Darkness Comes

DARKNESS COMES by John Tansey All rights reserved by the author July 2009 Part I “Ain’t that something?” Billy Olgilvie spoke in hushed tones. In the heavy air of the summer afternoon the smell of his breath brushed my face, tangy and redolent of onion. The spectacle beyond and below us was what he spoke of. Some quality of the atmosphere and maybe the shape of the ground where the action took place hid the sound of the battle from our position. We knew drums and bugles played commands, and men shouted and screamed. Battle flags swirled as color bearers whirled them back and forth beckoning troops to follow or hold. Confederate skirmishers fell back to their line, and then the whole line advanced at the run. We could see heads raised in the Yell, but we could hear nothing of it. Strangest of all was the instant white haze as the Federal line fired a massed volley, and the huge eruptions of billowing smoke as the big gun opened up -- yet silence. There was nothing like this silent scene. “Have you ever heard anything like this?” “Never.

Never have.”

Billy moved closer to me and again the smell of his breath reached me. “I’ve never heard of anything like this either.” “Hold your positions there,” came a nervous admonition from our lieutenant. “Tighten up, tighten up,” said our sergeant confidently, walking in front of our line, pushing men back into line. “When the order comes front rank drop and kneel. We’ll fire rank on rank on command. I could feel the company settle down in spite of our highly nervous condition. The sergeant was a man of quiet confidence and he lent assurance to those near him as he passed by. I watched his back as he passed on, light blue pants, dark blue jacket, kepi squared and straight on his head, visor low above his brow. Unlike us his musket was slung over this right shoulder. We leaned on our muskets in as relaxed a state as we could muster. “Make ready!” ready!”

“Make “Make ready!”

“Load!” “Load!” “Load!”

“Thems back there can see what we can’t,” said Old Jobe, a whitehead with white whiskers, yet a private in the ranks just like any of us. He gestured to a group of officers and a section of artillery that was on a rise behind us, for the field across which the battle would come was itself a gentle rise over which the Confederates would advance. Those officers on the rise behind us could see what we could not. Without the benefit of the manual of arms we loaded our muskets. The unharmonized rustling of hundreds of hands reaching into cartridge boxes, tearing open cartridges, the rattle of ramrods in barrels, and then a wave of quiet ‘snicks’ as fingers pushed caps onto percussion lock nipples. A greater state of nervousness swept over us. It changed how I saw the scene before me: the crest of a gentle field to our front green with grass, beyond the rise I could see the tops of great bushy green trees. The air was still, still, still. The leaves of trees did not stir. The sky above a beautiful blue expanse spotted with puffy white clouds. On the adjacent field where the silent battle raged the scene was now obscured by a thick fog of gun smoke. I could discern movement in the clouds of smoke, but no singular thing or action. Out from the edges of the roiling fumes units of cavalry from both sides galloped with purpose. Individual runners raced out of the cloud and back into it. Units in reserve advanced into the cloud. Some few individuals were helped or carried out to the rear. Further to the rear was an ambulance park. I could not see it, but I knew it was there. The drivers and attenders must be lounging about, smoking pipes and drinking coffee. They would be busy enough soon. Oh, how I would have enjoyed a cup of coffee now. Between the ambulance park that I could not see and the rear of the Federal lines rebel shells burst in explosion. Wounded horses on the their sides writhed in agony. Soldiers lay, maybe dead??? I could see some dismembered by a shell. I hoped they were dead to get out from the horror and agony of their disemboweled bodies. Were it me I would want to be dead. My head seemed filled with the noises of Armageddon that I should have been hearing. A cry from behind and the fast gallop of a captain swinging his kepi wildly above his head. “Steady there!

Form your ranks!

Make ready!”

Our nervous state rose to unbearable. What a useless show, galloping all the way around our lines, yelling and kicking up dirt! “Steady, steady,” staff.”

called our sergeant.

