Afternoon of November 25, 1863
Missionary Ridge
Eli’s lungs burned from the exertion of climbing. He slung his rifle across his back so he could use both hands on the steeper inclines to pull himself up. Sweat poured down his face.
He quickly discovered the walls of the ravines that ran down the face of the slope provided considerable cover from the plunging rebel fire raining down on them. The ravines were triangular in shape, being wider at the bottom and narrower closer to the top.
“Hold up a minute,” panted Joe behind him.
Eli turned to find Joe and Al collapsed, winded and grasping their chests.
“Don’t do no good,” gasped Al between breaths, “to get to the top of this damn hill if we can’t move when we get there.”
Eli sank down, leaning back against a boulder. Minnie balls hissed by, and the thunder of rebel cannon continued to crash above him, although there seemed less of it than before. It was hard to tell. It might be he was just numb to the sound of it.
Down the ravine Eli saw swarms of soldiers following them. If fact, the whole Army of the Cumberland looked to be scaling the ridge, since all that remained in the rifle pits below were the bodies of the dead and wounded. Eli was surprised to see Colonel Opdycke on horseback riding up the slope forcing stragglers out from hiding. He was pleased to note one of the men Opdycke herded with a hard slap from the side of his saber was Steve Blue.
“That ain’t an army,” said Joe looking down, still breathing heavily. “That ain’t nothing but a crowd a men. Look,” he pointed down, “the regiments is all mixed together crowded into this ravine.” He glanced up, squinting his eyes. “Them rebs is having the devil’s own time shooting down into this place, though.”
“Still, we’re in a hell of a fix,” said Al. He flinched as a bullet ricocheted off a rock near his head. Cursing, he glanced up and said, “And it ain’t like they can’t shoot at us at all.”
“But there’s no cannon fire on us,” said Eli looking up. “Why aren’t they pouring grape shot down on us?”
“Too steep here, I think,” said Joe, frowning. “They can’t depress the barrels of them guns low enough. Lucky for us or we’d probably all be dead.”
“Plenty of time to get ourselves kilt when we reach the top,” said Al.
Well, thought Eli, Al was probably right about that. He looked down again at the open field they crossed. It was the late fall color of dried brown undergrowth, mixed with a little green grass that refused to die off with the approach of winter. Eli saw stretcher bearers scrambling to carry off the casualties of the initial assault.
Closer up below him many men crouched behind cover shooting at rebels as they peered over the edge of the ridge. Eli glanced up and found it easy to see their heads silhouetted against the sky wherever they peered over, and with satisfaction he saw one suddenly slump forward and roll down toward them.
He closed his eyes a moment to feel and hear the cool breeze whisper across his face. For all he knew, this might be the last time. His determination to reach the top of the ridge had not subsided in the least, and his heart raced from the effort of climbing, but the exertion drained some of the fire from him and replaced it with a peaceful confidence. They were going to make it to the top. They were going to push the rebels off this hill. He might not survive it, but he knew in his heart it was going to happen.
He heard someone struggle around him and opened his eyes to see Mark Larsen climbing past carrying the battle flag of another regiment.
“Whose flag you got?” yelled Al.
“I grabbed it from a man that got shot. Don’t make no difference anyways, so long as we get to the top,” Mark shouted back.
A crowd of men and more battle flags followed not far behind him.
“Time to go,” said Eli to Joe and Al.
“Follow the leader,” sighed Al. They sprang up and struggled after Mark.
Eli stopped looking at the top of the ridge and focused solely on where to place his hands and feet to get his best foothold, the ground a blur of motion. He had no idea whether or not the men at the top were shooting at him. It did not matter. Until he was hit he was climbing this hill and when he got to the top he would do what needed doing next. He still dimly heard the sounds of battle, and he tasted dirt from the clouds of dust they kicked up, but all he thought about was the next step up and the one after that and the one after that.
He saw a man’s feet slide into his field of vision, followed by his waist and then his chest. He instinctively reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder as the face slid into view.
It was Mark, his head covered with blood.
“The flag,” Mark sputtered. “Go get the flag.” He pushed Eli away.
Eli looked and saw the battle flag lying on the ground ahead of him. He glanced back at Mark.
“First up,” gasped Mark, his eyes bright with pain. “We got to be the first up, Eli. Go. Now.”
