Spake as a Dragon
By Larry Hunt
Copyright 2014 Larry Hunt
Cover by Laura Shinn
ISBN: 9781310730276
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Spake as a Dragon is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. In some instances actual facts and names are interspersed within the fictional account. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Further note: this IS a work of fiction; it is not intended for use by serious researchers. The author has taken liberty with names – leaving some as history has named, changing others, altered places, events and sequences of event. In short, the author made the historical events fit the fictional storyline.
Chapter One
The First Day
Morning came early this summer day in July 1863; the sun appeared first as yellow, then bright orange, now it is a bright fiery ball in the eastern sky. The cool air of the night is beginning to be replaced by the hot, dry air of this tranquil mid-summer morning. High, white cumulus clouds float gently across the Azure blue sky.
The line of gray-clad, rag-tag assortment of uniformed, Southern soldiers trudge along, mostly barefoot, as quietly as possible through the sparse hardwood trees of southeast Pennsylvania. Southern cavalrymen mounted on tired, war-weary horses lumbers in front of the haggard Confederate infantry.
Sergeant Robert Steven Scarburg of E Company, 48th Alabama Infantry, is part of the advancing rebel army this beautiful morning. As he walks along, he thinks of home, and especially his beautiful wife Malinda left with his other children on their farm in Alabama.
Suddenly his reverie is broken. Luke, marching on his right turns his head and asks, “Father, do you believe a battle is near?”
“Yes son, I think before the sun has set today we will have ‘seen the elephant.’”
“Are you afraid Father?” Matthew asks from the opposite side, “about the upcoming battle... I mean when we ‘see the elephant?’”
Robert is scared, not for his life alone, for he is not new to battle. He had, many years earlier, been a participant to the blood, guts and other ugliness of the unbearable horror of man’s inhumanity to each other known simply as – War! He now fears for his two eldest sons, Luke and Matthew, both of who are with him in this same confederate infantry company. All three joined up in the spring of 1862 in Guntersville, a small Tennessee River town in northern Alabama. Their enlistment was a little over a year ago.
Malinda pleaded with them, she even begged them not to enlist, but Matthew was dead set on enlisting and had convinced Luke to go along too, Robert would not let his sons venture into the War of Southern Independence alone. As an old ex-soldier himself he believed he could best oversee his son’s lives as soldiers, and he promised Malinda he would keep their boys safe.
INDIAN WARS
Many years before enlisting to fight for the Confederacy, Robert Scarburg had enlisted in the army once before. He had joined Captain Long’s Company, 5th Battalion, 1st Brigade of the South Carolina Mounted Volunteers in the fall of 1837. At 23 years old he had ridden out of the Carolinas along with other young, wet-behind-the-ear, farmers. They had ‘jined up’ with General Andrew Jackson to go south and fight the Seminole Indians in what became known as the Great Seminole Indian War.
The Indian War began with young, Southern boys; Southern boys full of spit and vinegar thinking they could ‘whoop’ those ‘Injuns’ in less than a month. They were eager to fight. They believed they would put them redskins in their proper place, they ‘wuz’ Americans fighin’ heathens. At nineteen, immortality shielded young men like a suit of armor. They thought the specter of death would elude them. However, this day, twenty-six years later, Sergeant Scarburg is not thinking about those illustrious days of many years ago, his only thought today is to make sure he did not break his promise to Malinda. His two sons must survive ‘seeing the elephant.’
Now at age forty-nine Sergeant Scarburg, the old man of this Rebel infantry company is embroiled in yet another clash of arms. It too began with the thought that these Southern boys could ‘whoop’ those invading damn Yankees. This war is different, they are not fighting Indians, in some cases it is a family against family, but the boastings of the youth are still the same. They believe they could put the Yankees on the run in less than a month. In fact, they believed one Southern boy was equal to ten of those sorry Yanks. Some Southern boys were even afraid the war would end before they had a chance to get into a fight and kill them a Yankee or two.
These young men walking through the woods that day are no longer boys with the idle thoughts of their youth. They have grown up fast. These were men, regardless of their age, men fighting for the Confederate States of America.
Sergeant Scarburg turns to answer Matthew’s question, “Yes, I am fearful my son,” he says looking at Matt, “but we should not be afraid of dying, death will catch up to us all eventually, today lets hope that if death’s scythe seeks us out its blow will be quick and merciful. Fear not boys, we have on the cloak of invincibility, nothing is going to harm us. Let us just do our duty.”
GENERAL THOMAS JONATHAN ‘STONEWALL’ JACKSON
This is the first actual fight Matthew has participated in. Upon enlisting he had been assigned to the staff of General “Stonewall” Jackson. General Jackson had made a special request to have Robert appointed as his aid, but Robert tactfully declined his request stating his promise to Malinda to take care of their sons. Robert knew a staff position with General Jackson would be safer than the toils and hardships of the common foot soldier; therefore, Robert recommended his younger son Matthew to serve in his stead.