“Never mind that captain of the

Our eyes searched the empty field before us, what had been pasture for grazing animals. Then we saw. Faint bobbing objects at the crest of the rise. Hats! Then the heads and faces of the Confederate line of skirmishers. They advanced until we could see them to the waist, then they dropped to their knees, took aim and fired. That weird whirling whistling of balls flying by us, and then the ‘thwack’ of some striking home. Groans and cries as our boys fell. From the flanks and from behind our sharpshooters returned their fire, but they were more concealed and after they fired they dropped further behind that low crest to reload out of our sight. I could not see that any of our sharpshooters had found their mark. And then emerging from behind that rise came the confederate battle line,

flags at the fore, coming at the run. And as they emerged from behind that rise, from 500 or more throats, arose the Yell. How that yell vibrated through me, through the whole line. The whole line moved back a step or two. We wanted to turn on our heals and run. “Steady! Steady there,” called the sergeant. artillery behind us. Hold steady.” Drums commanded our actions. and phrases.

“Hold steady.

We’ve

An excited tattoo in varying beats, tempos,

A distant cry and the Confederates seemed to come on faster, the high pitched Yell like a volley striking us. “Cock your muskets!” The rasping clicks of hundreds of hammers being thumbed back to full cock did little to reassure me of my current situation. “Take aim!

Fire!”

Surprisingly our line erupted as one. “Independent fire!” I fumbled about that task. Where to look? At what I was doing or at what the rebels were doing. They were harder to see, through the cloud of our discharge. That Yell. They were on the run for us. Where to look? At what to look? Men and boys were yelling! Our yell, but it was nothing like their yell. I could hear the periodic cry of someone struck by Confederate balls. I couldn’t hear the Confederate fire, just the incredible noise from our line. And the soul numbing booming of our artillery. I could see nothing of the Confederate line, the smoke from our firing was so great and the atmosphere so airless. I had no idea at what I shot, just that I reloaded and fired, reloaded and fired, reloaded and fired. “Cease fire! Cease fire!” the call went up and down our rank. it before I could hear the drums beating cease fire.

I could here

Ever so gradually the gun smoke diffused, became opaque. The Confederate line had staggered to a halt. They staggered to attack again, but our renewed firing destroyed them. A handful remained standing or kneeling, firing at us, while the remainder of their survivors retreated. My God, their generals must be dumber than ours, or they thought our lines would never hold. I didn’t think so myself. I could not account to myself as to why I was still standing there. I saw the leaf sights of my musket were up. If I had been using it to aim all my firing would have been above the intended target. Perhaps I had hit some unintended rebel way behind their lines. I lowered the two sites. From here to the rise in the field was several hundred yards, and the rebels were about half way between us and there, a fairly direct shot. I lowered my musket so the sights lined up on a kneeling Confederate loading his musket. My heavy breathing had the sights of my musket spiraling. I held my breath, squeezed the trigger and the hammer fell. For the first time I

felt the discharge of my musket. I reloaded by rote, my eyes on the path of the ball. I could see that soldier lying back, his arms waving in the air. Perhaps for the first time I had found my mark. “Form up!

Fix bayonets!”

Drums beat and bayonets rattled and clanked onto musket barrels. “Advance!” Some hundreds of us in two ranks advanced onto that open field. “Double Time!” Our pace picked up. “Come on, Boys! Come on,” screeched the captain, waving his hat and racing his mount out in front of us. Our pace picked up. “Come on, Boys!

Come on!”

The drums beat to the attack, a rapid tattoo that had me giddy. I think I was laughing. We ran, bayonets leveled on the retreating Confederates. We ran into their broken line. Those who could threw up their hands in surrender. My God, some of our boys bayoneted those helpless rebels. It was the only time I saw a bayonet used for its intended purpose. We passed through their shattered line up to the crest of the field and down the other side. The rebels did not stop but ran to the tree line at the other side of that big pasture, to form up there behind their low breastwork of fence rails, tree limbs and thrown up dirt. The dark maw of cannon muzzles poked above that breast work, three or four of them. The atmosphere here was fairly clear and we could see the faces of those men opposing us. “Come on, Boys!

