Encounter at Cold Harbor

by Gilbert L. Morris

  Mother would comfort me if she were here!”

  Jeff gave Jed a disgusted look. “I swear, that’s a mournful tune! Don’t you know any happy songs about soldiers?”

  “Ain’t any.” Jed grinned at him crookedly. He sang another verse. Then he laid the guitar down and began to walk along the trench, careful to bend over. He was met by another man who was carrying a bucket. Hawkins said, “Looks like it’s dinnertime. What’s in this, Cookie?”

  “Don’t ask,” the cook said grimly. “You’ll be better off not knowin’.” He surrendered the bucket, and Jed returned with it. “Get your mess gear out. Time for our usual seven-course dinner.”

  Jeff picked up his tin plate and held it out while Hawkins spooned some sort of stew onto it. As soon as he got it, he ducked back and sat leaning against the earth trench. He tasted the stew, and Charlie Bowers, sitting across from him, said, “What does it taste like, Jeff?”

  “It tastes like fox to me.”

  Charlie stared at him. “What does a fox taste like?”

  “About like an owl.” Jeff grinned. “I don’t know what it is, Charlie. Probably mule. Just eat it, and don’t ask any questions.”

  The men ate hungrily, for at least it was food, and men had to eat. The daily ration of meat amounted usually to three or four ounces, about a mouthful per man. Food boxes from home had stopped now that the Confederates had been cut off by the siege line. An Irish member of Parliament, who had come to visit the Confederates, had dinner with General Lee; he reported to those back home, “He had two biscuits, and he gave me one.”

  In the trenches, constant skirmishing and sharp-shooting took their deadly toll. Continual shelling back and forth raked the nerves of all the men. The heat was terrible, and dust, alternating with mud, made the situation worse. The mud and the filth brought disease, and some of their friends had died. More friends had died of disease than of musket balls. Jeff had seen strong men sink into apathy and brood for hours.

  He finished his stew, wiped his plate with a handkerchief that was none too clean, and said, “I’m goin’ down the line to see what’s happenin’.”

  Sergeant Mapes gave him a questioning look. “The same thing that’s happening here—nothing!” he said.

  But Jeff was restless and got up, careful to keep his body in a crouch so that none of it showed over the top of the logs that lined the trenches. He had gone no more than five steps when suddenly he was knocked completely off his feet. A tremendous roar half deafened him, and he thought with shock, A shell’s gone off in the trench!

  He lay facedown in the dirt for a moment, wondering if he had been hit, then he struggled to his feet. But no sooner had he done so than dirt, dust, and wooden objects began to rain down upon him. Something struck him on the shoulder but caused no damage.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he cried.

  “Don’t know!” Sergeant Mapes said. He, too, was dodging the raining dirt. “A bomb must’ve gone off. Ain’t no shell can do that! It looks like it hit down the line.”

  By now all the troops were scrambling to their feet and staring with amazement to their left.

  “Look at that, will you!” Curly Henson said with awe.

  Jeff looked, along with the others, and saw a huge cloud of dust and debris rising in a column. Some of it was already beginning to fall on the part of the trench where he was. “What kind of a shell would do that?” he asked.

  No one answered, for no one knew of a shell that big. What they did not know was that the gigantic explosion was a result of work by a Colonel Pleasance. This Federal colonel was a mining engineer, and many of his men who came from Pennsylvania had been miners. Pleasance had watched the futile efforts of his officers to break the Confederate resistance. When all else failed, he came up with the idea of tunneling underground and planting a huge charge of powder under the Confederate line.

  With tremendous effort, a tunnel more than five hundred feet long was dug. When it was completed, eight thousand pounds of black powder were placed at the end of it. A hundred-foot fuse was attached to the powder and lighted. It burned out. Two men went back in to relight it. Finally, the powder had gone off.

  The hole blasted by the huge charge was enormous. Federal troops, black soldiers under General Ferrero, started to enter. But the Confederates, after the first shock, began to rush toward the huge, gaping crater.

  Officers shouted commands. “Put your men on the edge of that crater!” And that was what the following battle would be called: the Battle of the Crater.

