Spring Will Come (47 page)

             
The woman gasped and spun to face him, her hand going to her throat.  “What do you want?” she called sharply.

             
Hobbs moved forward slowly, hoping to alarm her as little as possible.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

             
“I hardly think you frightened me,” the lady responded crisply.  “After the last few days I’m afraid I’m rather numb to fear.”

             
Hobbs smiled appreciatively, moving closer.  The lady staring at him was perhaps in her mid-forties, rather slender, with steady eyes and a face that spoke of kindness. She reminded him of his mama.  He pushed down the pang of homesickness that shot through him.  “I’m looking for a friend of mine.  He was wounded in the battle.”

             
“What makes you think he’s here?” she snapped suspiciously. 

             
“I’ve looked everywhere else,” Hobbs said with a small shrug.  “This place is my last hope.”

             
The lady lowered her lantern just a tiny bit and held it closer to his face.  “Who is this friend?”

             
“My commander, ma’am.  His name is Lieutenant Borden.”  Hobbs paused.  “He saved my life during the first battle at Manassas.  I got to find him.”

             
“Aren’t you a Confederate soldier?”

             
“Yes, ma’am.”  Hobbs saw no reason to deny it.

             
“In case you’re not aware of it young man, your army is retreating.”

             
“Oh, I’m aware of it all right!”

             
“Yet you’re still here looking for your lieutenant?”

             
Hobbs just nodded. 

             
The lady moved a little closer.  “What’s your name?”

             
“Warren Hobbs, ma’am.  I’m with the 25th Virginians.”

             
The lady smiled suddenly.  “Well, Warren Hobbs.  My name is Kathy Parker.  Come with me.  We’ll see if we can find your lieutenant.”

             
Hobbs sighed with relief.  “Thank you, Mrs. Parker.”

             
Dawn was touching the sky as Hobbs followed Mrs. Parker down yet another row of stricken soldiers.  He had learned not to look too long at the faces, not to allow himself to wonder whose heart would be broken if this man didn’t return.    Frustration ate at him as row after row of men passed before him with no evidence of Lieutenant Borden. 

             
“We only have three more buildings to go,” Mrs. Parker stated. 

             
Hobbs nodded wearily.  “Yes, ma’am.”

             
Suddenly she stopped and turned to him.  “Do you like being a soldier?” she asked suddenly.

             
Hobbs frowned.  “Like being a soldier?” he repeated.  He shook his head.  “Ain’t nothing to like about it.”

             
“Then why be one?”

             
Hobbs stared at her.  “Ain’t got much choice, ma’am.  My country needs me.”

             
“Your country needs you to slaughter other people who live in your country?”  Her tone was disbelieving yet kind.

             
Hobbs struggled to explain what he barely understood himself.  “The South had to form a new country,” he said slowly.  “It seems kinda strange to think of those fellas we fought yesterday being from a foreign country, but they are.”

             
“Nonsense!”  Mrs. Parker said firmly.  “How many slaves do you own, Hobbs?”

             
“Slaves?  I don’t own no slaves, ma’am.  My family don’t have that kind of money.”

             
“Would you like to own slaves?”

             
“Well...”  Hobbs shook his head.  “I don’t reckon so, ma’am.  I kinda like doing my own work myself.”

             
Mrs. Parker studied him then shook her head.  “Then why in the world are you fighting to support slavery?”

             
Hobbs stopped, fatigue making it difficult to think straight.  “I don’t reckon I’m fighting because of slavery, ma’am.  Them Yankees are trying to come down and run our country.”

             
“Those Yankees are trying to keep America one country,” she snapped then shook her head.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I think the Yankees are just as wrong as you are.  Fighting is never the answer,” she said firmly.

             
“You sure about that, ma’am?”  Hobbs remembered the lieutenant telling him the people in this area were German Baptists.

             
“Of course, I am!”

             
“Ain’t you glad you’re living in a free country?  Ain’t you glad you can practice whatever religion you want to?”  He didn’t wait for her answer.  “My great-granddaddy fought in the American Revolution.  I reckon a lot of people had to die so we could be free now.”

             
“War is a horrible thing,” Mrs. Parker insisted. 

             
“Yes ma’am, it’s a horrible thing,” Hobbs agreed.  “I ain’t necessarily saying this war is right.  There’s a lot I don’t understand about it.  I’m just saying that things aren’t as simple as they look sometimes.  It’d be nice if they were - but that just ain’t the way it is.”

             
Mrs. Parker looked at him closely then nodded her head.  “You have a lot of wisdom for one so young,” she muttered.  Holding the lantern high again, she moved forward.  “Let’s keep looking for that lieutenant of yours.” 

             
The sun was exploding over the horizon in a great golden orb when Hobbs noticed movement on a hill overlooking the town.  He had just turned back toward the woods, disappointed, but convinced Lieutenant Borden was not here either.  He stopped, trying to discern what was happening.

             
Mrs. Parker stepped up next to him.  “That’s Douglas Hill.  What’s going on?”

             
Hobbs heart began to beat harder.  “I’d say McClellan ain’t planning on letting General Lee just trot off without some trouble.  Looks like a battery of guns he’s planting up there.”

             
“Guns?”  Mrs. Parker’s voice was startled.  “Surely he won’t shoot those guns where they could hurt the town.”

