The Crucible - Part II 
FALSE ALARMS AND HEAT STROKE
     by Nick Korolev

Ten of the 2nd Maine men refused duty and were kept with the regiment under guard to await court-martial. On May 28, the First Division broke camp and moved to guard the fords of the Rappahannock. They did so without their commander, General Griffin, who had taken ill. The First Division was put under the temporary command of General James Barnes.

Lawrence rode at the head of the long column of the 20th Maine. He sensed a new campaign was starting. The march ended with the regiment taking up a position to picket the riverbanks at the United States Ford with the rest of the Third Brigade strung out about eight miles. On the opposite bank were the Confederate pickets.

The soft, delicate greens of May soon became the darker green of thick early June foliage with the hot sunlight irradiating it as mockingbirds sang in the branches. Orchards hung heavy with ripening fruit and strawberries ripened in the grasses. He could not help thinking of home and how it would only be like mid-spring instead of early summer. The balmy, relaxed days made the mood along the river decidedly friendly.

Lawrence heard from Tom that, when no officers were around, the enlisted men of both sides had an agreement not to shoot one another as long as no one tried to cross the river. They all went swimming and fishing together and talked things over, even meeting in midstream to trade coffee, tobacco and newspapers. Sometimes exchanges took place in small wood boats with paper sails. He did nothing to discourage the fraternizing. It was a good way to keep an eye on the enemy. Then, one day, the men found their Confederate friends gone.

On June 6 the brigade moved farther along the Rappahanock and the 20th Maine ended up guarding Ellis Ford. Tension grew with the distant thump of cannons down the river. Rumors said the Sixth Corps had crossed. June 9 brought news of a cavalry fight at Brandy Station. The army headquarters at Falmouth seemed to be nervous and nearly drove him to distraction calling for reports every four hours. General Hooker sent out orders. Everything observed across the river day and night was to be reported. Even nothing could mean something in Hooker's mind. It put everyone in an extreme state of anxiety.

After sending off a late evening report, Lawrence was trying to drop off to sleep when he heard some banging that sounded like rifle shots. Too tired to move, he listened longer, hoping it was not some emergency brewing. There were hurried footsteps.

"Captain Clark, turn out the company!" Tom yelled. Confusion reigned with officers yelling and men running. He sat up in his cot.

He heard Tom yell again. "Why the hell didn't you give the alarm? There must have been a hundred shots fired!"

Lawrence put his feet over the side of the cot and pulled on his boots.

"We didn't hear a thing," someone answered.

There was silence for a moment. Then, irascible young Captain Atherton Clark bellowed, "A hundred shots my ass! For Christ sake, Tom, it was only a couple of mules off to our right that got to kicking around a pile of empty hardtack boxes. Go back to bed."

There was some laughter and grumbles. He could not help smiling in the darkness as he pulled off his boots and lay back on his cot. Rumors and false alarms became all too real. At sunset on June 13 the 20th Maine pulled away from Ellis Ford to join the rest of the First Division at Morrisville. The red sky promised clear weather, but with it came a brutal humid heat.

The early morning coolness didn't last as the regiment started out in the Fifth Corps column the next day. Heat rose with the sun. Lawrence watched the dust rise up ahead marking the progress of the troops. It reminded him of the march to Antietam. By midmorning, the pace and the dust began to take a toll on the men. Gasping and staggering, they started to fall out of line to collapse on the side of the road. He knew, as always, they would try to catch up in the night, but worried just the same. He rode back to them as they fell out of line to make sure the new orders were carried out. To each man who could not continue, the company commanders were to give a slip of paper with his unit on it and permission to catch up later. He was glad to see all were complying.

By noon, there was no breeze. The sun beat down unmercifully and dust hung in choking clouds. Out of desperation, some of the men put leaves in their caps to keep cooler or cut leafy branches to stick in their knapsacks and hang over their heads to create some shade. What was left of the regiment took on the appearance of a walking forest. Even up on Prince, he felt as if he was suffocating slowly and his shirt was soaking wet under the coat he wore half-open. He wished he could just strip down to his trousers and ride along bare-chested, but that was out of the question as it would be considered behavior unbecoming an officer. He thought of dismounting and walking but it would be too tempting to stay under a tree for a while. He did not want to lag behind, so he pushed on. When his throat became unbearably dry, he pulled the horse off the side of the road and paused to take a few swallows of warm water from his canteen. He had nearly reached the limit of his endurance when they went into bivouac at Catlett's Station. By then he found he was missing almost half the regiment.

