Hey y'all! Hope everything is going well! Here's another chapter, sorry for the dry spell.
"Mr. Jones, you have a telegram."
Alfred looked up from his coffee and newspaper. He folded the paper and reached for the telegram, which the servant proceeded to hand to him.
"Thank you," Alfred said as he opened it. The yellow paper crinkled between his fingers, and he sat back as he read.
Rebels in close proximity to Washington STOP Perceived target to be Manasses STOP Exact troop numbers are unknown STOP Should be an easy defeat STOP
Alfred nodded and took another sip of his coffee. "Mr. President," he called out over his shoulder. "You need to see this."
Lincoln came out of an adjacent dining room with his one of his young sons, William, holding his hand. "What is it, Alfred?" Lincoln took the telegram from Alfred's outstretched hand and read it while Alfred snuck William some candy that he had in his pocket. William smiled and took the candy, and Alfred put his finger to his lips. William nodded and put his finger to his own lips with a grin, his cheeks round with sweets. Alfred had grown close to William, and even though William was only four, William would follow Alfred all around the White House. He always wanted to include Alfred in his little games of imagination, and Alfred was always 'it' when it came time to play hide-and-seek. Alfred liked to give William little gifts when he could, such as candy and little wooden figures of people and animals that he would carve with a pocket knife, and William would bring Alfred gifts of his own in turn, mainly rocks and different things that he could find outside. Once, Alfred opened his desk drawer to find that William had left him a toad.
While Lincoln was still reading the telegram with a creased brow, Alfred pulled a small wooden toy soldier from his pocket. William's eyes grew wide as saucers, and his lips were spread in a wide smile. "I'll tell you a secret," Alfred whispered. "I was given a toy soldier just like this one when I was a little older than you."
"Really?" William whispered in awe.
"Yes sir! Now you need to take good care of him, alright?"
William nodded furiously.
"Now go play while your father and I talk about boring grown-up things, okay?"
William ran off as fast as his little legs could carry him to the next room, where he instantly began to play with his new treasure. Alfred watched him for a moment, his mind suddenly filled with memories of his childhood with Arthur, of his young happiness, of his own little toy soldier, but he had little time to reminisce after days long past.
"What do you think?" Alfred turned to face Lincoln, who had removed his spectacles upon finishing reading and pondering over the telegram.
"I think," Lincoln replied, "That this is the opportunity that we've been hoping for." He smiled down at Alfred, and Alfred smiled back. "I'll call the generals. Let's meet them at Manassas. We can squash this rebellion once and for all."
Alfred nodded and turned to watch little William play in the opposite room. The child was engrossed in a game with his new toy soldier, and Alfred frowned when William made loud noises to resemble gunshots. "Attack!" William cried, he and his new soldier sprinting across the room toward some unseen enemy.
Alfred couldn't shake the eerie feeling that he got as he watched William's innocent game. His stomach turned and he thought that he may become sick.
Lincoln watched Alfred observe William's play for a moment before he attempted a remark. "Alfred, are you alright?"
Alfred blinked and stood up. "Yes, yes I'm fine." He took one last look at William before speeding out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him.
Lincoln frowned at Alfred and at his strange behavior, then faced what it was that had sent Alfred from the room.
The toy soldier lay on its side against the wooden floorboards.
William danced and sang around it, reveling in the disgrace of his fallen enemy.
-x-x-x-
Samuel stood with General Beauregard and twenty thousand troops on the field at Manassas. Alerted to the approach of the Union troops, Samuel and Beauregard decided to take the fight to them and meet them there. Samuel couldn't get over the fact that Yankees had gathered on the ridge with their picnic lunches to watch the battle. He was sickened by it, not only because they thought that the Confederacy would roll over that easily, but because they actually wanted to watch.
"Can you believe the nerve of them?" Beauregard shook his head at the growing crowd on the ridge. "I'd bet that they brought their popcorn and candy and whatever else to snack on while they watch the massacre."
Just then, the Union army crested the hill. All thirty-four thousand of them.
Beauregard whistled long and low. "They certainly don't have a shortage of men, do they?" Samuel said nothing, but only crossed his arms. "They're here. Let's get on with it then."
-x-x-x-
Samuel paced behind the Confederate line directly in front of Beauregard's line of sight. Beauregard simply watched, only slightly annoyed. "Son, do something with yourself before you pace a ditch straight through this ground until you hit China."
Samuel sighed, exasperated. "You can't just expect me to stay back here while I allow men to go before me and die! I've got to go with them!"
Beauregard shook his head and crossed his arms. "I can't let you do that, President's orders. He wants to make sure that you're physically stable enough to heal quickly like a normal nation before he allows you to jump headlong into a hail of Yankee bullets."
