To See The Elephant
     by Nick Korolev

"Jeremy Franklin you get back here!" Amanda yelled, running after her younger brother. "Mama will skin you alive when she gets back." Jeremy ran toward the gate of his Aunt Catherine's picket fence in front of the white farm house past a patch of side yard that had been plowed up by a cannon ball. "I'm thirteen today and can do what I want!" he yelled over his shoulder. He was tired of hiding out in the root cellar under the house. 

The ordeal had started when a Confederate artillery battery came thundering past the barn and a mounted officer rode over to Aunt Catherine and told her to get her family to a safe place. That was two days ago. A furious battle had raged yesterday on both sides of Antietam Creek only a couple of miles down the road toward Sharpsburg. Jeremy had spent all of yesterday listening to it, cowering in the dark with his mother, Amanda and Aunt Catherine. He had not been as frightened as the women. 

Now, he wanted to see the two great armies before they marched away. Maybe even find his Uncle Richard, a captain in the Stonewall Brigade or his father with Stuart's cavalry. He never expected the Rebel army would invade Maryland while they were visiting from Shepherdstown, just across the Potomac. The battle had delayed their return trip and now was his last chance to break away and have a look while his Mama and Aunt Catherine checked on an elderly neighbor down the lane. The lane meandered past the farm and down to the Hagerstown Pike. Amanda had been left to watch him, but he didn't need watching. He vaulted the fence as he caught sight of Amanda, skirts flying, running around the side of the house. She was eighteen and wore her raven hair in sausage curls, her eyes were brown as a doe's and presently hard with anger. 

Amanda had a new beau, Tim Smith, also with Stuart's cavalry. Jeremy figured she thought that made her his boss. It turned his stomach to think any man might be interested in her. "Jeremy, you come back here now!" "No, and you can't make me," he taunted as he tripped through a puddle in the lane, his shoes kicking up clots of mud. His trousers got spattered and his feet wet, but he did not care. When he looked over his shoulder again, Amanda was at the gate. "I'm telling Mama you went to find Papa and Uncle Richard . . . You will not go unpunished." She shook her fist at him. He laughed and kept running down the lane. He ran another hundred yards before slowing to a walk and looking over his shoulder. Amanda was headed back to the house. He figured she'd give up her pursuit once he was far enough away. 

Mama and Aunt Catherine had told them both to stay in the house. There was no telling what manner of men that might come by, his Mama had warned. He did not care. He had nothing to fear. He was finally free of Amanda. Free to find the armies. He planned to join Stuart's cavalry when he was old enough - if the war lasted that long. Since the newspapers published the first the black and white engravings depicting the firing on Fort Sumter, with  of tumbling walls and exploding shells, he had been lured by the adventure of it all. He remembered how jealous he felt when Papa joined the cavalry and left with the bay gelding, Scout. Under the bed at home he had a box filled with all the newspaper clippings he had collected on the various battles, along with his Papa's letters. When not doing chores, he spent hours rereading the letters and looking at the engravings with straight battle lines, rearing horses, puffs of smoke. Surely it was all so glorious and noble to fight for a new country. He could not understand why Mama did not want to look at the newspaper anymore. 

A light afternoon breeze teased the tall grass in the field to his left. He noticed it had been trampled down by the passing of men, saw wheel ruts he assumed were from the artillery battery that had passed through his Aunt's property. There was some more plowed up earth. He broke off a stalk of grass in passing and stuck the end in his mouth, chewing it slowly, thoughtfully. Maybe he'd come back later and dig up the cannon ball for a souvenir, maybe the one back at the house, too. He squinted at the road ahead searching for more signs of an army, fearing they may have all pulled out. He had no idea if the battle that raged yesterday was over or who now occupied the area. 