Through the night, most caught up and early morning found the army on the move again. Though the pace was exhausting, most were in good spirits. The main complaint was the lack of mail. Because of the great distances they were marching, the supply wagons carrying the mail had not caught up. He was hoping for letters from his wife, Fannie, and John as well as the paperwork on the promotions.

As the sun climbed higher, baking the land until the distant mountains shimmered in heat waves, Lawrence's thoughts turned to the brutal, unforgiving heat. Water was becoming scarce and that began to worry him. At every available trickle of a stream or scum covered pond, he saw men gather to fill canteens and horses and mules drinking.

He looked back through the haze of dust at the regiment and saw a repeat of the day before. What was left of the Twentieth had again become a walking forest. A headache from the glare and heat began to pound behind his squinting eyes. Even his teeth felt gritty from the dust. He pulled Prince off the road to the shade of a huge chestnut tree and took a drink of water from his canteen, wishing he could will the sun to below the horizon. He took only a few swallows and saved the rest, hoping they would find a farm with a well soon. He did not trust the water in scummy pools, did not feel like swallowing a pollywog along with the water or God knows what else that was living and growing in the green scum.

A dusty group of horsemen approached from the direction of the head of the column. As they drew closer, he spotted the brigade flag carried by one of the riders and recognized his brigade commander, the robust Colonel Vincent with his bushy mutton chop sideburns, dust-streaked,. but apparently not suffering as much from the heat. He put his canteen back on the saddle and saluted as Vincent and his staff pulled under the tree next to him.

"I've come to see how my newest regimental commander is doing," Vincent said cheerfully.

"Tolerable, sir. This heat..." He shook his head.

"This heat is hard on all of us, but I imagine it is hardest on you fellows from Maine not being used to it."

"Yes, sir. We have some hot summer days. But, nothing like this. Right now, it would be more like late spring. Lilacs in bloom, fruit trees starting to set."

Vincent nodded. "How are the 2nd Maine boys adjusting to their new home?"

"From what my company commanders have reported, they are settling in. A few still grumbling. I've done what I can for their case. Wrote the Governor and the War Department. But, with the mail being delayed, I don't know where anything stands. I've got ten hard cases under arrest. I hope they will turn around, but I don't know."

"Any luck in finding a surgeon to replace Dr. Monroe? A shame he quit after the epidemic"

"No, sir. I'm hoping my young brother, John, can visit for an extended period. Maybe help our hospital steward if we see any action. Again, I won't know for sure about any of this until the mail arrives. So far Dr. Townsend of the 44th New York has been kind enough to help with our sick and footsore."

"If your brother joins us, you might consider letting him borrow the stallion and find yourself another horse. I know he’s been too skittish since taking that hit at Chancellorsville. You never know when the shooting will start at this point. Colonel Rice mentioned to me this morning he'd let you borrow his spare horse, a steady gelding. Can't have your stallion bolting on us and carrying you off the field at an inopportune moment."

"Thank you for your concern, I will follow your suggestion, sir. I seem to have bad luck with horses. Colonel Rice is very kind. Give him my compliments if you see him before I do, sir."

"He'll probably ride over with the offer later today or tomorrow. Sooner if it looks like a fight is brewing. You take care of yourself, Colonel. I need all my field officers. I think this next fight will be an important one. One we can't afford to lose."

"Yes, sir."

Vincent rode on down the line. Lawrence watched his commander for a moment, then joined what was left of the Twentieth, heading for the front of the line. The men moved as if in a heat induced trance. By late afternoon they passed Manassas Junction and marched through the old Bull Run battlefields. He looked over fields more like a desert, the parched soil uncultivated, the land grown up in thick weeds, air stifling with dust. The crisp pungent odor of pennyroyal rose with the heat and seemed to be everywhere. Worst of all was the debris that still littered the area: skins of dead horses and mules, old shoes, broken muskets, canteens. The elements had weathered away the shallow graves partially exposing bones and rotting clothing. Skulls grinned up at them from several dusty depressions. Not an encouraging sight considering how close they could be to combat themselves. When he turned in his saddle to look to the rear, he could see clouds of dust following the column. Enemy cavalry? Perhaps, he thought, this portends a little sport by morning. A third Bull Run. Just past the battlefield, they bivouacked for the night.

