johnny, but we have to keep
moving, we have to charge on, that’s what we are here for!”

And charge they did, until Confederate
artillery drove them back.  They would spend the rest of the day charging and
retreating, mostly retreating.  Ike and Johnny stayed side by side through
their first battle.  By the day’s end Ike felt as if in some way Johnny had
become his brother.

Ike looked back up through the knothole at
the stars, Orion had moved almost out of his limited field of vision while he
had been reliving the day his brother died.

“Jimmy’s up there with ‘em now, Ikey.” 
Johnny said.  “He can still see the stars only better.”

“You know that do you, Johnny?”  Ike said,
surprised by how grateful he was to hear his friend’s voice again.

“Don’t know a whole lot, but I know that.” 
Johnny replied, sounding subdued and tentative.

“I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed you
Johnny.”  

“Well, I’ve been here all along.  I
thought I’d give you a little peace and hush up for a while.  I know I can be
kinda’ irritatin’ sometimes.  I even helped you write that letter, you seemed
like you was havin’ trouble.”

“I remember when you couldn’t read or
write all that well.”  Ike said, remembering how he and Johnny had labored over
an old primer.  He had made some progress, but it had come slow until Johnny
found a copy of “Fanny Hill” and his reading skills improved dramatically.  
Expressing his own thoughts on paper had still been a challenge, but he could
recite the steamiest passages from his one book library by heart.

“Well, I wasn’t so good when I was a
livin’ but I think I’m right good at it now.  I might just have had a little
help though.” 

One day while he was admiring a cloud
formation through his small portal Johnny interrupted his thoughts.  “You seem
to be getting’ purty comfortable down here, Ikey.  The rest of the regiment is
out there somewhere fightin’ and you’re here readin’ all them books and lookin’
at clouds.”

“So you think I should try to escape again
Johnny?  Do you know something I don’t know?”

“I always knew things you didn’t know,
Ikey!”  He giggled.  “I know even more now that I’m dead.  I know you cain’t
break open that door and run but you oughta’ be keepin’ an eye out for
opportunities.”

“Sometimes I think I’m too comfortable
here, this cellar seems like a cocoon that protects me from the outside world. 
A part of me would be happy just to stay here where I’m safe and comfortable.”

“I don’t know it it’s a cocoon or a womb
Ikey.  That ol’ girl is tryin’ to keep you all warm and snug here like it’s
gonna’ protect you and her boy both.  It may be comfortable Ike, but I ain’t to
sure that it’s all that safe, it could turn into a tomb.”

Ike tested the door again and found it to
be immovable.   The bar was always secured when Marcus left for any period of
time.   The weight, which Ike had seen when he and Marcus were removing the
bodies of the two intruders, was an old grindstone that was rolled on top of
the door as an added measure.   Something about the round stone reminded Ike of
Christ’s tomb in an old Bible illustration.  “Johnny, I wish someone would roll
away the stone for me.”

“Well, that’s way above my rank, I’m
afraid.  I don’t think I’m even a corporal yet.”

“The only way I see to get out of here is
to somehow rush out while Marcus has the door open, but he never leaves it
unsecured except when he is coming and going.  I don’t think I would have a
chance of getting past him, he’s just too big.”  The thought of trying to fight
his way past Marcus was daunting and the idea of doing something to harm him
troubled Ike as well.  In spite of his situation he was fond of the taciturn
giant.

“Let’s just keep a watchin’ Ikey. 
Somethin’ might just happen that you’d miss.”

No lapses on the part of his guardian
seemed to present any opportunities for Ike to flee.  He resumed his reading of
Sir Walter Scott’s “Ivanhoe”.  The leather bound volume was well worn and Ike
assumed it must have been a favorite of Dr. Pendleton and his sons.  Inked on
the fly leaf in an elegant hand was the inscription, “To Todd from his Father,
Christmas 1859”.

Late one afternoon as he was reading “Rob
Roy” Ike heard hoof beats in the yard and quick booted steps in the house
above.  After the visitor left he could hear Mrs. Pendleton pacing back and
forth in the kitchen above his abode.  

“I think she got some bad news Ikey.” 
Johnny said

“You don’t suppose Todd is dead?”

“I don’t think so, but she’s pacin’ back
and forth like she’s got a lot on her mind.  Kinda’ like you do sometimes.”

A storm came that evening.  Lightning
flashes sent flickers through the knothole and the crack in the door.  Something
about the lightning disturbed Ike.  Some old memory was trying to restore its
place in Ike’s conscious mind, but could not make its way through.  “You scared
o’ lightin’ there Ikey?”  Johnny asked.

“No more than anyone else I suppose.”  Ike
said out loud, not thinking to keep his conversation internal.  He caught
himself and looked around to make sure no living soul had heard him.  Something
about the lightning had unnerved him.  “I think I had a bad experience with
lightning once Johnny, but I cannot recall what it was.  I just know that it was
something terrible.”  He sat in silence watching the flickering and listening
to the thunder.

“It’s the noise of the thunder that always
used to bother me Ikey.  First time I heard artillery, I thought it was thunder,
after that plain old thunder never seemed so bad.”  Johnny mused.

Whatever recollection wanted to be
triggered by the storm, nothing came to Ike as he sat uncomfortably watching
and listening.  After a while the storm began to seem more like a portent of
coming doom than a memory.

 Some rain trickled down the steps, but
for the most part the cellar remained dry, Ike watched as a small puddle formed
under the knothole.  Marcus brought his dinner at the usual time but was not
accompanied by his mistress.  Ike noted that the big man was wearing what
looked like a Union Army poncho draped over his head as he carried the oilcloth
covered tray.  Ike wondered if this was the poncho that had been in his pack or
if it was from one of his dead comrades.  As was his custom, Marcus retreated
back up the steps, closed the door and barred it.  Ike ate in silence, he was
not at all disappointed not to have Mrs. Pendleton’s usual company at supper.

Marcus returned some time later to take
away the tray and dishes.  He hung the dripping poncho on the spike that had
been driven into a mortared joint to hang Ike’s mirror.   As he prepared the
tray for its trip back up the stairs a series of violent flashes of lightning
illuminated another smaller figure descending the steps.  Each flash revealed
the silhouette in a different position.  When the figure descended the last
step and stood dripping on the stone floor the lantern light revealed  Micheline
Pendleton.  She stood there breathing heavily.

“Missy, you shoudn’a come out in this
weather.  You catch you def a somethin.”  Marcus said, looking at the woman
with concern and a trace of what Ike thought was fear.