Come on!”

So we did, to about one hundred yards from their line. At that point they opened on us, their line erupting in flame and smoke. Canister tore gaping holes in our ranks. Limbs and heads flew about in unnatural ways. Others dropped in a heap from the pop pop popping of musketry. “Thwack!” A man’s jacket puckered as though blown from within, and he drops, a surprised look on his face. Billie Olgelvie was screaming like a girl, short shrieks, over and over again. Some of us were loading and shooting, but Billie just stood there screaming. Above the carnage of noise came the Yell. through the smoke of their own volley.

They were coming at us on the run

“Retreat!” Those of us who could had already turned about and were running before the drums started to sound retreat. In a hurry we left behind scores of wounded, some to die on rebel bayonets, many already dead. The ones untouched and those laid dead were the lucky ones. Awful the wounds of the wounded. Over the crest of the low hill and beyond and straight into the outstretched

arms of lieutenants, sergeants, and corporals, halting us and getting us down on our knees. “Reload, reload, reload!!!” We dropped onto knees, fumbling for cartridges and ramrods. fell onto his face, screaming.

Billie Ogelvie

But lo, just beyond us were hundreds of fresh troops, kneeling, muskets at the ready. Two batteries of field guns facing toward the enemy beyond the crest. What must have happened, through the haze of our earlier volleys in the still air, reinforcements stole unseen onto that field behind our attacking line. We must have had at least one smart general on our side, or maybe a general with a sense of humor. The Yell came louder. “Advance!

Advance!

Billie screamed louder. Advance the guns!”

We all stood up and advanced to the crest that ran down the center of that big pasture, over it and just down the other side. Shoved muzzle first came all six field guns, double shotted with canister. Seeing what was to come the rebels slowed, took aim and fired first. beyond in the tree line their own guns opened up.

From

I don’t know where Billy was, but I could still hear him screaming. Strangely, above the carnage of noise that was so loud, I heard the strangest things: the whistle and whiffle of Confederate balls and shells; Billy’s screams; the ‘thwack’ of lead on flesh, the snap of bones, the sound of hooves. “Hold steady, you dogs!

Hold steady!”

The captain of staff again, waving his hat dramatically, dementedly. Steady? No one moved except those falling to rebel shot and shell and they’d not hold steady for him. His mount whinnied and wheeled. He barely held on. “Ready!” yelled the sergeant, unnaturally shrieking, and as though singing a duet, Billy’s screams joined in. “Fire!!” We had lost scores to the Confederate volley moments before, but we were hundreds more than they and our volley laid half their line down. “Charge!!” Most of them didn’t realize we were coming, stunned by our fire and storm, yet the wiry wild looking rebels put up a fierce fight, swinging their muskets like clubs. But we were too many. I thrusted my bayonet towards the ribs of a small rebel, He deftly parried my thrust aside and would have caved my skull in with his musket butt, but my savior, our sergeant, leveled a revolver on him and shot him though the heart. He still tried to lower his musket onto me, but I knocked it aside and shoved him down onto the ground. “Go, Go!”

Drums urged us on, onto their line before they could shoot us down. We were pushing them out. We were winning. Their artillery was limbering up. Across the river that anchored our left flank companies of cavalry felt their way across, hoping to harry the flank of the fleeing rebels. “Form up, form up!” We drew up into a scrambled rank and loosed a volley at the backs of the Confederates. Though the haze of the volleys hung heavy in the air we could see their forms and leveled our muskets on them. Effective we were, and could see them drop. We rushed into their former line and took cover on the reverse side of their breastworks, readying for a counter attack. But it did not come. Sweat trickled into my eyes and down my back and down my legs. I pulled out a large red neckerchief and wiped my face. So thirsty. My canteen was shot through and nothing was in it. The taste in my dry mouth was salty and metallic and smoky. “Stand down.

