Jassy Melson
01-10-2011, 10:59 AM
Entrant in the 2010 writing contest
“Hey, Jack, you got any 'baccer left?”
“Yeah, I got enough for three more chaws. Here you go.”
The young soldier pitched his bag of tobacco over to the grizzled soldier sitting in a dug-out hole low on a hillside overlooking the slow moving green water.
“Thank you kindly, Jack.” He tore off a chew with his teeth and pitched it back.
The half-full moon glinted on the leather bag, and on their muskets and the few brass buttons still left on their ragged uniforms.
Both men simultaneously looked over the bare brown meadow beyond the creek. Their eyes peered to the big grove of trees beyond the meadow that they knew harbored them.
Splat. The older soldier spat out a chocolate stream. “That's good 'baccer, Jack.”
“Yeah, I had a whole bag of it starting out from Chattanooga, and this is all that's left.”
“Well, you got you two chews left. From what I hear, we're about forty mile from Knoxville. That's a two-day march. You'll get you some more 'baccer there.”
“Ain't got no money,” the younger soldier replied.
“Don't you worry about that, Jackie boy. When we get to Knoxville, I'm going to buy you some 'baccer. I got a little money.”
Jack opened his canteen and took a sip and shifted in his shallow hole. “Where you from, Pete? I ain't ever asked you that.”
“I'm from Hopkinsville, Kentucky—north of Nashville.” The grizzled soldier suddenly grew very still as he gazed over the field.
“Did you join up in '61?” Jack asked.
“Nope. I joined up right after Grant took the forts on the Tennessee and Cumberland. When did you join up?” His eyes were locked on something in the meadow. It looked like a small hummock of hay.
“I joined in '61. My daddy, my uncle and me—all on the same day. We was all in the same regiment for about a year—up till Pittsburg Landing, then we got separated. They split our regiment up. Half of it went south—along with my daddy and uncle, and the part I was with stayed around Pittsburg Landing and Stones River till we got sent down to Chattanooga. I saw my daddy and uncle before Chickamauga, but I got separated from them again. Then come the fight.”
The young soldier gulped, and in the half-full moon light Pete saw Jack's eyes blinking and misting up.
“They were both killed. From what I understand, something like ten thousand of them and us died over five acres of land.”
“Yeah,” Pete took off his slouch hat and wiped his brow with his arm, never moving his eyes from the hummock which had seemed to have moved closer to the bushes bordering the other side of the creek. “Well, no matter what, it ain't going to last much longer. Both of us—him and us—we're just like wrasslers in a grip. Been in that grip for nigh on three years. We're both wore out. Neither one of us cares about a dang thing but staying alive till this thing is over, and we both can just slide down—loose that grip—and go to sleep.” He spat another stream of tobacco down to to the bushes bordering the creek.
“You got any kin in the army, Pete?”
“Naw, it's just me. What about you? You got any left?”
“I got a cousin, but he's with them.”
“First cousin?”
“Yeah, his daddy was my daddy's brother.”
“So his daddy and him went separate ways. Yeah, that's happened a lot.”
“He was always kind of a loner. His name's Billy. He's older than I am. It's funny, but even though he's older, everybody said we looked like twins.”
“When's the last time you seen him? Before all this started?”
“Yeah, that's the last time I saw him. I got a letter from mama about a year ago telling me he had been captured, but he escaped—made it back all the way to his outfit. Now I have reason to believe that he's with them maybe near Knoxville, but maybe not. He might be a little closer.”
“Yeah, it's hard to say,” Pete said. “Most of the outfits and regiments done got all messed up on both sides.” He stretched out and laid his musket on the lip of the hole. “I been watching him for a half hour. Hey, Jackie, get your eye on that hump across the creek there in the bushes. See it?”
Jack peered down past the bushes on the other side of the creek. He tilted his head. “Can't make out much.”
“Just keep looking down there at that big bush,” Pete said.
Jack waited. And then he saw it: a movement. Then he heard a bush rustling.
“Get your aim on him,” Pete whispered. “Both of us'll get him. Wait till I count to three.
“One.”
Both men slowly clicked their muskets.
The soldier on the other side of the creek peeked through the bushes. He saw the two soldiers in their shallow holes about fifty yards away. He had no intention of showing himself, but he figured he could reach his hand through the bushes and lower his canteen down into the creek without being seen.
