The Civil War- the most destructive war that America has experienced. A war whose destruction deeply touched American soil, American families, and American lives. Long after the war was over, distrust and malice lingered as the North and South labored to bring America into prosperity once more.
The following story illustrates much of this tension. As always, any comments about the story, especially regarding its mood and the feelings it left you with, would be greatly appreciated.
~~~~~~~~~
Charity Never Faileth
The thunder of batteries shook the air, and clouds of choking smoke billowed from the snarling mouths of the cannon. Time after time men bent to reload and fire. Many times men fell, never to rise again. Civilians huddled in the nearby town, listening, waiting, praying. For hours and hours the rumbling resounded through the countryside until, like a thunderstorm that has run its course, it moved on and grew faint in the distance.
Gathering their courage, the townspeople ventured outside their houses. They huddled together in groups to talk, and the wagons were made ready to carry the wounded from the battlefield. Carefully the men scoured the battlefield, and soon wagons laden with blue-uniformed men streamed into the town. After being unloaded of their fragile cargo, the carts returned to the field only to be loaded similarly. By the middle of the afternoon, the town was full of wounded men, and the battlefield was specked with the bodies of the dead. Apart from an occasional bird or squirrel, nothing moved across the wide meadow. Bodies littered the ground like the dry bones in the valley of Ezekiel.
A single, grey-uniformed body lay half-hidden in the brush on the far side of the field. The wind sighed softly in the trees over the body. And then as if Ezekiel had prophesied over the man, a great shudder shook his chest suddenly, and he gasped for air. For a moment he lay still again but then began breathing heavily. Rustling through the brush, the breeze touched the man and sent his hair dancing across his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed into the sky. With an effort, he whispered, "The sky is so blue..." The tree branches waved gently above him, and he smiled faintly. Suddenly a spasm shook him, and he clutched his chest. Looking down, he saw dark blood staining his uniform. For a moment he froze, shocked at his wound, then struggled to sit up. Breathing heavily again, he rested against a tree and examined his wound.
"I'll be ok, I'll be ok," he murmured to himself. "If I could only get some water..."
After resting for a few minutes more, he sat up straight and with a great effort, stood up. He leaned heavily against the tree and then stumbled forward a few steps to another tree where he rested. Thus with slow progress he made his way forward. The breeze cooled his sweating brow as he made his arduous journey along the edge of the field. The meadow was silent save the gentle sighing of the wind and the twitter of birds in the brush.
As the man stumbled from tree to tree, his breath became shorter and shorter until at last he stopped and collapsed on the ground to rest. He propped himself against a tree and gasped. A sudden spasm ripped through his chest again, and he cried out with the pain. Looking down at his wound again, he saw blood oozing from somewhere under his uniform.
"I must...get...water..." he gasped. He dragged himself to his feet and struggled on with his hand at his chest. Stumbling onto a road, he followed it blindly until a horseman came galloping up behind him. He tried to wave the horseman down, but the horse went right on past him. His fatigued body sagged, but he forced himself on with a fierce, consuming resolve that he would get to whatever was at the end of that road. Next a wagon came up behind him and stopped at his frantic gestures. From the man and woman in it, he learned that a town lay ahead, but when he asked them to take him there, they flatly refused, their distain for him obvious. His body and spirit went limp as the wagon disappeared up the road, but he gathered his resolve and somehow made himself keep limping, stumbling, and falling along. He kept up a furious yet agonizingly painful pace until he reached the town a mile further. There in the busy street he slowed and tried to address first one and then another of the passersby. No one would listen to his pleas, and he could feel their hateful eyes on him. Finally he gained the attention of a woman, and he gasped, "Please, ma'am, might I have some...some...water..."
The woman surveyed him indifferently. "Get along now," she said roughly. "This is a loyal Northern town, and we have no need for traitors like you."
"Please...have pity..." the man's mouth shaped the words, but the woman turned away and left him.
Utter despair took hold of him and possessed him like a demon; a great, giant hand took hold of his chest and held it very tight. All strength abandoned him, and he collapsed where the woman had left him. His breath came in great spasms; blood flowed freely from his wound. Agony held his mind in her clutches as he was haunted by the flagrant heartlessness of the townspeople. Did they have no compassion? Did they not believe all men equal before God? Was he a worse sinner than any of them? They would not refuse care to even an animal in such a dire state as his. Yet another spasm ripped through his chest, and the giant hand tightened its grip.
Suddenly a flood of cool water flowed over his face, pouring over and sinking into every little crack and crevice in his skin. His parched, cracked lips opened a little, and a little stream of water trickled into his mouth and down his throat, making a cool path as it went. A torrent of water followed, and he drank greedily. He opened his eyes and saw a little girl, her eyes full of pity and concern, bending over him with a pitcher of water and a cup. When she saw his eyes open, she asked, "Are you hurt really bad?"
As if in answer, a tremor shook his chest. Gasping for breath, he whispered to the girl, "God bless you...you had pity...you helped me." Then with a great effort, "Thank you..."
A tremor took hold of him, and a battle raged within him. Like a wild bird in a cage, something struggled to get free. Then all at once, it broke free, and he lay still. His body went limp, and his blood ceased to flow. As his last breath passed through his lips, a smile crossed his face. A child did what no other would do. A child, unblinded by the politics of the day, did what is every man's duty to do. The child, unconcerned about the color of the helpless, dying man's uniform, saw him, loved him, and helped him.