Stand down.”

We loaded our muskets and remained watchful, but the action on this field was done. The cavalry had all crossed and chased after the rebels. We learned later that Confederate cavalry met them and whipped them good. “First and Third Companies, form up!” No drums now. We formed up and slowly followed our sergeant back over that field we had just crossed. So many laid there, broken and busted. Confederate prisoners did what they could for their wounded and dying. We did the same for ours. The dying needed water to quench their thirst and help ease them away. Those that could survive needed binding up and cutting up. They needed water too, but canteens had been drained much earlier that afternoon. Groups of our boys with armfuls of canteens went to the churned up river. Even muddy water tastes good when you’re that thirsty. In a daze. Where was I? Our bivouac of the night before. Nothing seemed right. We picked up our packs and haversacks. Along with the men fetching water, others went to fetch rations. Water was already boiling for coffee and gun cleaning. “First Company form up for pickets.” A handful of us went back to the edge of the woods where we would stand guard, looking out to that awful pasture we had crossed and recrossed. It might have made better sense if we advanced out to the ridge where we could look across to the other side of the fields and the former rebel position in the woods beyond. But we could hear the jingle jangle of Cavalry vedettes patrolling out there. And the cries of the wounded, crying pitifully, crying for help, crying for their mothers, crying. Small stretcher parties wandered the carnage and brought in those that looked they could be helped. Exhausted as we were the cries and moans kept us on edge of our last nerve. Billie Olgivie moaned shrilly, rocking back and forth on his haunches. He was worthless for anything. I did not want to talk to anyone. Others talked softly amongst themselves.

“Hey!

Would anyone want something to eat?”

Someone had thought of us, probably the sergeant. This soldier carried a big bucket of hot coffee and a haversack filled with bacon, crackers, and peaches. We dug out cups and poured. We stood and ate greedily and drank the hot bitter coffee. The peaches were bitter too, but crisps and juicy. The bacon chewy and greasy. It was the best meal I ever had. Even Billy Olgilvie slowed down to heavy breathing, drool and crumbs dripping down his chin. “Oh, my,” came a familiar voice.

“Oh, My.”

It came from somewhere out on that gruesome field. “That sounds like Old Jobe.” I wandered out there stepping over and around bodies, some alive, some not. “Ahhhhhhh….” Here was a Confederate officer. He must have wandered all the way across without challenge. Did he think he alone would turn the battle? It was done, and it so was he. Holed multiple times. “Water…

Please.”

“I’m sorry, friend. “Here…”

You shot up my canteen.

I have no water with me.

He held out a gun.

I’d not seen one like it before.

There was a big tube beneath the barrel.

“Let me have the belt and holster too.” I unfastened it and pulled it out from beneath him. lips dryly.

He eased back, licking

“If I can find some water, friend, I’ll bring you some.” I holstered the unusual pistol and looped the belt over my shoulder. A little further on I found Old Jobe, sitting still and occasionally uttering, “Oh, my.” His shirt was drenched in blood from a hole through his shoulder. I helped him up with his arm around my shoulder. He stumbled, I stumbled, and then I felt other hands join in the effort. Billy and a taciturn soldier who I did not know well. We carried Old Jobe back to our picket post and sat him against a tree. “Oh, my.

Oh, my.

I didn’t think I’d end this way.”

What was he thinking, all white hair and white whiskers. Billy gave him some water. He swallowed and choked a little. Brownish creek water dribbled down his chin. We could see blood ooze from the hole in this shoulder and down the front of his matted shirt. “Canister or ball?”

someone asked.

“Ball I’d say.” “Here’s an under shirt.

Let’s tear it in half and plug up his holes.”

