Gettysburg
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
–Abraham Lincoln
John hunkered over his cup of coffee in the dawn,
preparing for his day of battle. They had arrived the night before.
Still, he was dirty, tired, afraid, and he could smell himself.
The gray wool was torn, stained, and in need of buttons.
He took out the only letter of Janie’s that had reached him.
It was smudged he had read it so many times.
As much as he missed her, he didn’t regret his decision
to join the Army. He loved Virginia, Jeff Davis, General Lee,
though he was starting to hate General Pickett,
he was such a dandy. And he treated his horse better than his men.
He went back to Janie’s letter full of sweet nothings
and reports on the troubles at home.
They had known each other since they were babies.
He used to pull her pigtails in the one-room schoolhouse
that Miss Johnson taught him in til he went to work in the fields
after he turned fourteen. Janie had been better at reading,
he struggled over words, not at all like figures.
Numbers just always made better sense to him.
John and Janie started planning their wedding
when he was seven and she five. That girl always
knew what she wanted. He liked that about her,
the way she was so sure about everything.
She was so sure they’d have a passel of sons,
and she hoped for a daughter or two.
That woman sure wanted a big family.
He’d finally stolen a kiss the night before he left,
not on the cheek like so many before,
but a real kiss. A real one…
“Let’s go Smith,” the sergeant’s voice
jerked him out of his musings, jerked him from Janie.
There were things to do in preparation for the day ahead.
Lee’s invincible army was going to finally put an end
to this terrible war. And war was terrible. The things he’d seen.
Early afternoon it finally started with an artillary barrage
that had the force and thunder of God’s voice.
It was like that thunderstorm the night they received
the news that Virginia had finally seceded from the Union.
His little town was too poor to own slaves,
but their southern pride demanded they stand up to that Yankee bastard.
Those late April storms were glorious he’d always thought.
They had been celebrating all day, and John had had his first taste
of moonshine. That first sip took his breath away.
He and Janie sat on the church porch
watching the lightning trace patterns across the dark sky.
She took his hand in hers and they just sat there.
Earlier in the day, the men of the town decided
to join in the War Between the States.
They had a duty to Virginia. They had a duty to freedom.
John just looked over at Janie, taking in the gentle curve
of her cheekbone, the delicate path of her eyelids,
the swell of her bosom. She caught him staring.
“And just what are you looking at, sir,” she asked, laughingly.
“Poetry,” he had said, blushing, “I think I finally understand
that Shakespeare guy. I love you Janie, I think you know that.
I’ve decided to join General Lee’s army,
to fight for Virginia, for the South. But when I get back,
I think it is time for us to be married. I don’t have much,
and I doubt I ever will, but I’ll always be true to you.”
She didn’t say a word, just started to cry
and threw her arms around his neck.
They stood lined up next to each other under
the hot Pennsylvania sun. He and Thomas, his cousin,
suffered in the humidity. The wool scratched their necks.
They started marching into the Union artillary fire.
The open field, so inviting the night before,
became a Hell on Earth, the ground undulated and shook,
slight depressions their only cover. It wasn’t enough.
Fear gripped the pit of John’s stomach, and under
the roar of cannon fire he heard the steady chant of hundreds
of voices, unclear at first, but then, like magic:
“Fredricksburg! Fredricksburg! Fredricksburg!”
He’d been there. Lee and Burnside faced off against each other.
And Burnside had been routed. John wondered why in the hell
they’d chant that. It filled him with confidence.
Lee was the greatest general since Washington.
Then the cannons began to take their toll.
Men disappeared in whole swatches.
And then, they were close enough for rifle fire.
Men fell to the right and left. John fired, loaded, and fired.
Thomas stood beside him, until his jaw disintegrated in a bloody mist.
They had grown up together, hunted together.
Thomas was one hell of a shot. It seemed like he could
take out a squirrel’s eye a mile away.
They had joined Pickett’s Army together.
They had been at Williamsburg together.
They had been at Gaine’s Mill together,
where they stopped McClellan’s march on Richmond.
It was where he lost his respect for Pickett,
who had taken a bullet, knocking him from that damned horse.
Pickett had screamed like a girl, swearing he was dying.
John and Thomas heard later how the staff officer
had walked away from the man, muttering
“that he was perfectly able to take care of himself.”
Thomas had seemed so immortal, taking a bullet
at Gaine’s Mill. In the thigh. But back before Pickett was.
John crouched over Thomas’s body, crying, holding
his shattered head, ignoring the sounds of battle,
the screams, the buzzing of bullets, roar of cannons.
Then the Union Army charged, a great blue beast,
a dragon with bayonet teeth.
He lept to his feet and ran forward
and the two armies collided. All around him men fell.
There was no confusion for John. His vision tunneled
in on the blue figure before him as he swung his rifle
and felt it crunch. He swung it again and again.
He screamed Janie’s name.
And then a sharp pain in his back
made him turn, staggering, and he saw the leering grimace
of an Irishman as they fell together to the ground.
The battle faded for John. He closed his eyes and looked into Janie’s.
Running with the Pack 