“I figured as much. Where to?” Dr. Morgan said, now visibly irritated, then added, “You do realize the lad and I have been working nearly two days straight without rest.”
“I could send a dispatch to the enemy, asking them to refrain from any further hostilities until you’ve had your beauty sleep. How’d that be?” Gen. Negley asked, deep sarcasm in his voice.
Using his index finger, he pretended to write on the palm of his hand.
“Let me think. Oh yes, I know exactly what I shall write: Dear General Stonewall Jackson. As you have delivered unto us a terrible thrashing at Cedar Mountain, my surgeons had to work extra hard and are now a bit sleepy. If it would not be too inconvenient, I would be indebted to you if you could see fit to hold your aggressions until further notice.”
Gen. Negley paused for a moment then continued with an afterthought:
“And, oh yes, please do not move your troops with the intent to gain advantage while my boys are sleeping. It would be most unfair, as well as creating undue noise that would disturb their sleep. Yours very truly, General James Negley.”
Turning to Dr. Morgan, Gen. Negley finished his joke, “I’ll get this off right quick. You just concentrate on your rest.”
“Why thank you, Jim, for that thoughtful consideration. And one more thing. Do you think you could have fresh cut flowers laid at our feet while we sleep?” Dr. Morgan asked in a delicate voice.
"Daisies or lilacs? I'm especially fond of lilacs,” Gen. Negley shot back instantly. “Right then: I’m moving the troops in the morning. I don’t expect we’ll be seeing any action for a little while - catch up when you're fit.”
Having been granted to liberty of rest, the two old friends nodded to each other in acknowledgment and respect, then sat back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire in silence.
Inhaling the general's aroma from his cigar, Dr. Morgan reached into his coat and pulled out a cigar of his own. Bringing it to his nose, he rolled it slightly and breathed in the rich scent of unlit tobacco. Pulling a twig from the fire, he sat back and lit his cigar, both men now sharing in a common interest.
“So, Dr. Warner. I must commend you on the bravery and good sense you displayed at the skirmish line,” Gen. Negley said to David. “Good to know I have capable officers that can lead.”
“Thank you, sir,” David replied, a bit embarrassed by the compliment.
Looking across the fire, he saw Dr. Morgan beaming like a proud father.
Looking back at David, he continued, “I hear you were wounded. I presume it was nothing substantial?” Gen. Negley asked.
“No, sir. It was just a little scratch on my neck. I was pretty lucky,” David replied, as he pulled his collar down a bit to show the general.
Gen. Negley leaned forward and gave the wound a quick glance, nodded and returned to his cigar. A moment later, he announced, “It wasn't your time.”
Silence came over the campsite as they all contemplated the general's statement.
Finally, David's curiosity forced his next question of the general. “Sir, I'm assuming you are referring to the philosophy that everyone has a predetermined point in their life that dictates when they will die. Could you expound upon this topic a bit? I'm curious to hear your point of view.”
“Certainly. I believe, as many officers do, that there is a predetermined time when we are supposed to die. Whether it's God's plan, fate, or some other force, I cannot say: but what I can tell you is that I've been witness to countless miracles where a soldier is fired upon from impossible numbers and walks away unscathed. Coincidence? I do not believe so. I've witnessed artillery explode right at the feet of soldiers, killing all but one, and he too walks away unscathed. I myself have ridden through countless hails of bullets, watching men die all around, except for me."
Gen. Negley took a long draw on his cigar and exhaled. Rolling it between his fingers, he continued, "Son, I am a man of logic, not easily swayed by the willy-nilly or some fanciful delusion conjured up to sate the fears of the weak or the ignorant. No, sir. Until it is your time, you may venture into the valley of the shadow of death and dance a jig with Satan himself. Conversely. though, when it is your time," Gen. Negley leaned toward David for effect, "not even the hand of God can save you."
David thought about the general's statement for a moment, then replied, "Sir, your analysis of death is interesting. I'd like to believe it. It would sure lessen my worries about dying out there on the battlefield, but it does have one flaw. and that is..."
"Suicide?" Gen. Negley cut in, second guessing David’s question.
"Yeah. What about the man hell bent on killing himself? Is that also factored into his destiny?" David asked, trying not to sound insubordinate.
"Certainly not. Suicide is not an act of God, nor the result of fate. It is a deliberate tampering of the natural order of things. In essence, it is vandalism. I suspect that a suicide, in the hereafter, must atone for this act of vandalism in some way that eventually restores that natural order," Gen. Negley said.
"How so?" David inquired.
"Only God himself knows that answer, but personally, I believe a man who takes his own life would have to come back in his next life and repair the mistakes that led up to that suicide. In other words, the suicide didn't solve the problem: he only prolonged it," Gen. Negley finished.
“So what you are saying is that a person is reincarnated and must resolve their problems in their new life before they can move on? I believe this has roots in the Buddhist and Hindu spiritual beliefs,” David surmised.
“I don’t know the particulars of any of those religions, but basically your summation defines my belief,” Gen. Negley replied.
