“Just a nick,” Winslow shrugged. In the heat of the action, he’d forgotten that he’d been slashed by a knife. He pulled off his shirt, and Porter bound the arm. “How’s Grayson, Doctor?” he asked.
“He’ll be all right, I think. Flesh wound in the leg, and the one in the body bounced off a rib. He said to tell you to come and see him.” The doctor looked out over the dark parapet of the crest. “It’s going to be a near thing, Sergeant. Lucky if any of us get out alive.”
“Yes. Keep your head down, Doctor.”
When Porter left, Winslow finished his trench, then went to the area where the wounded lay. The night was dark, and he didn’t see Grayson at first; then he heard him say, “Over here, Winslow.”
Stumbling over some loose rock, Winslow moved toward the sound and found Grayson with his back against a small sapling.
“Why’d you do it?” Grayson asked.
Winslow’s legs were weak, and he sat down. “You want some water?” he asked, ignoring the question.
“Had some. There isn’t much.” Grayson’s voice was thin and reedy. “Porter said I’d make it, but we’re not out of this thing yet. I may die—or you may.”
“They’ll be here early, I guess.”
“Where’s Custer?”
“I think he’s dead. I think those who were with him are all dead.”
Grayson was silent for a while, then said, “Tell me why you came for me.”
Winslow was so tired he could hardly speak. He looked at the man who had done him so much wrong, and was astounded to realize that none of the hate was left. He had lived with it so long, he felt incomplete in a way.
“I can’t tell you, Spence,” he replied. “But I know I can never hate a man who was with me today in this fight.” He thought about it but could find no logical explanation for his change of heart. Finally he shrugged. “I guess I came for you because I couldn’t stand the thought of carrying that load of hate I’ve had for another thirty or forty years.”
Neither one said anything for a long time. Finally Grayson broke the silence. “I can’t understand it, Tom.”
“Well, I can’t either, Spence.” He got to his feet painfully.
“Good luck in the morning,” Grayson said.
“We’ll make it, both of us,” Winslow replied, then returned to the battle line. He dropped down, expecting to fall asleep at once, but his body ached with fatigue, his mind was dazed and confused, and sleep eluded him. For twenty minutes he lay there thinking of the strangeness of it all—especially his behavior toward Spence Grayson.
All the hate was gone, he knew, and he marveled. He couldn’t see how risking his life for Grayson could purge him of the bitterness that had controlled his life for ten years. He closed his eyes, and as he did, a thought came to him so unexpectedly and so powerfully that he could not sleep. I’ve been afraid to call on God because I knew it was useless. But the hate for Spence is gone—there’s nothing to prevent me from calling on God now.
The idea surprised him, in a way. He thought of his past and his future—both grim and bleak. It wasn’t enough for him to be free of his hatred of Grayson, he realized. I’ve got to have something to tie to!
For a long time he lay there wondering how to come to God. Finally a sense of desperation swept over him, and he whispered, “Oh, God, I need you! There’s nothing I can do to wipe out all the bad years—nothing I can do to make myself better. So I’m doing what my mother asked me to do . . .and what Faith asked me to do. I’m asking you to forgive my sins . . .and to save me from the man I am . . .and I ask it in the name of Jesus!”
When he said this, he slumped down and his muscles relaxed. He kept repeating: “In the name of Jesus . . .in the name of Jesus.” Then he fell fast asleep. There was no great explosion of feeling such as he’d observed in others at camp meetings.
For Tom Winslow, coming to God was like a child, exhausted and worn out, falling into the loving arms of a strong parent. And even as he dropped off he thought with surprise, Why, this is what I’ve been longing for all my life!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
An End—and a Beginning
On the third day of July, the Far West blew its whistle for the landing at Fort Abraham Lincoln and, with its jack staff black-draped and its flag at half-mast, touched shore. A runner went out immediately with the news; and in the middle of the night, officers reluctantly walked toward Officers’ Row to notify the wives of the dead. The wounded were carried to the post infirmary.
