Jackson removed the old forage cap that had been pulled down over his eyes. He had an unusual face, rather youthful, and his voice was pleasant as he replied, “General Able has been telling me about the work you two are doing. I commend you for it.” When the pair responded, Jackson asked about Lowell’s family and was delighted to find out that they were in his command. “A father and two sons—what a testimony for the Southern Confederacy!” he exclaimed. Then he turned to Rooney and thanked her for her efforts. He was about to inquire into her family when the service began, and he said quickly, “You’ll enjoy the service. The Lord is moving mightily among our men.”
The service began when a heavyset young lieutenant began with a prayer, then led a song service that lasted for half an hour. Lowell knew all the songs, having heard them from his childhood, but they were all new to Rooney.
The men sang loudly such songs as “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,”
“Amazing Grace,”
“How Firm a Foundation,” and a host of others. As song after song pealed on the soft April air, Rooney felt very peculiar. The words of the songs moved her, and as she looked around at the joy on the faces of some of the young soldiers—and of the older ones, as well—she wondered, How can they be so happy when they may be dead in a few days?
The last song began, and Stonewall Jackson, who had kept time with his hand, though not singing much, leaned over and whispered, “This is my favorite hymn, Miss Smith!” The words were clear, and Rooney listened hard as the song floated over the assembly:
There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
The words caught at Rooney as no words from a song ever had. She had no understanding of their meaning, but she was filled with grief and fear—and at the same time with a faint conception of joy such as she’d never known. Closing her eyes, she strained to catch each word as the song went on:
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow’r,
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.
E’er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Rooney heard Jackson say fervently, “That’s it! That’s it! Redeeming love!” Hot tears suddenly burned her eyes, and her sight was so blurred she could not see except in wavy images. She had no handkerchief, but a hand touched her shoulder, and Jackson’s voice said, “Here, daughter—use this!”
Blindly Rooney groped for the handkerchief, but no sooner had she wiped her eyes and looked up into Jackson’s eyes than her own filled again.
“Do you know the Lord Jesus, my dear?” Jackson leaned forward to ask. When Rooney shook her head, he asked,” Would you like to know your sins are forgiven?”
Rooney thought of her life, how awful it had been, and whispered, “I–I’m too bad!”
“We are all sinners,” Jackson said. The preacher had mounted the wagon, and Jackson said, “After the sermon I would like to have a talk with you. Perhaps I can help point you to Jesus.”
Rooney never forgot the next hour. The preacher, a tall, gangling man in the uniform of a chaplain, preached on the love of Jesus for sinners, and by the time the sermon was over, Rooney was weeping freely. When the preacher asked for those who needed salvation to come forward so that he could pray with them, Jackson spoke to Rooney quietly. He quoted a few simple verses that seemed to go straight to Rooney’s heart like swords, and then he asked if she would let him pray with her. She had nodded at once, and the general began to pray—not loudly but very quietly.
Lowell was uncomfortably aware of all of this. He looked worried, but Able touched his arm, whispering, “Don’t worry, Rocklin. Stonewall is doing what he loves best.” Lowell nodded and watched as Rooney moved her lips and then lifted her head. He saw that her cheeks were stained with tears, but her eyes were brilliant as stars.
Jackson peered into the young woman’s face, and a smile touched his thin lips. “You’ve been touched by Jesus,” he said. “Never forget this moment, daughter. It’s a holy time.”
Much later Lowell and Rooney arrived at their wagon. The stars were out and the moon was full. Rooney had said nothing all the way back to their wagon, and when they got there, Lowell hesitated, then said, “Well, that was something, Rooney.”
“I’ve never been to church, Lowell, never once in my whole life.”
The announcement shocked Lowell. He had been brought up with church being such a part of his existence he couldn’t imagine life without it. True, it had made no big impact on him, but it was there. He turned to Rooney, saying, “I never knew that.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it, Lowell?” She took a deep breath, expelled it, and then said, “Why didn’t you tell me being a Christian was so good?”
Lowell stared at her, unable to say a word. He had taken his religion for granted, but now he saw such a peace in Rooney that he became uneasy. “I don’t talk much about it,” he mumbled.
Rooney looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Nothing will ever be the same for me, Lowell.” Then she turned and entered the wagon, leaving the young man as disturbed as he’d ever been in his life!
CHAPTER 11
A TIME TO FIGHT
Lowell was chomping at the bit for a chance to see action, dreaming about the moment when he could prove the effectiveness of the balloon. Finally General Able sent word that scouts had reported enemy movements. “Keep that machine of yours ready, Sergeant. I’ll be taking a force out to meet the Yankees. I think it’s some sort of diversionary movement, but it’ll be a good chance to test your balloon out before we get into a really big fight.” Two days later word came to Lowell and Rooney that General Able was pulling out with a rather small force. When Lowell got to the general’s tent, Able said brusquely, “Sergeant Rocklin, stay close to me. Chances are I won’t have time to waste when I need your balloon.”
