The Face of Heaven

by Murray Pura

  Corinth knelt and fired. Then reloaded again. A Confederate soldier seemed to scream directly at him and waved a flag, taunting. Corinth stood up, aimed, and shot the flag staff in two. The Confederate’s mouth opened wide. Then he dropped to his knees and gathered the flag up in his hands, quickly tying it to the longest of the broken pieces of the staff. Scrambling back to his feet, he howled and shook the flag at Corinth a second time. The young man shot the flag off the top of the pole. The soldier dove out of sight.

  “Private King!”

  “Yes, Sergeant Hanson!”

  “I admire your marksmanship. But I need Stonewall’s men out of the fight. Not their flags and banners.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Corinth glanced over at his brother. “I prefer shooting the flags to shooting the men.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish to God we and the Southern boys could settle this some other way.”

  The balls of lead continued to zing past their heads. Nathaniel looked up and down the line at the other men. Several were sprawled in the grass, clutching wounds but still trying to reload their muskets and fire back at the Stonewall Brigade.

  “You men who are wounded, get back down the hill to the field stations!” he called to them. “Go on—you’ll fight another day—get your wounds tended to so’s we don’t lose you!” He saw a figure that was not moving. “Is that Stewart?” But no one replied as muskets were lifted and flames stabbed through the billows of smoke.

  “They’re charging!” Ham was pointing through the haze that reeked of rotten eggs. “They’re coming at us!”

  “Steady!” Nathaniel heard himself shouting. “Reload! Aim low! Turn them back! Fire at will and turn them back!”

  The Stonewall Brigade was scrambling over the fence they had been hiding behind at the beginning of the battle, all of them yelling and screeching and starting to run at the 19th Indiana over the short stretch of grass. But Nathaniel’s platoon never fell back and neither did the rest of the company or regiment. They held firm and fired and Nathaniel experienced a strange mix of emotions that included relief no one in his platoon had turned tail, pride that the regiment was going toe-to-toe with the Stonewall Brigade, fear that something could still go wrong and the army would retreat, as well as a cold sickness that men and boys were falling and dying and he could do nothing to stop the killing—he was part of it now.

  The Stonewall Brigade drew back to the shelter of the fence under heavy fire from the 19th but Nathaniel could see the Rebel officers and sergeants and corporals calling to their men and whipping them up to make another charge. Once more the gray men swarmed over the fence, once more Nathaniel shouted himself hoarse, once more the accuracy and intensity of the Indiana fire made the Rebel troops stop and turn and melt back.

  “Think if this was our farm,” said Corinth. He was on his knees and digging his extra rounds of ammunition out of his pack while the balls threw dirt into the air all around him. “Daddy’d be fit to be tied. Bullet holes in the new siding on the house. The barn looking like a colander. Horses and cows hollering and running off into the countryside never to be seen again.”

  “It could still happen, brother.”

  Corinth shook his head. “The war will never come to Pennsylvania.”

  It was ten minutes after seven and the sun was dropping in the sky, when Davidson rode past and told them the whole brigade was engaged. Gibbon had sent the 6th and 7th Wisconsin in on the right and the 76th New York and 56th Pennsylvania had filled in a gap in the battle line. No Union regiment was yielding an inch.

  “Stonewall’s a good Presbyterian,” Davidson said before he moved off, “but he must be wondering whose side God is on tonight.”

  The sky turned from blue to copper to red. The firing never stopped, guns flickering through the smoke and sunset like lightning flashes in a thundercloud. Men’s muskets were fouled with burnt powder—some soldiers were jamming the ramrods into their barrels and then banging the rods against Brawner’s barn or house or a tree or rock to seat the bullet. Others just picked up Springfields left in the grass by the wounded or dead and used them if their barrels were clear.

  “I’m getting low on ammo, brother,” Corinth said, the sunlight red on his young face.

  Nathaniel grunted. “Get it off the wounded. Get it off the men who have fallen. How much more do you need?”