At a few distant cracks of muskets, he dove behind a big walnut tree on the side of the lane. His heart raced. Maybe they were skirmishers like he had seen in the newspapers. But whose? Maybe they were pickets taking pot shots at each other. He pressed his back against the rough bark, waiting, listening, anticipating. Nothing. He grew bored, disappointed. There wasn't going to be a battle with flags waving and little puffs of smoke that he could sit and watch. He left the tree and continued his walk down the lane. He passed a patch of woods and a field gone fallow, choke with weeds. Above the woods he spotted five turkey vultures and numerous crows circling in an overcast sky. A mockingbird sang from the green shadows at the edge of the woods. It was just like any other autumn afternoon he had ever known except for the greater number of vultures and crows in the sky. 

The breeze shifted. With it came the acrid scent of smoke and powder and something that reminded him of the half rotted deer he found in the woods last spring. He must be close, he thought. A sudden chill ran through him. He did not know why. He stared at the woods and fields studying the shadows and thick brush searching, hoping. Distant voices called above the creak of wagon wheels beyond a stand of woods out toward the Dunker Church. He couldn't understand the words, the talk garbled by the distance. The lane went up a hill where it merged with the Hagerstown Pike. He planned to go towards the Dunker Church. Most of the battle noise had come from that direction yesterday. Troops might still be there. 

When he crested the hill at Hagerstown Pike he froze. A few yards away, across the pike amid the rocks and trampled grass near a rail fence was a row of dead men in ragged Confederate uniforms. They were blackened and swollen from the sun, staring with vacant white eyes. Scattered around them were blankets, tin cups, canteens and muskets. A rotten stench hung over it all. Flies buzzed everywhere. All he could do was stare, suddenly unable to move. A thought pushed through the shock. He realized the newspaper engravings were lies and he felt betrayed. They never showed this. The battlefields had all been a remote reality, like a funeral next door. Now the real mangled bloody truth was staring him in the face. He suddenly felt bile raise in his throat and fought hard to swallow. 

"Come to see the elephant, farm boy? Found it ain't a pretty sight, haven't you?" A gruff voice behind him made him jump. He turned to find two Confederate soldiers carrying a third in a blanket slung between them. One was taller and had a cut on his cheek, the other shorter with broad shoulders. The soldier in the blanket was thin and pallid. All three were ragged and dirty, their faces smeared with black powder and couldn't be much older than his sister. "This ain't a circus," he said confused by the comment and trying not to throw up in front of them and embarrass himself. He backed a few steps up the lane. The shorter man chuckled derisively. "No it ain't."  "See the elephant means see the war, boy," the tall one continued. The sickness passed. "I get it. But I thought I might find my Pa or my Uncle Richard. My Pa's with Stuart and my Uncle's with Jackson." His pride in them had not waned despite the carnage around him. 

The soldiers walked toward him with the man in the blanket. He could see the man was unconscious. A red stain covered a bloody bandage around his left thigh. "Do tell," the tall one said. "Just hope they ain't in Jim's shape here. If they ain't, they'll be with their units. We just come back for Jim." "Yanks and you, farm boy, will have to bury them other fellers," the short soldier said nodding toward the fence. They passed him heading towards Sharpsburg. He started to follow them. "Who won?" he asked. "Does it matter?" came the shorter soldier's bitter remark. The man in the blanket groaned. They stopped and put him down on the side of the road. Jeremy stepped closer. "Jim you want some water?" the tall soldier said, reaching for a canteen slung over his shoulder. "Could use some," Jim said weakly. "God, this hurts." "The ambulance should be by soon. Just saw it on the hill a few minutes back while you were out cold.," the shorter soldier said. The tall soldier handed Jim the canteen, then turned to Jeremy and frowned. "Why don't you just git on home. Your Mama's probably wondering where you got to." "Can't," he said, frowning, resenting being treated like a child. " My home is on a farm outside of Shepherdstown. I'm visiting my Aunt." "Well, then get back to your Aunt's place. This ain't no place for you. Yankees might come at us again. Got enough worries now with Jim. Don't want you on my conscience, too," the tall soldier said. 