We did that and wrapped the bandage around each side to hold it all in place. “Oh, my,” he said more weakly. “YOU!” It was the captain of the staff. We hadn’t heard him ride up, taken as we were with Old Jobe. “Leave off him and give me that pistol. That pistol is not for you. Give it here!” I turned away from Old Jobe to consider the Captain of the staff. “Leave off that old man. the gun and his his

Give me that pistol!”

I slid the belt of the holstered pistol off my shoulder and walked over to captain of the staff where he sat his horse. And then I swung that holstered right upside that captain of the staff’s head. And his head snapped sideways he fell off his horse. He fumbled at his belt for his own gun, but I slapped hand away and I took his revolver too, holster belt and all, and I searched pockets for packets of cartridges. There were several. “I’ll have you shot.

You can’t hit an officer.

I’ll have you shot!”

And symbolic of the esteem in which he was held by us, the taciturn soldier pointed his musket at the Captains head. “I’ll shoot you now,” that soldier said. and go away and don’t bother us again.”

“No one cares about you.

Get up

“I’ll have you all arrested and shot!” The his hands captain’s dead, but witnesses see us or

arrogance of the man was almost beguiling. The taciturn soldier slid up to the muzzle of his musket and brought the butt stock down on the head. He slumped back. We didn’t bother to see if he were alive or we did look around in the growing darkness to see if there were any outside our small group of men. It was almost night, and no one could our actions.

Darkness fell completely. The mugginess and lingering gun smoke veiled all by the brightest stars. Mosquitoes buzzed my ears. I poured turbid water from a canteen onto a handkerchief and wiped my neck and face. We were soon to be relieved and I would lay down to sleep at last. = “Arrrrghhhhh….

“

So deep in sleep. “Arrrrghhhhh….

“

I stirred and turned over on my side. My body ached from the exertions of the day and from falling asleep on the roots of a tree. I could hardly move. “Arrrghhhh…

“

The crazy growling was drawing closer, a crying agonized growl like I had never heard before.

“Jeezum, what’s that?”

Billy asked softly.

“Arrghhhh!!!!” Horses tied up over at the cavalry vedette whinnied nervously. By the rising of the hazy moon I could tell it was between 2 and 3 of the clock. The misty atmosphere made it not so easy to see as it might have been otherwise. I swiftly carrion it went

peered across that awful field where prone bodies lay, and out there amongst them went something. I thought at first a big dog or wolf, some feeder. But out the corner of my eye, as it moved across my vision, I saw on two legs. And its arms, its arms were gyrating wildly.

“Arrrghhh!!!!” “Help!!!”

cried out a hysterical scream.

“What’s that?”

Billy said.

“Some thing is tearing way at that wounded man out there.” “Let him die in piece!” called the taciturn soldier. the barrel of this gun. “Let’s go out there and shoot it.”

His ramrod rattled in

We picked our way quickly to near the ridge where the two dim figures writhed in some violent dance. The taciturn soldier raised his musket and shot. We could hear the whine of the ball. Paused in its violence the figure stood erect, dropping the wounded man like a rag doll, and then sped away. We came to that spot and beheld an awful sight, awful even after the horrors of the battle the day before. The now dead soldier’s face and neck were torn to shreds. His limbs were twisted backwards. His torso bent back on itself. “What do we do?” said the taciturn man. “Go back.

We’re too late to help.”

“Who’s shooting?

Who goes there?”

“Friends! Friends! First Company pickets!” before anyone could fire on us. It wouldn’t be long before dawn. don’t think any of us slept.

we answered the challenge

We settled back to wait for the light.

I

In the distance we could hear a rapid rustling that seemed to be approaching. Soon we could hear a panting breath. And then a low growl. “Jeesum!

It’s that thing!

It’s coming here!”

Billy cried.

I pulled out the Confederate revolver and checked that the caps were seated on all nine cylinders. The pistol was heavy and a bit ungainly, but I felt comforted holding it at the ready in my hand. “Arrrrghhhh!!!”