It was hard to get up the morning of June 17 and Lawrence certainly had no enthusiasm for another day of hard marching. When he went after breakfast to meet his aide, Sergeant Thomas, who was supposed to be waiting with Prince, ready to go, he found the young man holding the reins of a well-built chestnut gelding standing next to Colonel James Rice. Rice, a year younger than himself with expressive dark eyes and equally dark hair and beard, smiled pleasantly the moment they made eye contact. A graduate of Yale and a fine volunteer officer, he was known to always be concerned for the welfare of his men and was sometimes criticized for being too easy on them. In battle, he had the reputation of being excitable and it had gained him the nick name "Old Crazy".

"I thought now was as good a time as any to get my spare horse to you so that when John arrives, he can ride your stallion. You'll need a calm horse, anyway, if we run into the Rebs before then," Rice said.

"Thank you, Colonel," Lawrence said, approaching the gelding. "Did Colonel Vincent warn you of my bad luck with horses in combat? I'd hate to see anything happen to him."

"Colonel, don't worry about it. I won't hold it against you should the horse get hit. I don't like to name them for that reason. And, I try not to get too attached to them. Doesn't always work, though. That one came with a name, Albany. He's good and steady when the bullets start flying. Doesn't even blink."

He mounted the gelding. "Thank you again, Colonel."

"You are very welcome. Ride him in good health, Colonel. You'll find he has no bad habits. I'll be back to visit you later to see how you two are getting along." Rice turned his horse and rode away toward his forming regiment.

"Sir, we'll keep Prince ready for your brother when he comes up. He'll be back with the ambulance while we're marching if you want to check on him."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Lawrence said and he turned the gelding toward the assembling regiment, feeling a little lightheaded. The sweat was dripping down his back even though he had not done anything strenuous.

Out on the road the sun beat down unmercifully on the marching blue columns. The men toiled along mile after mile in a humid heat that seemed worse than the day before. His headache returned. By early afternoon, he began to feel somewhat dizzy and a weakness gripped him. Then, his leg muscles began to cramp. Thinking he could do with some water, he pulled the gelding off the road, dismounted awkwardly and took the canteen off the saddle. The warm water did little to refresh him. He finished what was left in the canteen, strapped it back on the saddle and stood leaning against the gelding, not sure if he had the strength to mount. Maybe he should walk the cramps out of his legs first, he thought, and he started walking with the horse alongside the regiment.

Lawrence looked at the men, tried to spot Gilmore, but the acting lieutenant colonel was nowhere to be seen. The dust hanging in the stifling air obscured much of the view further down the line. There was little talking. It took too much effort. The leaves on the fresh branches they cut earlier for shade were beginning to wilt in the heat.

Think of something cool, he told himself. Snow in deep drifts, Autumn mist on the Penobscot River, icy trout streams, anything. But, his head pounded, his dry throat felt as if it was coated with half the road. It was an effort just to put one foot in front of the other. His legs began to feel as if they were made of lead. Maybe he should get back on The horse. He stopped, gripped the reins and a handful of mane, grabbed the cantle of the saddle, put his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself up with great effort. Halfway up a debilitating weakness overcame him and his heart raced wildly. Peripheral vision became blurred. Then, everything seemed to collapse into a dark center. His left leg buckled, he lost balance, felt himself hit the ground in an undignified heap to the clatter and clank of his sword scabbard.

Through the darkness came Captain Clark's shout, "Christ, the colonel's down. Lewis, get Gilmore and the adjutant."

"Yes, sir." Lewis' voice was followed by the sound of running feet and the clatter of equipment.

He was hardly aware of Clark turning him over and several others around him. An arm was suddenly under his shoulders, propping him up in a sitting position. He was aware of his head dropping, his chin resting on his chest. A hand touched his forehead.

Clark's voice again. "He's burning up with fever. Colonel, can you hear me?"

He tried to speak, but only a moan came out. Then, all was muffled, voices and sounds spinning into a blackness he did not want to enter, but was powerless to stop.

Lawrence was first aware of a cold wetness on his forehead and more on his chest and arms. Someone was wiping his arms and chest with a cloth dipped in very cold water. The touch was gentle, a woman, but she did not speak. At about the same time, more of the world was returning. The whisper of a breeze through an open window, a rooster crowing, a dog barking outside, the smells of roses and clean linen. His head felt heavy, but at least the blazing headache was gone. Everything else ached, muscles in his lower back, arms, legs and cramps in his lower abdomen. The light on his closed eyelids told him it was day, but what day and where? The cloth was gone. He heard the cloth slosh in water. The coldness was suddenly on his chest again and wiped down his arms. An impossible thought surfaced in his fever muddled mind, a word formed, a name. He

croaked hoarsely, "Fannie?" Slowly, he opened his eyes.

