ALL THAT'S LEFT OF ME

By Jo Anzalone

Chapter 5:

Jonathon was in an exhausted sleep when the rain began and it took several minutes of rain

to awaken him. Letting out a low sound that was half sigh, half moan, he rolled onto his left

side, folding his right arm over the side of his face.  Ordinarily he would not have been able

to get back to sleep, but he drifted off again, simply too worn not to.

Toward morning, though, the rain became heavier and as the ground beneath him became

ever more sodden, he sat up, bending his knees, resting his forehead on them, his forearms

crossed over his head. His stomach began to growl endlessly as he'd had only a little to eat

and that was the day before yesterday.  There was water, thank goodness, as he'd set his hat

to catch rain and drank from it from time to time.

Around him men were coughing, some quite violently.  As he sat there hour after hour,

waiting with the rest of them for whatever was to come next, he wondered what had happened

with the fleeing Yanks. Had their rout been followed up by the Confederate army or did they

all just keep running until they got back to Washington? He had no way of knowing.  He only

hoped all this had not been in vain.

At the sound of riders, he lifted his head into the rain, looking around. Men were beginning

to stand and so he stood, too, hoping orders were on the way. It was, however, President

Jeff Davis, who'd arrived from Richmond this Monday morning and, in the company of

General Beauregard and several high-ranking staff officers, reined in their horses not far

away from Jonathon.

Davis began to speak to the men, complimenting them on how they had handled themselves

yesterday and the mere fact that this was their President and none of them had ever seen

a person of that rank before, led them into wild cheering in response to his words, no matter

they were soaked to the skin, exhausted and hungry. As Davis was readying to leave, he

turned his horse's head back towards them and shouted, "When powder and ball fail, give

them the cold steel!"

Jimmie came up to him, his arms folded tightly across his chest, water dripping off his nose

and chin.  "How long you think they're gonna leave us here?"

Jonathon shook his head. "There ain't no sign, Jimmie, of anythin' doin'.  Why don't we get

some of those rails from that fence over yonder and see if we can make ourselves some sorta

shelter.  I'm damn tired of bein' out in this rain."

Dusk was coming on and groups of soldiers began pulling down the fences, jury-rigging

whatever kind of shelter they could make from them. Someone had discovered straw about

a mile away over a muddy field, and Jonathon and Jimmie slogged across it, bringing back

as much as they could carry to pile atop the rails and cover a bit of ground to sit on inside

it. His hunger level rose with each passing, rainy hour and finally, just at dark, wagons began

to arrive, bringing them crackers and bacon. It wasn't until the next day, though, they were allowed to go back to where they'd left their knapsacks before the battle. 

"Nooo...." The word came out of Jonathon in miserable disbelief.  The regiment's knapsacks

were still there all right, but every one of them had been dumped out, cut to pieces, and all

their clothing and blankets torn to rags, lying here and there in little useless scraps in the mud.

They never knew for sure who had done it. Either they'd fallen into enemy hands or, possibly,

other Confederates had destroyed them, thinking they belonged to Union soldiers. Whatever

the reason, everything they owned was gone but their rifles and their cartridge cases...and

Jonathon's mother's little Bible, which he carried in his pocket.

Measles had started in Company I of the 13th on Monday.  By Tuesday it had spread to

Companies E, F, and G. (Jonathon was in Company B, which in 1862 was changed to Company A)

They went into camp in an old field on Bull Run within 200 yards of Stone Bridge. It was

there men began dying from the measles.  It seemed everyone who got it, died from it.

Jonathon was, for the first time in his life, glad he'd gone through that particular sickness

as a boy.  There were, though, more enlistments into the 13th at Stone Bridge, men who

traveled from Mississippi to join up.

