The Last Days
This short story takes place before A Second Chance – Book 1 of the Love Through Time series.
Amelia Court House
April 5, 1865
2:00 am
The horse wandered into camp panting. Its sides damp with sweat. The animal’s breath appeared white in the cold star light. Its rider was still in his saddle but bent over and clinging to the horses’ neck.
A soldier ran up to the animal and saw the rank insignias on the man’s coat. “Captain, captain can you hear me?”
The captain groaned.
“I need help here.” The man shouted and ran around to the other side of the horse where he noticed blood on the animal’s flank. The captain’s leg was wrapped with a crude bandage now soaked through. A red smear ran down the man’s pant leg. “I need help, now.”
Two men ran up and the three of them slid the captain off his horse and lay him on the damp grass. A fourth man joined the others. “Who is he?”
Peter, the first man, answered. “I don’t know. Take his horse and see that it’s fed and watered. Have they set up a medical tent yet?”
Matt, the third man, looked up. “No, the doctors are trying to gather the wounded near that clump of trees. We could try to carry him over there or I can see if someone will come here to help him. I don’t like the look of that leg.”
“Water.”
“He spoke. Give him some water from your canteen, Jacob.”
Jacob, the second man, pulled his strap over his head and popped the cork on the metal canteen. He knelt over the captain and poured a little water in his open mouth. The captain sputtered and reached up to grab the canteen. He took two small swallows and closed his eyes.
“I have a message for command.” The captain whispered. It was clear the man was about to pass out.
“Matt, go to the command tent and tell them what we have here. Jacob, see if you can get a doctor to come over. Leave your canteen. I’ll stay with him until you both return.” The two men got up and ran. Peter leaned over the officer. “Help is coming, sir. Lay still.”
Matt returned first with Captain Grisham, an aide to General Lee. Grisham looked startled at the man on the ground. “That’s Harlan Baylor.” He dropped to one knee. “Harley, can you hear me?”
“Caleb?” Baylor whispered. “Yes, Harley. What happened to you?”
Harley tried to sit up but it proved too much and he lay back on the ground panting. He coughed and tried to speak. Peter handed him the canteen. After a swallow of water, Harley tried to speak again. His voice sounded gravely but stronger than before. He reached up and grabbed Grisham’s arm. “Caleb, Ewell couldn’t cross at Genito. We had to march south, but finally crossed the Appomattox River. Anderson was still fighting Devin at Beaver Pond Creek when he sent me here. We need to leave here as soon as possible before the rest of the Yankee forces converge. Caleb, it doesn’t look good. They’re trying to box us in.”
A doctor arrived and Harley fell silent. Grisham frowned as he stood. “Tend to this man’s leg then have him brought to the command tent. I have to relay his news to the commander.”
“Yes, sir.” The doctor knelt and began his examination of the bloody leg.
Amelia Court House
April 5, 1865
3:30 am
Captain Harlan Jefferson Baylor entered the command tent leaning heavily on a walking stick, hastily created from a stout tree branch. Peter, the soldier who had stayed with him while the doctor stitched and bandaged his leg, stood at his side, twitching like a school boy ordered to the headmaster’s office. The rest of the tent was boiling with activity. It reminded him of a bee hive he’d once found in an apple tree near the edge of his farm. Soldiers entered and left through different openings in the canvas, some carrying dispatches and others special items requested by the army’s commanders. In the center of the room was a table made of planks perched on several barrels and surrounded by men.
The room started to spin. Baylor closed his eyes and clung to his tree branch. The last thing he wanted was to pass out in front of the commander of the Confederate States Army, General Robert E. Lee.
Peter tapped his arm. “Sir, your friend is walking over here.”
Harley opened his eyes and saw Captain Caleb Grisham walking around the center table and heading straight for him.
“My God man, you look like you can barely stand. Has anyone offered you something to eat?” Grisham looked at Peter.
“No sir. He insisted on coming here as soon as the doctor patched him up.”
Harley glanced at Peter. The soldier looked like he was about to be court martialed.
