The Major's Letter Read online

THE MAJOR’S LETTER

  By

  Robert Ladd

  www.robertladdbooks.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert Ladd

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise – without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to Sun Literary.

  Published by Sun Literary, 7922 Darnell Lane, Lenexa, KS, 66215

  [email protected]

  International Standard Book Number 978-1-4499494-3-3

  PROLGUE

  July 21, 1861

  First Battle of Bull Run

  Prince William County, Virginia

  The cannonball seemed to come out of nowhere. He didn’t recall hearing the sound of it being fired, but as soon as it struck him, the Major knew exactly what had happened. His horse Dakota crumpled, killed instantly as the 8-pound ball tore open a hole in its side the size of a fist. The horse’s rider, Union Major Sullivan Ballou, managed to pull his right boot from the stirrup before his beloved steed crashed to the ground. It wasn’t necessary to remove the left boot however as it was completely severed upon the shell’s impact.

  Strangely Ballou felt no pain. Even when he rolled onto his back and discovered his left leg was missing at mid-shin. He found himself staring mutely as his mangled limb when the zing of a musket ball reminded him of his plight.

  Get to cover! He commanded himself. Now!

  Twenty feet away stood a small fence made of stone. Ballou crawled toward it as rifles cracked all around him, the air filled with flying lead, almost as if the woods were filled with a thousand angry wasps. Dirt and leaves leaped as the bullets struck all around him. One slug ripped the hat from his head, and sent it flying as if suddenly jerked by an invisible string. Finally reaching the fence, he flung himself behind it, safe for the moment from the Confederate rifles.

  Ballou removed his belt and tied it as a tourniquet just above the knee. He was actually shocked that there wasn’t more blood. In fact, there was hardly any blood at all; just the exposed bone and ragged pants leg. He had no way of knowing that not only had the leather of his boot been blown from his leg but was blown into his leg as well, miraculously capping off the femoral artery. If not he would died within minutes.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Rifle fire sounded to his right as a trio of Confederate snipers took aim. Chips from the stone fence flew into the air like shards of glass. Ballou scrunched lower to the ground, pressing his face into the leaves and dirt. He pulled his revolver and readied himself for the attack. A few moments later, peering over the top of the fence, he saw a half-dozen soldiers in gray advancing toward him.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  This time the fire was coming from his left as Ballou’s men joined the fight, and rallied to save their fallen leader.

  The Confederates quickly retreated under the heavy fire, and then, just as quickly as the shooting began, it stopped. For five, ten, fifteen minutes the only sound in the woods was the distant rumble and shouts of war being fought elsewhere in the valley and beyond. Ballou lay perfectly still. Had the Confederates left the woods entirely? Had they sensed they were outnumbered and fled? More likely they were regrouping elsewhere, preparing themselves for an attack along the right flank.

  Ballou glanced once again at his leg. Why wasn’t there any pain, he wondered? And more blood? The only sensation he had was a numbness from the hip down. He assumed correctly that he was in shock, and it was the shock that somehow shut down that portion of his central nervous system that dictated pain. He knew he had to be in sheer agony, but through His divine providence, God had devised a way to short-circuit the agony. At least for the time being.

  And then, without realizing why or how, Ballou understood the role that God played in war. God did not choose sides, as some in the Union claimed. Instead, if men were foolish enough to engage in killing one another for a cause, God would be there: comforting both men in gray and blue alike when they were injured. In fact, God not only comforted them but stood beside them both on the field of battle, so that when they were near death, they could feel his presence.

  Ballou had no idea why this thought suddenly came to him. Was it because he was lying wounded amongst enemy soldiers who wanted nothing more than to end his life? Or was it because he was dying already without realizing it?

  Suddenly then the noise of men killing men upon the hillsides and fields vanished. The only sound was the gentle sweep of wind in the treetops. The smoke-filled woods seem to clear itself of the smells of gunpowder and fear and death. Overhead, through a gap in the trees, Ballou saw a sky the color of his wife’s eyes, pale and blue and shining, and then time stood still.

  The Major removed from his jacket pocket a letter he’d written his wife Sarah just the night before. Fear of his imminent death in battle persuaded him to write her one last time, and to try to put into words his unfailing love for her. His regiment began its march to war before he had a chance to finish it. He read the last paragraph.

 

  But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

  Then with a pencil stub, he scribbled these words at the bottom of the page.

  As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, come to me with our children. Your loving husband, Sullivan.

  Ballou placed the letter back into his pocket and waited. His heart rate dropped, his pulse slowed. The colors around him faded to gray, even the sky above. Slowly his eyes closed as sleep overtook him. His last conscious thoughts were of his two children, his home in Rhode Island and the lovely face of his wife Sarah. Sweet, radiant, beautiful Sarah. He so hoped the letter would reach her.