Set in the backdrop of Tennessee during the American Civil War, a young, underage soldier is separated from his unit after a fierce battle. While trying to locate them, he inadvertently stumbles into mortal danger on a very dark and quiet evening. With nowhere to run, Jeremy must learn to accept the changes that have been wrought upon his body... changes that may prevent him from ever returning home again!

This story has been two years in the making. I hope you find as much pleasure reading it, as I did writing, 'The Yankee Belle'.

Chapter 1

I was captured last week near the city of Beaver Falls, Tennessee. It almost seemed that the whole damned Reb army had wheeled on themselves and swarmed our unit from both sides. We gave them hell for awhile, but those Confederates were on us so fast that most of us only got off one shot. By the time the smoke had cleared, 156 of our unit had been killed and 16 of us captured. The first thing they did was to take our rifles and shoes, passing them out to their own soldiers, leaving us barefoot and unarmed.

Then, they made us march for four whole days while they rode on wagons and horseback, so by the end of the third day, most of us were limping badly from blisters and sores on our numb, frozen feet.

Yesterday, they shot our Captain, who had broken his leg during the battle and couldn't stand anymore. They just pulled the trigger on him like he was some filthy varmint digging in a trash pile... like he was nothing more than a gopher. They made us all step across his dead body, and then laughed, leaving him lying there on the road.

I knew that not all Rebs were that way, but this unit was run by a Major Fieldhouse, one of the most ruthless and feared Rebs in this territory. They never tied us up, mostly because we all knew if we tried to make a break for it, we would most likely be shot dead before we could get off the road.

To not do anything was beyond me, and I couldn't stand it! I was 16 and heading off to some Reb prison to most likely die of some disease or sickness. I knew if I had any hope it would be by escaping from them, and if they shot me for trying... at least I would still be getting away, albeit because of my death.

Our captors had us halt near a tree-lined stream, and Fieldhouse sent a few of his men to scout for any hidden traps. When they returned, the 'all clear' was given and we were ushered forward toward a little covered bridge that spanned the swiftly moving river. I glanced quickly along both banks of the river, and I noticed that trees lined each curving bank. Even before I dwelled on it too much, I ducked quickly under one of the wagons and easily slipped between the rolling wheels. My freezing feet ached from the icy snow along the road's edge. With only a hesitant glance backward I began my rapid decent down the steep bank, but with shouts, the Reb’s were quickly on my trail.

A bullet tore through my shirt as I slid down the snow-covered riverbank, and only a mere twenty feet separated me from my would-be captors! But I couldn't think about it; as soon as my blistered feet touched the icy waters I winced and slid under its rapidly moving surface. I struck out with powerful strokes, using the current to propel me down the aggressively moving river, increasing the distance from those who wanted me dead.

The swift, frigid water pulled me along, unseen branches tearing at my legs and arms as I passed. For a moment I surfaced for air, only to have a musket ball smack the water near my head... too close for comfort! I gulped a huge amount of air and submerged, again striking out away as quickly as I could from the gray-clad soldiers.

Another ball spun into the water, its path outlined by the bubbles pointing its wake. I doubled my speed and headed for the bottom where I saw that there was a huge pile of brush and twisted branches directly ahead of me. I found a slight opening and headed for it, knowing that to surface now would mean instant death. I also knew that if there wasn't an opening for me to pass through, this would undoubtedly be my grave.

I turned sideways to wiggle through the opening and pushed myself on into the darkened tangle of twigs, my lungs bursting with need. I could swim no further, the way was blocked by more branches... this would be my tomb. I did the only thing I could, heading for the surface. My only hope was to be imprisoned again, hopefully serving out the remainder of the war in some remote prison camp... if they let me live.

When I surfaced, the splashing sound echoed in my ears... an unusual sound than what I was expecting. I slowly opened my eyes, expecting to be surrounded by the Confederate soldiers with their guns drawn on me. Slowly I turned my head to look around, and saw I had surfaced inside a beaver dam! I swallowed hard and listened, their voices muffled but close. They stood nearby and discussed where I went. "He ain't surfaced yet..." one of them shouted.

From a bit further away I could hear, "Can't no one hold their breath that long! I think the Yank fool drowned!"

The one directly above shouted back laughing, "He'll surface sometime... maybe next spring!" I could hear splashing as another walked toward the fellow above me.

"Better to drown here than what we were going to do to him!" I heard him growl and spit, they were close enough that I could smell the Mint in the tobacco he chewed.

