by Gina Danna
Biting back a groan as he rose from seating, the echo of his ankle pain a constant reminder, he went to his horse and mounted. The war was coming. Why did that doctor, who hated him and the South, keep sneaking into his thoughts?
May 4, 1864
The sky was blue. The air buzzed with the awaking insects, though Francois consciously noted the volume was decreasing. What did the bugs know that the humans didn’t?
As the spring settled in, the anticipation of a battle increased daily. The cavalry mounted daily for reconnaissance and reported back with more and more frequency. Francois inhaled deeply, checking his supplies and the readiness of his gun.
“Francois! Did you hear?” Wiggins called. “They say the Yanks are on this side of the Rapidan River!”
“Uh huh,” he murmured, not facing his friend but stroking the neck of the mare in a vain attempt to calm her down when it was his own heart he needed to relax. His horse was tense, picking up his tremors of tension as well as the level raised in the camp. “Ole Bobbie Lee knows.”
“Well, First Sergeant Fontaine, what’s his plan?” His formal slant on Francois’s rank irritated Francois.
“I don’t rightly know.” He pulled the bridle strap through to attach to the buckle. “Lee rode out. Apparently, the Yanks got a new general. The general is trying to figure his next move.”
Wiggins spat to the ground. “Thinkin’ its going get ugly here, real soon.”
Reins in one hand that gripped the saddle and his other reaching for the back of the seat, Francois pulled himself up, grinding through the dull pain of his foot in the stirrup. Shifting into place on the leather seat, he glanced down at his friend.
“From what I’ve gathered, we’re going to stop them on Lee’s terms, his favorite system of outreaching the North by audacity and shock, so we’ll push through that wilderness to reach them. You watch after yourself. I won’t be far off.”
Wiggins nodded and turned to head back to the Tigers. Francois’s gaze held a twinge of black at the edge of his viewing field. It was an odd feeling, as if this dense forest of shrubs and trees that made up the wilderness not only gave the south the advantage to start the battle on their own terms, but also as if it was haunted by the men who’d died there in another battle a year prior. Ghosts who warned them to leave.
The sound of leaves rustling caught his attention, breaking the morbid thoughts and making him look to his left.
“Ah, Edward, you were here before I heard you,” Francois laughed. “This isn’t the place to act so quiet. No master here going to whoop ya for causing a noise.”
The tall, bald-headed slave snorted. “Some habits just ingrained, sir.” But his grin told Francois the man relished in surprising him.
“So, considering your stealth, what’d you gather up ahead?” Francois had been amazed. Edward, the slave Captain Anthony Knox had brought with him to the front to serve as his servant, had been more or less taken in by the command and served many, including Francois. Though, upon his return, after being exposed to the abolitionist Ada’s demands, doubts slowly began to eat at Francois’s soul on slavery and it irked him to no end.
Edward shuffled his feet, looking down, an annoying trait born of slavery. “Looks like those Yankees gonna come through that wilderness to get to us.”
Francois shifted on the saddle, fear knotting his stomach, knowing the man was right.
“You’re a good scout, Edward.” Francois tilted his chin upward. “Tell me, do you find it hard, being told what you can and can’t do?”
The man looked into the woods, on the side of that backed to the Rapidan. “I do what I need to do, the rest I try not to think much on.”
“So, how come you’re still with us and not hightailn’ it over to those Yanks to claim your freedom?”
This time, Edward turned to look at Francois and gave him a half-grin. “Sir, this is my homeland too. Yanks ain’t givin’ away land here, nor are they racing to let my type fight the real fight much. Here,” he patted the gun butt in his waistband. “I get to carry a gun and fight to save what is mine.”
The man was thin enough that Francois wondered how the gun hadn’t slid down his trousers, but said nothing. His argument was sound, but he knew that’d irritate those abolitionists further.
“Well, you best be careful with that. Don’t shoot that foot. I can tell you, that is a necessary piece of flesh to use now.”