Grisham nodded. “Stubborn as usual.” He shook his head at Harley then turned to Peter. “You’re dismissed soldier. Go and find yourself some rations and a bed. I’ll take over from here.”
Peter looked relieved. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” He turned and left the tent.
“Come this way, Harley. I’ll find you a place to sit before you fall down.” He led Harley to a small camp stool and helped him into it. “I’ll be back in a moment. I need to tell the General that you’re here. I promise that after you give your report, I will get you some food and find you a bed.”
Harley held up his hand and waved his friend away. Any movement of his head made him dizzy and nauseous. He’d just started feeling comfortable when Grisham returned. “He’s ready to see you now. Let me help you up.”
With Grisham’s arm under his shoulder and the tree branch in the other hand, he managed to get back on his feet. Grisham helped him to a spot on the long edge of the make shift table, directly across from General Lee.
The General was addressing several of his senior officers. “I was told there would be rations for the army here at Amelia Court House, instead I find a small stock pile of rations and a trainload of ordnance. I want foraging parties sent into the county to acquire rations for our troops.” Two men left the table and headed out of the tent. The General turned his attention to Harley. “Captain, I understand you have information about my missing troops.” Lee stood with his hands behind his back.
“Yes, sir.” Harley swayed on his feet. He tightened his grip on the branch and took a deep breath. He would fulfill his mission and after that it didn’t matter what happened. “Sir, General Ewell and his troops were unable to cross the Appomattox River at Genito Bridge. We understood there was supposed to be a pontoon bridge there, but it never arrived. We were forced to march south. General Anderson and General Mahone’s men continued to fight skirmishes with Devin’s cavalry and act as the rear guard.”
The General interrupted him. “About what time was this, Captain?”
“Around ten o’clock this evening, sir.”
Lee turned to the other men standing near him and spoke. Harley couldn’t understand the words, the room was spinning again. The General calling his name brought him back. “Captain Baylor, do you know if Ewell was able to cross the river?”
“Yes, sir. He was finally able to make it across on the Richmond and Danville Railroad Bridge after they placed some planks on it.” He started to sway again and Grisham caught his arm.
“Captain, do you have anything else to report?” Lee frowned.
“No, sir. That is the message I was sent to deliver.” He swayed again.
“Very good, Captain. Grisham see to it that this man is taken care of. He has done his duty for this evening.”
“Yes, sir.” He grabbed Harley under the arm and led him out of the tent.
Amelia Court House
April 5, 1865
7:30 am
“Harley. Harley. Can you hear me? Harley?”
He slowly opened his eyes to see Caleb bending over him. “You mean I haven’t died yet?”
Caleb laughed. “Not yet, but don’t worry, it’s still early.” He straightened up and held out a bowl. “I brought you some porridge. I’m sorry; it’s the best I could find. You heard the general complaining about the lack of supplies.” He grabbed a small camp stool and set it by the bed.
Harley threw back the blanket and sat up slowly. His nightshirt had ridden up and the bandage on his leg was clearly visible. “What time is it?”
Caleb sat down in the chair. “It’s around half past seven. The camp is packing up. The general wants us to march along the Richmond and Danville Railroad line to Amelia Springs. There is a wagon train with supplies coming up from Richmond. We hope to meet up with it.”
Harley rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t suppose I can get a chance to shave this morning? My kit is back with my cavalry brigade.” He adjusted his shirt and covered his leg.
Caleb pointed to the wound. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, but I can manage a horse.” He held out his hands and Caleb gave him the bowl.
“I’m afraid you won’t have time for a proper shave. The general is eager to get underway. I had your trousers mended as well as possible. It isn’t pretty but the cloth will hold together.” He stood up. “Eat your breakfast and get dressed then meet me in the command tent.” He smiled then left the tent.
Harley had a spoon full of the porridge. It was bitter and thin. He wanted a dollop of honey or molasses to go with it but there probably wasn’t a drop in the whole came. He finished it anyway. With the lack of supplies there was no telling when he’d get to eat again.
