June 27th, 1862
My eyes slowly opened, and I found myself staring at my hand. It was covered in dirt and a carmine color. All I heard was a ringing sound pounding in my ears, and I looked around. I was confused, but in a split second, my mind was flooded with all that had happened, and I suddenly contracted a sharp pain in my temple. I touched my temple and my hand became wet; wet with my own blood. I remembered how I had been shot just below my knee cap, and I had stumbled down onto a flat rock. I had crawled to this cover and then passed out. My leg wound was bandaged, and my leg felt much better. I gathered my strength and turned my body to face a line of my comrades all firing against the Confederate army. The ground was wet, but not just because of the rain; blood pools had formed all around me next to my dead friends. My long coat was soaked in more than just my own blood.
I started heaving myself up, using the hollow supply crate as a brace for my arm. As soon as I put pressure on my leg, again I collapsed to my knees. I could feel the warm blood trickling down my lower leg. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blurry object drawing nearer my face. As I started to turn, the blurry object stopped right in front of my face. It took me a few seconds to register what it was, then I realized it was the palm of a hand. I grabbed it and it helped pull me up. When I turned to face the person who had helped me, I saw a short, young man in all white clothing. On his shirt was a medic pin. He was well built and had defined muscles and sharp features. “What’s your name?” he asked, raising an eyebrow after looking at all the blood that had soaked me.
“Uh... my name…? Oh it’s James.” A puzzled look came over his face and he chuckled.
“Sounds like you’re still roughed up. Take a few minutes to collect yourself.” I stood there holding my temple like a dumb, lost puppy. I took a few breaths and felt better again. I looked over into the battlefield, and saw something that shocked and scared me.
The estimated 57,000 Confederate troops were advancing past the Beaver Dam creek with great power. There was no way we could hold them back. It was a surging sea of will power, and one could hear the battle cries as they stormed closer. They would stop and shoot at us, then run forward as they reloaded, preparing to fire again. We were firing back franticly, but they greatly outnumbered us. I pulled up my blood covered gun that had been lying on the ground next to me. I began firing from a kneeling position, slowly taking aim then reloading. Bullets were whizzing past me, and people around me were dropping to the ground like flies.
Suddenly I heard a shouting voice, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” I recognized the voice, it was the brigadier general in charge of our division, Andrew Porter. I then saw him on top of some empty supply crates. He had a stern, determined look on his face, he was ready to fight back. He then began to speak again after gaining the attention of most of his men. “DON’T GIVE IN TO THOSE GREY BACKS! NOW SHOW ME WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A NORTHERNER!” he shouted, and his men began to yell in a chaotic storm of emotion. All the men lined up, and began to fire with confidence, but the Confederates were closing in now. I found myself scared, but ready to stand with my comrades. The Confederates were close now, and bayonets were readied along with swords drawn. I raised my bayonet as the enemy charged ahead with sabers and bayonets pointed straight out. Some shots were still being fired, and at this point they were deafening, but as the Confederates were drawing into our barricade we charged forward to meet their aggression. On my left and right were two men, older than I was.
The Confederates were close enough to my bayonet so I shoved it forward, not really aiming it at anyone in particular. All the sudden a felt a heavy weight on the end of my bayonet, and I had struck a man in his abdomen area just as his saber had been extended, almost in my face. The man on my left was shot, but the man on my right had also stabbed a Confederate with his saber. I pulled my bayonet out, and ran back a few feet facing the Confederates. Almost the entire Northern line had pulled a few feet back now, and was ready to meet them again. A few shots were exchanged then steels clashed on steel, once again. Suddenly, a Confederate man jumped up swinging his bayonet wildly in my direction. Just before I was impaled the man on my right jabbed him and pushed him back. I was washed in relief and blood, and I shouted, “Thanks,” not taking my attention away from the battlefield. Then in a split second, the man on my right was dead and the Confederates were pushing even further into our lines.
The northern line retreated back, farther this time. Certainly we couldn’t keep this up, it seemed hopeless. Once again the Confederates fired, this time they hit a lot more marks and men were dropping all around me. Our general yelled, “RETREAT TO THE BACK LINES, NOW!” Everyone began running into the forest that surrounded the battlefield, snaking left and right attempting to dodge any bullets. I had strayed from the group a bit, and gone deep into the woods. Then out of nowhere a Confederate yelled and swung his bayonet at me, I dodge the blade, but the side of the long rifle struck me in the head, and I fell to the ground. He tried to stab the bayonet downwards into my chest, but I quickly rolled to the side. He was also quick to react and once again plunged the blade towards my vitals. I pulled up my bayonet blade right in time to push his blade away with a clang of steel. I quickly withdrew my bayonet and extended it to his chest, and it pierced its mark. He collapsed to the ground, dead with his eyes open.
I just lied there on the ground, catching my breath and after a moment the cries and shots began to sound further and further away. My comrades must have drawn them deeper into the woods. I got up and leaned over his body, unaware he was dead. After feeling his pulse I eased up a bit and began to loot his body.
In his left pocket, underneath his jacket, was a solid gold watch with an eagle crest on it. This seemed familiar in some way, but I couldn’t seem to think of it. Then suddenly it hit me like a bullet train and I realized this had been my father’s watch… the same one that had been given to my very own brother. I looked at his face and horror struck my face as there was an uncanny resemblance. He looked older than I had remembered, but still the same eyes and nose. I began to weep and sorrow consumed me, for I had just slain my only brother. I felt numb and cold, like I myself was dying. Then I felt a sharp pain in my upper back, and something familiar trickled down my back. I looked down and saw a blade protruding from my chest and then I knew I was going to die. The blade was withdraw from my body, and I fell onto my brother’s cold, dead chest.