Words Heard in Silence (97 page)

"Of course, Elizabeth. I am sorry. I have been keeping you. Come, Jamison has been keeping water hot for you, and some hot food and coffee as well."

Jocko sat quietly beside Charlie’s cot, checking the bandages every few minutes and softly sponging his friend’s forehead with a cool cloth. It was very late; the camp was still except for the calls of the sentries as they made their rounds.

Charlie stirred, fretful in his pain and fever. He opened his eyes, expecting to see St. Peter. Instead, he saw Jocko’s concerned features.

"J..jocko?" Charlie could hardly speak he was so drained.

"Right here, Charlie boy. Looking out for ya like always. Glad to see you have decided to join us again."

Charlie lay there, gathering his strength for a few moments before replying. "Not for long, I fear." He dampened his lips. "Jocko. Favor?"

"Anything for you. You know that. But you are going to be fine. Oh, Miss Rebecca will skin me alive if I go back without ya."

A look of such intense longing crossed Charlie’s features that Jocko nearly cried out for him. "Sword. Watch. Take them home. Take care of them for me." He caught his breath. "Tell her…… love her."

"Stop talking like that, Charlie. You have to go home. Miss Rebecca needs you. And what of little Em and your two boys? They need their Papa. Come on, Charlie, think of your family. They love you and need you."

"Love them. Take care……" Charlie slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jocko looked at his friend, tears in his eyes. He took Charlie’s good hand in his, and bowed his head. He then did something he had not done since he was a lad in his mother’s house. "Hail Mary, full of grace……"

At dawn, Richard led the 13th Pennsylvania into the line alongside the rest of Sheridan’s cavalry. John Broun Gordan’s infantry and FitzHugh Lee’s Cavalry faced them through the early mist. The Confederates advanced and slowly, Sheridan’s troops fell back, opening a gap in the middle of their line. There, standing ready to meet the Confederate advance was Grant’s infantry. They had covered the ninety-five miles from Petersburg in three days.

The Confederates withdrew. There were about seven hundred casualties on the field, approximately evenly divided between Union and Confederate forces. Most were injured, not dead. That afternoon, Grant and Lee met and terms of surrender were negotiated. The order was given, "Stack arms." The war in Virginia was over.

Stillness fell over the battlefield as twenty eight thousand Confederate soldiers surrendered and began the long process of signing their paroles. The Union artillery began a long, somber salute to their vanquished enemy –– a two hundred-gun salute that thundered in the stillness. There was no celebration, no wild exuberance, just a quiet, thankful peace.

The men of the 13th played their role, and then hurried back to their encampment to sit vigil for their fallen leader.

Whitman slipped into Charlie’s tent. Jocko had been up for almost two days, first preparing for battle and then sitting at Charlie’s side. He would not allow anyone else to tend him.

"Jocko, you need to get some rest. If you fall down, we will be hard pressed to take care of him. Let me watch him for a while. Get some food and at least a nap."

Jocko looked around the tent, spying a spot in the corner where he could toss a bedroll. "All right then, a little food could not hurt. I will not be long. Then I can bunk down in that corner for a bit."

"Watch yourself out there. Dr. Walker and Samuelson are up to their elbows in injuries. There was another battle this morning."

"And how did it go? How many more will there be?"

"I believe it is over. Did you hear the guns rumbling? It was not a barrage –– it was a salute. The Virginians are stacking arms."

Relief washed over Jocko like a raging river. "Oh, thank the Lord." He leaned over and whispered, "You hear that, Charlie boy. It is over, time to go home to Miss Rebecca and the children."

Charlie stirred, restless and very feverish. Whitman checked the bandages. While there was no serious bleeding, there was a small but ominous yellow stain. "Jocko? When you have eaten, stop by the hospital tent and ask Dr. Walker to look in over here as soon as she can."

"I can fetch her now." With that Jocko was out of the tent and in search of the good doctor.