  “Come on!” Sergeant Mapes yelled.

  Rubble was still swirling in the air, and dust was thick, but Jeff could see the enemy flooding into the break. He grabbed up an extra musket. Every man counted. With a hole in the Confederate line, the Yankees could rush in and Richmond would be taken.

  “It’s a good thing for us they don’t have ladders,” he said. “But look! Look! They can’t get up out of the hole!”

  Anyone looking down could see that this was true. The Federals had poured into the huge crater, but they could not get out because the sides were so steep.

  Muskets began to go off, and Union soldiers began to fall. Jeff felt bad about it. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he muttered. But more and more Union soldiers kept coming, and the line had to be held.

  The battle grew hot, and the bottom of the crater was a terrible thing to see. The sun blazed down on it with fierce heat. Men were dying everywhere. And at last the Federals drew back.

  The Confederate victory was almost completely won when Jeff suddenly felt a blow on his left arm. He supposed for a moment that Ocie had struck him, and he turned to say something. But then he fell to the ground and thought with astonishment, Why, I’ve been shot!

  Jeff felt no pain, but his whole arm was numb. He looked down, saw bright red blood gushing, and desperately put his hand over the wound. But the bleeding did not stop.

  “Jeff, you’ve been hit!”

  Ocie threw down his musket and leaped to kneel beside him. “You’re gonna bleed to death!”

  Jeff tried to speak, but the shock was too great. He watched as Ocie whipped off his belt and quickly wrapped it around his arm. Then he saw that the blood had stopped running so freely.

  “Hey, you fellas! Jeff’s been hit! Help me get him back!” Ocie cried.

  Jed Hawkins took one look and said, “Can you walk, Jeff?”

  “I—I reckon I can,” he managed to say.

  Jeff was able to get to his feet. Ocie kept the belt tied around his arm, and soon they were back behind the lines, where a tall, skinny doctor said, “Sit down there. I’ll have to patch you up.”

  Jeff then knew pain, for feeling returned to his arm, but he kept his lips clamped tightly together.

  When the doctor finished treating him, he said, “You’ll be OK. Didn’t break the bone, or I’d have had to take that arm off.” Before leaving, he looked down again and grinned. “Whoever put that belt around your arm saved your life, soldier.”

  Jeff looked at Ocie. He was faint from the loss of blood, and Ocie’s face seemed to be wavering. “I guess you saved my life, Ocie.”

  “Well, you saved mine back in the Wilderness, and turnabout’s fair play.” Ocie was looking much relieved. “I thought you was a goner, Jeff. How do you feel?”

  “OK.” He lay quietly, his head swimming, and he felt slightly nauseated. Ocie got him a drink of water, and when he had sipped it he said, “You know, I think maybe God had all this figured out.”

  “What do you mean, Jeff?”

  “I mean He knew I was gonna have to have some help. So that’s why I went to get you out of that fire back in the Wilderness.”

  Ocie thought about that. “Well, it’s nice to have somebody to take care of us. Like the Scripture says, two are better than one.”

  Jeff felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, and he whispered, “Yes, two are better than one, Ocie …”

  Jeff cautiously got down out of the ambulance and
waved at the driver. “Thanks for the ride,” he said.

  The driver stepped down and nodded at him. “You got off easy. Some of those we got in here are a lot worse off.”

  “I know it,” Jeff said soberly.

  He was still weak and had developed a slight fever, but finally the doctors had told him, “Go home. Go back to Richmond and get healed up. Then you can come back and fight some more. Get shot in the other arm, maybe.”

  Jeff had said, “I don’t think I want to try that.” But he’d come home to Richmond, and now he was looking for his father. He had not heard about the colonel and feared he might not have survived.

  He walked into the long, low building that the driver had told him was headquarters for Chimborazo. A woman sat behind a desk.

  “I’m looking for Colonel Nelson Majors.”

  “Nelson Majors?” The woman picked up a notebook and leafed through it. “He’s in Ward G. That’s out the door to your left.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  Jeff left the office, turned left, and made his way down the hallway.