David nodded in understanding. The beliefs of the general were not of David’s, and he felt that friendly silence was the best way to politely redirect the topic.
"Jim, you realize you still haven't told us where we're heading?" Dr. Morgan said, using the silence to change the subject to a topic more pressing.
Gen. Negley glanced over at his old friend and replied, "Ever hear of Sharpsburg, Maryland?"
"I've heard of it. What's it near?" Dr. Morgan asked, almost with indifference.
"A long, winding creek named Antietam," Gen. Negley replied.
"ANTIETAM?" David asked, visibly shaken by this new revelation.
“You know the place, doctor?” Gen. Negley asked, surprised by David’s reaction.
“I’ve heard of it,” David responded, now trying to cover his reaction with nonchalance.
“By your reaction, I’d say you’ve more than just heard of it. What do you know about Sharpsburg?” Gen. Negley pressed.
David looked over at Dr. Morgan, then back to Gen. Negley. He searched his mind for an answer that didn’t include knowledge of the future. With seconds ticking by and the pressure mounting, he blurted out the first thing he could think of.
“I overheard a wounded soldier speak of it,” David blurted out, feeling like a kid lying to the teacher. He added more, trying to add credibility to the lie: “He was in a state of delirium, repeating gibberish over and over. I guess he must have come from that region. Maybe he just wanted to go home.”
Gen. Negley fell deep in thought for a brief moment, his face overcome by sadness. He cleared his throat and uttered softly, “Poor lad… poor lad.”
David felt shame and guilt at lying to the general, but knew the consequences of truth. Quiet fell over the campsite once more, until a large ember popped, startling all. Gen. Negley took one final draw on his cigar and tossed it into the fire. He then stood and stretched a bit.
“Well, gents, I believe it’s time for me to retire for the evening. No need to get up,” Gen. Negley said. “I suppose I won’t be seeing you two on the march before some time. Just be careful. We don’t want you falling into the wrong hands and spending the rest of the war patching up Rebs.” He paused a moment, then continued. “Oh, and Jeb… thanks for that cigar. I’ll requisition some replacements.”
&
nbsp; “Quite right, Jim, quite right,” Dr. Morgan replied.
Gen. Negley nodded his hat to David, turned and mounted his horse. “Get some rest. I have a feeling you’ll be needing it.” He said.
As he galloped off, the distinct sound of the hooves faded into the night. David looked across the fire at Dr. Morgan, who was now staring at him with intense concern.
“Son, tell me about Antietam,” the wise old doctor asked.
“Like the general said: ‘get some rest. You’ll need it’,” David replied, as worry stretched across his face.
“That bad?" Dr. Morgan pressed.
"We're going to need more doctors. We're going to need a LOT more doctors,” David replied.
September 17th, 1862
David put another log on the fire then poked the embers beneath. In the early morning darkness, sparks and smoke rose quickly into the cool air and disappeared above. David reached into the large tub of water that sat precariously atop the raging fire and quickly dipped his index finger, testing the temperature of the water. With a muted yelp, he shook his reddened digit in the air in a feeble attempt to relieve the pain from his temporary scald.
Looking toward the east, David could just make out the distinctive tops of the tree line that were silhouetted by the aurora of early dawn. Turning to the west, the windows of the commandeered farmhouse and barns were dimly lit, and he could detect the frantic activity inside as the inhabitants hurried past the oil lamps, casting shadows onto the windows and beyond.
David pulled a shiny silver pocket watch from his coat and noted the time: 5:25 am. He then began to twist the dial at the top of the watch, rewinding the time piece, repeating the morning ritual slightly earlier than he had done over the previous two months. The watch had belonged to the Lieutenant who ‘owned’ the suit prior to David, and carried an inscription on the back: ‘S.J.W. – May 25, 1860’. David rubbed his thumb over the date and tried to imagine the man that had paid the ultimate price for his country. He then deposited the watch back into his coat pocket and headed toward the front porch of the farmhouse. As David stepped through the front door, he heard the unmistakable sound of distant artillery. The battle of Antietam had now begun.
The Battle of Antietam:
Sharpsburg, Maryland, September 17, 1862, Union Maj. Gen. George McClellan, commanding nearly ninety thousand troops, confronted Confederate General Robert E. Lee, who commanded fifty-five thousand troops.
The battlegrounds were rectangular in shape, the width measuring one mile east to west at its furthest points of activity, and spanning four miles in length, running north to south. At the far northern edge of the battlefield was Miller’s cornfield. Generally square in shape, it was protected by forest on three sides: north, east and west, each aptly named: the North Woods, the East Woods and the West Woods.
Further south, near the middle of the battlefield on the western side, sat Dunker Church. Its elevated plateau held a commanding view from the north to south.
South of Dunker Church, Bloody Lane ran west to east in a sunken trench carved out from years of wagon passage.
On the southern edge of the battleground, Burnside Bridge spanned Antietam Creek, a distance of sixty to one hundred feet in width and nearly waist deep in some areas.