Jocko found Elizabeth in the makeshift surgery. She was covered in blood, having just finished amputating a man’s shattered leg. She looked exhausted; and there were more men waiting. "Excuse me, Dr. Walker."

"Yes, Jocko."

"Mr. Whitman just looked in on Gen’l Charlie. He said you need to check in on him as soon as you can."

Elizabeth nodded, looking around at the wounded men. "All right, as soon as I am finished here, Jocko. I promise."

Jocko was less than thrilled with her response, but knew she had a duty to care for all of the men in the regiment, not just Charlie. The problem was, he did not particularly care for all of the men of the regiment, but Charlie was his boss, his friend. Disheartened, he wandered off to the enlisted men’s mess tent.

Once inside he found himself looking into the eyes of two-dozen worried men. A Corporal found the courage to step forward. "How is the General?"

Jocko lifted his chin. "Boys, I will be honest. Tis not a pretty sight. But our Gen’l Charlie is a fighter. And we all know, he has more to fight for than most men."

"I heard he lost his arm." A voice in the back offered quietly.

"Nay, he still has both arms. He took a bad hit to his shoulder, but Doctor Walker stitched him back together. He did lose part of his hand, though. Blown right away. Our General is a tough’un. If any man of you had taken those wounds, you would be dead now. He is still with us."

One of the cooks stepped forward with a small covered pot. "Sergeant Jackson, here is the broth you asked me to prepare. If there is anything any of us can do for the General, you will let us know?"

"Of course. We get some of this good beef broth in him and start building him back up, he will be right as rain soon enough. So keep the broth coming, please. Oh, and some scalded milk, if you can find it."

"We will find it. If the General needs it, we will find it."

Jocko slapped the man on the shoulder. "Good man. I will be sure to tell the General of your contribution."

Jocko walked out of the mess tent with a sandwich in one hand, and the pot of broth in the other. He stopped by his own tent and grabbed his bedroll, which he slung over his back. Walking back to Charlie’s tent to resume his vigil, he again turned to the God he had not talked to in years.
Please, God. I have never asked you for anything for me, but let Charlie live. Please.

It was several hours before Elizabeth managed to clear the most urgent cases and join Whitman and Jocko in Charlie’s tent. Jocko was passed out in the corner. Whitman was hovering over the injured man, his coat off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, alternately sponging his forehead and neck with cool water and prying fluids into him, a spoonful at a time.

"Is he taking it?" Elizabeth placed a light finger in Charlie's neck to feel for the swallowing reflex.

"He is. He is even lucid occasionally, although only for a moment or two. But the fever is rising and I have not been able to do anything to stop it. And I do not like the way one of his bandages looks, but I waited until you got here to take a look at the wound."

"Then let us see to it." She sighed and pulled a campstool up next to Charlie's cot. She had barely any energy left and she did not want to waste what she did have in standing unnecessarily.

Whitman peeled back the bandage over Charlie thigh and buttock. The wound was ghastly. The injury itself was terrible. Charlie’s flank looked liked a piece of chopped meat. But infection had set in. It was swollen, an angry red with pockets of puss. The smell was awful.

Elizabeth swallowed hard against the smell, fighting furiously to keep from losing the contents of her stomach. "Oh, Lord. Get me a surgical tray. I am going to have to remove more of this infected area." She licked her lips and made a decision. "And prepare the amputation equipment. If I cannot get this cleaned up properly, we are going to take this leg."

Jocko had awakened while they were looking at Charlie’s injuries. "Dr. Walker. You cannot take his leg. That would be worse than death for him. I have heard that warm salt water will clean up infections. If we could get some, I could keep washing it."

"Jocko, I do not want to take this leg. But would you see our friend dead if we can do something to prevent it? Of course we will do everything we can first. While I tend to removing more of this infection, you go find your warm salt bath. But I am telling you now that if it does not work, I am taking this leg. I cannot let him die if there is another option."

"Yes, ma’am. ‘‘Tis just that Charlie is so…… he needs…… Oh, hell, you know what I mean." Jocko realized what he had just said to Dr. Walker and flushed with embarrassment. "Pardon my language, ma’am. I will go get some boiled water and salt."