A woman about his own age sitting on his left in a wooden chair froze with the wet cloth in hand. She was thin with high cheek bones and wore her auburn hair pulled back in a bun. Her hazel eyes were intelligent and large. She was wearing a dark blue dress with tiny white flowers printed on it and a white apron. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Colonel. You gave us an awful scare."

He was too weak to sit up. He had to be satisfied with looking around from where he lay propped up on three feather pillows. He found he was unclothed to the waist and minus his boots. His coat, shirt, cap and sword belt were on a chair against the wall by the foot of the bed, his boots next to it. He was in a tiny bedroom with a single window hung with lace curtains on his right. From what he could see of the view outside, the bedroom was on a second floor. Next to the woman was a cherry night stand on which sat an oil lamp, basin of water, a pitcher and glass. As he focused on her, she spoke again.

"I am Clara Sullivan. Your men left you here yesterday. My husband, Hiram, and I are Union sympathizers, so don't fret."

Her words slowly registered in his feverish mind.

"Just stay where you are. The fever is not broken, yet." She wiped the cloth down his left arm, then right. "The Union Army's camped just down the road at Aldie. Will probably be there a few days. Your brother and another officer said they will be back to check on you. A Dr. Townsend does not want you to move for a couple of days. He said it was sunstroke."

A shadow appeared in the doorway behind her. He focused on it and found a fiftyish, gray-haired, big-boned man with bushy sideburns looking at him with great concern.

"Our patient awake?"

"Just barely." She put the cloth in the basin, wiped her hands on her apron and stood.

"I've got some chicken broth on the stove. I think it is time you take a little food, Colonel. Got to get your strength back. Hiram, try to get a little water in him."

She left and the man came in, sat in the chair and poured water into the glass. Lawrence watched, his mind clearing a little more. Worries surfaced.

"Aren't you taking a chance keeping me here in your house?" he croaked.

The man smiled knowingly. "No one knows you're here. Acres of ground and a couple of woodlots separate me from my closest neighbors. They know our sympathies. Most just tolerate us. A few shun us. I got two sons in the 118th Pennsylvania and one son at the University of Pennsylvania who refuses to get involved in the war." He held out the glass.

"I thank you for your kindness," he said, reaching for it with trembling hands.

"Let me help you," Hiram said, lifting him slightly under the shoulders and putting the glass to his lips. The water was cool and felt good going down. He took a few swallows, then Hiram took the glass and let him down easy.

The big man went on. "I suppose to be honest, we are taking somewhat of a chance.

But Mosby and his men, who have laid claim to these parts, have not proved themselves a threat to us. Besides, it's my duty to help where I can. You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you here. Was afraid you wouldn't make it by the way that army doctor was talking. It's a shame they push you boys the way they do. How the hell do they expect an army to fight when half of it ends up along the road with sunstroke?"

Lawrence smiled weakly. "A lot of the officers and men wonder the same thing. Me included."

Clara came in with a bowl of soup, a thick slice of white bread spread with butter, and a glass of lemonade on a tray. "Hiram, I've got to put the rest of supper on. Would you mind assisting the colonel with his meal?"

"Not at all, darling."

She took the cold compress off his forehead. They both helped to get him sitting up, propped up pillows under him and placed a cloth napkin on his chest. Then Clara left and Hiram started spoon feeding him slowly, trying not to spill.

"I haven't been a nurse since my youngest had the measles, so I am a little out of practice."

"You are doing fine," Lawrence said between spoonfuls. "A lot better than I could. I wish this weakness would go away. I hate being so helpless."

"Give it time. You were near death when they brought you in. We still have to break

the fever."

"I hate to leave the regiment with Gilmore in charge." He swallowed another spoonful of broth.

"Mind if I ask why?"

"He manages to get sick every time a fight looms. He does it this time and Ellis gets command. Ellis is acting major. He is an ex-school teacher friend of mine. But, I don't think he's ready, though he'd do much better than Gilmore, being the practical man that he is."

"I'd say you are in a bit of a fix," Hiram said, giving him another spoonful of broth.

Lawrence swallowed. "I have to get back as soon as I can. I think any day now we are going to find ourselves in a serious fight. I can't let them go in without me."

"We'll do our best to get you on your feet."

When the broth, bread and cool lemonade were finished, he leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Though he did not mean to, he instantly dropped off to sleep.