  “A heap. I don’t plan on going anywhere soon.”

  “There’s a pile of packs right behind you. Dig through them and see what you come up with. What happened to your extra rounds?”

  Corinth smiled in the sunset. “I gave ’em all to Stonewall. Fast as I could.”

  Nathaniel gave a sharp laugh. “I’m sure he’s thanking God you’re here today to lend him a hand.”

  Rebel cannon began blasting at the Indiana regiment but Company B and Company G turned their musket barrels on the artillerymen and silenced the guns. As Stonewall poured more troops into the fight, Colonel Meredith pulled the regiment back to the shelter of the rail fence they had climbed over when they first arrived at the Brawner farmhouse. Seeing an opportunity, the Rebels leaped their own fence a third time with fixed bayonets and charged the Indiana line, screaming, Nathaniel thought, like a spring twister.

  Now Captain Langston pounded up on his black gelding Nighthawk and began to bellow lines from a song called “Hail, Columbia.” Nathaniel recognized the tune, though it was never sung among the Amish for it was a patriotic song of warfare and bloodshed. It was America’s anthem and he listened while the men in his company picked up the melody and shouted out some of the lines.

  Hail, Columbia! happy land!

  Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!

  Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,

  Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,

  And when the storm of war was gone

  Enjoyed the peace your valor won.

  Firm, united, let us be,

  Rallying ’round our Liberty,

  As a band of brothers joined,

  Peace and safety we shall find.

  The anthem Langston had begun in his cavernous baritone broke out into a mix of cries and yells and roars that drowned the howl of the Rebel charge. The company rose and aimed and threw fire again and again into the gray men and brought down their colors. The entire regiment blazed like a bonfire and the attack fell to pieces, Rebel troops running back to the rail fence and waving their flags in an act of defiance. The sky darkened but yellow and orange sparks still burst from men’s guns. No one would stop. Even when Long Sol Meredith went down, his horse hit by a bullet and crushing him in its fall, the Indianans simply loaded more quickly and fought with increased ferocity as his aides hauled the colonel to safety.

  Then it was black. The Stonewall Brigade’s fence line flashed with white light and their muskets boomed. The Indiana fence line erupted in response. Again and again the two lines lit up, refusing to break off the fierce brawl with one another. Three times Lieutenant Davidson came quietly down the line, dismounted, telling his company to retire.

  “You’re the bravest of the brave,” he said to them. “But the regiment has to withdraw. Stonewall keeps feeding fresh units into the battle line. Our scouts tell us his whole army is only a mile away. Twenty thousand men. Come morning they’ll roll over us like the sea. We need to draw back.”

  But no one in his company would listen. Not a soldier in the entire 19th Indiana regiment would listen to his captain or lieutenant. Certainly not Corinth. Nathaniel watched him kneel and fire, kneel and fire, lit up by the flash of his Springfield each time he pulled the trigger, his hat gone and his hair caked black with powder. Nathaniel realized that, after all his platoon had been through, he felt no inclination to yield the Brawner farm they’d fought to hold either. But Gibbon insisted and finally it was up to the corporals and sergeants to get their soldiers to head back to the edge of the forest three hundred yards behind them. A few grumbled and argued but men like Nicolson and King and Hanson pe
rsisted until platoon by platoon, company by company, regiment by regiment, the whole brigade was crouched at the tree line ready for whatever Stonewall’s veterans would throw at them. Minutes went by as they waited for the Rebel yell. But nothing happened. Crickets began to fill the night with their sounds and wounded men could be heard crying and begging for water.

  “Someone…Yank…I don’t care if it’s a Yank…have mercy…just a sip from your canteen…I won’t take much…just a drop…Yank…”

  “Billy? Tommy? Help me out here. Both my legs are shot through. Help me out here. I think I’ve stopped the bleeding.”

  “Water. My Lord God, please bring someone to me with water. Help me. Help me. Water, please, my God, water.”