He wasn't aware of how exposed he actually was.
“Two.”
The two soldiers aimed their muskets.
“Find his form among the bushes,” Pete whispered. “Follow his hand and arm up.”
The soldier dipped the canteen into the water.
“Three.”
The blasts of the two muskets split the night like a double crackle of thunder and lit up for a second the bushes and the creek. A small puff of wind blew the acrid smoke back into their faces. Their shots caused a round of firing to commence up and down the creek, but it was sporadic and soon ceased.
“Well, I think we got him,” Pete declared. “But it ain't no use going over there right now. We'll check him out in the morning. We should be moving out tomorrow. Tell you what, Jack, why don't you get some sleep. I'll wake you in a couple of hours.”
The gray morning dawned with a drizzle of rain. There was a chill in the air.
Jack was in the middle of a fitful sleep when a clod of dirt hit him. He looked over to Pete who had a grin on his berry brown face.
“Rise and shine, Jackie boy.” Pete stood and stretched his lean frame. “Let's go over the hill. I see smoke, and I figure we can bum us some breakfast and maybe even some coffee or tea.”
Both soldiers walked quickly over the crest of the hill. They saw numerous campfires going, and they smelled bacon frying and coffee brewing.
“Um um, my goodness gracious,” Pete exclaimed. “My ribs are gnawing at my sides. Jackie, my boy, I'm getting too old for this. I'll be forty-five on my birthday.”
“You don't look a day over forty-four,” Jack grinned.
“What?” Pete asked blankly. Then he took off his slouch hat and slapped Jack on the head. Jack slapped Pete back and then began running, leaving Pete way behind.
Jack managed to get some beef and bread rolls and some sassafras tea, and then he walked back to his position in the shallow hole at the bottom of the hill. He met Pete who was licking his fingers and holding a steaming tin cup.
“Get your breakfast, son?”
“Yeah, I got me some meat and bread and tea.”
“Yeah, well, you're going to need it.” Pete waved his arm toward the big grove of trees across the meadow. “In case you haven't noticed, those people have packed up and gone.”
Jack gazed over the meadow toward the trees.
“That means we've got us at least a twenty-mile march today—maybe more,” Pete said. “Depends on how far they've gone ahead.”
“You figure they'll ever stand and fight?” Jack asked.
“Hard to say,” Pete replied. “I've seen them turn tail and run at the first shot, and I've seen them make charge after charge.” He wagged his head. “Dang if they ain't just like us. That's why this thing ain't going to last much longer. Main thing is to keep from getting your head blowed off till it's over.”
Jack looked down at the green water of the creek. Wreaths of mist floated over its slow moving surface.
The drizzling rain had soaked him, but his feet were still reasonably dry. But he knew there was nothing for it. He was going to get his feet wet for sure.
A bugle sounded from the top of the hill, and men began walking into the creek. Pete walked straight without flinching into the water, going down fast to his thighs, and then to his waist.. He held his musket aloft and walked across the thirty-feet- wide creek.
As Jack followed, he saw Pete clambering up the bank. For the first time that morning he thought of the soldier, lying there on the bank among the bushes. He looked up and down the bank, but he didn't see the soldier.
Then Pete clambered over the bank and Jack saw the soldier's body lying sprawled.
As he reached the bank, he noticed that the canteen's strap was sliding back and forth in the soldier's cupped hand, the bottom of the canteen floating on the water.
As Jack climbed up the bank, he saw the corporal stripes on the soldier's dirty sleeve. Then he saw the dark brown hair. And then he was looking into his cousin's face.
He froze for a moment. He idly noticed the bullet hole on top of the left eye, and the blackened hole in the throat.
Then the horror came; but it wasn't a fear of the dead soldier, or a fear of the unknown. It was the horror that comes from knowledge.
He gasped and a spray of slobber spewed out. He dropped to his knees and groaned and swayed. “Billy.”
“Come on, son,” Pete said gently, tapping Jack on the shoulder. “This old thing ain't going to last much longer.”
He tugged at Jack, helping him up, and they stumbled together for awhile. But then they heard shooting up ahead, and they separated and perked up and moved on.
The canteen's strap slid off the dirty stiffened hand, and the canteen slipped into the water. It swirled around a few times, and then it sluggishly sank under the cold green water of Bitter Creek.
