It had been a surprise attack. Around four o’clock that morning, Jaris was awakened to the sound of panic. “They’re coming!” men were yelling. Soldiers were scrambling for their guns, trying to form a line, trying to stop the Yankees as they poured over the high ground in front of them.
Though Lyon’s men had used the element of surprise, it had not taken long for the Confederate forces to regroup. The fighting was extremely intense. Jaris’s men spent a great deal of time combating in a cornfield. He had done tremendously well, killing a number of Union soldiers, while still managing to keep his men from fleeing the field. Suddenly, about an hour into the attack, a large number of fresh Union soldiers swept over the hilltop, charging toward Jaris’s company. They seemed to be outnumbered. He looked around to see if any other troops were available to help, but then he realized the rest of the Confederate soldiers were giving up the groun
The heat of the August sun was blazing. It was only a short walk from the large two-story house on Broadway Street up to the town square, but even with a sunbonnet on, Cordia could feel the sweat running down the back of her neck. Maybe it was just because there had been rumor of another fight, a big one near Springfield, but she felt like she was being burned alive.Her heart was pounding as she neared the courthouse. She could see a crowd forming there. News had just made it to her father at the bank, who had sent word by one of the young boys who worked at the newspaper to go tell Cordia. Yet, already, there must have been close to fifty people standing around, staring at the courthouse door. Nothing was posted yet, and most likely nothing would be that day—nothing that really supplied any pertinent information. Nevertheless, Cordia did not have the best of feelings this time. Her stomach was tight, her palms sweaty, her heart raced, ready to burst out of her chest.
After Mr. Ward read the telegraph from his cousin, Cordia’s father tried to get her to go home, but she insisted on staying. She watched as Mr. Ward locked up the courthouse at 8:15. She watched as the crowd dispersed. She even watched as Julia rode away around 9:00. Finally, her father talked enough reason into her to get her to walk back home. She knew she wouldn’t sleep that night and that she would probably be one of the first people at the courthouse the next morning. If it had been up to her, she would have spent the night sleeping underneath that oak tree.As soon as there was enough light to see the brick sidewalk, Cordia was out the door, flying to the town square. As she approached the courthouse, she saw just a few other people standing outside. There was nothing new posted on the door. Her shoulders slumped as she went back to the same spot where she had spent the better portion of the day before, underneath the oak tree. She hadn’t figured on th
A few minutes after Cordia’s dad left the town square, Mr. Ward came out of the courthouse, though they could all see he had no papers in his hands. “All right,” he announced, “this is what I have done. I have telegraphed my cousin and asked him to go down to these hospitals he was speaking of yesterday and see if he can compile a list of the Barton County boys who are dead and wounded.” There were now close to one-hundred people standing around, and most of them were very happy to hear this news. “Now, I can’t promise he’ll get the message or be able to do it today, but I reckon that’s about all I can do at this time.”“There’s no other news?” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.“No, I’m afraid there ain’t been no news, nothing I didn’t already tell you about.” Mr. Ward confirmed. Then, he promptly turned around and went back into the courthouse.
The sky was like a painting, portraying the end of the world. Dark red at the horizon, lightening to pink and orange, before it finally spread into a thick yellow that covered the rest of the sky. Smoke billowed through the air, sometimes pervasive enough that simply breathing would make a person gag and choke. It seemed that not a single blade of grass could still be standing. The ground was thick with mud, small rivers flowing through it, the same color as that horizon. The stench of death and dying hung in curtains, wafting around on the breeze, churning stomachs, causing nostrils to flare. Standing here, one no longer needed to imagine what hell must be like.Cordia was picking her way through an endless sea of dead men’s bodies, piled to her knees and higher. She looked into the eyes of every single one of them. Sometimes, she had to turn them over to get a good look at their faces. Occasionally, parts of their corpses would stain her hands with blood, body tissue,
Cordia’s parents and Frieda were dumbfounded hearing her declare she was intending to drive into a war zone.“Cordia,” her mother was saying, “you can’t possibly be serious.” To look at her, however, they could tell that Cordia was definitely steadfast. She had already gotten two traveling gowns out of the closet and a bag for her essentials.“Cordia, calm down,” her father said, lightly grabbing her arm, in her mind causing a loss of precious time. “You can’t just go galloping off to Springfield in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be safe.”“I don’t care,” she insisted, shaking her arm free. “I’ll be fine. I know how to shoot a gun. I’ll take one with me. I am not going to sit here for one more minute waiting for someone to tell me that the man I love—or his cousin—is dead!” She turned around and flung open a drawer and began t
Cordia had considered stopping by the Adams Farm to see if Julia wanted to go with them. But she remembered how pale and fragile her friend had looked yesterday, and she didn’t think this trip would be good for her tuberculosis. And, though Cordia had never been on a battlefield before, if it was anything like the one she had walked in her dream, she knew the air would quickly get to delicate Julia. So, here she was, driving the horses before her with a purpose, Frieda beside her, rambling on about stubbornness and the likelihood of them both getting killed. Cordia ignored her, deep in her own thoughts.Frieda mentioned that she was glad they had taken the whole cart. She said she was only doing this one time, so if there was something (and by that, Cordia knew all too well that she meant someone) to haul back, she was doing it now. She also mentioned she was glad that this way they would have to stick to the roads, which Cordia would be much more likely to do
Cordia drove on toward Springfield. Part of her was very glad that she had run into Cal Markson. Now they had a better idea of exactly where they needed to go. But, then, the only news he had given her was bad news. So, on she drove, knowing the quicker she got there, the quicker the agony of the unknown would be over.By nine o’clock, it was pitch black. The horses were exhausted, and Frieda was insisting that they stop for the evening. The house Cordia’s father had recommended was left behind in the miles they had crossed that day. They had stopped to rest the horses only twice, and Cordia had spent the whole time pacing, urging Frieda to let them continue. Now, she, too, was feeling weary from their long journey. And she did not like the idea of driving into war-torn country in the darkness. She finally consented to pulling over into a hollow in the trees for the night and trying to get some sleep in the wagon. They decided it would be safer if they slept in sh
No amount of preparation could possibly have equipped Cordia Pike for what she saw as she neared the hospital outside of Wilson’s Creek. Though she had been warned by telegraph, and by Cal Markson, that this was not a pleasant place, until her eyes actually took in the sights, until her nose actually whiffed the stench, she could not have comprehended the horrors that were war and the catastrophic wake it left behind.She had been surprised at the few number of Confederate troops there were patrolling the area. She assumed that was because most of them had fallen back to Springfield, which was still about ten miles ahead of them. One of the young men had come close enough to the wagon that she had asked him for directions to the hospital. He had simply pointed in a general direction. She thought it was possible that some of the wounded had been moved to other locations on the battlefield, so as she pulled up to an area lined with a few tents and a few scattered building