Alone

      Leonard was afraid; dazed, as he lay perfectly still in the dark. He could smell the sweat and blood of battle. His blood and sweat. And he could taste the dust on his clothes, collected from months of constant wear. The cool brass buttons on his coat, which had been rolled into a pillow and placed under his head, pressed comfortably on the back of his neck. For a bit of familiarity, he was grateful. Everything else seemed oddly strange.

      He could only remember bits and pieces of his accident. Images of bloody battles, the smell of gunpowder, and screams of the dying; cries of the living jolted him awake into uncontrolled spasms. His insides were shaking. He felt a cold sweat over him; unable to move his legs and arms or escape the dreams or the loneliness he felt.

      Leonard was afraid. He could only lie there alone in the darkness. He could not move to escape the pain racking his body. But he was confident he would eventually overcome his injuries to fight again. Repeatedly he tried in desperation to move his fingers, arms, legs and feet checking for injuries feeling very little except the constant painful throbbing. He lay there quietly; eyes closed. He was very aware of his head and neck wounds and he searched in vain for other undamaged nerves revealing life in the rest of his body. His chest hurt, too. He was thankful but worried where he found no pain. His eyes were swollen shut and it felt like a great thunder storm was approaching behind his eyes. That was the worst feeling.

      The darkness, though, was peaceful. Through his fear and pain he welcomed the peace and quiet. Thinking about other things calmed his anxieties but the throbbing soreness in his body was a reminder of the accident. The clammy gloom crept over him again and with it came relief. He slept soundly.

      Leonard awoke accompanied by hazy images of his life flickering across his swollen eye lids. Not quite awake he watched the vivid images; seeing his mother send him to school with his lunch pail; school yard fights; his beautiful wife Harriet on their wedding day; his adventurous days as a seaman in the Caribbean.

      He imagined he could hear the thundering sounds of ship’s cannons firing and smell the acrid, spent gun powder when he fought privateers before the war. He could almost feel and smell the salt spray of the ocean while sailing in a sudden squall. It all seemed so real and so close.

      Then a smile creased his parched lips when he remembered meeting Harriet while on shore leave in Philadelphia. It seemed like yesterday when he fell in love and proposed to her. When she bashfully agreed, like some school girl, to be his wife, it was the happiest moment of his life. She convinced him to give up sailing and he agreed with her, maybe farming wouldn’t be so bad. Leonard was happy to become a Pennsylvania farmer. It was something he often thought about during those lonely nights at sea.

      They were both happy but their happiness was destined to last but a few short years. Inflamed war cries rose throughout the country like the temperature in summer.

      Uncontrollable political and social hatred boiled over and plunged the country into war. Friends, families, neighbors became enemies, went to battle and many died or disappeared. Leonard wanted to fight with his father, brother and friends. Despite his mother’s pleadings, and Harriet’s protests, he marched away from the safety of his farm, love of his family and into the mad death-trap of war.

      It wasn’t long before he was in battle and it wasn’t what he thought it was going to be. Fight gallantly, defeat the enemy in gray and come home a hero. Maybe get a medal or two. Instead he watched in terror as crimson- stained gray and blue bodies fell, some intact, some torn apart like victims of a crazed butcher; uniforms and remains covered with hungry flies at day’s end; ground soaked with each others’ blood. No matter what color the uniform, the blood looked the same.

      This war was different than he expected. In spite of his years fighting sea battles, he was unprepared for this carnage. Ships were different. Sea water washed away the blood and bodies from ship’s decks. In his years of fighting sea battles he had never before seen this many dead. Nothing could possibly compare to this war. He never thought about it before but death was the same no matter where you were, what battle was being fought, what Jesus you asked forgiveness from, or whose side you were on. The end was the same God or no God.

      Now in the distance he thought he could hear the rumblings of cannon fire; feel the earth shake. He was getting tired again. The painful throbbing was easing up in much of his body. A sort of numbness was making sleep come easier. 

      While drifting into a shallow sleep he thought back to the wonderful days at sea with a lonely sort of sadness. He remembered how he was comforted, especially at night, listening to the ship’s rigging groan under the strain of full sails. He could almost feel the ship’s rising and falling over the large rolling ocean swells; gently rolling as he stood on the deck. He remembered watching the clusters of phosphorous creatures following in the ship’s wake; blending into the stars on the horizon. He sensed the soothing cool Caribbean breezes, smelled the damp, stuffy, salt-air of the ocean’s humidity and, like a cradle, the soft rise and fall of the ship.

      Then a tear rolled down his cheek from his swollen eyelids when a different image appeared. It was his mother’s grief. He had not been there to comfort her when she got news his father was killed at Shiloh.

      He thought about his brother who enlisted after he did; wondered where he was and if he was alive and well. News was difficult to get in these days of war. He would see him soon and they would return victorious from war together. His parched smile returned and he fell into a deeper and more peaceful slumber. He felt good. Everything would work out and be good again. He slept.

      Leonard slowly awakened to the unusual peace and comfort he felt in the darkness. He became encouraged when his fingers seemed to tingle as he tried to move them. A good sign, he thought. Remembering how the reigns were tight around his hands, before the accident, and remembering the awful pain, as he was dragged off the wagon, brought about more memories of the accident.

      The supply wagon he was driving was racing out of control, as his company was in fast retreat from the advancing enemy, when the cross tree broke sending the wagon in one direction, he and the horses in another. His hands were entangled in the reigns.

      He couldn’t remember everything but he did remember that someone riding beside him tried cutting the reigns; tried to free him from the frightened animals. He remembered a lot but then nothing more. His head and neck injury, he thought, was where the horses probably kicked him when he fell.

      Then it grew darker and quieter. Strangely, he thought, it seemed each time he awakened it was dark. He found the stillness puzzling. There should be screams and shouts of grief and pain; the smell of death and dying, and the prayers of gratitude of the survivors. Maybe it was night time; everyone sedated, asleep or passed out from exhaustion. Except for the distant thunder of cannons, it seemed too quiet.

      He knew the war had ended for him, with the accident, but something was wrong. He didn’t remember if the doctor had been by to see him and he wanted to find out how bad his injuries were. Maybe one of them was still here. He tried to call out but his mouth and throat were parched and hurt from lack of water. He tried to swallow but there was no spit. He bit his tongue in hopes it would draw some moisture. It didn’t.

      His legs were still numb; not a good sign. His arms ached terribly but he couldn’t move them. Maybe they were broken from being dragged before he was cut free from the run-away horses. He lay there trying to find a way to get someone’s attention but his efforts only tired him more.

      Despite the pain, Leonard was happy to be alive. He was aware of dampness and a musty odor in the air mixing with the ugly stench of war. Mugginess filled his sinuses until they ached but the throbbing around his eyes and head began to disappear gradually. Distant thundering sounds made him slightly nervous but they too, began to fade with his pain. He slipped into unconsciousness as the far-off thunder rolled, rumbled and echoed through the war torn valley.

      Outside, lightning could be seen splitting the sky beyond the tree covered hills and a gentle, cleansing summer rain fell to wash away the blood of battle; maybe give life, while he slept, to the mounds of bare earth covering rows of shallow, hastily dug battle-field graves.