“Hey, Jack, you got any 'baccer left?”
“Yeah, I got enough for three more chaws. Here you go.”
The young soldier pitched his bag of tobacco over to the grizzled soldier sitting in a dug-out hole low on a hillside overlooking the slow moving green water.
“Thank you kindly, Jack.” He tore off a chew with his teeth and pitched it back.
The half-full moon glinted on the leather bag, and on their muskets and the few brass buttons still left on their ragged uniforms.
Both men simultaneously looked over the bare brown meadow beyond the creek. Their eyes peered to the big grove of trees beyond the meadow that they knew harbored them.
Splat. The older soldier spat out a chocolate stream. “That's good 'baccer, Jack.”
“Yeah, I had a whole bag of it starting out from Chattanooga, and this is all that's left.”
“Well, you got you two chews left. From what I hear, we're about forty mile from Knoxville. That's a two-day march. You'll get you some more 'baccer there.”
“Ain't got no money,” the younger soldier replied.
“Don't you worry about that, Jackie boy. When we get to Knoxville, I'm going to buy you some 'baccer. I got a little money.”
Jack opened his canteen and took a sip and shifted in his shallow hole. “Where you from, Pete? I ain't ever asked you that.”
“I'm from Hopkinsville, Kentucky—north of Nashville.” The grizzled soldier suddenly grew very still as he gazed over the field.
“Did you join up in '61?” Jack asked.
“Nope. I joined up right after Grant took the forts on the Tennessee and Cumberland. When did you join up?” His eyes were locked on something in the meadow. It looked like a small hummock of hay.
“I joined in '61. My daddy, my uncle and me—all on the same day. We was all in the same regiment for about a year—up till Pittsburg Landing, then we got separated. They split our regiment up. Half of it went south—along with my daddy and uncle, and the part I was with stayed around Pittsburg Landing and Stones River till we got sent down to Chattanooga. I saw my daddy and uncle before Chickamauga, but I got separated from them again. Then come the fight.”
The young soldier gulped, and in the half-full moon light Pete saw Jack's eyes blinking and misting up.
“They were both killed. From what I understand, something like ten thousand of them and us died over five acres of land.”
“Yeah,” Pete took off his slouch hat and wiped his brow with his arm, never moving his eyes from the hummock which had seemed to have moved closer to the bushes bordering the other side of the creek. “Well, no matter what, it ain't going to last much longer. Both of us—him and us—we're just like wrasslers in a grip. Been in that grip for nigh on three years. We're both wore out. Neither one of us cares about a dang thing but staying alive till this thing is over, and we both can just slide down—loose that grip—and go to sleep.” He spat another stream of tobacco down to to the bushes bordering the creek.
“You got any kin in the army, Pete?”
“Naw, it's just me. What about you? You got any left?”
“I got a cousin, but he's with them.”
“First cousin?”
“Yeah, his daddy was my daddy's brother.”
“So his daddy and him went separate ways. Yeah, that's happened a lot.”
“He was always kind of a loner. His name's Billy. He's older than I am. It's funny, but even though he's older, everybody said we looked like twins.”
“When's the last time you seen him? Before all this started?”
“Yeah, that's the last time I saw him. I got a letter from mama about a year ago telling me he had been captured, but he escaped—made it back all the way to his outfit. Now I have reason to believe that he's with them maybe near Knoxville, but maybe not. He might be a little closer.”
“Yeah, it's hard to say,” Pete said. “Most of the outfits and regiments done got all messed up on both sides.” He stretched out and laid his musket on the lip of the hole. “I been watching him for a half hour. Hey, Jackie, get your eye on that hump across the creek there in the bushes. See it?”
Jack peered down past the bushes on the other side of the creek. He tilted his head. “Can't make out much.”
“Just keep looking down there at that big bush,” Pete said.
Jack waited. And then he saw it: a movement. Then he heard a bush rustling.
“Get your aim on him,” Pete whispered. “Both of us'll get him. Wait till I count to three.
“One.”
Both men slowly clicked their muskets.
The soldier on the other side of the creek peeked through the bushes. He saw the two soldiers in their shallow holes about fifty yards away. He had no intention of showing himself, but he figured he could reach his hand through the bushes and lower his canteen down into the creek without being seen.
