The Calm and the Strife by David J. Sloat

Author:David J. Sloat [Sloat, David J. Sloat, John W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ginnie Wade, The Calm and the Strife, Wesley Culp, Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address, Gettysburg, Romance, Virginia Wade, Historical, Military, American Civil War, War, Jennie Wade
Publisher: CCB Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

A LOST CAUSE

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

March 1862

Wes wrapped a weary arm around his aching ribs and shifted his body in a vain attempt to get comfortable on the rough wooden floor. Pain rippled through him, causing him to gasp involuntarily. It had been nearly a week since his capture and the white hot dagger in his chest had not subsided. He decided that he had a broken rib or two. It was not surprising, considering the vicious beating to which his captors had subjected him.

He had almost been glad to be handed over to the Federals. They, at least, were professionals; they had treated him roughly, but they hadn’t beaten him. He wondered if they would have been more vicious had they discovered that he was a northerner. The civilians who caught him hadn’t cared where he came from. All they knew was that the uniform he wore was gray. They did care about their brothers and neighbors who had gone off to fight him and the rest of his friends, and so they figured they were helping in their own way by beating up one lonely rebel. Wes would have laughed, but the pain in his ribs prevented him. The irony was too great. They thought they were protecting their neighbors; in fact, it was one of their neighbors they were abusing.

Once he had been turned over to the Federal army, he had been moved from place to place, joining larger and larger groups of captured rebels. At first, there were only three or four of them. The men were strangers to Wes, but in every sense they were more his brothers than the northerners swarming about them in blue. After a few days, there were enough of them, about two dozen, to move to more permanent quarters. They were marched up the road to a train stop, loaded aboard a freight car like so many cattle, and moved north. Wes, knowing roughly where the rail lines ran, wondered whether the journey would take him near Gettysburg.

As the train crawled north, stopping at every little station to pick up civilians and occasionally another prisoner-of-war, he peered anxiously between the slats of the car waiting for familiar landmarks to roll into view. Just as he feared, he began to recognize the hills from his youth. The train was in fact nearing Gettysburg. He closed his eyes and listened, praying that they would keep rolling, that they would stop anywhere but there, someplace where no one knew him. But the train pulled into the north end of town and stopped at the station. Perhaps they were just picking up passengers, Wes thought. But soon, the doors slid open and the group was told to get out. Wes descended, afraid to look about, fearing that someone he knew might be nearby. He saw a group gathered at a distance down the platform. Wes couldn’t make out the faces in the dim light, and was relieved to realize they couldn’t recognize him either. He turned to face the train so it would be harder for anyone to catch sight of him.

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