“Rightly so, sir, rightly so. Massa Knox showed me how to use it.” He grinned, stroking the grip as he talked. “Why you be fightin’, sir? I heard the Fontaines had enough to buy out of this mess.”
Yes, why was he here? It was a question that loomed more and more until he switched it off. “For the country, Edward. For the land.” He twisted his mouth. “Tell me, Edward, do you wanna be free?”
“Yessir. Mighty bad, sir. But we got work to do first.” He nodded, tipping the corner of the hat he’d just jammed on his head and stepped away.
“You shouldn’t talk to them that way, Francois,” Wiggins whispered from the other side.
Startled his friend had returned, Francois twisted in the saddle. “Just an honest question, considering he’s carrying a gun and all.”
“Probably right to do, but don’t let others be catchin’ that. They might take offense.”
Francois shook the thought from his mind as Wiggins disappeared again into the thicket, leaving him alone and back to dismal thought of the ghosts here. Lee would never entertain the US government would not fight because of ghosts so therefore, neither would he. Holding his grip tighter, he heeled the horse to take off toward command and prayed for better news.
Ada counted the crates again, satisfied that the number was correct. She put her paper and pencil stub down and stood back, wiping her forehead. The spring heat was setting in, and inside this army tent, what little breeze there was barely made it through the open tent flap. She’d have to get the opposite side open or she’d become a patient instead of help.
“So all is in order, I take it.”
She spun, smiling at the sound of Will’s voice. “Yes, thankfully. All here and in good shape. Considering how long it sat in those wagons, waiting to cross on that rickety bridge, I’m pleasantly surprised.”
Will laughed. “Yes, well that pontoon bridge did well. Easier to cross the river, especially with the depth it’s turned, thanks to the winter snow. Who knows, this General Grant might be more than we expected.”
“I believe so. Those diehards, who are so quick to dispel a western general, despite his abundance in wins, are going to eat crow, I think.”
“He’s a drunk, Ada, or so the story goes.”
“Ah, but didn’t Lincoln commend him anyway, and a promise to send the same brand of whiskey to all the Federal command, if that’s what made the man pull victories?” She snorted, then straightened to a serious face. “I think what makes him imbibe is the lack of his wife. Didn’t you notice, while we waited for spring, and all the officers’ wives were here, how not only their husbands perked up, but so did many of the men? Signs of civilization and society we hope to keep.”
“Always the forward thinker, especially from a woman who entertains thoughts of love with a man not of her station,” Will opined, as he looked her inventory sheet over.
“Will, please.”
“Actually, I came with news,” he stated, putting the sheet down. “The medical post has had a few adjustments.”
She raised her brows, curious. “Major Waxler resigned?”
Will laughed and shook his head. “No. But, the general’s move against the rebels down here has sparked a few arrangements, such as a medical post will be set here, with access back to Washington available if needed. We’ll be the closest, in dire need and for the worst cases. The final stand, as it were.”
“As a hospital? But all we have are tents. Before, they’ve commandeered houses for our needs.” Her mind, though, rapidly began organizing the layout of the hospital, to make her suggestion
s to the major.
“Yes, but as a tent-hospital, we are more ready to move if needed. Also,” he cleared his throat, pulling his collar a little, as if he couldn’t breathe. “I was given promotion to Colonel.”
She blinked hard, shocked. “Will, that’s great! You accepted? You hate the paperwork a promotion like that involves.”
He came to her, taking her hands in his. She could see the merriment in his eyes. “You are correct, yet you know me too well. My skills at the table are not as good as yours, but I do know how to write reports. My promotion puts me over a small contingent of doctors and nurses,” he added, looking at her deeply.
She inhaled deeply. “Which means?”
“I have you under me. Don’t you see? I can allow you to move up, be closer and help in the way you’re better suited for.”
