Spring Will Come (45 page)

Moses was called forward to join the medics when night finally fell on the gruesome fields of Antietam.  There were too many wounded to be handled by the normal medical staff.  It would take everyone working together to reach the men still desperately clinging to life. 

              Moses had not seen any of his unit during the long chaotic day of battle.  He had listened, hope soaring - then plunging as cannon boomed and shells screamed across the sky.  Union-charge cheers would fade away to be replaced by the piercing Rebel yell, and then the roll of musketry would float toward him on the breeze.  He had watched as wave after wave of wounded soldiers stumbled into camp, followed by men on stretchers.  They stretched out now like waves upon the sea. 

             
“Let’s go, Moses,” one of the medics ordered.

             
Moses nodded, picked up his end of the stretcher, grabbed a lantern, and made his way out onto the battlefield.  The medics had been working all day, transporting wounded men on the periphery.  Now that the day was over, they were scouring the field itself. 

             
“First, we take the ones with the best chance of making it,” the medic said matter-of-factly. 

             
Moses said nothing, stunned by the grisly sight that opened before his eyes.  The moon breaking through the clouds outlined the already swollen corpses impaled on the fences they had tried to climb to freedom.  Bodies lay across the upper rails, mouths gaping open in death, while piles of their comrades littered the ground around them.   The once lush cornfield had become a cemetery.  Uniforms of blue and gray mingled, thousands of them, arms and legs of the dead tangled together - united in death.  The ground was soaked with blood and gore; the stench of death rose up to blend with the smoke still hovering over the entire surreal scene. 

             
Moses fought to control the nausea rising in him.  He stared in amazement as the medic he was with calmly picked his way through the corpses, his eyes sharp for any sign of life.   All Moses knew about the slight fellow with the thinning hair was his name.  “How do you stand this, Burl?” he finally muttered, his voice thick and heavy.

             
Burl looked up sympathetically.  “You learn how to shut off your feelings, Moses.  It’s the only way you can stand it.  That, and the hope you may find one man whose life you can save.”

             
Moses wasn’t sure he would ever be able to shut off the horror and pity threatening to choke him.  He bit his lip to keep from groaning as he tripped over a soldier clad in gray.  The poor blackened and bloated body rolled slowly until the sightless eyes stared up at him, beseeching him even in death.  Tears sprang into Moses’ eyes as he took deep breaths to maintain control.

             
“Here’s one,” Burl called quietly. 

             
Moses leapt forward and helped him lift the wounded man onto the stretcher.  It helped to have something to do.

             
“Didn’t think you fellas were ever going to get here,” the boy managed to whisper.  “Got any water?”

             
Moses uncapped his canteen and held it to the wounded soldier’s parched lips.  He guzzled it thirstily then fell back onto the stretcher, his red hair tumbling around his shoulders.  “This morning I thought this place kinda reminded me of my family’s farm,” he murmured.  “I don’t think so anymore.”  Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

             
“Best thing for him,” Burl muttered as he turned and began to pick his way back the way they had come. 

             
Moses held his end of the stretcher as evenly as he could, watching carefully but trying to block out the image of the dead men he was being forced to stare at.  It was going to be a long night. 

             
Once they had delivered the hapless soldier to the hospital camp, they turned and retraced their steps. 

             
“Here’s one!”  Moses called out. 

             
Burl appeared at his side then shook his head regretfully.  “That one stays for now,” he said shortly.

             
Moses stared at him in astonishment.  “But why?  He’s still alive!”  The man lying before him was in his early twenties.  Both legs had been blown away below the knees, and he had a gaping hole in his left shoulder, but somehow he had managed to hang onto consciousness. 

             
“Help me,” he gasped. 

             
“We’ll get him later if he’s still alive,” Burl said in a thick voice.  “I’ve got my orders, Moses.  We’re only supposed to bring the ones in who have a good chance of making it.  Then we can go back after the long shots.”  He reached over and touched Moses’ shoulder.  “Those are our orders,” he said firmly. 

             
Moses could only stand and gaze at the man staring up at him with mute appeal. 

             
Burl knelt beside the wounded man.  “Someone will be back,” he said gruffly.  “Hang on!”

             
Hope died in the man’s bleary eyes as he heaved a sigh of defeat and closed his eyes.  He had held on through the long, hellacious day, waiting for help.  Seconds later he gave his final gasp of breath.  Moses lowered his head; the cruelties of war never ceased.