Jonathon had been writing letters home twice a week when he could.  He didn't mention

drinking from the bloody stream, but wrote at some length about ol' Jeff Davis riding right

up to them in the rain. He told them how in camp at Stone Bridge they drilled from 8 to 10,

had a rest break in their tents, then drilled more in the afternoons. The weather had been

better, at least dryer, some of the days.  Those days, though, because of all the moisture in

the air and saturating the ground, the humidity was very high.  As a native Mississippian,

however, he was used to sultry air.  On Wednesday, July 31st they had drilled in the

morning as usual, but then orders came to cook one day's provision and be ready to move

out on a 6 mile march to Centerville the next morning.  It rained that morning until 10,

delaying their departure, but before long they were slogging down the muddy road. That

is, those of them who were not sick, were slogging.  By Friday's dress parade, so many were

sick that to Jonathon it looked like his regiment was comprised of a single company.

Jonathon's friend, 22 year old Nute Tabor, who had called out to him that last morning in Louisville, died from measles there at Centerville.

Hearing the news of it, Jonathon had walked alone for a while in a nearby copse of trees.

He had visited Nute the day before he died and his friend had managed a weak grin, saying,

"At least I made it through a battle, Johnnie. That's more'n Cal got."  Leaning against a

tree, Jonathon wondered just how many of the young men of Winston County would ever

see their homes again.

The water the camp had at Centerville was so bad that the men were glad when, on August

3rd, they were ordered on to Chesterville.  There they found water in greater abundance,

but it wasn't really any better than Centerville's.  Every day sickness spread relentlessly

through their numbers, leaving few of them to do guard duty.  A large amount of fine brandy

had been furnished for the use of the sick men but had been, alas, entrusted to the care of

the officers for distribution.  Little of it found its way into the metal cups beside the cots of

the ill.

On Sunday the 4th, a clear and pleasant day, only 350 reported for duty out of the 900 who

were counted as present. More than 100 of them had died since leaving Union City, nearly

all of them from disease. When the regiment was ordered to move on to Leesburg, a quarter

of it remained behind in Chesterville. On the evening of the 4th, hoping to encourage the

remaining men, a resolution of the Mississippi legislature complimenting them on their

conduct was read aloud to the regiment. By the 5th, though, 600 of them were on the sick

list, with several dying each day.  By the 7th, guard duty was suspended because there

simply weren't enough men left standing. 

On the 8th of August, Jonathon got to see another impressive personage.  Prince Napoleon,

who was the nephew of Bonaparte,  passed by the camp with his suite in two carriages, each drawn by four horses, on his way to visit General Beauregard. The following day, in fact, General Nathan Evans, now commanding a brigade formed of the 13th, 17th, and 18th Mississippi regiments, along with the 8th Virginia and the first company of the Richmond Howitzers, ordered them out to be reviewed by the prince as part of the assembled army of General Beauregard.  Dressed as neatly as was possible and bearing their arms, they

presented a satisfactorily impressive appearance to the Prince, who rode along their

entire line.

Later that Friday the half of the regiment that was able, continued on towards Leesburg.

Saturday was a very warm, very sultry day.  The Prince, who was being courted by both

the Confederacy and the Union and making the most of it, headed with his suite back to

Washington.  Colonel Barksdale, who had had more to drink than even usual, rode along

beside his marching men, drunkenly abusing them with his shouts and curses to such a

degree that General Evans finally had him arrested and gave temporary command to

Lt. Colonel Whitaker.

"Somehow this ain't like I thought, Johnnie," Jimmie commented. "We ain't done nothin'

but what we was told an' only half of us is still marchin' 'long this here road, and ol'

Barksdale, he was makin' me so sorry I'd joined up. I don't know, I really don't, just how

much more of this shit I'm goin' to be able to take. What you thinkin' 'bout all this,

Johnnie?"

Jonathon's brow was still knit in a deep frown from the insults Barksdale had hurled at

them. "I think this business of war, Jimmie, is right hard enough without our colonel bein'

drunk half the time.  He's a good soldier, knows his business, and without a doubt has

helped me become a good soldier, too. I reckon I owe him a lot for that. But he ain't got

cause at all to do what he did today. I felt shame for him, makin' such a spectacle of

himself and then gettin' arrested 'n all.  No need for such. None at all."