He wasn't aware of how exposed he actually was.
“Two.”
The two soldiers aimed their muskets.
“Find his form among the bushes,” Pete whispered. “Follow his hand and arm up.”
The soldier dipped the canteen into the water.
“Three.”
The blasts of the two muskets split the night like a double crackle of thunder and lit up for a second the bushes and the creek. A small puff of wind blew the acrid smoke back into their faces. Their shots caused a round of firing to commence up and down the creek, but it was sporadic and soon ceased.
“Well, I think we got him,” Pete declared. “But it ain't no use going over there right now. We'll check him out in the morning. We should be moving out tomorrow. Tell you what, Jack, why don't you get some sleep. I'll wake you in a couple of hours.”
The gray morning dawned with a drizzle of rain. There was a chill in the air.
Jack was in the middle of a fitful sleep when a clod of dirt hit him. He looked over to Pete who had a grin on his berry brown face.
“Rise and shine, Jackie boy.” Pete stood and stretched his lean frame. “Let's go over the hill. I see smoke, and I figure we can bum us some breakfast and maybe even some coffee or tea.”
Both soldiers walked quickly over the crest of the hill. They saw numerous campfires going, and they smelled bacon frying and coffee brewing.
“Um um, my goodness gracious,” Pete exclaimed. “My ribs are gnawing at my sides. Jackie, my boy, I'm getting too old for this. I'll be forty-five on my birthday.”
“You don't look a day over forty-four,” Jack grinned.
“What?” Pete asked blankly. Then he took off his slouch hat and slapped Jack on the head. Jack slapped Pete back and then began running, leaving Pete way behind.
Jack managed to get some beef and bread rolls and some sassafras tea, and then he walked back to his position in the shallow hole at the bottom of the hill. He met Pete who was licking his fingers and holding a steaming tin cup.
“Get your breakfast, son?”
“Yeah, I got me some meat and bread and tea.”
“Yeah, well, you're going to need it.” Pete waved his arm toward the big grove of trees across the meadow. “In case you haven't noticed, those people have packed up and gone.”
Jack gazed over the meadow toward the trees.
“That means we've got us at least a twenty-mile march today—maybe more,” Pete said. “Depends on how far they've gone ahead.”
“You figure they'll ever stand and fight?” Jack asked.
“Hard to say,” Pete replied. “I've seen them turn tail and run at the first shot, and I've seen them make charge after charge.” He wagged his head. “Dang if they ain't just like us. That's why this thing ain't going to last much longer. Main thing is to keep from getting your head blowed off till it's over.”
Jack looked down at the green water of the creek. Wreaths of mist floated over its slow moving surface.
The drizzling rain had soaked him, but his feet were still reasonably dry. But he knew there was nothing for it. He was going to get his feet wet for sure.
A bugle sounded from the top of the hill, and men began walking into the creek. Pete walked straight without flinching into the water, going down fast to his thighs, and then to his waist.. He held his musket aloft and walked across the thirty-feet- wide creek.
As Jack followed, he saw Pete clambering up the bank. For the first time that morning he thought of the soldier, lying there on the bank among the bushes. He looked up and down the bank, but he didn't see the soldier.
Then Pete clambered over the bank and Jack saw the soldier's body lying sprawled.
As he reached the bank, he noticed that the canteen's strap was sliding back and forth in the soldier's cupped hand, the bottom of the canteen floating on the water.
As Jack climbed up the bank, he saw the corporal stripes on the soldier's dirty sleeve. Then he saw the dark brown hair. And then he was looking into his cousin's face.
He froze for a moment. He idly noticed the bullet hole on top of the left eye, and the blackened hole in the throat.
Then the horror came; but it wasn't a fear of the dead soldier, or a fear of the unknown. It was the horror that comes from knowledge.
He gasped and a spray of slobber spewed out. He dropped to his knees and groaned and swayed. “Billy.”
“Come on, son,” Pete said gently, tapping Jack on the shoulder. “This old thing ain't going to last much longer.”
He tugged at Jack, helping him up, and they stumbled together for awhile. But then they heard shooting up ahead, and they separated and perked up and moved on.
The canteen's strap slid off the dirty stiffened hand, and the canteen slipped into the water. It swirled around a few times, and then it sluggishly sank under the cold green water of Bitter Creek.