Morning of November 27, 1863
Chattanooga
“He lost a hell of a lot of blood,” said the exhausted surgeon. “Most men would have died. He still probably will.”
Eli nodded.
“We’ll do what we can.”
“I’m staying,” said Eli. “I’ll look after him.”
The doctor looked mildly surprised. “We have nurses,” he said. “Don’t you need to return to your regiment?”
“They can get along without me until he’s all right,” said Eli, not talking his eyes off Joe. “He’s going to need help because of that broken jaw. He’ll have to be fed. I’ll do it.”
The surgeon shrugged and walked off.
Joe had not regained consciousness since passing out on Missionary Ridge. Eli supposed that was just as well, considering what he went through; his left leg amputated just below the knee and his face, well, at least it was not as bad as it initially looked. Joe, however, would not be winning any beauty contests even after the wounds healed and the swelling subsided. He also lost four or five teeth. Eli shifted on the wooden box he dragged next to Joe’s bed. He could not remember the last time he slept. Al stayed with him a while, but had finally returned to the regiment.
Eli looked around the crowded hospital, a warehouse packed with as many beds and cots as the area could hold. Hundreds of men lay in those beds, most groaning in pain. It stank, as well, a nightmare place Eli hated, yet nothing would make him leave so long as Joe lived.
He felt so tired he could hardly keep his head up. But if Joe awoke, he had to be awake, too.
A disturbance behind Eli caused him to turn to find General Grant touring the hospital. The doctors made a fuss over him, but he waved them off, looking as tired as Eli felt.
The General made his way among the men, stopping occasionally to say something Eli could not hear. When he came near their eyes met and a flash of recognition passed over his face. He walked over and sat down heavily next to Eli.
“Are you injured, private?” asked Grant looking him over.
Eli shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Your hand?” said Grant, nodding to his bandaged right hand.
“Nothing serious, sir,” said Eli.
Grant nodded. “I’m glad.”
Eli nodded to Joe. “He’s from my regiment.”
Grant squinted at Joe and frowned. “I can’t say I recognize him.” Looking around the hospital, the general added. “God, I hate this place.”
“Me too,” said Eli.
Grant sighed. “I can’t stand the sight of blood, you know. Ironic, isn’t it? I send thousands of men into battle and yet seeing blood makes me ill. The meat I eat has to be cooked until it’s practically nothing but char. If I see a single drop of blood in a slab of beef, I mean any redness at all, I get sick to my stomach. It makes the cook crazy. The thing is, I just can’t allow myself to think about any of this. I can fight this war and I can win it, but not if I let myself think about the cost in lives and suffering.” He glanced around the hospital.
“I had to force myself to come. I was walking by and I just made myself do it. I couldn’t have planned it because if I had, I’d never have followed through. But the faces of these men will haunt me for weeks, and a good general cannot, must not, allow himself to consider the death and suffering every decision he makes causes to hundreds or even thousands of men, because if he does he’s finished as a general. And if I don’t win this war it will just go on and on and on, and in the end even more men will die. But I owe these men a visit, don’t I?” He looked at Eli, then shook his head.
After a pause, Eli said, “Well, General, you whipped them. We were in a terrible fix when you arrived, and you whipped them good.”
Grant nodded, half smiling. “Fortune favors the bold.” He paused, and then said, “But to tell the truth, I didn’t whip them.” He looked at Eli and said, “You whipped them. When I saw you men go up that ridge I had a heart attack, private. I was fit to be tied and seriously considered having General Thomas shot. Well, not seriously, but I did truly believe we would suffer a major defeat. I thought Bragg would throw you back so hard not a man would be left standing, and then the way’d be open to come right through our center, capture Chattanooga and destroy our army in detail.” Grant shook his head. “And when you boys went over the top and routed Bragg, I mean not just beat him but routed his army like I’ve never seen a Confederate army driven ever before, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I swear.” He looked deep into Eli’s face. “What on earth possessed you fellows to do that? It should have been suicide, and as near as I can get from any of my officers, not one will admit to ordering the charge. Once it got underway, most say they went and pushed ahead with it, but as near as I can tell you men started it on your own. Why would you do that?”
Eli shrugged. “I can only speak for myself, General. The whole thing just made me, well, mad is all. I mean mad as hell. I’m sick and tired of their ‘cause’ and their ‘state’s rights’ and their ‘protecting their way of life’ and everything else that they call it when all it really means is fighting and dying so a few rich white men can keep slaves.”
Grant nodded. “I’ve said before it is the worst cause for which men ever fought. Still,” he added looking back to Eli, “it was a damn fool thing to do charging up that ridge.”
“I suppose it was,” agreed Eli. “Only, we were all mad as hell and wanted to make them sorry they ever started this thing.”
Grant nodded, looking around the hospital. “You’re good men. Every one of you is a hero.” He nodded again, smiled at Eli and added, “Of course, you know the generals will take all the credit. It may not be right, but that’s what they’ll do, myself included.”
“General,” said Eli, “we were a beaten army when you arrived, starving and lost. You changed that. Maybe what happened on Missionary Ridge wasn’t exactly your plan, but that it happened wasn’t any accident, either. You brought us back from defeat and you gave us the chance to show what we’re made of. I thank you for that, and you can take all the credit you want as far as I’m concerned and welcome to it.”
Eli was amazed to see Grant’s eyes tear up, although he pulled a kerchief from his coat pocket to cover it up by pretending to cough and blow his nose. As he stuffed the kerchief away he said brusquely, “It’s kind of you to say so. I do appreciate it.”
Looking at Joe, Eli said, “There is a favor I’d like to ask, General.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to stay and look after Joe here. His jaw’s broken and he’s going to need a lot of attention for a time. He’ll have to be fed. I’m afraid my regiment is going to be looking for me to return, and I want to, but not until I’m sure Joe’s going to be all right. He’s saved my life more times than I can count and I owe him. I hate to ask it, but could you write an order letting me stay for a few more days?”
Grant drew a notebook from his coat and scribbled something in it, then tore out the page and handed it to Eli.
“You let me know if anyone questions you on this. I’ll set them straight.”