Afternoon of November 27, 1863
Chattanooga
Eli jolted awake, not knowing where he was. Then he remembered. The hospital. He had not meant to fall asleep and he glanced quickly at Joe. Joe’s eyes were open and staring dully at Eli.
“Joe?” said Eli.
Joe mumbled something and grimaced from the effort. Eli leaned in and said, “What?”
With an effort Joe repeated something Eli finally understood to be, “Thirsty.”
Eli expected that. He pulled a ladle from a bucket at his feet and, carefully lifting Joe’s head with his left arm, brought it to Joe’s mouth, dribbling water onto his quivering lips. Joe drank hungrily, some of the water trailing down his cheeks. When Eli thought he had enough, he set the ladle back in the bucket and lay Joe’s head back on his pillow, wiping his face carefully with a cloth from his pocket.
Joe tried to speak but Eli shook his head. “Don’t talk.”
Joe painfully shook his head and repeated something. Eli realized it was, “Did we win?”
Eli nodded. “Oh, yeah, we whipped them good, Joe. I’ve never seen rebels skedaddle like that before. You’re back in Chattanooga now. Just rest. If you get hungry, I’ve got soup. It’ll be cold, but there’s not much I can do about that right now. Just rest.”
Someone sat next to Eli and he turned to find Al had joined them. He looked filthy.
“I see our boy’s come ‘round,” said Al. Joe’s eyes met Al’s and Eli could see he tried to smile. It looked like it hurt.
“Just a minute ago I think,” said Eli. “I’d fallen asleep.”
“Finally,” said Al.
Joe tried to say something and Eli snapped, “Shut up.”
Resignedly, Joe did.
“Where you been?” said Eli turning back to Al. “You’re filthy.”
“Digging graves,” sighed Al. He shook his head. “There’s a lot of boys to put in the ground. Some blue, some gray. When they’re dead, it don’t seem to make no difference. Certainly not to them, anyways.”
Joe’s eyes fluttered and an instant later he was asleep.
“How is he?” said Al.
Eli shrugged. “Doctors say he lost a lot of blood, but if there’s no infection he could make it.”
“Does he know he’s lost a leg?” said Al.
Eli shook his head. “He only just came to for the first time. I’m not sure he even knows he’s still alive.”
“He’s not gonna like it,” said Al.
“Al,” said Eli, exasperated, “who would?”
Al shrugged. “It means the war’s finished for him. He won’t be coming back to the 125th.”
Eli nodded. “No, he won’t. At this point, I’ll be happy just to see him walk out of here and go home. He’s done all that can be asked of a man.”
They were silent listening to Joe’s soft snoring. “Where’d they put the cemetery?” Eli finally asked.
“Just outside town,” Al said. He thought a moment and said, “It was a funny thing. General Thomas directed the burial detail. After we’d dug some of them graves, I went up to the general and I asked how he wanted ‘em planted. He looked at me kind a puzzled and asked what I meant. I said how should we arrange ‘em? Should the boys be buried by their regiment, or by their state? Old Thomas just kind of frowned and shook his head. Then he said to me, ‘Just mix ‘em all together, boys, I’m sick to death of state’s rights.’ So that’s what we done, we just mixed ‘em all together.”
Eli nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “I like that.”
“Sergeant Hayes has been ask’en ‘bout you,” said Al. “He wants you back. I hear we’ll move soon. They want us to go help out General Burnsides up in Knoxville. He’s surrounded by Longstreet’s boys and they want us to go lick them fellers.”
Eli handed Al his note from General Grant.
Al read it and smiled. “Hayes ain’t gonna like this.”
“I’ll catch up with you soon enough,” said Eli. “I reckon the 125th can survive a week or two without me.”
“I don’t know, Eli,” said Al. “Steve Blue sure misses you. Although he’s mighty proud of the black eye. Says a rebel done gave it to him in a hand to hand fight. He shows off that bullet hole in his cap, too. By the way, that was some mighty fine shooting to knock Blue’s cap off without blowing off his head with it. I didn’t know you was so handy with a pistol.”
“Are you joking?” said Eli. “I was aiming for his nose.”