             
Moses stumbled on, continuing his search.  Gone was his desire to be a soldier.  He would do everything he could to help the Union, but the past few hours had sucked all desire for battle out of him.  There was nothing glamorous about war.  It was horrid, grisly, and inhuman.  Confusion spun through his mind.  Was it possible the South was so afraid of his people being free they would send countless young men to die such horrible deaths?  He shuddered to think of the passions, on both sides, that had ignited a war that would result in what he was experiencing tonight.   He had thought the battlefields around Richmond were horrible.  He hoped to never again see anything to compare to Antietam. 

             
Moses lost count of how many trips they made back to the hospital camp.  Burl was right.  His feelings were becoming numb.  There was only so much the human mind and heart could stand before it simply refused to endure any more. 

             
It was long after midnight when they finally reached the far side of the field that edged along the woods.  Union medics merged with Rebel medics, all thought of fighting gone.  They were all on one mission - to save as many as possible.  Moses had stopped more than once to offer water to men waiting for their ride.  It made no difference to him what side they were on.  The uniforms had stopped registering in his mind.  The men were no longer Union or Confederate.  They were simply human beings suffering beyond all endurance. 

             
Moses had become aware of another phenomenon playing itself out on the field.  Rebel soldiers picked their way through the fields.  More often than not, he saw them stoop to offer water to a wounded man.  It made no difference whether they were dressed in blue or gray.  Then they would turn away and move on - intent on their search for booty.  Moses watched as Union soldiers were relieved of their boots, coats, and even their pants.  Rifles were picked up and caressed like new babies.  No one made a move to stop the plundering. 

             
“What’s this?” Burl called.

             
Moses turned to see what he was looking at.  The pile of logs caught his attention just as it had Burl’s.  Curious, he picked his way over.

             
Burl reached it first.  “Poor devil,” he muttered.  “I guess his men were trying to save him.  Maybe he died a little easier at least.”  He shook his head and moved in the direction of another man who was calling him.

             
Moses stood and stared down at the still form.  His heart pounded in his head.  Even in death, he recognized Robert Borden, the man Carrie loved - the son of the man who had killed his daddy.  Turning sharply to hide his tears, he moved toward Burl who was calling him.   “Coming,” he muttered. 

             
It was almost two in the morning before Burl and Moses were replaced with a new crew. 

             
“Get some sleep,” the officer ordered.  “You’ll be back at it in four hours.”

             
“Let’s go, Moses,” Burl said wearily.  “You’ll feel like you haven’t slept at all when they call us.”

             
Moses shook his head.  “You go ahead.  I’m going to have one more cup of coffee.”  He watched Burl trudge away then downed a cup of coffee. Taking a deep breath, he stood and strode back onto the battlefield.  He knew no one would notice him in all the confusion.  Quickly he picked his way around the sea of dead bodies, resolutely ignoring the feeble cries that still filtered through the night.   The skies had once more trapped the moon as a light drizzle began to fall. 

             
Robert lay where Moses had first seen him.  The barrier built around him seemed a mockery.  Holding his lantern high, he inspected it closely.  His expression changed to one of admiration.  Close to a hundred bullets were either embedded in the soft wood or were scattered on the ground around the makeshift shelter.  Robert’s men had at least kept him from being shredded by musketry fire. 

             
Moses had decided what he was going to do.  He could not bear the thought of Robert Borden being tossed into a mass grave of Rebel soldiers.  He knew from past experience that not all the dead, especially now that the Confederates had left the South, would receive a proper burial.  Taking Robert behind the lines of the Rebel camp would at least assure him a burial.  That was the least he could do for Carrie.  Someday he would be able to tell her what had happened to the man she loved. 

             
A quiet whinny caused Moses to look sharply into the woods.  A horse would be very helpful about now.   He jumped up and began to edge toward the shadowy figure in the woods.  The horse stood quietly, allowing him to grab the broken bridle reins and lead him forward.  It wasn’t until he was once again in the circle of lantern light that he got a good look at the towering animal.  “Granite!” he exclaimed.  It just wasn’t possible.  Slowly he walked around the thin, gray thoroughbred.  The horse stood quietly, his ears pricked; then he lowered his nose to sniff at the still form on the ground. 

             
Moses shook his head in disbelief.  It
was
Granite!  There were still horses roaming around, not yet collected after the battle.  Granite had returned to where he had lost his master.  There was no telling how long he had been standing in the trees.  “You’re going to make things a lot easier, big guy,” Moses said softly.  He had been wondering whether he had enough strength to carry Robert behind the lines.  Now all he had to do was drape him across the saddle and let Granite do the work. 