             
Hobbs shrugged.  “Ain’t no way of knowing what that Yankee is thinking.”  His own fear was growing.  From where he was standing he could see a lot of Confederate soldiers still on this side of the river.   Most of them had crossed over, but there was a large contingent still waiting their turn.   He turned to look at the town.  The small settlement was a virtual hospital.  Every building was being used to minister to wounded soldiers, both Union and Confederate.  Would McClellan really shell the town?

             
As if in answer to his unspoken question, a shell burst forth from one of the guns and exploded into the early morning air with a screaming whistle.  Hobbs watched as it flew over the town and exploded well beyond the last building. 

             
“He’s attacking our town,” Mrs. Parker yelled angrily.

             
Hobbs shook his head.  “I don’t think that’s his intent,” he yelled above the shelling.  “He’s going after the rest of the army.”

             
“Some of those shells might fall short,” Mrs. Parker yelled back, her face red with rage.

             
Hobbs nodded reluctantly.  “Yes, ma’am.  I reckon they could.”   His mind was spinning, trying to figure out how he was going to get away.  The lieutenant wasn’t here.  Now he had to rejoin his unit.   He watched in dismay as the Confederate retreat turned into a stampede. 

             
“Yellow flags!” 

             
Hobbs turned to stare at Mrs. Parker.  “Yellow flags?”

             
She nodded excitedly.  “I’ve heard yellow is the color for hospitals.  Perhaps if we raise the color above our houses...”  She turned and began to run through the rows of soldiers. 

             
“What’s happening,” one of the soldiers yelled, struggling to raise himself into a sitting position. 

             
“McClellan is attacking the town,” another yelled back, his voice laden with fear. 

             
Hobbs moved forward.  “No, he’s not!  He’s shelling over the town after our soldiers.  You’re safe.” 

             
Just then a shrieking shell fell on the main road of the town, exploding and spraying fragments in every direction.  Fear turned into panic.  Everywhere, yellow flags and rags were being hoisted above buildings in a vain effort to gain protection from the shelling.    Nonetheless it continued, an occasional shell falling short and increasing the panic. 

             
Hobbs watched in astonishment as the whole town erupted into wild and uncontrollable panic.  There was not a single building ablaze, but already the town was reacting as if the entire place was engulfed in flames. From his elevated position on a rise above the town, he had an excellent view.   People poured from the buildings, holding whatever household goods they could in their arms, dragging their children behind them.  Within minutes the roads were thronged, many of the streets blocked and impassable.  Shrieks and cries filled the air. 

             
Hobbs had never witnessed such hysteria before.  The stampeding Confederate army seemed somehow calm and orderly compared to the townspeople.  He was not sure what was holding him in place.  Part of him screamed for him to run, but the scene unfolding before his eyes gripped him - held him where he was.  Men were cursing and yelling, women were crying, the children screaming their bewilderment and fear.  Wagons, horses, and ambulances all jammed together into one shouting, writhing mass.  And still the shelling continued, stoking the panic to a feverish pitch. 

             
Like a disrupted ant colony, the people fled in all directions.  Hobbs saw several children disappear under the stampede.  They were all heading for the open country, running to escape McClellan’s guns.   

             
“I’m getting out of here!”

             
Hobbs spun around as he heard one of the wounded yell. 

             
“I’m coming with you!” another yelled.  “I’m not going to lay here and let my own army blow me to bits.  I lived through the battle; I don’t aim to perch here like a sitting duck.”

             
A portly nurse appeared suddenly.  “Stay where you are,” she cried.  “You’re safer here then if you try to run.  You’re too sick.  You’ll never make it.”

             
Exchanging looks of doubt and fear, the men settled back for a moment.  A shell exploded just fifty feet from the end of their line.

             
“They’re going to kill us all!” a frightened man yelled, leaping to his feet.  One arm hung loosely in a sling, his right eye bandaged, a rag wrapped all the way around his head.  He staggered then lurched forward. 

             
Hobbs watched in horror as more and more men struggled to their feet and began to move in an unsteady line. 

             
More women stepped out to stop them.  “It’s suicide,” one yelled. 

             
A tiny lady moved in front of a towering Rebel officer.  “Please, sir.  Don’t you see this is folly?  Stop these men from following this course.”

             
The officer hesitated.  Another shell exploded nearby.  “We’re getting out of here,” he hollered.  Stepping forward, he picked up the lady, balanced on his one good leg, and set her aside.  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

             
“Take me with you!” one soldier pleaded.

             
“Don’t leave me here to die,” another badly wounded man cried. 

             
Hobbs felt nauseated as he watched the swarm of men fleeing McClellan’s attack.  And still the shelling continued unmercifully.  He had seen enough.  He looked around quickly, determining the best route of escape.  Ducking his head, he dashed to the right, hoping to make the cover of the woods before a shell fragment found him.  The screaming and shrieking followed him as he ran for all he was worth, his heart pounding so hard he was having trouble breathing. 

             
Finally he reached the woods and darted into their comparative safety.  Now, to join up with the army and get across the river.  He continued to run as hard as he could, jumping over bloated corpses and dodging falling limbs cut from their trees by the shells. 

             
It seemed like eternity before he broke free from the trees into the field edging the Potomac River.  Ducking his head again, he flew toward the crossing, merging with other Confederate soldiers fleeing for their lives.   “We’re gonna make it!” he yelled to one limping soldier.