In the dim light, I was silently praying that they would soon leave. It was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering uncontrollably. My breath was drifting up in icy plumes, so I buried my face into my shoulder in an attempt to diffuse the frosty vapor that I was expelling.

The one above me shouted out to his fellow soldiers, "Come on boys, he drowned... ain't no use in searching for him." I held my breath as their sound slowly moved away. "Serves that no account Yankee right, drowning like he did!"

Another soldier shot back, "He was only doing what we would have done in his situation. Besides, nobody deserves to die like that... sucking in water till they sink."

The first laughed and snorted, "A good Yank...is a dead Yank!"

From a distance one of them called to the men searching for me, "Come on fellas, we best be high tailing it out of here! Scouts have just come in and said there was a big battle around here just yesterday and there might be some Yanks close by. Major says to forget about the kid and don't waste time looking for a body...." His voice was getting harder and harder to hear with them walking away. I exhaled deeply; the news I had heard was like music to my ears!

I sat shivering, trying to pull myself out of the icy water. After some effort, I was able to lie lengthways on a make-shift ledge and slowly dry out. Sleep claimed my over-exerted body and when I opened my eyes again my tomb was entirely void of light. My clothes had become frozen into their position and I felt that unless I got in some warmth soon... I would die!

I began to push on the top of the dam, and slowly the twisted twigs snapped and bent under my pressure. I hesitated in the darkness, wondering if the builder was scared away by my presence or if it was somewhere deep inside the twisted mass of limbs, sleeping away his cold winter. I again pushed against the roof, feeling it give under my efforts as mud cascaded upon my frozen hair.

I stopped short when I could see the light from the moon bathe the interior of my hiding place, above me the stars twinkled their welcome. Slowly I rose up my head and surveyed the surroundings, but nothing moved as far as my eyes could see. I struggled through the limbs and scrambled up the snow-covered surface using the roots and hanging branches to pull myself back to the river's ice-crusted edge.

I lay panting in the freshly fallen snow, hands and feet numb beyond belief. Realizing that to stay there would result in my death; I stumbled onward following the path of the recent battle's destruction. Soon enough, I came across the first dead soldier covered with a light dusting of snow. I said a prayer for him and pulled the shoes and socks from his feet.

Only a few yards from him lay his rifle, with numb fingers I picked it up and leaned it against a tree. I bent down and pulled the soldier's utility belt from his waist, once I was assured that it still contained the lead balls, patches and powder. I tossed my wet clothes to the side and quickly donned the unfortunate soldier's uniform on. "At least it's dry..." I murmured, looking down at the dried blood from his wound, at its center was a large round hole the size of my thumb.

I heard a clink of metal, somewhere in the darkness ahead. I slowly moved forward in a half crouch, keeping as low as possible from view. The moonlight was creating shadows against the snow, my breath trembling from the chill. I slowly peeked around the great expanse of a tree, there before me was a fire. I waited until I saw a figure approach it, throwing sticks on to build it back into a dancing fury.

I studied the soldier, his gun only feet from his grasp... my mind could almost make out a dark blue. I closed my eyes in prayer and cleared my throat. "Hello the Camp!" I kept behind my tree, hoping they wouldn't fire into the darkness.

"Who's there?" came back the reply. I noticed that the soldier had quickly snatched up his rifle and moved away from the light of the fire.

"Private Jeremy Sands of the 51st Indiana." I waited in the darkness. "What company are you with?" I called out after a great pause.

"Army of the Tennessee…under Major General U.S. Grant." He slowly moved toward the fire carrying his rifle in readiness to shoot. "You just come on in here real slow... hold your rifle above your head."

I took a step out from the confines of my tree, holding the rifle high.

"Steady, boys... it's a Yank," he whispered to his fellow soldiers. I looked around me into the darkness, there had to be 50 men hidden... all with their rifles trained on me.

Slowly they relaxed as my clothing came into view, then one quickly brought his rifle back up pointing it at my head. "Sergeant, he's wearing our Insignia!"

The grizzled Sergeant looked at me from under his hat, his moustache so long that I couldn't see him speak. "You said, you belonged to the 51st Indiana...Explain yourself, boy, afore I have him shoot your skinny ass!"

"I found the clothes back there a piece, I was cold and wet from the river.