Robert realized Matthew was no fighter; he was the scholar of the family. When not at work on the farm, Matt generally could be found with his face buried in some book. Luke, on the other hand was usually in the woods, the sights of his old musket marking the spot on the whitetails body where the bullet would hit. Luke seldom ventured away from the house on one of his deer-hunting trips that he did not return with fresh meat. Robert’s two boys could not have been so different, Luke the rough outdoorsman and Matthew the soft-spoken bookworm. Luke is quick to anger and just as quick to fight, Matt is soft-spoken and more adept at talking himself out of a tenuous situation. Matthew was at the South Carolina College when the Confederate government sent out a call for 18,000 volunteers. The entire student body of the College voted to leave school to enlist. Matthew returned to Alabama and was determined to honor his commitment to his classmates.
Luke takes after his grandfather; tall and rugged with dark brown hair down to his shoulders and a haphazard grown of tangled beard at least two to three inches in length, which gives him the coarse look of a rough western mountain man. He would be more at home in a bearskin coat than a $30 dollar suit from Atlanta. Matt’s appearance, on the other hand, must have come from the other side of the family. He is of medium height, slightly on the robust side, hated beards and could not tolerate mustaches. His blond hair was probably the reason, it was thin and fine, as blond hair tends to be. Such hair, as everyone knows, does not make for a generous beard.
It was no mere coincidence that General Jackson requested Robert for assignment to his staff. As
soon as the General was informed of Robert’s enlistment Jackson put the wheels of the Confederate war machine into motion to have Robert on his staff. General Jackson and Robert Scarburg were first cousins!
As a young boy Thomas Jackson’s, or TJ as he was called back then, after losing both of his parents was sent to Scarburg Mill to live with his uncle Thomas Scarburg. Thomas was Robert’s father. TJ’s mother was Thomas and Robert’s sister.
Although TJ was a few years younger than Robert, they grew up together playing in and around the Mill on Mink Creek. TJ was forever playing on the stonewall dam built across the creek to catch the water for the enormous water wheel. His uncle Thomas was constantly admonishing young TJ to stay off the stonewall dam warning, “I believe you like that stonewall dam more than life itself Thomas Jackson! Someday “Stonewall” Jackson you are going to find yourself swept up into the blades of that water wheel!” From that day forward they abandoned the nickname “TJ”; he was now “Stonewall.”
A couple of months before today’s approaching battle Stonewall had been killed at the Battle of Chancellorsville; Matthew requested re-assignment to a line company, preferably E Company of the 48th Alabama.
His request was granted. Now he was about to participate in his first battle or ‘see the elephant’ for the first time, alongside his father Robert and brother Luke.
THE CORNFIELD
Another smell, a pleasant aroma, the scent of ripened corn join the smell of sweat from the horses, un-bathed men, and manure. This tantalizing smell reaches the noses of the hungry Confederate soldiers as they approach the edge of the trees. Just beyond the oak, elm and hickory they find a sun-dried field covered in tall stalks of Yankee corn.
The soft, sweet, roasting ears of spring have already changed into the ears of hard, dry corn of summer. Corn the farmer, whose field is on the outskirts of this small Pennsylvania village, will use to feed his livestock and family during the coming winter. Some of the corn will be ground at the local gristmill into cornmeal. However, now many of the ears are being broken from their stalks, shucked, and eaten hurriedly by the famished Confederates including Sergeant Scarburg, Luke and Matthew.
This Regiment of the Army of Northern Virginia, under the command of General Robert E. Lee, is not expecting any resistance; they are, after all, only looking for shoes. They have heard shoes can be obtained at this small crossroads place whose name hardly anyone knows. Although few know the town’s name, the battle that will take place here over the next three days will forever burn upon the pages of history. This action at the junction of five roads will become the high water mark of the Confederate States of America. It is arguably an avoidable mistake from which the South will never fully recover.
The date, as recorded in General Lee’s Daily Log is Wednesday, the First of July in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty Three.
Despite orders to the contrary by General Lee, Maj. Gen. Henry Heth, the commander of the Confederates Third Corps, orders his troops to attack the Union forces defending the northern side of town. The Union forces open fire – the bullets whizz over Robert and his two boys head and plow through the dried stalks of corn.
Sergeant Scarburg stops, shoulders his musket, and despite being unable to see the enemy fires forward into the forest of cornstalks. Matthew and Luke, following their father’s lead, do the same. Occasionally they hear screams of agony as a bullet finds its mark in someone’s body – is it the enemy? Or have they fired into their own troops? No one will ever know? Most never see the target of their blind shooting. By the time, the rebels emerge from the cornfield the Union troops have retreated back into town. The Confederates pursue and continue firing at anything that moves. Street to street fighting pushes the Yankees south of town where they establish defensive positions on a piece of ground known locally as Cemetery Ridge. Here the Union soldiers, under the command of General George Meade, make their stand.
Realizing the potential strength of the Yankee defensive position, General Lee orders Lt. General Richard Ewell to attack and seize the hill ‘if practicable’ before the entire Union army can concentrate their forces there. New to command Ewell hesitates, he thinks it not ‘practicable.’