The next few days he was in and out of consciousness and lost track of time. Slowly some strength ebbed back, but the cramps hung on as did the fever. He spent his time sitting up on the bed or in the chair, wistfully looking out the bedroom window wishing he was strong enough to leave, wondering why Tom or Ellis or any of the other officers he knew did not drop by. Hiram brought him the local paper and he read it several times.

First he was looking for news and was amused by the different point of view. It mentioned Lee was going to move, bring the war North, maybe go all the way to New York to "give the Yankees a taste of their own medicine." The other times he read it just for something to do to occupy the empty hours. He tried walking to the top of the stairs and back to the room barefooted on the uncarpeted wood floor in the narrow, dark hall and found it exhausted him and made him lightheaded. When distant artillery thundered over the hills, he grew anxious and more frustrated. The army had moved on and was now engaged. The sound brought him to the window and he stared intently at the distant blue mountains, listening in silent disappointment.

He was in bed dozing in the late afternoon when a commotion at the front of the house broke into his feverish somnolence. He heard horses trot up and the dog barking. A dismal thought surfaced, a fear from the depths of his mind. Mosby’s Rebel raiders. He looked over at his sword belt on the chair. He was about to get up and grab the Moores revolver from his holster.

Then Hiram said cheerfully, "Go on up, boys. The colonel will be glad to see you, but he's probably napping, so go easy."

Boots clomped up the stairs accompanied by low talking.

"Can't wait to see his face when he sees you," came Tom's voice.

"I hope he's awake. I'd hate to disturb him." It was John.

He felt his heart race. John had made it. Thank God, he thought.

"I just hope he'll get back before we move out," Ellis grumbled.

There was silence. He could hear breathing at the door, smell pipe smoke, and opened his eyes.

"Lawrence!" John burst out, rushing to the bed with Tom and Ellis walking in slower.

John had let his wavy hair grow a bit long, below his collar, but was clean shaven.

"John, it's so good to see you," Lawrence said weakly. They shook hands then managed to hug.

"God, sir, you look like something the cat dragged in. How are you feeling?" Ellis said through teeth clenched on the pipe stem. He looked pale and haggard himself.

"You should talk, Major," Tom shot back. "You don't look so spry yourself."

"I think I'm out of danger. Just still weak. Still have a fever. What's been happening?

Catch me up on what I've missed." He looked from one to the other.

"Well, I'm a member of the Christian Commission now and on the way down I stopped in Washington to help out at one of the hospitals. Oh, Lawrence, the suffering was unbelievable. I wrote letters home for the boys, read the Bible, helped out where I could," John said. "I made my way out here through country infested with Confederate raiding parties. Thank God your old commander, General Ames, sent an escort with me to your camp. He sends his compliments, by the way. I still really want to see what the army and this war are like before I go back to class at the seminary. So far, I'll tell you, that ride out here was quite an experience. Never knew if Mr. Mosby would come riding down on us."

"Well, I'm thankful you made it, John." Lawrence looked at Ellis and Tom. Ellis Spear, normally a frail looking man, did not look good at all. "I heard the artillery the other day. What did I miss?"

"We went on a little expedition with the First Division and finally saw the back side of Confederate uniforms," Ellis answered and took a draw on his pipe.

"Ellis, you look a little pale yourself," Lawrence said, concerned.

"Malarial fever hit with diarrhea the same day you collapsed." He blew smoke as he talked.

"Why aren't you in the hospital? You should be in bed."

"Gilmore has monopolized that resort as usual. I couldn't go without discredit. Someone has to keep the regiment running with you out of action."

"I take it then that Gilmore did not command in this fight?"

"No, he fell out of the march all the way to a hospital in Baltimore on the twenty-first," Ellis came back coldly.

"Colonel Vincent asked Lieutenant Colonel Freeman Conner of the 44th New York to take temporary command of our regiment. He's a fine officer, experienced, cool and careful of his men. Did a good job with us." Tom added.

Lawrence noticed a sad, distant look on Ellis' face. "Casualties?"

"Three wounded and one died in my company. Cannon shot came bounding straight through the company over a stone wall we took cover behind. Corporal John West lost his leg and life to it. Buried him near the stone bridge at Goose Creek." He looked at the floor. "I recruited that boy. Promised his family I'd watch out for him." He sighed deeply.

"Ellis, it's not your fault." Lawrence could see it was causing Ellis deep emotional pain, the kind of pain only time could heal. The same pain he knew he'd feel soon again when he'd be giving orders that got men killed. This time as the commander of a regiment he’d be ordering death on a far greater scale in crucial, agonizing decisions all part of the loneliness of command Ames spoke of during their late night study sessions. It left him shaken. He would write West's family.