"I took the rifle from another soldier," I continued, "The fellow was killed... I figured he didn't need the dry clothes anymore." I kept my hands raised toward the heavens as I replied.

He turned toward a man just off to my right, "Check it out, Charley." I heard him scamper away. "You'd better hope your story pans out."

The other man came running back into the light, "Here, Sarge. I found these laying next to Private Rollings." He handed my frozen clothes to his Sergeant.

The bearded Sergeant rolled them in his hands, "He's a Yank all right... let him come in by the fire and warm up." I nodded my thanks and crouched by the flames. "Get him something to eat." The Sergeant called out to a black cook on his left, who nodded and disappeared from view.

"You get separated from your unit?" He eyed me with his cold steely gaze.

I nodded, "Rebs hit us while we was sleeping, I don't know who got away." The cook came back and handed me a pan of goo, to the side was a biscuit. "Thanks! I appreciate that." I took a big bite of the hard biscuit, and then pushed around the soupy goo-gravy with the remainder.

"It ain't much...but it's the best we got." The cook grinned and brushed his hands against his pants. I looked at him and smiled, then turned toward the Sergeant.

"I guess I'll be joining with you until I can find my own outfit... if that's okay?" I took another bite of the runny slop. At least it was hot.

"That'll be fine. Take a spot in the trench, we'll be going at it soon enough!" I gave him a questioning look, so he continued. "Rebs are just inside the woods yonder, we're fixing to hit them at first light." He sighed and looked across the field, where I could just make out several small fires like the one I sat beside. He folded his arms, "Hell is, crossing that field... we'll be like sitting ducks." He sadly shook his head and walked into the darkness.

As soon as I finished eating, I was shown my 'place in the trench'. Here I would wait out the morning and the battle that was sure to come.

Chapter 2

From my trench I could hear the big boom of the cannon as it hurled death from a great distance toward our line. Fear gripped my throat as I tried to swallow. Even in this early morning light, I could see the smoke drifting from the woods where the Rebs were firing at our position.

From side to side I looked into the eyes of those soldiers around me, each deep in his own thoughts of loved ones and home. Some of the old men had fire in their eyes as they readied themselves for a charge once our Sergeant barked the order. The very young were cowering in fear as they waited for the call. I was among these young men trembling in the icy mud of our trench.

I was soaked as the melting snow seeped into my boots leaving my socks perpetually wet. The temperature had warmed during the night, causing great patches of snow to melt and grass to become visible in areas now open from the unseasonable warmth. I tugged the cap down further onto my head, but its protection offered no comfort to my trembling body and soul. As if to mock us, it began drizzling. A slight southern wind had warmed the air just enough to keep it from turning to snow, however, it made the conditions even more miserable by creating a damp ever-penetrating fog.

As the morning progressed, so did the drizzle. At first it had been like a damp fog, and then gradually, it became an outright rain. I looked up into the droplets as they continued to plummet into the puddle at my feet, and I watched the Sergeant wipe the water from his long bushy beard. From the distance we could hear the crack of the big 54's and 58's. Once in a while, when I would get the nerve up to look over the edge, I could see the Rebel battle flag unfurled and waving in the cold late November breeze.

Early morning arrived, and each army faced one another in the cold rain. A low fog was beginning to settle into the lowlands as the sun tried to fight its way through the clouds. It was true... that in the early morning it is actually colder once the sun begins to rise, and sitting there covered with rain made it worse then ever.

My teeth began to chatter when the order finally came in the form of a dull roar swelling within our ranks until it reached our position. The roar was from the eager soldiers shouting their willingness to finally be anywhere other than in that wet trench, but I wasn't so sure.

As we struggled out of the slippery earthen ditch, the sun burst through the clouds, promising for it to be a bright morning. The fellow to my immediate right collapsed back into the trench as a slug slammed into his chest. I trembled as I watched him come to a rest, his blood coloring the muddy puddle that he fell into. I wasn't sure if I was shaking from the fear of that happening to me, or from the chill of being wet.

A rifle ball struck the stock of the 58 Springfield gun that I carried, exploding the wood into a hundred pieces. The sheer force propelled me into the trench where I landed next to the unlucky man whom I had been watching. I scrambled to my feet in horror as I quickly tried to put distance between the dead man and myself.

As I was searching for a foothold on the muddy banks of the trench, another soldier fell back into what was suddenly becoming a mass grave. Screaming, I grabbed hold of anything that I could reach in an effort to pull me to something solid. I had lost my cap in the bloody water when I first fell, and now my gun had been rendered useless.