             
Moses knew he had a bigger problem.  He did not relish the idea of losing himself behind Confederate lines again, but it was a risk he had decided he would have to take.  A sudden idea sprang into his mind.  A smile split his face for the first time that day as he patted Granite on his thin neck.  “You might have just saved my hide,” he murmured.  He would tie Robert securely to the saddle, take him just short of the lines, and then let Granite carry him on in.  It would keep Moses out of the Rebel camp and assure Robert would receive a proper burial.  Moses nodded.  It was a good plan.

             
Stooping, Moses gathered Robert carefully in his arms and lifted him.  Suddenly he noticed something.  Robert had not taken on the bloated, blackened condition of the rest of the corpses he had passed that night.  He must not have been dead too long.  Moses grimaced as he felt Robert’s bloodstained clothes soak through his own. 

             
“All right, Granite... stand easy, big guy.  I’ve got a job for you.”  Moses moved next to the horse and shifted Robert’s weight.  He would try to throw him across the saddle as gently as possible, but it wasn’t going to be easy.  He counted quietly to himself and heaved on the count of three, giving a grunt of satisfaction as Robert’s shoulders settled onto the top of the saddle, his arms flung across the sides.   His head flopped awkwardly, banging against the saddle horn.  “Sorry,” Moses grunted. 

             
His right hand held Granite’s bridle as he eased around the front to grab Robert’s arms and pull him the rest of the way over.  Suddenly he froze.  Had there been movement in Robert’s hand as he grabbed it?  Horrified, he stared at the dead man.  Finally he shook his head.  The long night was getting to him.  He was imagining things.  He moved away and searched until he found an abandoned haversack.  Opening it quickly, he discovered two short lengths of rope.  He grabbed them and dashed back to Granite’s side.  This whole escapade was taking too long.  If he wasn’t back at camp when someone came to waken Burl and him, he would be in big trouble.  He understood his position as a black man.  As long as he did whatever they wanted him to - and did it well - he would be okay.  There was no room for acting on his own.  Captain Jones was different; he seemed to trust Moses, but he hadn’t seen the captain all day and had no idea where to find him.   He had to get back.

             
Moses grabbed Robert’s hands and quickly tied them to one of the stirrups.  There was no movement.  He knew he had been imagining things.  Granite continued to stand quietly, seeming to understand what he was doing.  Moses circled him and pulled Robert’s feet together.  Once they were tied to the other stirrup, he would be secure in the saddle.  At least secure enough to be carried back to his camp. 

             
The job finished, Moses moved back to Granite’s head.  “All right, boy.  I’ve got a job for you to do.  But you aren’t doing it for me.  You’re doing it for Carrie.”  Granite looked at him with eyes that said he understood. 

             
“Aahh.”

             
Moses sprang back from Granite and stared at Robert.  Then he looked around frantically, trying to identify where the noise had come from.

             
“Aahh.....”

             
Moses eyes flew open wide with disbelief.  He pressed his ear close to Robert’s head. 

             
“Aahh....”

             
“I’ll be!”  Moses exclaimed.  “You’re alive!” 

             
One of Robert’s hands fluttered the tiniest bit, like a leaf in a spring breeze, then lay still.  Suddenly his mouth opened again.  “Carrie...,” he whispered faintly.  Then his head lolled back against the saddle.  

             
Moses stared at him.  What was he going to do now?  He couldn’t just take Robert to the lines and let Granite go.  He stood still, gazing at Robert’s wounded body and trying to think.  
His father killed your daddy.
  His eyes hardened as the voice in his head reminded him of the truth he was trying to push down.  Why should he do anything for this man?  
Carrie gave you your freedom, and this is the man she loves.
  His face twisted as he faced the other truth.  

             
The night spun around him as confusion battered his soul, the two voices trying to tear him apart.  Finally Moses straightened, his eyes clear.  He would do the right thing.  It had nothing to do with what he owed anyone.   It had everything to do with love.  He loved Carrie Cromwell.   It was as simple as that. 

             
He would take Robert into the Confederate camps himself.  Then he would try to devise a way to get out.  He pushed away the additional problem of his being discovered missing from camp.  He would face that when it came.  The way was clear before him.   Confusion had fled from his heart once he had made his decision.  It would be up to the doctors once he got Robert back. 

             
Moses grabbed Granite’s reins and began to lead him through the woods.  He picked his way carefully, pulling back limbs that would have hit Robert, giving trees a wide berth.  Just then an idea sprang into his mind.  He shook his head and pushed on.  The idea persisted.  Moses heaved a sigh of disgust and stopped.