Antietam Creek ran the entire length of the battlefield on the eastern side, whereas the western side held rocky ledges, limestone outcroppings and hastily assembled breastworks.
The battle consisted of three campaigns: the Morning Campaign promptly at 5:30am, taking place in Miller's cornfield on the northern edge, the Midday Campaign, fought around the Dunker Church and across Bloody Lane and through the center of the battlefield, and the Afternoon Campaign, surrounding Burnside Bridge on the southern edge.
---- ----- ----- -----
At dawn on September 17, Union Maj. General Joseph Hooker mounted a powerful assault on Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s left flank that began the battle. Throughout the early morning, repeated Union attacks, and equally vicious Confederate counterattacks, swept back and forth across Miller’s cornfield in the north. The savagery of the conflict left the cornfield shorn to close to the ground within minutes.
As the battle’s movement advanced south, Confederate General Stonewall Jackson’s forces near the Dunker Church were able to hold their ground early in the battle, despite the greater Union numerical advantage.
Progressing further into the battle, Union Gen. John Sedgwick attacked Confederate troops in the West Woods. The Confederates launched a spirited counterattack on both flanks of Gen. Sedgwick's men, driving back the Union forces and inflicting appalling casualties.
By mid-morning, towards the center of the battlefield, Union assaults against the Sunken Road, later referred to as ‘Bloody Lane’, pierced the Confederate center after a horrific struggle for this key defensive position. Unfortunately for the Union army, this pivotal advantage in the center of the battlefield was not followed up with further advances, and was eventually fought to a draw in the afternoon.
Later in the day, at the southern end of the battlefield, Maj. General Ambrose Burnside pushed across a bullet-strewn stone bridge over Antietam Creek and, with great difficulty, managed to drive back the Confederate forces. At a crucial moment, Confederate General A.P. Hill arrived on the battlefield and counterattacked, driving back Burnside to his original point of entry into the battle.
During the night, both armies consolidated their lines. In spite of crippling casualties, Lee continued to skirmish with McClellan throughout the 18th, while removing his wounded south of the river. McClellan did not renew the assaults. After dark, Lee ordered his battered Confederate army to withdraw across the Potomac into the Shenandoah Valley.
More men were killed or wounded at Antietam on September 17, 1862, than on any other single day of the Civil War. Federal losses were 12,410; Confederate losses 10,700. Despite being outnumbered two-to-one, Lee committed his entire force at the Battle of Antietam, while McClellan sent in less than three-quarters of his Federal forces. McClellan’s piecemeal approach to the battle failed to fully leverage his superior numbers, and allowed Lee to shift forces from threat to threat, fighting the battle to a draw.
---- ---- ---- ----
David winced as he looked down at his blood-soaked hands. After hours spent in blood, David's hands had shriveled up like old prunes, becoming deep with wrinkles that were now hyper-sensitive to the slightest touch. As he reached for his scalpel, he noticed his hands shaking. David glanced at a clock on the fireplace mantel: the black painted hands read 12:58 against the white face. David's mind drifted a bit, then he pulled it back and quickly calculated that he'd been operating non-stop for thirty hours without sleep. He felt exhaustion on a level that he had never felt before. His body and mind seemed to be running in slow motion. David knew the signs of overload, but had ignored them hours ago. Now his body was screaming for rest. Again, he looked at the clock. The brass pendulum drummed its steady beat and held David's attention momentarily.
The last rifle shot had sounded nearly twenty hours ago, signaling the end of the battle, yet David could still hear the dull echoing of rifle and artillery fire ringing in his ears. Staring through the clock now, his mind drifted off. He began to see pleasant images of his childhood, images of friends and children at play. As the images came to life, they brought with them a time of peace and contentment. David watched in fascination, the images of himself and his friends swinging in his old school yard. He could see the smiles and the laughter that characterized the carefree mind of young boys of ten. As his mind drifted deeper, the echoing of gunfire was replaced by the sound of the children's voices discussing outrageous and humorous topics; topics that included space travel to distant planets, feats of superhuman strength, their fathers, and their dislike of the opposite sex. David smiled slightly as he fell into a euphoric state, his eyes still staring through the brass pendulum. Suddenly, he heard the schoolyard bell sound, and watched as each child pumped their legs o
ne last time, then jumped from the swing, landing in the soft sand in front of them. David's smile continued as he watched the children race across the playground, the steady ’clang‘ of the bell beckoning them to come in.
The bell rang loud and clear, as if he were there on the playground. With each ‘clang’, the sound grew louder and louder, almost at a painful pitch, and David began to feel agitated. The sound was becoming deafening to him, ringing in his ears. Off in the distance, David saw a man standing at the edge of the school, trying to shout over the sound of the bell. He strained to hear the man, but could not make out what he was saying.
Suddenly, in an instant, the bell stopped. “David,” the man shouted from the edge of the school. David could hear the man clearly now. Again, the man shouted out his name: “David!” David's mind fought to make sense of this strange event. The man in his daydream was calling his name. David tried to answer, but could not move his lips, nor utter a simple sound.
Tear In Time Page 19