He got dressed slowly. His leg was bothering him more than he let on to Caleb. His pant leg was still wet. Whoever had sewn it up had tried to wash the blood out first and only partially succeeded. He had trouble getting his cavalry boots on. Moving his leg too much brought waves of pain. When he was finally dressed, he pulled out his handkerchief and polished his belt buckle. It was a prized possession given to him by his father-in-law, God rests his soul. It was square and made of silver. It had laurel leaves on the sides and bottom along with the letters CSA. Looking as presentable as possible in a dirty uniform complete with saber, he left the tent.
He was standing in the flap of the command tent when Caleb spotted him. His friend slipped away from the map table and came to stand beside him.
“General Lee has ordered the number of wagons and artillery pieces with the army to be reduced. The infantry is to march along with the best horses while the extra equipment is sent on a circuitous route to the north with the weaker animals. They will try to send them on by rail. I don’t like this. We left Petersburg with 200 guns and 1,000 wagons; they are to be reduced by almost a third.”
Harley motioned to Caleb to follow him and they left the tent. “It’s a bit warm in there for me. Do I have any orders on where to go?”
“Caleb nodded. “You have a good horse, you’re to come with me and ride to Jetersville. We should meet up with your cavalry unit before we get to Sailor’s Creek.”
“Good, I’ll go and find my horse and meet you back at our tent.”
The road to Jetersville
April 5, 1865
2 pm
Harley shifted on his saddle, trying to ease the pressure on his wounded leg. They’d only been on the road for an hour, but it was already throbbing. He rode near the front of the column with some of General Lee’s staff. Their route was along the Richmond and Danville Railroad line.
Caleb rode beside him with a look of annoyance on his face. Harley knew why his friend was upset. They had thought they would be on the road by midmorning at the latest, but because the Army was so spread out and several of the fighting units still hadn’t arrived, their departure had been delayed. Now they were finally on the move, but they were still waiting for their supply trains from Richmond, Virginia, to catch up with them.
Each time Harley had slipped into the command tent this morning to find out where he was supposed to be and when they were leaving, he had seen anger and irritation on the faces of the officers. Too many things were going wrong, and the Union forces were hot on their tail. If they didn’t get their troops to Richmond and resupply both food and ammunition, the war would be lost.
He rubbed his horse’s neck. The faithful animal had been with him since the beginning of the war. Samson snorted to acknowledge Harley’s attention. Four years they’ve been together, running across open fields, wading through creeks and streams, hiding in the brush and forests, neither knowing which battle would be their last. Harley sighed. At least Samson had eaten well at the camp. The thin porridge Caleb had brought him for breakfast was the only food Harley had eaten since noon the day before. He needed to have something more substantial by tonight to keep his body going and allow his leg to heal.
The Army’s lack of preparation and efficiency worried him, as well. The missing platoon bridge at Genito, the lack of supplies at Amelia Court House, and the scattered divisions were troubling, but could be overcome. Added together, they spelled out an Army reaching the end of its ability to fight. Unless luck and divine providence stepped in and shifted events in their favor, it was only a matter of days before the cause was lost. He wouldn’t speak of these things with his friend or any other officer. The atmosphere in the command tent had told him that the other officers had already reached the same conclusion.
About a mile later, two men riding hard approached the column.
Caleb and another officer rode up to meet them. Harley decided to follow as well.
The men slowed their horses. One of them called out to the approaching officers, “I have information on Yankee movements.”
They all met up a few yards from the column. The two men were clearly excited, and the one who spoke before spoke again. “The Yankees are at Paineville. They attacked a wagon train loaded with supplies. I heard from one of the townsfolk that this was the wagon train from Richmond. They’ve taken prisoners and burned over one-hundred wagons.”
Caleb swore and turned to the other officer. “Ride along the column and find General Lee. He needs to have this information immediately.”
As soon as the man rode off, a young boy rode up on a brown plow horse. “There is fighting with the Yankees at Jetersville. Gray’s cavalry is trying to stop them. I was told the man leading the Yankee army is Davies.”
Harley glanced at Caleb. His friend looked angry.
“Caleb, I can take this information to General Lee. You should stay here in case we have more updates coming from citizens.”