“Yes, General!”
Lowell and Rooney took their place in the short line of supply wagons, almost suffocating with the fine dust raised by the feet of marching men and plodding mules. They were dead tired when they pulled off the road with the rest of the weary drivers to rest briefly for the night. They cooked a quick meal and afterward wandered to General Able’s headquarters, hoping for news. They didn’t see the general; however, they did speak with one of his aides, who told them, “The enemy was sighted by scouts, Sergeant. We’ll engage them tomorrow.”
“Better get some sleep, Rooney,” Lowell said when they’d returned to their equipment wagon. “I think we’ll be seeing some action tomorrow.”
Rooney sat down by the fire and stared into it silently. Lowell came to sit across from her, saying, “I can never sleep before a battle.” He looked at her curiously, then asked, “Are you afraid?”
Rooney looked up, and the yellow blaze sent a reflection to her eyes. “Why—I don’t think I am.” This seemed to puzzle her, for she poked at the fire with a stick, lost in thought. Finally she said, “I’m not very brave, you know. I’ve been afraid of things all my life. But somehow I’m not afraid of what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Lowell said, nodding. “No sense worrying about what you can’t help.”
But Rooney shook her head. “I don’t understand it, but I know it’s got something to do with what happened at the revival.” She suddenly smiled at him, her face serene and happy in the glow of the fire. “I was always afraid to die. I had bad dreams lots of times. But now if I die, I’ll be in heaven, won’t I, Lowell?”
“I guess so.”
She seemed fas
cinated by the thought—and pleased. She gave the hot glowing coals a poke with her stick, sending tiny yellow sparks flying. “What’s heaven like, Lowell?”
He stared at her blankly, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Never thought about it much.” Her words seemed to disturb him, and he knew that he had never had the sort of experience that Rooney had. Grandmother’s got it—and father. And Dent and Raimey. But I’ve never had any sort of…of feeling like Rooney’s got.
“Good night,” he said and, rising from the ground, went to his blankets and rolled into them under the wagon.
Rooney was surprised at his abrupt manner and disappointed. She wanted to talk, but Lowell was obviously troubled. She rose and got into the wagon. She slipped off her boots and went to sleep fully dressed, but first she prayed for Buck, then for all the Rocklins and the Yancys. She was not used to praying, but somehow she found the words flowing from her lips. And finally after she had asked God to keep all of them safe, she began to thank God. She had so little to thank Him for, but now it was as if a river were loosed inside her, and she whispered her thanks to God and her praises until they seemed to fill her spirit with joy. She fell asleep, her lips uttering praise and thanksgiving—and she felt very close to God!
The noise of cannon was deafening, and Lowell could hardly hear General Able. “Sir—I couldn’t hear you!”
Able lifted his voice. “I said we’ve got to know what sort of force is over that hill. Can you get that thing up in the air and have a look?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I’ll send Major Hankins, my aide, with you. Tell him what you see—and be sure you count the battle flags. That way we’ll know how many regiments we’re facing. Take ten men with you to help.”
Lowell turned, and Able’s aide and the men he had selected followed him. When they reached the balloon, Lowell called, “All right, Rooney. Let’s get going!”
Rooney had everything ready, and soon the balloon was ten feet in the air. As Lowell got into the basket, Rooney leaned forward, her face pale. “Don’t stay up too long,” she said.
Lowell laughed at her, excited by the chance of helping in the battle. “Just don’t let those fellows turn me loose,” he said. “The wind’s blowing toward the Yankee lines, and I don’t want to report on their supply lines! Now let’s get up there.”
The balloon began to rise, and Rooney watched anxiously as the men played out the lines. Higher and higher it rose, and then the aide said, “They’ll spot this thing, those Yankee gunners. Makes a perfect target.”
Lowell watched avidly as the balloon rose above the tops of the trees, and when he saw what seemed to be a sea of blue, he yelled, “Major, I see them!”
“Where are they massed? How many are there?” Major Hankins yelled back. As Lowell called down the positions of the Federal troops, the officer jotted the information down in a brown notebook with a pencil.
“Cavalry over to the west—maybe two troops,” Lowell yelled. “And they’re moving four batteries of guns up over that little ridge. They’ll have the range of our headquarters when they get there!”
“I’ll take all this to the general,” Hankins yelled, his voice almost blotted out by the sound of cannon that seemed to be growing stronger. He turned and left at a run, dodging among the men who were coming up to meet the enemy.
Just as he disappeared, a shell exploded not twenty feet away from where Rooney stood. She was deafened by the explosion and saw men blown into the air. She closed her eyes against the blast, but when she opened them, she saw the lower part of a man’s body up against a tree where it had been blown.
“Lowell! You’ve got to come down!”
“No, I’m all right!” he shouted.
One of the men holding a rope said, “Miss, they’ve got the range. We’d better get out of here.”
Rooney hesitated, then looked up to where the balloon was swaying in the breeze. “Lowell, we’ve got to pull out of here—”
But even as she called out, she saw with horror the gondola take a hit.