Two days earlier Faith Jamison had come in from the mission to buy supplies, but the Owens had persuaded her to stay over for a performance by a group of Shakespearian actors. Laurie had asked Faith to take her, and the two had enjoyed the play. It was nearly ten by the time they returned to Eileen’s, and Faith was invited to stay for the night.
Laurie went to bed at once. Fifteen minutes later the blast of the steamer’s whistle cut through the air. “That’s not the ferry,” Eileen commented. “I wonder if it’s new troops coming in.” Eileen and Faith were drinking hot tea in the kitchen as they discussed Laurie’s progress with her books. Ten minutes later they heard the sound of activity, of horses moving down Officers’ Row, and they hurried out to the porch. Through the dim light Eileen recognized the form of Major Bradford, who was in charge of the fort during Custer’s absence.
“Major, what’s happening?” she called out.
Bradford guided his horse closer and said in a muted voice, “It’s the Far West bringing in the wounded.”
The women stood with bated breath, hardly daring to speak. Faith finally broached the fearful question. “There’s been a battle, Major?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bradford replied, tempering his fidgety horse. “It’s not good news, either. The Seventh took a terrible defeat.” His voice carried the grief he felt. “I must go to Mrs. Custer.”
“Is the general wounded?” Eileen asked in a tight voice.
“He’s dead . . .and so are half his command!”
“No!” Eileen cried in horror, and rushed inside, her face in her hands.
Bradford said to Faith, “She’s thinking of the time her husband was killed.” Then he touched his hat and lifted the reins. “I must carry the news to Mrs. Custer.”
As Major Bradford moved down the line of houses, Faith hurried in to Eileen.
“Oh, Faith!” she cried as she paced the floor. “They’re all killed! Oh, my God—” She began to sway, and Faith caught her and helped her to the couch, where she slumped down and began to sob.
Faith held her, unable to find the right words to say. Finally when the sobs lessened, she asked, “Are you all right, Eileen?”
“All right! How can anybody be all right in this place?” Her eyes were stark with hopelessness. “I can’t go through it again, Faith!”
Faith knew she was thinking of Winslow. “I’ll go to the infirmary. Tom may be there.”
“No, he’s dead! I know he is!”
“You don’t know,” Faith said. “I’ll be back shortly.” She rose and headed for the hospital. Dr. Long was directing his orderlies as they prepared to receive the wounded. Long was a Christian who had often come to the mission to treat the Indians for various ailments. When he saw Faith he said, “What a terrible thing!”
“Have you heard any details, Doctor?”
“Just that the regiment was decimated—nearly four hundred killed, including the general. Many wounded, of course.”
“I’d like to help if I could.”
“We will need all the nursing help we can get, Faith,” Long said, his face showing the compassion he felt. “Let me show you where things are.” He gave her a quick tour of the facility, and soon the first ambulance arrived. The orderlies carried the men in and laid them on the beds, and Dr. Long went to work.
Faith helped the orderlies get the bandages and drugs to the doctor. Dr. Porter arrived with the second group. Soon the two doctors were doing surgery that could not be attempted on the field. Time p
assed swiftly as they worked. The infirmary was receiving more patients than it could hold, so the less serious cases were taken to one of the barracks, temporarily utilized as a hospital.
As Faith passed down the line of bunks with fresh water for the men, she heard her name called. She turned to see Spence Grayson watching her from a lower bunk. “Spence! I didn’t know you were here,” she said, noting the bandages on his chest and leg. She filled the glass on the table beside him and sat down while he gulped the water down. “Tastes good,” he said in a thin, raspy voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever take a drink of water for granted again.”
“Are you badly hurt?”
“No. I was lucky.” He was unshaved and gaunt, his eyes sunk back in his head. But he seemed alert, and when she put her hand on his forehead, there was no sign of fever.
“I’ve prayed for you,” Faith said simply.
He gave her a sober glance, then nodded slowly. “I can believe that. I said I was lucky, but it was more than that, Faith.”
“Do you feel like talking?”