Caleb bit his lip and nodded.
Harley wheeled his horse around and rode along the column, searching for Lee.
The road to Jetersville
April 5, 1865
4:30 pm
Harley rode along the Confederate column. Cavalry and foot soldiers were mixed together with the artillery and supply wagons so far to the rear they couldn’t be seen. We’re too spread out and much too easy a target. His stomach growled. The loss of the supply wagons was much more damaging to the army than all the Yankees hiding in this hilly country.
He wasn’t too far from his farm along the James River a little ways outside of Lynchburg. If he rode hard, he could reach it in two days, but to what point? Elizabeth had died two years ago from the influenza, taking their unborn child with her. He wasn’t even sure her marker was still standing in the family cemetery. Last year, reports had reached him that there was fighting in the area and the farm was overrun. The trees in the apple orchard had been cut down and hauled away for firewood, and the house and barn were burned. He didn’t know which army had done the damage, but it didn’t really matter. His family was gone and his home along with them. The army was all he had left.
He could see up ahead a gathering of men. He rode quickly to the spot, certain that General Lee was somewhere in the middle of the sea of gray uniforms. As he came closer, he slowed his horse. Several soldiers stood around the perimeter holding jittery horses while ten of Lee’s officers and staff stood around a hastily set up table consisting of two planks stretched between two barrels. General Lee leaned over a map laid out on the planks. The man was red faced and pound his hand on his thigh.
“Is there anything left of our supply train?” Lee shouted, scowling at each of the men around the table.
A lieutenant answered him. “We don’t know, sir. The civilians who informed us didn’t mention anything about undamaged wagons. They only said over one hundred were burned.”
“Well, if it was indeed our supplies from Richmond, there should’ve been over four-hundred wagons in the train. There may still be enough food and ammunition to resupply those traveling with us.” Lee studied the map again.
Harley dismounted and stood on shaking legs. His stomach growled and his head felt a little foggy. He handed Samson’s reins to a nearby soldier who was already holding two horses and limped toward the general. “General Lee, Captain Harlan Baylor reporting, another civilian arrived with information of fighting in Jetersville, sir.”
General Lee grunted. “That matches our scout’s report. Sheridan has blocked our road to Jetersville. We can’t fight the Union army this late in the day with hungry men low on ammunition. We must turn around and head back the way we came until we reach the cutoff to Amelia Springs. We can gather there and make a night march to Farmville.” The general ran his fingers along the map and nodded. “Give the order so we can start back immediately.”
Harley looked at the men around the table. A few of them were grumbling, one man cracked his knuckles. They didn’t like the idea of traveling back the way they had just come. This would mean hours more walking for the hungry men of the infantry. He made his way back to Samson, his leg hurting worse. By the time he reached the horse, he needed the soldier’s help to get back in the saddle. His head was throbbing now, along with his leg. Still, he needed to get back to Caleb to relay the orders.
Caleb swore when he told him. “Harley, the Yankees are trying to box us in. Do we know if there will be any rations waiting for us at Amelia Springs or Farmville?”
Harley shook his head. They were running like prey and all the officers knew it. He wheeled his horse around and followed the rest of the army as they turned and started marching back.
Three hours later the wagons were held up at Flat Creek due to the bridge being out. Infantry soldiers and the cavalry could cross the creek with some difficulty, but the supply wagons and the artillery could not. Work teams are set up to begin the repairs. Harley followed Caleb to Lee’s makeshift headquarters on a grassy knoll not far from the creek. When they got there, they found the officers and aides in an agitated state. Two men in soiled confederate uniforms sat on the ground with their hands tied behind their backs and rope around their ankles. A few moments later he found out they were Yankee spies dressed in uniforms removed from dead soldiers. They were caught gathering intelligence on General Lee’s troop movements. After intense questioning by one of Lee’s officers, they discovered the men were carrying messages showing the disposition of the Union forces. Caleb was right; the Yankees were trying to box them in.
Harley turned and walked a few feet away from the group and sat down on the grass. There was a bloodstain on his trousers again and his head felt like it was splitting. All the bad luck, negative news, and lack of food were catching up to him. From where he sat it was clear, God had abandoned the Southern cause.