The approaching horse drawn ambulance which bumped and jostled down the pike toward them stopped further conversation. Jeremy found himself totally ignored as the two men lifted their friend and headed down the road toward it. He started to follow, then thought better and just stood on the side of the road staring. He watched them put Jim in the ambulance. Then, he turned away and started to walk toward Sharpsburg, suddenly not wanting to go near the ambulance. He didn't want Jim's companions to think he was being nosy. He had gotten about ten yards when he heard the ambulance creak, a man moaned, and another screamed out in delirium. They are haunting me, he thought suddenly and dared not look back at the ambulance or across the road at the corpses. He started to run toward Sharpsburg. "Can't take looking too close at that elephant can you, farm boy?" The short soldier's voice reached him, taunting and critical. It made him run harder. He had no answer, no scathing comment to hurl back. He only knew he didn't care to hear any more and that he resented the two soldiers. 

The further he ran the worse the carnage around the road became. The dead of both sides were scattered in every direction he looked. The horror of it all benumbed his senses. His eyes stared to fill with tears. What if Pa or Uncle Richard are out there shot and no body comes to help? Please, God, no! His breath rasped in his throat. The foul air he was sucking in made him feel sick again, but he had to keep running. He had to get away. He had to . . . "Jeremy! Jeremy, is that you?" his father's voice called from his right. He stopped and turned, lungs about to burst. There, galloping across a plowed field on Scout was his Pa. He looked so different, bearded now and covered with dust. He wore a grimy gray shell jacket with corporal's stripes, and a saber rattled against his left leg as he rode. He ran to meet him, a flood of relief coursing through him. "What in God's name are you doing out here?" Pa said, pulling Scout to a stop next to him. Panting, Jeremy felt as if his knees would give out. He had to grab Scout's breast strap to keep standing. "I . . . Ma and Amanda are at Aunt Catherine's . . . the battle . . . We couldn't get home." "Is everyone all right?" He caught his breath, legs steadier. "Yes, Pa. But a cannon ball plowed up the ground on the side of the house." "Well, you shouldn't be out here. I'll take you back. I got special permission to check on Aunt Caroline." He held out his hand. "Take my hand and I'll pull you up behind the saddle. Scout can carry us both." He nodded and reached up his hand. His Pa hoisted him to Scout's back as if he weighed no more than a chicken. He grabbed his Pa around the chest, hugging tight and leaning his cheek against his sun-warmed back. He felt safe now. Joy, pain, grief and relief tumbled in a confused lump in his chest. "Oh, Pa. I didn't know it was like this." "War ain't pretty, Jeremy. It scars the people and the land in more ways than I care to think about." 

His Pa urged Scout to a trot. They headed back down the pike towards the ambulance. Jeremy didn't want to go back that way, but they didn't have a choice. The ambulance was   between them and the lane that lead to Aunt Catherine's. He didn't have to look, but he did, unable to keep his eyes away. The horse pulling it plodded along slowly, lifting its head and pricking its ears at Scout. The driver glanced up at his Pa. "You better head on into town. Word is, Lee wants to be on the way to Shepherdstown by evening," his Pa called to the driver. The man nodded that he understood. As they passed he noticed blood dripping from the back of the ambulance. The tall and short soldier walking along behind it seemed not to notice. They looked up. The tall one asked lazily. "Corporal, are we retreating?" . Pa reined in Scout. "Nothing more can be done in Maryland. Went scouting this morning. Found fresh Federal divisions coming in and reported it. Our army's in a bad way right now. Took heavy losses. Not enough men left to fend off another major attack." "Shit," the shorter man said. "You boys better get back to your unit," he said as he got Scout walking again. "Your boy?" the tall one asked. "Yes."  "Glad he found you. Least ways this battle had one happy ending," the tall soldier called after them. 

Pa urged Scout into a trot again. Jeremy's grudge against the two soldiers melted away. He found himself praying they'd be alright. Then, he closed his eyes to the carnage around him and concentrated on the movement of Scout beneath him, knowing each hoof fall brought him that much closer to Aunt Catherine's farm and the secure shelter of his family.

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