Never before in my 16 years had I ever experienced anything so terrifying in my whole life! This was worse then the battle when I had been captured, making that first one seem like a mere skirmish!

As I finally reached the flat, muddy ground I was out of breath with fear, for nowhere to be seen were those who had waited out deaths with me in this trench! Ahead of me I could see the field strewn with the dead and dying soldiers; as Union the blue were pushing the Rebs backwards into the brush and trees.

I pulled myself to my feet and searched around for a gun...any gun. Gathering another 58 Springfield into my grimy mud-covered hands, I winced as I lifted it from a dead soldier, ramrod still clutched in his lifeless hand. From experience I could tell that he had no time to load before the fatal bullet found him. Trembling, I loaded it and started into a dead run for the tree line that my side had advanced upon. As I crossed the muddy grass and earthen field, I heard the soft thud of slugs hitting the ground around my feet. Adrenaline and fear caused me to race into the unknown, with the woods being my goal.

I could feel the tug of a lead ball passing through my pant leg as I reached the woods where I had last seen the Union soldiers entering. Tears were cutting the soil that covered my cheeks as I sought safety behind a fallen tree. All about me were littered the bodies of both Confederate and Union soldiers alike; most were dead, but some still clung desperately onto life.

My hair had become pasted to my head from the wet morning, so I pushed it out of my sight and tried to compose myself into another attempt to reach my company. Choking smoke from the recent battle clouded my vision, and the acrid smell of powder burned at my nostrils. I was already sick and tired of the sights and smells of war!

Into the bluish-gray cloud I scanned for any sign of my fellow soldiers. I saw movement and rolled into a kneeling position behind my tree. The man stumbled toward me softly calling out someone's name, as if he were looking for that person. I held my ground and with trembling hand I drew back the hammer from the long, 58 caliber, waiting to see if he was a friend or foe... It was a Reb!

We couldn't have been more than 25 yards apart as our eyes locked upon one another. I quickly sighted my gun as I watched in horror as he raised his gun toward me. We fired simultaneously. I waited for a moment as the thick plume of smoke dissipated, it was apparent that he did likewise as we remained where we were, waiting for one or both of us to fall. After only a moment, we realized that the mortal blow that we each expected had not materialized, and both our shots had missed horribly. In a panic, we rapidly began to reload our weapons.

As we nervously readied our guns, each of us took a moment from time to time, to check out how the other was progressing. I guessed that he was close to my age but with the dirt and filth, I didn't know for sure. I finished just ahead of him and raised my rifle to aim. I looked into his tear-filled eyes as he realized that I had beaten him loading our messengers of death. As I hesitated, he began to frantically finish loading the big gun he was holding.

No 16 year-old should ever have to do what I did at that moment; his eyes briefly met mine and he began to raise his gun in my direction. My borrowed weapon barked with fury as through the smoke, his gun fell and he spun violently backwards to the soft carpet of the damp woods. I stood there crying, muddy tears streaming down my young cheeks.

I watched the young man struggle once to rise, then fell onto his back ceasing to breathe, the life slowly ease from the youth eyes. I stared down at the weapon in my hands and slowly let it drop onto the damp slushy ground beneath my feet. I had just broken a commandment... I had taken a life. My grandmother would have rolled in her grave if she could have seen what I had just done.

The gaping hole that the slug left in the boy was visible to me, steam slowly rising from the mortal wound. I stepped across the log and moved to his side, his eyes seemed to follow my movement as I approached. But I knew that was impossible, and he was dead. I sat and stared into his dead eyes and continually wiped tears as they rolled down my cheeks. His cold stare seemed to haunt me as its gaze bore into my very soul.

I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for this young soldier who died by my hands, but it helped me feel only a bit better. I crawled over to his lifeless form and using my hand I lowered his eyelids from their haunting stare. I could feel my throat tighten with emotion as my hand came into contact with his warm skin; never before had I witnessed the results of my actions on the battlefield... now, I knew that I would never forget.

Most of the day passed quickly, before I could prod myself into moving. Still in a horrified shock, I buried him in a shallow grave and using a chunk of bark from a tree scratched these words: "Here lies a young Reb killed by me... God, please forgive me for what I have done." I fell against a tree, staring into the fresh mound of earth that had become his grave, and remained there until night began to fall... I wearily set out away from the dead boy.