Amelia Springs
April 6, 1865
4 am
Harley was awakened by a man shaking his shoulder. It took a few moments for him to get oriented and remember where he was. The man shook him again. “Harley it’s me, Ben. Wake up, the major general wants to see you.”
Harley sat up and rubbed his face. He only had a few hours of sleep, but he did feel better. His stomach was still empty. He hoped there was some food available somewhere. He looked up to find it was Benjamin Taggart, a fellow captain in Major General Fitzhugh Lee’s cavalry unit, who was shaking him. “It’s about time y’all caught up with me,” Harley said. “Did you bring any food? I’m starving.”
“You don’t look too good either. There’s a bloodstain on your trousers. I thought you’d have that wound look after once you delivered your message.” Benjamin helped him get to his feet.
“I did, but with all the riding I’ve had to do, the wound’s broken open again. Is there any food, Benjamin? I won’t be able to stay in the saddle if I don’t get something to eat.”
Benjamin put his arm under Harley’s shoulder. “Lean on me and I’ll help you get to where we’re camped. Where’s your horse?”
Harley looked around. “I left him tied to that tree over there.” He pointed off to the left. Three horses stood tied to a maple.
“Let’s get you to camp first, and I’ll come back for Samson.”
Harley hobbled with the help of his friend down the hill and over to a grassy area next to the trees that line the creek. The major general sat on a barrel, smoking a pipe. He looked up as the two men approached. “Well, Captain Harley, I was beginning to wonder if you’d been captured by the enemy.” A campfire to the left of the general gave off enough light to show the dark stain on Harley’s trousers.
“Benjamin, see if you can find Corporal Skimmer and tell him to bring his med kit. Captain, why don’t you sit down on the grass so we can talk.”
A soldier walked up to the general and handed him a steaming bowl of something that smelled so good it made Harley’s mouth water. The general looked up and something in Harley’s face must’ve told him how hungry he was. The general told the soldier to bring back another bowl for the captain.” He turned back to Harley. “Sit, you look like you’re about to keel over.”
“Thank you, sir.” He eased himself to the ground.
The major general scooped up a spoonful from his bowl and ate it. Harley’s mouth watered again and his stomach growled. The soldier returned and handed him a bowl with a spoon. He took it gladly and thanked the man. The stew was the best food he’d ever tasted.
The men ate in companionable silence for a while. When the major general was finished with his meal, he asked Harley to relate everything he had seen and heard since he was sent as a messenger to inform General Lee of the situation yesterday morning. He finished his stew shortly after finishing his report.
The major general relit his pipe and smoked for a few minutes. “We are riding at dawn for Rice’s Station and joining up with Longstreet’s command. Make sure you are ready to ride, Captain.”
The Road to Rice’s Depot
April 6, 1865
1:30 PM
Harley swayed in the saddle. He’d been on his horse since dawn. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the long hours, and the loss of blood from his wound were catching up with him. He was pushing his body to its limit. His leg throbbed and he checked it, and he saw it was bleeding again. The weather didn’t help. It was cold and overcast and had been drizzling all morning. He was starting to feel chills and was sure he had a fever.
He turned at the sound of someone calling his name. Ben Taggart came up beside him. “How are you feeling, Harley? I was riding six rows behind you and I saw you start to tilt in the saddle. I was afraid you might fall off.”
Harley turned and faced his friend.
Ben frowned. “We need to get you some place where you can have some proper rest. I heard from one of the scouts that the supply train is at Farmville. At least we’ll all be able to get a decent meal tonight, provided the Federals don’t catch up.”
The thought of a decent meal and rest lifted Harley spirits. He sat a little straighter on his horse. The two men rode together for a while in silence. The steady rhythm of Samson’s stride had started to lull him to sleep when a rider came down the column from the front of the line.
“We have new orders from General Longstreet. We’re to head to the High Bridge and secure it for the army. We got word that a group of some nine hundred Federals are heading there to burn it down. We must stop them at all costs.”