Sergeant Scarburg’s E Company, along with most of the First Corps has only briefly been engaged in the first day’s fight. Most of that first day is spent making a grueling forced march south with the intent of attacking General Meade’s left flank. Company E’s position in the line of attack is between two slight hills named Little and Big Round Top.
Chapter Two
THE SECOND DAY
During the first-day skirmishes, Sergeant Scarburg and his men did not see much of the actual fighting; however, they did see the horses, lathered up with sweat, galloping by their marching columns, pulling the caissons and cannons creating clouds and clouds of choking dust. They could hear the sounds of the fighting, the rebel yells, the cannons firing, and the officers issuing orders, but most of the battle is out of their view. Most of the day has been spent marching to get into position for their actual fight. They know they are about to become a part of this blood bath.
The second day of the fight begins early in the morning. A slight haze of ground fog covers the ground as Company ‘E’ advances toward the enemy through an area later to become known as the Devils Den. The entire area between the Union army and the Confederates is a wide stretch of ground strewn with boulders the size of small wagons, some even bigger. Interspersed between the boulders is waist high wild grass that offers no protection what so ever. The Southerners will have to crawl and pull themselves over and around these natural rock obstacles constantly exposing their bodies to the deadly rain of lead from the Yankee mini-balls. Their objective is a small hill, named, appropriately Little Round Top.
Up and down the long Confederate line, officers issue the order, “Column Forward, Guide Center,” drummers beat “Advance.” Buglers can be heard repeating the “Advance” call. The Confederate guides un-furl the Stars and Bars flags, which begin fluttering in the gentle summer breeze. The young boys carrying these flags proudly thrust out their breast and begin the advancement toward the enemy. The drummers continue the rhythmic beat on the drum signaling the troops to advance. The remainder of the 12,000 rebel soldiers follows closely on their heels.
Grimy sweat, mixed with dust and dirt, drips from the tip of Sergeant Scarburg’s nose. He swings his musket from his shoulder and begins a shuffling run toward the large rock formations to his front. He along with thousands of other rebel soldiers begins the infamous ‘rebel yell’ - a yell hard to explain, a yell that has to be experienced to be understood. To thousands of Yankee defenders, the yell is blood curdling. Years later this spine-tingling scream will haunt the northern veteran most nights as they try to drift off to sleep.
As the boys in grey run toward the blue-clad Union Army, bullets begin to whiz by their heads. The sulfur smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air. The blue-black smoke is becoming so thick the soldiers of the Federal Army are becoming more and more obscure. A young boy screams as a bullet passes through his body – blood spews wildly as he collapses into a heap upon the ground. Another soldier disappears into a bloody red fog as a cannon ball hits him squarely in the chest. Mercifully the grey clad boy dies instantly; he has no time to even emit a scream. Dismissing these horrors from his mind, Sergeant Scarburg begins to run faster toward the enemy. He has to reach one of those large boulders. All he, and hundreds of other soldiers can think about is the safety of the rocks.
Leaning against the cold, hard stone’s surface, he presses his face against the coolness of the rock, sighs, and inhales a deep breath of smoke-filled air. He pulls his ragged, grey, forage cap from his head and using it as a handkerchief, wipes his face. He can hear the officers imploring the men to advance – leave their place of safety and once again face the onslaught of Yankee bullets. The boys! Where are the boys? He hates himself – for a brief few moments he thinks only of his safety and forg
ets about Luke and Matthew. He tries to look through the smoke for his boys, but can see nothing
Sergeant Scarburg is beginning to muster up the courage to began his assault once more when he hears shouts of the enemy advancing toward his position – all his instincts are telling him to run – no never! This is unthinkable, but who are these, outnumbered, defiant Yankee defenders who dare attack his Confederate comrades rather than turn tail and run?
High upon Little Round Top the Union men of the 20th Maine under the command of Lt. Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, are running out of ammunition. Chamberlain orders his men to fix bayonets and “Charge”, unknowingly down the hill directly into Sergeant Scarburg’s place of safety.
No longer able to ignore the screams and cries Sergeant Scarburg jumps from his hiding spot. He moves around the large rock and is immediately met by a blue-bellied Yankee bearing a long rifle with a shiny, razor sharp, steel bayonet attached to its business end. Sergeant Scarburg did not have time to react; the bayonet is already at his breast. Time seems to stand still; he wants to raise his own weapon, but cannot; the Yankee steel begins to penetrate his tread-bare shirt. He can feel the sharp, cold metal penetrating his skin. Strange, he always had thought it would hurt, but he does not feel any pain.
With a fast thrust and quick withdrawal of the blade it is over – Sergeant Scarburg falls facedown to the ground. ‘Am I dead? Surely I must be,’ he thinks, but he can still hear the musket fire, and the whine of the cannonballs as they fly overhead. He can smell the acrid smell of the gunpowder.
Spake As a Dragon Page 1