"It is all right, Jocko, I understand. This is difficult on all of us. We will see our friend through."

Whitman returned with a complete surgical tray just as Jocko was leaving. Jocko looked at Whitman fiercely. "Do not let her take that leg if it can be prevented. He would kill himself, I think, if he lost it."

Elizabeth had trimmed away the dead flesh and drained the pockets of infection. This time, instead of trying to sew the wound closed, she left it open, to drain and so that it could be washed down regularly with the salt and boiled water Jocko had made. She also made a tonic of feverwort, chamomile, and willow bark to try and control the fever. But still the fever slowly climbed higher.

They stripped him naked and washed his whole body down in cool water, but the fever slowly gained ground. Charlie was unconscious and at times delirious. They were terrified that in his thrashing, he would tear open his stitches. The only thing that Jocko and Whitman had to help them was the fact that he was so weak from blood loss. They could restrain him easily.

They continued to work on the infections. The thigh wound began to heal, slowly losing the angry swelling. The gashes in his buttocks and shoulder were not so cooperative.

Jocko looked at Whitman that night and laughed –– a totally humorless laugh. "Well, at least she cannot amputate his arse."

The word had moved across the country like wild fire. Lee had surrendered. Tarent kept Rebecca advised of all the rumors that were filtering back from the front. There were rumors of heavy fighting prior to the surrender, and Sheridan’s name was attached to all of those rumors but no details were available. Rebecca had received Charlie’s last letter, written six days ago on the eve of what was clearly a four-day running battle. After that, she had heard nothing. Finally, she could not stand it. She asked Tarent to hitch Shannon to her little basket trap and, with Em beside her, drove into town.

She arrived at Major Byrnes’ office and stalked in, brushing past his junior officers and ignoring all of their efforts to be polite to their General’s wife and daughter. Most of the men in the office knew that Charlie was injured; but orders had come down –– very specific orders. Mrs. Redmond was not to be told anything without Dr. Walker or Colonel Polk’s permission.

"Major, is there any news of my husband today?"

Byrnes had been dreading this moment. He was perfectly aware the General’s life hung in the balance. But he had orders not to tell her and he would obey those orders. "Ma’am, I am unable to tell you anything. I have been informed that the whereabouts of the General is a matter of some sensitivity. You must know that even though the Army of Virginia has surrendered, we are still in a state of war and some things remain too sensitive to allow either dispatch or telegram communications."

Rebecca took a deep breath, picked Emily up from the floor and sat her squarely in the center of the Major's desk. "Tell her that. Tell her that the whereabouts of her Papa are too sensitive for us to know." She lifted a brow in challenge. "Go ahead. Tell her you do not know anything of her Papa, who she has cried for nearly every day for the last two months."

Byrnes looked at the child sitting on his desk, looking at him with guileless blue eyes. Em smiled shyly at the officer. "Where Papa, pwease?"

"I am sorry, little one, I honestly do not know exactly where your Papa is. But I will send a telegram to headquarters to find out."

"Major," Rebecca lifted Em into her arms. "I do not need to know all the details. I just need to know if my husband is alive or not. I have a dreadful feeling that he may not be. Please prove me wrong."

"Ma’am, I can say with some surety that when I received this mornings dispatches from the 13th, your husband was alive. Beyond that, I do not know."

Rebecca fought tears; some borne of fear, other from relief. At least Charlie was alive. "Thank you, Major. Thank you very much. When you get more information, I would be grateful."

"Ma’am, I swear, when I have information I can share with you, I will personally ride out to deliver it."

All day Wednesday, Charlie held his own neither better nor worse. On Thursday, as time, infection, and fever took their toll, Charlie slowly faded. He was delirious all of the time, but too weak to do more than twitch and mumble. The infection in his side was tenacious. The wound continued to seep. While Jocko’s saltwater baths had helped the shoulder, they had not been sufficient to overcome the larger infection in his buttock.