The lieutenant rode further down the column and delivered the same message.
Harley rubbed his face and adjusted his position. He turned to look at Ben and found the man staring at him.
“Harley, I know you will do your duty, but I think you should ride toward the back of the line. You’re in no shape for heavy fighting, should it come to that.”
Harley smiled. “Captain Benjamin Taggart, it has been an honor serving with you, sir. If we do not meet again in this life, I’m sure that we will in the next.”
He turned his head and faced forward, urging Samson to increase his pace.
The High Bridge was 2500 feet long and stood 126 feet high. It was for the South Side Railroad to cross over the Appomattox River and its flood plain. A wooden bridge for wagons was located below the railroad bridge. A company of 1200 Confederate cavalry under the command of Major General Thomas L. Rosser, including Harley and Ben, arrived at the bridge in time to see the Federals preparing to set fire to it.
Most of the cavalry dismounted to fight the Union infantry soldiers. Harley knew he had to stay on his horse as long as possible. With his leg injury, he would not be as quick and mobile as he needed to be for prolonged hand-to-hand combat.
He pulled his rifle out of its saddle sheath and took aim at the Union soldiers. He hoped he could drop some of them before his dismounted comrades could reach them. He kept firing until he ran out of ammunition. It hadn’t taken very long; no one had much because the supply wagons had been captured and destroyed yesterday. He had a little extra ammunition for his pistol, and then he was down to his saber.
He managed to shoot three of the enemy before fighting made it impossible to hit a Federal without endangering a Confederate soldier. The fighting was getting too close and he had to dismount. A shot hit a stone near Samson’s feet, and the horse became skittish. Harley tried to settle him down. With the horse moving around, he’d never get off without hurting his leg, and he’d become a target instead of a hunter. He tried to slide off and land on his good leg, but it didn’t work and he found himself on the ground. He rolled on his good side into a crouch position, still holding his gun. A Federal ran toward him pointing his pistol. They both fired. The Union soldier missed; Harley didn’t.
He got to his feet and stood, shaking, while his injured leg got used to his weight. He shifted his pistol to his left hand and drew his saber. He didn’t have much to live for anymore. His wife was gone, along with his child. His farm was destroyed, and soon the cause that had taken it all away from him would be lost as well. He took a step, ready to meet his fate.
All around him, men were fighting; some shot pistols at short range while others fought with knives and sabers. He spotted Ben a few feet away as he nearly took a Federal’s arm off with a saber stroke. Harley ran his sleeve over his forehead to wipe the sweat away and took another step. He stumbled and nearly fell. The ground was uneven and squishy from the rain. It was clear he couldn’t chase after the enemy; best to let the enemy come to him.
He didn’t have to wait long. A Federal ran for him, and he stood his ground. The man had a saber in one hand and a long knife in the other. The man was big, and, in Harley’s current state, he could not fight him blade to blade. He waited until the man was closing in, then raised his pistol and fired. The man dropped, pierced through the ribs. Harley barely had time to blink before another came to avenge his fallen comrade. Harley raised his saber and slashed, cutting the man’s shirt. It was a lucky swing, and he caught the man’s upheld wrist, cutting deep. He held up his sword, swaying on his feet. Two men ran up to him, and Harley knew this was the end. He raised his pistol and aimed. One man jumped aside, but he caught the other one in the leg. He had braced himself for the coming blow of the enemy’s saber when a pistol on his left dropped the man.
Ben came up beside him and grabbed his arm. “It’s nearly over; you’ve done enough.” He tried to pull Harley away from the battle and toward the horses.
Harley’s strength finally gave out and he dropped to the ground, giving in to the darkness that surrounded him.
The road to Lynchburg
April 9, 1865
6:00 am
A pain in his shoulder jolted Harley awake. He was confused by the sound of snoring near him and a steady creaking. It took him a few minutes to realize he was in the back of a wagon along with three other men. The wagon hit another pothole, sending a sharp pain down his right arm.