Samuel rolled his eyes and started to walk toward the front Confederate line. Beauregard's irate voice rang out above the heads of the soldiers that surrounded him.
"Samuel Lee Jones, you listen to me-"
Samuel spun around to face Beauregard. "No, you listen to me." His voice was quiet, but forceful enough to make Beauregard think twice about interrupting. "I'll do what I very well please, whether that coincides with what you want or not. Besides," Samuel smirked with his parting sentence. "I outrank you." He winked and turned toward the front of the Confederate lines.
Beauregard yelled after Samuel, but he didn't even pretend to care as he pushed his way to the front line, rifle slung over one shoulder and pistol hanging off of his hip. He drew up alongside a boy who looked to be about fifteen years old, his flaming red hair sticking out from under his cap in uneven tufts. "Can you believe this," Samuel said softly to the boy, "These people come out in droves to watch a battle like it's some kind of theatrical production." He looked down at the boy and met his soft blue eyes. "Does this look like Shakespeare in the Park to you?" The boy shook his head quickly. Samuel noticed that the boy's fingers were wrapped around his rifle so tightly that his knuckles were white. His slender shoulders shook ever so slightly under his jacket.
"What's your name?" Samuel asked the boy. His voice was soft and kind, and barely was loud enough to hear over the din of the army that surrounded them.
"Daniel." His voice shook with the word. His lower lip began to tremble.
Samuel stood in front of Daniel and rested a hand on each of the boy's shoulders. "Daniel, we are going to do this together, and we are going to be alright. You're going to be alright. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it."
Daniel searched Samuel's eyes, his lower lip still trembling. He nodded and turned his face to the opposite side of the open field. "Alright. We can do this."
Samuel ruffled Daniel's hair lovingly. "That's right we can." The calls of the generals behind him drifted up on the wind. The Union army was cresting the far hill.
Generals called to soldiers.
"Be ready!"
Rifles unslung.
Powder poured down barrels.
Bullets loaded.
The sharp smell of gunpowder.
The smell of sweat.
The sounds of desperate final prayers for safety.
A pause.
The army drew a collective breath.
Thick silence fell over the ranks.
Samuel couldn't still his pounding heart.
So it begins.
-x-x-x-
Alfred remained at the White House with Lincoln. He had the option to head down to Manassas, but decided against it. His place was with the President, he had decided. Battles could be won without him. Besides, he thought, it's not like this is going to last very long anyway. Startled, he shook his head quickly to clear the thought from his head. During times like this, when Alfred was under extreme stress and exhaustion, his mind was extremely susceptible to adapt to the thoughts of the people. He wondered at how the people of the United St-well, of the Union, could brush this sequence of events off as if they were nothing. No one seemed to understand that they were at war with their brothers.
Alfred sighed and gazed out of the window. The sun was just peeking out from behind a silver puff of cloud to spread its golden warmth over the dewy grass. This was going to be a long conflict. Alfred knew that no one would make it out of this ordeal unscathed.
Himself and Samuel the most of all.
As much as he fumed over the present status of the States, he could not help but feel pity for Samuel in his heart of hearts. Samuel was heading into this with no earthly sense of what was to come, and he was being led by men whose own eyes could not perceive the light of reason.
The Blind leading the Lied To.
Straight into the grave.
-x-x-x-
The deep explosions of the faraway cannons reverberated in Samuel's chest. The shelling had continued for what felt like forever, and everyone felt the growing restlessness and anticipation. The smoke had baptised the men in a burning gray that wove its bitter smell into their nostrils. Samuel anxiously fiddled with a loose button on his uniform jacket, his mind elsewhere.
The sound of General Beauregard's voice jerked his mind back to the present.
"Ready your weapons!"
A sea of gray arms drew their weapons up to their chests.
"Bayonets!"
The ring of steel through air cut through the din of battle. Thousands of bayonets, now fixed to their rifles, glinted sharply in the sunlight.
A steady breath in through his nostrils. A slow breath out through his sunburned lips. Samuel waited.
There was a break in the Union line's defenses. The Confederate cavalry was amid the Union artillery. An exposed flank. An opportunity.
Samuel could practically hear the smile on Beauregard's face as he yelled, "Let's go, boys!" No one could tell if Beauregard said anything more, because a cry had risen from the mouths of the men that was so great, every other sound was drowned out.
Samuel was the first to sprint down the hill at the exposed Union soldiers. A wave of men crashed after him. The field was filled with what the Union men described as a sound that must have come from Hell itself. The Confederate men called it the sound of freedom.