Eli nodded, racing forward to raise the flag. He looked down the slope to see a growing crowd of men below, all with their eyes fixed on the flag he held. He waved it high in the air and shouted, “Chickamauga, boys! We’ll pay ‘em back for Chickamauga. Every man who loves freedom, follow me!”
He turned and surged up the hill, the crowd behind him screaming the single word “Chickamauga” over and over again.
Then he was over the top.
The rebels looked as startled as he was. They stood gaping at each other for what seemed like an eternity to Eli. He heard nothing of what happened around him, he simply stared into the faces of the enemy soldiers fifteen feet away.
Then several things happened simultaneously. A bullet shattered the staff he held just above his right hand and shots from behind him cut down several of the rebels to his front, followed quickly by a crowd of men in blue surging past him. A number of those men fell in a hail of bullets that whispered past Eli.
The roar of screaming men and rifle fire crashed back into his consciousness like an avalanche. He realized he had dropped the flag he had been holding and his hand bled. Eli heard a voice yell in his left ear, “If you don’t mind, that flag belongs to my regiment and I’d be honored if you’d let me carry it now.”
Eli nodded dumbly as the stranger stooped to gather up the banner.
“Come on,” shouted Joe who appeared next to him. He raised his gun and shot at a group of rebels making a stand against the wave of blue uniforms flooding over the crest of the ridge. Eli unslung his gun and did the same. Several more rebels dropped to the ground and most of the rest ran.
“Charge!” screamed someone, and they all broke into a run straight for the remaining enemy troops, who either broke for the rear or threw down their weapons and surrendered. One held out a pistol to his captor that Eli snatched from him as he ran by and tucked it into his belt. The Union soldier about to accept the weapon yelled in protest, but Eli paid no attention.
He was astonished to see rebel soldiers running away suddenly disappear, until he realized just how narrow the top of the ridge was. The rebels were not vanishing, they were plunging headlong down the opposite side of the hill.
“God damned if we ain’t done it!” screamed Al. “Look at ‘em run. Look at ‘em go. We done it and I ain’t kilt.”
“Look there,” shouted Eli, pointing to a burning artillery wagon near them. A Union officer struggled to free the panicked horses still harnessed to it. Eli dashed forward to help, followed by Joe and Al. The officer nodded as they ran up and wordlessly indicated they should help him unbuckle the animals.
“Captain,” shouted Al as they freed the team and sent them running, “I think this here wagon’s full a powder.” He was staring in terror at the increasing intensity of the fire.
“That’s right, private,” the officer replied. “Now help me push it boys. We haven’t got much time.”
He put his back to the wagon and shoved as hard as he could toward the opposite side of the ridge. Eli had no idea what he thought he was doing, and the danger they would be blown to bits obviously mounted with every passing second, but the man looked so confident Eli joined him. When Joe and Al pitched in, the wagon rapidly picked up speed as it rolled down the slight incline that abruptly dropped off precipitously down the far side of the ridge.
The wagon plunged over that edge and Eli finally realized what the Captain intended. The burning vehicle careened down the far slope trailing flames and sparks before striking a bolder that flipped it high in the air. It landed on its back in the middle of a crowd of retreating rebels, its wheels spinning, and with a tremendous roar it exploded sending men flying in all directions. The force of the blast threw Eli and the rest of them on their backs.
Joe struggled to his feet and extended a hand to help pull Eli up. They stared into each other’s faces a moment, and then Eli started laughing uncontrollably, and damned if he knew why. He hurt all over, his lungs still felt on fire, his knees were weak from the effort of climbing the hill and the constant din of battle and the ammunition wagon explosion had about rendered him deaf. He risked death so many times that day it had to be a sign from God he was still alive and they had taken this damn ridge.
It just seemed so damn funny all of the sudden. He was so unimportant. They were all so unimportant. And yet together they did the impossible, something no single one of them could ever have done alone, but together accomplished. It made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Joe and Al looked at him in bewilderment, and then began laughing, too. The Captain just shook his head and trotted away. Going to look for his men, Eli figured, and that made him laugh more. What was a captain without men to command? Just another man and no captain of anything at all.
There was still plenty of fighting, and more Union troops sprang up all across Missionary Ridge, but Eli was so exhausted all he could do was stagger against Joe, clinging to him as he laughed. Eli glanced at the spot where they topped the crest just in time to see Steve Blue tentatively stick his head up like a turtle peering out of a pond. That got Eli laughing so hard tears rolled down his face as he pointed at Blue.