The man closest to him stank of sweat and blood. Harley opened his eyes and saw the man’s arm was missing from just above the elbow and there was blood oozing through the bandage. Panic struck him about his leg. Had the doctors cut it off? He tried to sit up but was stopped by another shot of pain down his arm. How long had he been lying in this wagon? He took a few deep breaths and slowly tried to sit up.
It was just before dawn, but the sky was light enough for him to see. He propped himself up on his other arm and ran a hand along his leg. Someone had cut the outer seam of his trousers almost to his hip. There was a bandage around his thigh but no sign of blood. He gave a sigh of relief on seeing the rest of his leg and his boot. Benjamin must found a surgeon while he was unconscious and had his leg treated. Now that he was fully awake, there was a steady pain radiating from the wound. The wagon hit another pothole and the man beside him grunted.
His stomach growled, and he wondered how long he’d been unconscious. He glanced around the rest of the wagon and found the other men were still asleep. There were a few kegs of gunpowder and a few sacks of flour in the back with them. He was debating whether to call out to the driver when a snorting sound drew his attention to the back of the wagon. There tied to the side rail, walked Samson. The sight of his horse eased his worries and lightened his spirit. Benjamin had seen to his horse while the surgeon was mending his leg.
Beyond his horse he could see another wagon and wondered if it carried wounded men as well. He shifted his position so he could sit up with his back against two sacks of flour. The leg ached, but after taking another glance at the man with half an arm, he was grateful for the pain. A rider came up alongside the wagon. It took a moment for him to recognize his friend Captain Caleb Grisham.
“Caleb, what are you doing here? I thought you were with General Lee?” Harley tried to shift his position to get a better view, but the pain in his leg stopped him.
“It’s good to see you conscious my friend. When Captain Taggart brought you in draped over your horse, I feared the worst. You’re one stubborn Virginian, my friend.” Caleb urged horse forward so that he was beside Harley’s wagon and easier to see.
“You still haven’t answered my questions.” Harley reached up to scratch his head and realized he was wearing his hat.
“I am with General Lee. He’s camped a little further up the road. We’re on our way to Lynchburg. The Federals burned the supply trains at Appomattox Station, so the general is determined to head to Lynchburg where there are more supplies waiting. We need more ammunition and especially food. Our cavalry is going up against the Union cavalry to punch a hole through their lines so we can make it through to Lynchburg. The attack was to start at dawn. We’re waiting for news. In the meantime, I thought I’d ride down the line and see how you fared.”
“Whoever patched me up did a quick job. I’ve only been out for a few hours.” He rubbed his leg.
“Harley, you been out for over a day. It’s the ninth of April.” Caleb shook his head.
Harley’s jaw dropped. “I lost a whole day?”
“I’m afraid so. Consider it a blessing. The surgeons are out of anesthetics and had to clean and stitch your wound.” Caleb rode in silence for a moment. “It doesn’t look good, Harley. I better ride back to the general in case I’m needed. You should catch up to us in about half an hour. I’ll see you then.” Caleb shouted to his horse and the beast took off at a trot.
Harley lay there contemplating his words. He knew Caleb wasn’t referring to his leg but to the Army’s situation.
It took nearly an hour for the wagon to reach the camp. It was boiling with activity, much like a disturbed anthill. His leg wouldn’t allow him to get out of the wagon and all he could do was look through the crowd of men, hoping to spot Caleb. About twenty minutes later, Caleb found him.
“It’s over, Harley. Our cavalry forced back the Federals, but when they reached the crest of the ridge they could see two Union Corps of infantry ready to back up the cavalry. General Lee has gone to find General Grant and surrender. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, my friend, but the Southern cause is lost.”
General Lee surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia to General Grant at the home of Wilmer McLean near Appomattox Court House. The soldiers had to turn in their rifles, but the officers were allowed to keep their side arms, sabers, private horses and baggage. Each officer and soldier had to give their individual paroles not to take up arms against the Government of the United States. When this was done, the officers and men were allowed to return to their homes.
Harley waited three days until he got his strength back then rode Samson to what was left of his farm along the James River not too far from Lynchburg. He paid his respects at the graves of Elizabeth and his child before mounting his horse and heading west to an unknown future.