“Sure,” he said, dragging himself to a sitting position. “I’m sick of lying flat on my back.” She helped him get comfortable. Then he continued. “It was bad, Faith. All those men dead!”
“How could it happen?”
He related some of the events, and although she didn’t understand the technical aspects of the battle, she quickly grasped the source of the defeat and said, “Custer didn’t obey his orders, to wait for General Gibbon?”
“That’s right. And that was a mistake—a big one.” He sipped the water, then paused, his brow wrinkling. “He divided the regiment into three parts, and that was another mistake.”
“If you’d waited for Gibbon and if Custer hadn’t split the group, would it have been different?”
“No. I don’t think so. There were just too many Indians.”
Faith sat there, saddened by the catastrophe. Finally she asked, “Where were you when you were wounded, Spence?”
“I was with Reno. When we got swarmed by the Sioux and had to retreat. It was a rout! Lots of men were shot in that action. There was a hill to our right, and we crossed the river and started up the slope. I got hit in the side. The slug knocked me off my horse, and when I got up to try to run, I caught another one in my leg. I began to crawl as fast as I could.”
“How awful!”
“It was pretty bad,” Grayson admitted, reliving the moment. “Men were dropping all around me, and when I looked back and saw a lot of the Sioux coming across the river, I gave up.”
“It must have been frightening!”
Grayson brushed his forehead with a shaky hand. “All my life I’ve heard that when a man comes to die, his whole life flashes before him.” He pursed his lips. “Always believed that was just an old wives’ tale. But I got a taste of it.” His eyes were sober. “There I was, bleeding my life out with a crew of battle-crazed Sioux coming to finish me off—and I thought about the sorry mess I’d made of my life!”
From down the room a scream rent the air, cutting across the hum of conversation; and both of them glanced involuntarily to where Dr. Porter was bending over a young trooper with one leg gone at the knee. Porter called out sharply to an orderly, “Help me hold him down, Johnson!” The patient thrashed out in his delirium. Faith turned away, her eyes filled with pity.
Grayson looked at her, then went on speaking. “You might like to know, Faith, that I thought about God.” His gaunt face was broken into sharp planes from the ordeal. “Haven’t done that in years, but I did then.”
“What did you think, Spence?”
“Why, I wanted to call out to Him for help, but I’ve always despised men who lived like the devil all their lives, then when they came to die, tried to make it up to God.”
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Faith said thoughtfully. “People seek God out of desperation. Some of us get desperate enough in the ordinary times. Sometimes people become hard and shut God out. But if at the time of death a person finally knows that he needs God, I think God wants to listen to him, to help him.”
Spence stared at her. “I’m glad you think that, Faith. I hope you always do.” He hesitated, then said, “One more thing. Like I said, I’d given up. The Sioux were right on top of me, and the closest help was far off, way up on top of that hill. And I knew it would be close to suicide for any of the men to leave that spot and come to help me. But one did.”
“How wonderful, Spence!”
He gave her a wry look. “Miraculous, I’d say—because it was Tom Winslow.” He grinned at her expression, adding, “Yes, I know, Faith—you’re shocked. Well, you can imagine how I felt! I looked up and there, coming right at the Sioux, was Winslow—the one man who hated me more than anybody ever had! He picked me up, put me on his shoulders, and started up the hill. A couple of his men came to help, and then what was left of the Company strafed the Sioux with a steady stream of fire so they wouldn’t get us.”
Grayson paused, his eyes looking troubled as he recalled the rescue. Finally he said, “He dumped me down on the ground when we got to the top, and the doctor took over. The Indians didn’t give up, so Winslow and the survivors fought them off all that day until the next morning.”
“Did you talk to Tom?”
“Yes.” He shifted in the bed, moving his body carefully to avoid the pain. “I can’t figure it out, Faith. We’ve hated each other for years. I’d have let him die in the dirt and laughed at him. I believed he’d do the same for me. Can’t figure it out, not at all.”