The space between the two armies diminished. Samuel counted the distance in pounding footfalls. His breath fell into a corresponding rhythm.
A hasty line of defense was made. Someone on the other side yelled something. Everything seemed to move in half speed.
The flash was blinding.
That's when the screams started.
Men at Samuel's left fell. As did men on his right. Hot lead bore into his ribs. His rage was swift and terrible.
Within moments, Samuel's men broke over the line like water on rock.
Everything was a blur. A face here, a rifle there, a smear of blue and of gray. A stab here, a kick to this man, a warm and sticky spray over skin, the taste of metal. Samuel couldn't think. He could only move. His arms felt as if they weighed nothing and moved on their own. He tripped over the dead. The earth eagerly drank from their outpouring of blood. There was nothing else in the world outside of this, Samuel was convinced of it. He was aware of every miniscule thing. The weight of the rifle in his hands. The feel of the dirt under his feet. The cool stream of sweat that ran down his face.
As quickly as it had started, it was over. Union soldiers that were still alive turned and ran. Confederate soldiers gave chase. Samuel's breath rattled from his lungs. Nothing felt real. It was over already.
The gravity of what had just taken place fell on Samuel when he looked down and realized his bayonet was buried in the chest of a Union soldier, who could have been no older than sixteen. The boy's eyes were wide open in terror and locked onto Samuel's own.
He promptly fell to his knees and vomited.
His screams tore their way through his chest and ripped through his throat. Tears poured from his eyes. The hot salt water mixed with the blood splattered on his cheeks. His hands, which were sticky and red, clutched at his hair. The sounds of the depths of his soul were heard by the living and the dying. No one could have cared. They were all broken.
-x-x-x-
"It's a slaughter, sir. No fewer than three thousand estimated dead. The survivors are in a full scale retreat back to Washington."
The words repeated themselves over and over in Alfred's mind. He sat in a chair with his head was rested in his hands, his elbows on his knees.
He wept for the dead.
But most of all, he wept for the living.
-x-x-x-
Samuel wandered the battlefield aimlessly, the burning pain in his ribs growing with each breath. He didn't care though. He had to find Daniel.
His eyes scanned the dead. His feet shuffled over the stinking grass. The vultures had already descended from where they circled in the wind to reap their spoils.
Samuel searched until the shadows stretched long and grotesque on the ground.
He never found him.
-x-x-x-
By the time Samuel stumbled into the General's tent, he could hardly breathe. One look at him and Beauregard dropped the papers in his hand to rush forward and catch Samuel as he fell to his knees. Beauregard took one look at Samuel's jacket soaked with his blood, cursed under his breath, and threw one arm over his shoulders. He half dragged, half carried Samuel to the medic tent. A nurse saw him and ushered him inside. The stench of blood and vomit assaulted Samuel's nose. A table somewhere opened up, and together the nurse and Beauregard hoisted Samuel up onto it. As the nurse gathered a mishmash of bloody tools together, Beauregard ripped Samuel's jacket open, then his shirt. His chest was drenched with sweat.
"Hold him still," the nurse yelled over the screams of a man to Samuel's right. A quick glance over made him instantly wish he hadn't looked at all. The man was having his leg amputated, and the saw was stuck.
A scream of his own was caught in his throat. Fire licked at his side. The nurse dug for the bullet, but it had gone deep. She cursed, then shoved the forceps in, and the scream let loose from his lips. He could think of nothing else but the white-hot pain. He slammed a boot against the table in a vain attempt at lessening it. He writhed, but Beauregard held him fast.
Time stood still, until- "Got it. Now put this on him tightly and get him out of here. Spare table! Oh, get that kid over here! Someone get me a tourniquet!" Something was pressed to Samuel's side, and he was hauled off of the table and out of the tent.
"Jones, you are so stupid…" Beauregard had sat him down against a nearby tree and started to remove what was left of his torn and bloodied jacket and shirt. Every breath felt like knives in his lungs, but the pain was already starting to subside. Beauregard pressed a wad of cotton against his wound and wrapped a strip of cloth around his chest. "Alright, lean back and try to catch your breath." Samuel did as he was told, and Beauregard held Samuel's jaw in one hand. "Your color is already coming back. How's it feel?" The pain had settled down into a steady throb, and Samuel nodded his head. "Be grateful that you're already healing, or I think Davis might just have killed you himself. Now stay here and rest for a while, I've got to meet with the other generals about our victory." With a slap on the shoulder, he was gone.
Samuel closed his eyes and sighed. His mind was filled with pain and sorrow, and one question that he could not answer.
How am I going to do this alone?
Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave us a review!
Much love,
Harley and Amanda