I gathered up my gun and began to plod deeper into the woods away from the grave, until I came to a wide river and turned west away from the rising sun. I could see that I was headed in the right direction, the ruts from the cannons being pulled through the soft earth and the bodies littered the ground from both Union and Confederate alike. A huge battle must have taken place here earlier today.

I followed the river well into the evening, and I only paused long enough to get a drink and eat a bit of jerky the black cook had given me. I figured that it would only be about an hour or so before I would catch up with my company. Using the stars, I kept the North Star in sight and kept moving into the inky darkness. Finally until utter exhaustion overcame me, I collapsed into a heap under a great willow tree. I smiled inwardly as I fondly remembered a tree just like this one, growing next to the river near my home in Indiana. Slowly I let sleep overtake me and closed my eyes listening to the gentle night breeze rustle the overhanging dry leaves.

Chapter 3

Voices woke me in the freezing pre-dawn morning, so I scrambled to my feet using the great span of the willow's trunk to keep me hidden until I could discover who was speaking. The male voices that I heard were using thick southern accents, so I kept low and circled around to a dense bush for cover. It was a small party of Reb soldiers moving toward me in a single line.

I eased myself back over the bank of the icy river and hung on to a sapling in my effort to stay concealed. The water was frigid as it crushed the wind from my lungs with an icy grip. I shook from chill as I hung onto the small tree, afraid that they would hear my teeth chattering.

As I flattened myself against the bank I watched one gray clad soldier stood at the edge and relieved himself only a few yards from me. I redoubled my effort to maintain a grasp on the young tree in the icy water... I could feel my grip slipping.

Suddenly as if the river itself pried my numb fingers away, I began to be pulled downstream! I did the only thing I could and lay face down, praying that they would think I was dead and leave me pass. I held my breath waiting for the stab of hot lead to bury itself deep into my exposed back. Evidently I was a pretty good actor, because they did nothing, either they didn't see me or ignored me completely. Whatever the reason, I was alive... cold and wet, but alive.

I held my breath as long as I possibly could, my lungs burning with fire as they sought the fresh clean air of the surface. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I rose and filled my lungs full with life giving air. Spinning around I scanned the banks looking for the Confederate soldiers, but they were nowhere to be seen. I tried to strike out for the river-bank but the swift current was pulling me along in its icy path, and I was its prisoner!

Faster and faster I raced along, sometimes striking rocks or boulders strewn along the bottom. Once, I momentarily wrapped my arm around a log but my force dislodged it from the hold it had on the bottom and it too was propelled down the swift, icy river.

At one point during my seemingly endless trip, I was able to force myself away from the log and suddenly found my feet able to touch the bottom. That success was short-lived as I slipped and became disoriented under the surface. Again I found myself an unwilling passenger in this icy river, beside me floated the slowly rotating log!

Slowly my strength was being ebbed from my body, I tried one last time to push myself away from the log. With all the strength I could muster I shoved against it with both feet and prayed. If I was unsuccessful, I would die alone in this icy watery grave. My head struck a rock and pain throbbed from my swollen temple, but I fought along in the current as blood began to pulse down from my brow. Somehow my arms came into contact with roots along the edge and I held on for dear life until I was able to pull my feet up underneath me. Struggling with what energy I had left, I pried myself from my watery grave.

Chapter 4

It was dark when I regained consciousness; the air was still and very cold. My breath floated from my mouth in feathery plumes. I felt chilled and in pain, my body aching from the beating I took in the river.

My whole body again shivered from being both wet and cold. Somehow during my watery trip down the river I had lost a shoe, my jacket and the rifle. God only knows where...probably somewhere along the bank where I met up with those Rebs. What was left of my clothes had become torn and ragged, and were almost worthless in their present state.

Slowly, I pulled myself onto my hands and knees, my body racked with pain and numbness. I crawled toward a tree and using the low branches, pulled myself into a standing position. I could hear a dog nearby barking, its voice echoing in the quiet evening. I knew I desperately needed to rest somewhere dry and warm, or I would die.

I struggled through the darkness using the trees to help me walk with the pain and ache that I was feeling. I figured to stay near the river to have the best chance of finding some type of refuge. Slowly I picked my way until I heard horses. Peering through the foliage, I could see a house with soft light coming from a few windows. I paused and continued to watch for movement; I didn't have long to wait.