Into our circle burst the apparition, a manlike apparition yet insanely unreal. Naked, the sinews and veins of its body bulging out, the veins and muscles of this face near bursting, lips drawn back, teeth and gums bared. The angular body appeared huge. The claw-like hands appeared huge. “What are you, Man!” demanded the taciturn soldier. me.

The creature swung a bony hand and knocked the man flying.

It advanced upon

I cocked the pistol, leveled it at its breast and fired. It kept coming. In my agitated fright I squeezed the trigger again, forgetting to cock the hammer. But the gun fired again. And I squeezed the trigger again, five more times. The apparition staggered back with each shot, then sat back hard on the ground, breathing and growling heavily. In the growing light I could see its red eyes staring at me. hammer and pointed the gun at its red streaming breast.

I cocked the

“I come for you!” it hissed. I pulled the trigger and its head whipped back from the blast. leveled on me. “I’ come for you,” it growled lowly.

Its eyes

“I’ll find you.”

I shot again. Instead of violent reaction, its body seemed to lean back in repose. Its breathing slowed and was shallow. Its red eyes still fastened on me. In the growing light we could view the creature clearly. This was a man that had become monstrous, but now, in death, seemed of human scope again. In the dark, in his monstrosity, he seemed huge, but here we could see this was a man of small stature. All the holes from my shooting could be counted, a trail of blood from each. The skin, grayish now, had been beet red. His limbs were spring-like, ready to pounce. But he was cold dead. = So it was long ago when I was young, just 18 years old. I had finished schooling 3 years before. I had excelled at reading and writing, and I could do basic arithmetic. I found work as a clerk at my uncle’s dry goods & mercantile store. I waited on customers at the counter, measured and weighed out product, and recorded what people came in to pay on their accounts. I kept good track of that, and eventually my uncle had me take inventory of our stores, write out orders, receive stock that arrived at the railroad station. I even saw to the transport of deliveries. I performed many functions and enjoyed it all, was good at it all. At the war’s beginning I was too young to enlist, and my wages my mother could not do without. But I followed the progress of the war closely and felt I was missing something I needed to be a part of. And then one day in my 17th year I was measuring out black powder for some boys going hunting. After they left with their paper cone of ammunition I rubbed the shiny black kernels between my fingers

and recalled the smell of burnt powder from the times I had hunted doves and mud hens, and decided there and then to join. By the time I joined up the war had gone on almost 3 years. Many of the men who had first enlisted from deep feelings or for adventure, were leaving the army. Many still remained, but many “paid for” men were now joining up and they were not always good people. Old Jobe. He was dead by next morning. Billy and myself taciturn soldier shed tears. He was a grandfather to us, but a quick of foot and mind. There were many kinds of people in the grown men, old. Old Jobe was real old. Why was he in the army dead? He always had something to say that showed us right, but up on anyone.

and even the man lithe and ranks: young, and why was he he never crossed

And so we went into the trenches about Petersburg, tried to make ourselves as comfortable and dry as we could. The Confederates tested our lines sometimes, but that was all the fighting we saw. When Lee broke out we chased after him. It was Sheridan, though, and others who stopped him. It was good times and excitement. There was plenty to eat, even if army rations. The coffee was good! And the tobacco… And the side meat and canned peaches. It was like a party. That was a good time. We marched in the great review in Washington City. We marched past Generals Grant and Sherman, and the president. The president was not Lincoln, though. Soon after most of us left the army. I had no desire to remain in uniform and go out west to fight Indians or be an occupier in the South. But southward I was bound. A paroled rebel had told me of a strange occurrence back home in Ashville, North Carolina where he was from, and about a doctor there who was trying to understand it. I wanted to understand too, the strange occurrence in the night that I shot with the Confederate pistol. I had always sent most of my pay home to Mother. But that month instead I sent a letter saying I’d be delayed in going home. I made my way to Charlottesville, Virginia, and sought a train heading south.