  Nathaniel sank down in the grass and dropped his head into his hands. His Hardee hat fell off and lay by his knee. He tried to pray and to bring Lyndel’s beauty to mind. But he could not see her.

  Vater unser, der Du bist im Himmel…Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

  Nathaniel prayed rapidly in High German, as if he were at an Amish church meeting. It was all he could think of. The prayer Christ had taught was the only words that came to mind. A hand gripped his shoulder.

  “Corporal. Are you hit?”

  Nathaniel got to his feet. Sergeant Hanson was holding two lanterns in his hand. “I’m all right, Sergeant.”

  “I need volunteers to help collect the wounded. We can’t get to the ones around Brawner’s house, of course—the Rebs have that spot now. But there were plenty that crawled away, I’m thinking.”

  Nathaniel picked up his hat and put it back on his head, then took one of the lanterns. “I’ll do it. Some of the others will help.”

  “Good man. Corporal Nicolson has a crew out looking to the right of our position here.”

  “I’ll search the field in front of us.” He lifted the lantern and looked about him. “Nip? Corinth?”

  “I’ll help.” Ham stepped into the small circle of Nathaniel’s lantern light.

  “Where are Nip and Corinth?”

  “No idea, Corporal. They may have already taken some of the wounded down through the trees to the ambulances.”

  Ahead of them, exactly where the regiment had made its stand by the farm buildings, they could see lights moving from place to place as Stonewall’s men searched for dead and wounded.

  “It looks like fireflies,” said Ham.

  Nathaniel started toward a voice that was moaning for water and trying to speak out the words from a hymn he knew the English liked to sing.

  “Do you have much water in your canteen, Ham?” he asked.

  “The secesh put a shot through it early on. But the boys gave me four or five of theirs.”

  “Anything in them?”

  “They only took a swig or two to rinse the grit out of their mouths. The canteens are pretty full.”

  Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

  Darkness be over me, my rest a stone,

  Yet in my dreams I’d be

  Nearer, my God, to thee

  Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee.

  Nathaniel lowered the lantern to look at the singing man’s face. “Nip!”

  He and Ham immediately dropped to their knees to help him. Nip was cradling a man’s head in his lap.

  “Water?” Nip asked like a child. “May I have some water?”

  “Where are you hit?” Ham unslung one of the canteens. “Sure, I have water for you. Go ahead and drink all you want.”

  “Not for me.” Nip ran his hand over the hair of the head in his lap. “For him. To clean the wound. Wash away the blood.”

  Nathaniel held the lantern closer. “Who’s this?” Then he saw the tight blonde curls stiff with powder and drew in his breath sharply as the light fell on Corinth’s cold and empty face.

  Nathaniel knelt down at his brother’s side and took his hand. The other men were silent. Nip placed a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  Sergeant Hanson broke the silence, “Orders to move out, men. Now!”

  Nathaniel bent down and kissed his brother’s cheek. “I will join you soon, my brother.”

  9

  “There.” Lyndel straightened up from placing the bandage on the young soldier’s arm. “Good as new. You’re one of my success stories, Ben.”

  The soldier sat on the edge of the hospital bed in his nightshirt and smiled quietly under a head of thick black hair she had washed and dried and combed a few minutes before.

  “I expect you’ve made more of a difference than all the doctors and medicines and vittles,” he said. “That’s what I’ve written my mother and Aunt Sarah.”

  Lyndel smoothed back the hair from his forehead. “You remind me of my brother. I haven’t seen him for weeks. He’s with an ambulance unit in Virginia.”

  “I guess you’re some proud of him. The boys think a lot of the ambulance crews. Some are brave enough to haul wounded off the field even while the fighting’s going on.”

  “That’s what happened with you, am I right?”

  “Yes, Miss Lyndel.”

  Lyndel gathered up her washbasin and comb and soap. “I’ll miss you once you’re gone. The doctor says Sunday’s the day.”

  “Father is coming down from Boston to collect me. Will you be working Sunday?” His eyes followed every movement she made.