  When he got to Ward G, he stepped inside. The ward was lined on both sides with cots, all of them occupied, except for those where the men were able to walk about. A stubby man in rather dirty clothes was mopping the floor.

  Jeff said to him, “I’m looking for Colonel Majors.”

  The man immediately stopped mopping and leaned on the mop handle. It was as if he had been looking for an excuse to quit work. “Colonel Majors? Why, he ain’t here!”

  Apprehension shot through Jeff. He’s dead! he thought. He swallowed hard and said, “Where is he?”

  “Why, they come and took him!”

  “Who took him?”

  “A redheaded woman! I was standing right here when she come in and bucked up against Dr. Washington.” He wheezed and laughed silently. “She told him off, she did. Like nobody else. Said he wasn’t fit to doctor hogs.”

  Relief flooded through Jeff. “Was the woman’s name Mrs. Fremont?”

  “I think that’s what she said. She had another soldier with her. A sergeant.”

  “That was my brother.” Jeff nodded. “Where did they take him?”

  “Said they was takin’ him back home. I reckon you might know where that is?”

  “Yes, I know. Thanks a lot.” Jeff left the ward, having to walk slowly. Besides feeling weak, he had had little to eat. “Don’t know if I can get all the way out to Uncle Silas’s house on foot,” he said.

  He started walking, however, and within five minutes a wagon pulled up beside him, a man and a woman on the seat.

  “Hello, soldier!”

  Jeff looked up. “Howdy! Sure could use a ride.”

  “You been fightin’, have you?”

  “Yes, got shot at the Crater.”

  “Where you goin’?” the woman asked, sympathy in her eyes.

  “I’m goin’ to Silas Carter’s house in the country.”

  The woman’s eyes opened with surprise. “Silas Carter? Why, he’s a neighbor of ours.”

  “Sure is,” the man said. He was heavyset and almost spilled out of his clothes. “Get in here! Move over, Eulah. Make room for that soldier.”

  With some difficulty Jeff climbed up and sat in the back of the wagon.

  The man spoke to the horses, and they moved forward again.

  “You know Silas ain’t home, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know that, but I think my father’s there.”

  “I did hear somethin’ about that,” the woman said. “I ain’t met your father, of course.”

  Grateful for the ride, Jeff swayed with the wagon. He was thinking about what the orderly had said—that Eileen Fremont had just about saved his father’s life.

  He answered the questions the couple put to him, but his mind was ranging ahead. If she saved Pa’s life, I’ll sure be grateful to her as long as I live.

  13

  Jeff Changes His Mind

  Getting down from the wagon, Jeff looked up at the friendly couple and smiled. “Sure do thank you for the ride. I don’t think I could’ve made it without you!”

  “Why, it’s little enough to do for one of our heroes,” the woman said, smiling back.

  Jeff shook his head. “Don’t reckon I’m much of a hero.”

  “You are to us,” the man said. “Anybody that keeps the Yankees out of Richmond is a hero. Do you think we can keep ’em out much longer?”

  Jeff had no answer and said merely, “I hope so. Well, thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome, soldier. May God be with you.”

  As the wagon moved on, he started toward the house. He had not had anything to eat since the previous day, and his arm was hurting fiercely. The doctor had bound it up and put it in a sling, but there had been no pain medication to give him.

  “Jeff!”

  Leah sailed out the door. Her eyes were wide, and her hair floated behind her as she ran to him.

  “Jeff, are you all right?”

  “Sure,” he said. He managed a grin. “I got shot, but it wasn’t too bad.”

  Leah’s eye flew to the sling. “Come on in the house and sit down.”

  “Reckon I’d be ready for that,” Jeff said wearily. His head began to swim, and he staggered slightly.

  She reached for him, saying quickly, “Lean on me, Jeff.”

  “Guess I’ll have to.” Jeff put his right arm around her shoulders, and she helped him across the yard. As they went up the steps, he grew even more dizzy and said, “I don’t … know if I can make it, Leah.”