Blue stared sourly back as he decided it was safe to come up. He dusted himself off and skulked toward them.
“Eli,” said Joe slapping him on the back and chuckling, “you’ve plumb lost your mind.”
Eli looked up into his smiling face. “I think I have,” he answered breathlessly. He shook his head.
Looking down the far side of the ridge Eli saw the stream of retreating rebels turning into a sea of men running as fast as their legs could carry them. A few officers tried rallying them, but with little success. Only a few stopped to shoot back at the Federal troops firing down on them.
“There’s still fighting to do,” said Eli. “This isn’t over yet.”
Joe nodded watching swarms of Union soldiers sweeping forward to engage the pockets of enemy resistance.
“You’re right,” he said.
Eli heard a sickening thwack he knew was the sound of a bullet striking flesh, followed quickly by a second.
Joe staggered against him and fell.
Eli stood frozen staring down at him, Joe’s lower jaw horribly mangled and his face covered in blood. A wound in his left leg spurt blood below the knee, as well.
Eli fell to his knees screaming Joe’s name.
Joe’s face turned helplessly to him, his eyes bright with terror and pain. He seemed to be trying to talk, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle of gore and teeth.
Eli held his head up to keep him from choking on his own blood. Al, kneeling on the other side of Joe, helped Eli to hold his head so the blood drained away. Joe coughed, spraying them with blood, and that cleared his throat.
“Hold him like that,” said Eli to Al. He complied as Eli slipped off his belt and wrapped it around Joe’s left leg just above the wound. He pulled it tight with his left hand and put pressure on the wound with his right, his hand drenched in warm, sticky blood.
“You’re wasting your time,” said Blue, smirking at them. “He’s a goner for sure.”
“Help me put pressure on this wound,” Eli spat back, hot rage burning through him.
“Do it your own self,” said Blue. “I ain’t ‘bout to get covered in filth for the likes a that great gorilla.” Then he sneered, “Besides, if you’re what I think, you can nurse maid him just fine.”
He turned and strode leisurely away.
While still holding the tourniquet tight with his left hand, Eli grabbed the pistol that had fallen beside him when he unbuckled his belt and pointed it at Blue, pulling the trigger. Blue’s kepi flew off his head. Blue swung back on them, crouching, his eyes blazing. When he saw Eli holding the gun he started to raise his own musket.
Eli pointed the gun straight into his face. “Give me a reason, Blue,” he hissed. He desperately wanted to kill someone, and Blue would do just fine. The world took William from him and he had had to sit by and watch without being able to do a thing about it. Now the world was taking Joe, too, and the anger boiled up so fierce he could taste it. The difference was, this time he had a gun and he would, by God, use it to make someone pay if that is what it took to get help and attention this time around.
Blue stared at the gun and hesitated.
“You’ve got two seconds to get down here to help me or as God is my witness I’ll blow your damn head off.”
Blue looked into his eyes and knew he meant every word of it. He dropped the gun and knelt down on the opposite side of Joe from Eli, his eyes full of hate. Eli didn’t care. He slipped the gun into the back of his pants and nodded to the still gushing wound on Joe’s leg.
“Hold your hands on that and press hard,” ordered Eli.
Reluctantly, Blue did it, grimacing at the feel of warm blood. Eli pulled tighter on the tourniquet with both hands now, until slowly the bleeding eased.
Eli looked back to Joe, who was watching him closely. His eyes were glazing over, however, the lids heavy.
We’re losing him, Eli thought. I can’t lose him. I won’t. Not again. These damned Southerners aren’t going to take another good man from me.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, despite all he could do to stop them. “Joe,” he sputtered, “you promised to help me. You know, find my... hat.” Eli choked on the word hat, that stupid ploy they seized on so as not to give Eli’s secret away to Al or Sergeant Hayes. For a moment Joe’s eyes brightened and he made a sound Eli finally realized was a laugh.
“You think that’s funny?” said Eli, crying harder. “Well it’s not funny you damn mule. You promised. You gave your word. Don’t you dare break it.”
A tear trickled from Joe’s left eye. He tried to speak, and Eli realized Joe was saying his name. “Eli.”
Big Joe’s eyes fluttered shut and Eli’s heart broke.
“You’re bawling like a damn woman.” laughed Blue with satisfaction.
Eli reared back and hit him full on in the face with his right fist.