His eyes grew heavy, she saw. “You’re tired, Spence. Try to sleep. I’ll come back in the morning.”
She helped him lie down, pulled a blanket up, then put her hand on his cheek. “Thank God you’re safe.”
He smiled. “I guess it was God,” he said in a voice slurred with sleep. “God . . .and Winslow.”
She left the barracks and went back to the house. Eileen was sitting at the table and seemed much calmer. “Come have some tea. I want to hear all about it, Faith,” she said. Eileen listened carefully; then when Faith told her the strange circumstances surrounding Grayson’s rescue, she exclaimed, “That’s unbelievable! Is Tom back yet?”
“No. Spence said General Terry sent him off with the Ree scouts to keep track of the Sioux. Only the wounded returned on the Far West. The rest of the Seventh is on the way back now.”
Eileen got up from the table, walked over to the window and peered outside. “It’s almost dawn,” she said tonelessly, then turned back to Faith. “I’m sorry I behaved so badly, Faith—but it was so much like when they came to tell me that Frank had been killed. That was at night, too. I was in my nightgown, ready to go to bed when Captain Moylan came and knocked on my door.” Her lips grew thin, and a haunted look came into her eyes. “As soon as I heard the knock, I knew he was dead!”
Faith wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but somehow she knew that would not help. She said, “I’m sorry, Eileen. And I know that no matter what people say, or how sorry they are—none of us can know what that is like.”
Surprise touched Eileen’s eyes and she nodded. “I think that’s true, Faith. People have their own little place inside for grief, and somehow nobody can get in there.” She crossed the room and sat down again. “And some people can handle things like this better than others. They have an inner toughness that most of us don’t. You have it, Faith,” she added quietly.
“I . . .don’t think it’s being tough, Eileen,” Faith responded. “I’m no stronger than anyone else. But I’ve discovered that there’s a way to let God carry my burdens. I know it sounds like a religious platitude, but it’s true. I’ve had the props knocked out from under me and wanted to just quit.” She smiled, her lips soft and gentle. “Well, in a way, I did quit. That’s what faith is, I think. You have to give up on what you can do and believe that God will do it for you.”
“You mean—just do nothing?” Eileen asked, a bit perplexed.
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�Yes. I used to take care of my niece quite a bit. When she was learning to walk, she became very independent. We’d go walking and she’d pull her little hand away from mine, wanting to do it all herself. Then she’d fall flat—and the first thing she’d do was to reach up for my hand and begin crying for me.” Faith was thoughtful, and she added, “I think that’s how I learned to know God, Eileen. I’d been in church all my life. And I was very self-sufficient. I guess I had a self-made sort of Christianity. But when I fell flat, I saw there was no way I could go on—so I had to learn to lean on God.”
Eileen shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t understand that, Faith. It sounds too easy.”
“It’s not easy. It’s very hard,” Faith replied. “The hardest thing in the world, I think, is to take your hands off your own life and let God do anything He wants with you.”
They talked for a long time while Faith tried to share what it was to completely trust in Jesus. Finally Eileen said, “I’m glad for you, Faith, but I don’t think I could ever live like that.” She looked out the window as a clear, thin bugle call sounded. “I’ve lived by that bugle. It called my husband to his death!”
“Men who aren’t in the army die, Eileen.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same, Faith.” With a sigh she rose and said, “I’ll go help at the hospital. We can get Delores to take care of Laurie.”
They left Laurie in the care of Sergeant Maxwell’s wife and went to the infirmary. The doctors were glad to see them, and for the next few days, they spent much of their time nursing the men. Some of them were very young and needed much encouragement, which Faith and Eileen were able to give, often sitting at their bedside or writing letters for them.
On Friday afternoon, Major Bradford stopped to speak with Faith. “You and Mrs. Jennings have done a fine job with these men, Miss Jamison. I appreciate it, and the men are very grateful.”
“It was little enough, Major.”
“No,” he replied, “it was not little,” and added, “A courier from General Reno came this morning with a report that the rest of the regiment will be returning soon. “
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