  “I believe I’ll be here in the afternoon and evening.”

  “I want Father to meet you.”

  She brushed strands of her red hair back out of her eyes and smiled. “Of course, Ben. If I’m not in this building, ask one of the other nurses. They’ll let you know where I’m hiding.”

  The door to the ward flew open. Hiram Wright came rushing along the aisle between the beds as patients lifted their heads. Miss Sharon was right behind him, her face flushed. Lyndel and Ben stared at the grim look in his eyes and at the length of his stride.

  “Gently, Mr. Wright,” Lyndel said softly, going to him and laying a friendly hand on his arm. “The men in this ward need quiet. Not a strong dose of your energy.”

  “But I have news, Miss Keim,” Hiram blurted. “Urgent news. May we step up to the front room?”

  Lyndel nodded and followed him and Miss Sharon as they strode from the ward. In a few moments Hiram was able to begin.

  “There’s been a battle. Another terrible battle at Manassas Junction. And we’ve lost it. Washington’s in a furor.” He took both her hands in his. “Nathaniel’s regiment was engaged.”

  She clenched her hands around his. “When?”

  “It all started Thursday at a farm near Gainesville. But the important battle was Saturday the 30th, yesterday.”

  “What do you…what do you know about Nathaniel?”

  “Nothing. But the fighting the 19th Indiana was involved in was heavy. It was Stonewall Jackson’s troops they were up against. His own brigade. I know Indiana made a stand. But General Pope bungled and his flank was turned. The army had to flee. The 19th and their brigade covered the retreat. The casualties are frightful. They need you.”

  Lyndel’s mind swirled in tight dark circles. “Who needs me?”

  “I’ve spoken with Clara Barton. I know you worked with her here two or three times.”

  “Yes—”

  “Her team is heading to Fairfax Station today with three carloads of medical supplies to treat as many of the wounded as possible. The idea is to save those who would die on the long trip here. Miss Sharon has agreed to Miss Barton’s request.”

  “You and I have talked about it before, Miss Keim,” Miss Sharon said. “Hundreds of lives would be spared if nurses could bandage and give food and drink to the wounded as they’re brought off the battlefield.”

  “Miss Barton is willing for me to join her?”

  “Yes,” Miss Sharon said. “You and your
friend Morganne David. But you must get down to the station immediately. Within the half-hour.”

  Lyndel pulled away from Hiram. “I can be ready in less time than that. I don’t need to go back to the house. But Morganne is sleeping in our room there. She worked all night.”

  “I’ll fetch her. Then come back for you.”

  “How is it that Miss Barton can get us so close to the front lines?”

  “The surgeon general has given her a pass.” Hiram turned to go but paused to glance back at Lyndel. “You understand nurses have never been permitted this close to the battlefield before?”

  “I understand that, yes.”

  “There will be some risk involved. Rebel troops could attack.”

  Lyndel lifted her chin and her eyes turned a deep indigo blue. “I’m going.”

  He nodded. “All right. I’ll be back with Morganne shortly.”

  As always, Miss Sharon’s face was chipped from stone. “Do well. Leave nothing undone. The army will watch how you and the others care for the wounded. Bring credit on our calling.”

  “I will endeavor to make you proud of me.”

  “Never mind pride. Work hard. Save lives. If the Rebels should capture you, ask to treat their wounded.”

  “I’ll do just that, of course,” Lyndel smoothed down her white apron. “I need to gather up my things.”

  Miss Sharon caught her by the arm as she stepped past. “Miss Keim, I would prefer that you return to us.”

  Morganne had rings under her blue eyes and was trying to pin her blond hair up when Hiram brought Sally and Kate to a stop in front of the hospital. Lyndel climbed up beside her and Hiram shook the traces and clicked his tongue. The horses moved out into the muddy street again. Rain was starting to fall so Hiram had the roof of the carriage up.

  “I’m sorry, Davey,” Lyndel said to her friend, using her pet name.