Ada frowned, still quiet as her thoughts raced. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You got a promotion, and under that, you’ve managed to be put in charge of a contingent to remain here, in an army field hospital of sorts, and with me under you, so you can let me practice as a doctor?”
Will nodded voraciously. He looked like a child who’d successfully stolen a cake from the kitchen, bartered it for sale to buy a pony, and had money left over, as well as the cake. She stared at him, stunned. What had he done? Who did he know?
Slowly, the weight of being underestimated as a doctor, started to fall right as her knees turned to jelly. She might have fallen if a soldier hadn’t pushed his way into the tent, gasping for breath.
“Colonel Leonard,” the boy sputtered. “Major Waxler wanted you to know the battle is about to start!”
Ada saw Will tighten so she quickly took the soldier’s arm and sat him on the crate next to him. Pouring him a cup of water, she said, “Thank you for informing Dr. Leonard. Please inform Dr. Waxler we are ready.”
The boy gulped the water, nodding his head. As he bolted out of the tent, Ada inhaled and turned to Will.
“I will make sure we are ready. You just manage your new role, but remember, you are a surgeon too. From the scores I’ve seen cross that pontoon bridge before us as well as after, we’ll have a slew of casualties.”
Will’s jaw tightened. “More so than you think. From what I’ve heard, Grant will make Meade throw everything at them. The word is, many think the man is a butcher. Pray, Ada, pray.”
Chapter 34
“Had there been daylight, the enemy could have injured us very much in the confusion that prevailed.”
—General US Grant, Evening attack, Battle of the Wilderness,
May 6, 1864
May 5th
The Wilderness
The tension that had sparked the day before now exploded. The Federals were across the river, arriving on the Confederate side at two spots. From what Francois had heard, Lee ascertained the new Union general would try to lure them out onto the open fields to fight, where his numbers numbed the Southern forces, so Lee directed his troops to attack in the worst place possible. The wilderness that lay between the river and the Union advance to Richmond. The area was vast and dense, with scrubs and mismanaged greens making army advances—and retreats—a mangled mess. No clear paths appeared, just sporadic attempts through the vines, starter trees and low-lying growth. Only sheer determination would be the driving force and the Confederates had it, but what of the vast number of Yankees, city boys for the most part, who never dealt with this?
Francois rubbed his forehead, trying to wipe away the sweat that threatened to stream into his eyes. It was a hot and muggy day, or so he thought, knowing all too well that in comparison to home in the Deep South, it wasn’t as harsh but still miserable. His ankle throbbed dully and he bent to adjust the stick he’d shoved into his boot as a way to offer support for the injury that refused to heal. Doc Ada had never told him it would be perfect, or when it might be doable, and for that, he commended her, because to lie to him would’ve served no purpose. All he could do was groan and bare it.
“Too bad you ain’t done that prior to here,” Wiggins had whispered late one night. “That might’ve sent you home, if it’d been last spring.” He chuckled.
Francois had laughed with him, both knowing full well that unless he lost the foot, going home was never an option for him. Somehow, his time here had helped eased the heartache over Emma, only to be replaced by Ada. A woman who was enamored with another man, but even without that, she despised him because of who he was. It had made him truly wonder if the peculiar institution was worth all this, knowing damn good and well, his father and many other Southerners would argue the war was about more than slaves, yet for what he saw transpire in the North, the Southern argument seemed more hollow.
A bugle interrupted his thoughts and he adjusted in the saddle.
“Ya look just like a proper overseer,” Wiggins snorted, spitting to the ground.
Francois looked at him, irritated by his comment.
“How many of that type do you know?” He frowned. “Thought you tried that on at one point.”
Wiggins snarled. “Yessir, I did, when my pappy threw me out. Young and stupid I was. Quickly found wrangling darkies was not for me.”
“Would not be for me, either.”