“Reel him in!” she cried, and at once the men began hauling the balloon down. But even as it came down, another shell exploded just above the colorful canopy. The silk was rent in a hundred places, and the men found the ropes limp in their hands.
“Get out of the way, lady!” a sergeant cried and came to pull Rooney to one side. She fought him, and then the gondola hit the ground and was covered at once by yards of tattered billowing silk.
“Lowell!” Rooney cried out, and jerking away from the soldier, she leaped to the fallen balloon and began tearing at the silk.
“Let me help you!” The sergeant fell in beside her and, pulling out a knife, slashed at the thin material.
Rooney seized the silk and pulled at it in a frenzy. She tore her fingernails and felt nothing. Then she saw a patch of gray uniform. “He’s here! Help me get him out!”
The two of them pulled the silk away, and Rooney saw that Lowell was crumpled up in the bottom of the basket. His face was turned up, and she saw his eyelids flicker. “He’s alive!” she cried. “Get him out!”
The soldier took a look inside, and his hand suddenly fell on Rooney’s arm. She stared at him, tried to pull free, but he said, “His leg—it’s bad!”
Rooney looked down and saw that Lowell’s right leg was shattered above the knee. Scarlet blood was pumping steadily in a fine mist that had already made a puddle on the floor of the gondola.
“Let me get him!” The soldier reached down and pulled Lowell out of the basket, gripping him under the arms. He laid him down and stared at the leg. Without a word, he whipped off his belt and wrapped it around the wound in the leg. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Got to get him to the doctor, but I can’t let go of this belt.”
Rooney leaped up, ran to the wagon, and got a blanket. When she returned, her face was pale as death, but her voice was strong. “You men, put him on this; then get three on a side. Sergeant, you hold on to that belt while we’re moving him!”
“Do what she says, boys,” the sergeant ordered. The men leaped to it, and almost at once they were hurrying away toward the field hospital. They passed new troops coming in but paid no heed to them, and in ten minutes the sergeant said, “There it is.”
Rooney had been walking beside the sergeant, but now she ran ahead. An officer standing beside an ambulance stared at her, exclaiming, “A woman! What in the name—”
“Doctor, we’ve got a badly wounded man,” Rooney broke in. “Where do you want him?”
The doctor stared at her, then at the soldiers carrying the bloodstained blanket. “On the table—here. Give them a hand, Lester, you and Tyrone!”
Rooney stayed as close to Lowell as she could. His eyes opened, and he muttered, “Rooney. What—”
“Here, get out of here, young woman!” the surgeon snapped. He was glaring at her, and then he looked at the leg. “Got to come off,” he said gruffly.
“No!” Rooney whispered. “Please!”
The doctor stared at her. “This your husband?”
“N–no, sir.”
He gave her a closer inspection and saw the fear in her eyes. In a kindlier voice, he said, “I’m sorry, but the bone is shattered. Actually there is no bone right here.” He indicated the terrible wound above the knee. “It’s the only way to save his life,” he said. Then without more ado, he said, “Tyrone, take this young lady out for a walk.”
“But I want to stay!”
“No, you don’t,” the doctor said firmly. “You can be of help to him afterward—but for now, he needs me.”
Rooney stared at the doctor, swallowed hard, then nodded. She felt the touch of the man called Tyrone, who led her away. She found the sergeant waiting and went to him at once. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she whispered. “You saved his life.”
The sergeant shook his head, saying, “Well, I hope things go good for him—and for you, too, miss.” He turned and called loudly, “All right,
let’s go get into this here fight!”
Rooney said to the man who stood waiting for her, “I’ll go wait over under those trees. Come and get me when it’s over!”
“Yes, ma’am. And don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”
“Yes.”
Rooney moved leadenly across to the grove. When she got there, she found herself praying. She was so stunned by what had happened that she found it almost impossible to think, and her words seemed strange and disjointed. The sun was hot, and the noise of the cannon throbbed, accompanied by thousands of muskets being fired.
Finally a voice said, “He’s fine, miss. You can see him now.”
Rooney whirled and followed the man to where Lowell lay on a cot. He was covered by a blanket, and the surgeon was looking down on him. When Rooney came to stand beside him, he said gently, “I did a good job. He’ll have a good stump, with lots of muscle on it.” He didn’t say anything about the gangrene that killed many men who were wounded, for he was a kindly man.
“Your man?” he asked softly.
Rooney looked down at Lowell’s face, so still and white. “He doesn’t know it yet,” she said, “but he’s going to be.”
The surgeon grinned and patted her shoulder. “You know what I think? I think he’s a very fortunate young man!”
CHAPTER 12
“I’LL NEVER BELIEVE IN ANYTHING!”
After the engagement, the road to Richmond was jammed with wagons loaded with wounded. Men with major wounds were placed on the hard boards without even blankets, and as they were tossed from one side to the other, cries began to be heard: “Put me out—let me die! I can’t stand this!”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 72