A middle-aged white woman followed a short man to his waiting buggy, and with her were a large, black slave woman and a skinny black man holding the horses to keep them calm. With them, a smartly dressed man quietly entered his buggy. From the bag the dark suited man was carrying, I sensed he was a doctor. I could just make out their conversation as he settled on the leather seat. "My poor daughter is so ill, Doctor! Isn't there anything you can give her?" The older woman sobbed softly.

He sadly shook his head as if saying no. "Ma'am, with this damned war, all my supplies have been depleted. I've given you some powders to help her sleep, but that's all I can really do. With what she's been through, it's only a matter of time."

From the look on the smaller woman's face, it looked as though the hardened doctor had slapped her. He saw it too and quickly looked down toward his feet. "Ma'am, if there was anything at all that I felt I could do... you know I would." His tired eyes shifted to the large black slave woman who was scowling at his callousness.

The distraught woman held the seat of the buggy tightly, as if to keep the doctor from leaving. With a sad nod and a pat on the gray-haired woman's hand, he took the reins from the skinny black man, "You just need to understand ma'am, Sarah won't be able to survive both this illness of hers, and pregnancy too. It would be a miracle if she were able to recover enough to last out this week. If only the child she was carrying were older, we could remove it with surgery. Unfortunately, I have never heard of any child living after being removed from a womb at only a few months."

The rotund black slave woman scowled again at the doctor's cold comment, "Some friend you is... telling her a thing like that, knowing how she's hurting inside!" She hugged the crying woman. "You go on and get yourself outa here!" She waved a portly arm in the doctor's direction.

The doctor tugged at his white whiskers and smiled sadly at the large slave, "I know you'll take good care of her, Keeza... if that's the only thing you do." The black matron nodded. Smiling weakly at her, he snapped the reins and pulled his buggy away from the steps.

I studied the little group as they stood sadly waiting while the doctor drove down the long lane of the plantation. They watched, until the darkness enveloped both him and his buggy. I glanced back toward them and noticed that the skinny man was suddenly gone, leaving only the crying white woman and the large black female. I rose up a bit to scan the area around me in an effort to figure out where the scrawny man went. I couldn't see him, so instead, I concentrated on the figures before me and quietly sunk back into the darkened bushes.

The chubby slave directed the older woman back toward the house talking quietly with her as they walked, "Keeza will speak with Miss Lilly, she’ll know what to do. We should've done that in the first place instead of fetching that old doctor know-nothing from town." She looked back toward where the skinny slave had been standing. "Now where the heck did you run off to? She paused and started searching for him with her eyes. "I hates it when you do that to me!"

I crouched down in an effort to conceal myself better, leaning into the darkened foliage of the hedge. I looked toward the barn and decided that I could move within the shadows there, making my way around toward the back. I slipped away from my hiding spot and started toward the building; fearing surprise I cautiously made my way to the door.

I moved slowly, as I had been trained to do in a hostile area. My ears were in tune to every movement, each step was calculated and as silent as possible. I inched my way closer to the door. I had the uneasy feeling of being watched, but I needed the rest that the barn would soon provide. It had taken me almost a half-hour to pick my way through the darkness, but still the unease I was feeling was prominent. Suddenly my fears were confirmed when I heard a slight movement in the shadows to my immediate right! I hesitated in the darkness and felt my heart race. Panic surged into my brain... I wheeled and tried to run but a quick flash and sharp stab of pain in my back left me no doubt that I was not alone. The terrible impact caused me to be violently propelled to my knees, my lungs gasping desperately for air.

I knew instantly, that I had been shot in the back... the lead ball passed entirely through and exited high on my chest. Coughing, I grasped at the pain only to pull my hand away and reveal blood soaked fingers. Steam slowly rose from my darkened fingertips and chest. I struggled to stand, only to fall forward again onto my face. I lay where I fell, watching the blades of grass vibrate from my frosty breath in the cool fall night. My breathing was becoming raspy and labored, with little flecks of white foam appearing on the grass before me. I had been fatally wounded; I knew that I was dying.

I had come all the way from Indiana, fought and survived through two horrendous battles, and I was about to die somewhere on a Southern plantation and not in the war as I had feared. Death doesn't care; it will get you wherever and whenever it wants. If it's your time, it will find you.

My vision became cloudy as I sensed movement of several individuals directly next to me, and slowly the sounds of those people became echoes within my mind. I felt my eyes dim and begin to close in anticipation of the peaceful sleep of death.