The conversation ended as the command came down the line to move forward into the thicket via the Orange Turnpike, guns ready to face the Union ahead. Rubbing the handle to his revolver, Francois nudged his mare into step, ordering the company to advance. They couldn’t see a thing yet, but the rush to his senses and the pounding of his heart told him they were going to hell…
It started slow. One wounded, then three, before a lull and with the time passing, Ada paced between the beds. The minor wounds from going through a thorny thicket had bled profusely, covering the small gashes in the skin, some that she could almost not sew shut. Even now, at the edge, in theory, of the battle, she could hear the staccato of the musket fire with a periodic boom of an artillery piece hastily thrown together to fire, though it was like the sound of a lone wolf in a sea of bullets.
“Miss Ada, that might be all we see,” murmured Maybelle.
Ada turned, all intent to glare at the girl for not addressing her correctly, not even as a nurse, but when she saw the fear on her face, she tempered her anger down. The young nurse had only returned to the hospital a month ago, when they were still in camp. Having the prior winter off had taken her courage down a few degrees, something that didn’t surprise Ada.
“Nurse Maybelle, please take a moment and perhaps get a cup of coffee. You will need your strength. From the sounds from outside, I fear we are in for a long night,” she replied, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she believed she was. She recalled how the return to the ghastly wounds had her gulping, after her trip up north for the holidays, but the groans of the men reminded her all too well her skills were needed. She hoped the nurse before her would rebound as well, or she’d have another patient and be minus a nurse…
“Ada.”
She spun. Will stood before her, tense but on fire all at the same time. In his hand he held a medical bag. She frowned. He looked ready to leave.
“Dr. Leonard, where are you heading to?” She’d worried about him from the moment he got this promotion. He was a surgeon, adequate and better than many, but a paper-pusher he wasn’t.
“I’m heading out to the battle. Men are falling at a rapid rate. We can’t get ambulances through that thicket to get them back. Best to go assess them on the field, do what we can.” He stepped forward. “I wanted to let you know that’s where I’ll be. Dr. Waxler will be back over you directly. I’m sorry.”
Her stomach dropped. Licking her lips nervously, she nodded. “You be safe out there.”
He gave her a grin and a wink. “Be ready. They are coming. Perhaps Grant’s nickname of butcher is right.”
As he slipped out the tent flap, she saw out of the other opening the incoming patients. Some carried, some walking but all bleeding and a horrible sight. Inhaling dee
ply, she yelled to the nurses, “Incoming wounded!”
Next day ~
Smoke filled the air, clogging it and making breathing harder. It clouded vision for many of the soldiers on both sides. Though relentless, they followed orders and loaded to fire again at the enemy whose forms were shadows. Spitting grime out of his mouth, Francois glanced over the area and toward the enemy. While the Confederates hadn’t spared much, even Francois could see the ranks filling on the union side.
Up close, during the actual fight, the blue and the gray intermixed at times, unable to see others on their side or not. No one could see. The thicket made charging through or retreating a difficult thing to do. Uniforms were ripped, hats pulled off, skin scraped over and over again.
General Ewell pushed and all the men, particularly the Tigers, pounced as well as they could. At one point, Francois’s horse whinnied painfully with a jerk to her right, almost unseating him but he fought to remain on, only to promptly get off to examine her. She’d been grazed by a minet ball, the bullet nicking her front withers near the saddle, and close to hitting his thigh. He yanked out his handkerchief and swabbed the wound. It wasn’t deep but he gathered until this eased, perhaps she shouldn’t be ridden. Well, not till the bleeding stopped, he reckoned.
A bullet whizzed past his head, the noise so loud, he jumped back a space. His blood started to boil. That Yankee son-of-a-bitch nearly took him out! Fury overrode common sense. He pulled his Enfield out of the gunstock on his saddle, loaded it and fired back. Then he pulled it back and reloaded it. It was madness. Falling in with the Tigers, Francois followed commands and loaded, held back, reloaded and advanced to fire again. His foot throbbed but he leaned more toward the better foot and ignored the pain. Even when his hat flew off his head, he didn’t notice.
To hell with the Union!