"Seems like a powerful long time, Johnnie, afore our enlistment's up. I'm glad we only

signed on for one year. That'll be more'n enough for me. Way more."

On Sunday the 11th, the regiment arrived in Leesburg, going into camp a mile south of

the town. On Tuesday the 13th, Jonathon sat in his tent, pencil in hand, looking at what

he'd written on his letter home.

Got to Leesburg on Sunday. We had heavy rain all night. Five of our men died today. It

rained all day Monday, rained all day today as well. Please send me what clothes you can.

I need everything.  If my heavy coat is still in that trunk in my room, please try to send that,

too.  It is colder here than I expected.  I would appreciate new wool socks, Mama, if you

can make me some.  It rains so much that in the nights the water comes right up in my

tent and my blanket is wet all the time.  I wish I could see you. I miss you very much and

you are always in my thoughts.  I wish....

He sighed, resting his forehead in his hand. It wasn't much of a letter and he didn't know

how to finish it. What did he wish?  He wanted the war to be over, wanted to be back in

his own house, eating his mother's good cooking, listening to little Sarah laugh, helping

his father and brothers run the farm.  He felt like an ocean of time and distance lay between

him and all that.  He'd be 23 in less than a month. He wanted a wife, wanted to start his

own family. Sarah was so much younger than he was that he'd often felt very fatherly

towards her, always protective and gentle. Closing his eyes he tried to imagine his own

children.  He had a strong yearning for fatherhood. He needed to be home to find himself

a wife to love, to start that family with. And those thoughts led him on to one of the most

vital things he wished...that not only would he come home, but that he'd come home whole.

Like his daddy had said there just before he left, that he'd march back into Louisville, head

high, a sparkle in his eye, just as he'd marched out of it. He wished that.  Only that would

lead to the wife, to the children.  Every man he knew in the regiment wished the same thing,

to return home whole.  He thought of the man down the line just before the charge at

Manassas who'd been shot through the thigh.  He'd lost that leg.  Jonathon shuddered

slightly.  There in those last minutes before the very first battle that young man had lost his

leg.  Almost involuntarily, Jonathon wiggled his toes in his shoes, making himself a promise.

He'd come home on his own two feet or he wouldn't come home.

"What you thinkin', Johnnie?"

Jonathon looked over at Jimmie.  "Just tryin' to figure what to say to the folks next."

"Well, tell 'em I say hi.  Tell 'em to tell my folks I'm all right, wet as hell, but all right. Maybe

don't use the word hell in that," he smiled.

"Sure, Jimmie."  Jonathon moved his pencil on the paper again.

I wish I could see your dear faces and hear your voices.  Seems like it's been a long time. 

Jimmie asks that you kindly tell his parents he is all right but he is wet and needs more

clothes just as I do. Leesburg is very far north, at least in my mind as it is such a distance

from our farm. The Potomac River is near at hand and just on the other side of that is

Maryland. I wonder if at some time in this war I will make it over into enemy land.  Again,

I send you my love.  Billy, you are well out of this so please stay that way.  I would not like

the thought of you doing what I am finding I have to do.  Believe me on this.

He folded the page with a sigh, not feeling really newsy tonight.  What did one say about

marching or the fact that it rained a lot?  We marched, we drilled, it rained, men died?

As time passed, he was finding writing letters home harder and harder as there was so

much he didn't share, knowing it would only make his family worried.

"I told them you needed clothes, too, Jimmie."

"Thanks, Johnnie."  Jimmie smiled at Jonathon.  "In case I ain't got 'round to sayin' it,

Johnnie, I'm right glad to have you at my side during this here war."

Jonathon looked at Jimmie's smiling, round face in the dim light, the rain beating down on

the canvas above them.  That face was so familiar. He'd known it almost all his life and

Jimmie's presence was like having a piece of home with him.  "I'm right glad, too, Jimmie,"

he smiled in return.

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