  “Just a few more steps,” she urged. She was practically shoving him up the last step when the door opened and Eileen came out. She took one look and said, “Here, let’s get him inside. Jeff, you’re white as a sheet.”

  “Don’t feel too good,” he muttered.

  The two women maneuvered him through the door and into the sitting room, where they put him into an upholstered horsehide chair.

  Jeff laid his head back against the cushion and whispered, “Thanks. Good thing it wasn’t farther.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?” Leah asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Leah, you stay with him. He needs some water, and I’ll fix him some broth. I’ll go out and kill a chicken.”

  Jeff heard, but his eyes were closed, and he felt as though he was going to lose consciousness. He felt Leah’s hand on his head.

  “Have you had a fever?”

  “Thought I was over it,” he mumbled. “I guess not.”

  “You’ll be all right now that you’re home. We’ll take care of you, Eileen and me.”

  “How’s Pa?” Jeff asked. When no answer came, he opened his eyes and saw the worried look on Leah’s face. Instantly he straightened up, the movement sending pain through his wounded arm. “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “Oh, no! He’s not dead, Jeff. He’s just not as well as we’d like.”

  “What about the bullet?”

  “Well, the doctor took that out. But there’s been some kind of infection, and he can’t seem to shake off the fever. Can’t eat much.”

  “I want to see him.”

  He struggled to get up, but Leah firmly pushed his head back. “You lie right there! You’re a patient too, now, so you’ll have to mind what I say.”

  Jeff studied her through slitted eyes. A smile pulled at his lips, and he whispered, “I guess you’ll like that. You always did want to boss me around.”

  Leah seemed truly worried about him. He supposed he had lost weight and that his face was paler than she had ever seen it. She pulled his cap off and smoothed his hair back. “You’re awfully dirty,” she said.

  “Not many places to take a bath out on the lines,” he defended himself. “Tell me more about Pa.”

  “I’ll tell you just a little, and then we’re going to get you fed and cleaned up.”

  Jeff, in all truthfulness, did not feel like arguing. He sat there, quietly listening to Leah tell how E
ileen and Tom had practically kidnapped his father from the hospital.

  “You would have been proud of her, Jeff, from what Tom said.”

  “The orderly remembered her too. Said she was like a redheaded drill sergeant. Really told the doctor off.”

  “She’s a wonderful nurse. I would have been scared to death if she hadn’t been here. She’s taking such good care of your father—hardly ever leaves his side.”

  Shortly after that, Jeff dropped off to sleep. When he awoke, there was a wonderful smell of food, and he opened his eyes.

  Eileen stood before him with a large, steaming bowl. “Now, can you feed yourself?”

  “Why, of course I can, Mrs. Fremont!” He proved it by sitting up and eating the entire bowl of chicken broth with the large spoon she gave him.

  Both women watched him, giving him pieces of cornbread from time to time.

  When he was finished, he said, “That was the best thing I’ve had to eat in a month—since we left here! Can I see Pa now?”

  “No, we’re going to get you cleaned up.”

  “I can clean myself up!” Jeff protested. He had no choice over the matter, however, for soon he was stripped to the waist and being bathed gently but firmly by both women. And then the dressing on his arm was changed.

  “You can have one of Tom’s shirts. It’ll be a little bit large,” Leah said. She helped Jeff into it and put the sling back on. “Now, I think he can see his father. Don’t you think so, Eileen?”

  “Come along. We’ll see if he’s awake.”

  Jeff got up carefully, and when Leah took his arm, he protested again. “You don’t have to help me!”

  “Hush, Jeff! I don’t want to hear anything else out of you. I’ve been so worried about you, and now I’ve got a chance to take care of you, so you might as well be quiet!”

  Actually Jeff liked the attention, but he muttered, “Makes a fella feel like a baby!”

  The trio moved down the hall and through a doorway, and Jeff saw his father lying flat on the bed. His face was pale, but his eyes were open. “Jeff!” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Jeff, with Leah’s help, moved over beside the bed where a chair was shoved under him. “Sure, I’m all right, Pa. Got a little nick. Nothin’ serious. How are you?”