"On one level, I know that, sir, but a proper burial has done little to diminish my feeling responsible for him ... and his death."

"Well, sir, try to look at the bright side. At least we chased the Rebs to the other side of the Blue Ridge, so Corporal West did not die in vain," Tom said. "Too bad you missed it, Colonel."

"Well, I don't want to miss much more. I think I'll try to get back to camp tomorrow even if I end up laying around the headquarters tent. Might as well stay in bed there as here. I have imposed on these kind people long enough."

"You sure, sir?" Ellis said, a worried look suddenly clouding his face. "That action we saw wasn't a real battle. Just a series of skirmishes. You don't look well enough to travel let alone fight."

"I know that, Ellis. I know." Lawrence sighed. "I don't think I'm in any shape to ride a horse. Too weak. Would probably slide right off if he broke into a trot. Send over the ambulance tomorrow morning."

"I don't think that's wise, sir. Coming back too early. You need bed rest in a real bed," Ellis protested.

"Ellis, just humor me."

"Sir, at least we won't be going anywhere tomorrow, so he'll have another day of rest. We're supposed to just sit around tomorrow, according to Colonel Vincent," Tom broke in. "Guess they figure we all need to rest up from the excitement."

"I could use the rest, I'll tell you," Ellis said.

Lawrence noticed John was looking at him critically. "Lawrence, I think you'll be needing more than just another day's rest. You were out cold with a high fever and your heart was racing to beat the band, according to Dr. Townsend. Sunstroke is nothing to take lightly. It's killed a few of the men from what he told us. Please reconsider."

"I'm going back to camp tomorrow in the ambulance. I'll probably not move from the tent if I still feel as I do now. Besides, Dr. Townsend is a lot closer in camp."

"Well, we'll see you here tomorrow with the regiment's ambulance, then," Ellis said.

Then he turned to John and Tom. "Boys, let's take our leave and let the colonel get some rest."

John pat his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Colonel."

"You two stay out of trouble," Lawrence said, smiling weakly.

"Oh, we will. Maybe I'll take John over and show him where we made the Rebs skedaddle," Tom said.

"I'd like that," John said and smiled.

"Then maybe I'll give him a rifle and teach him to drill with the regiment," Tom added with an impish grin.

"When pigs fly," John shot back as they went out the door.

Lawrence smiled and watched them file out of the tiny room.

Fully dressed he, walked down the narrow upstairs hall and slowly down the stairs. Unasked, Clara had gone to the trouble of washing his shirt and socks. He was still not feeling well, the cramps hung on as a dull, intermittent pain and the weakness was still with him though it was somewhat improved. His lightheadedness told him the fever was not totally gone and he broke into a sweat easily. Still, he had to get back, forced himself to keep moving. He did not want to be an imposition on the Sullivans any longer. He further rationalized his decision to leave with the facts that things were heating up in the war and he feared for their safety and his own should Mosby hear they were harboring a Union officer.

He heard Tom, John and Ellis in the parlor talking with the Sullivans as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

John came out of the parlor and looked over at him. "There he is."

Ellis joined him in the hallway and quipped. "You still look like something the cat dragged in."

"Thank you, Ellis. You don't look much better yourself," he shot back with a weak smile that Ellis returned.

"Well, Dr. Townsend wants you both to be taking your medicine. Lawrence, he'll be around to see you when you get back to camp," John said.

He walked past them to the Sullivans, who were in the parlor with Tom and shook hands with Hiram. "Thank you for all you have done. I won't forget your kindness."

"Our pleasure," Hiram said.

Suddenly, Clara stepped forward and hugged him, taking him by surprise. "You take care of yourself ... if for no one else at least do it for your dear Fannie and the children's sake."

"I will, Mrs. Sullivan," he said as she let go.

The Sullivans hung back as he walked slowly down the porch stairs with Ellis and his brothers behind him. He noticed Prince was with the other horses tied to the horse drawn ambulance. As his brothers and Ellis mounted their horses, he turned at the bottom of the stairs toward the Sullivans up on the porch.

"Thank you again." He waved.

They waved back. Clara called, "You and the boys will be in our prayers."

Lawrence turned toward the ambulance, saw young Grandville Baker, the regiment's hospital steward, waiting for him.

"Sir, let's get you settled," Baker said. "Want to get out of here before the neighbors send out word for Mosby. On the way over, some farmers gave us the eye. Got a gut feeling they may ride with him at night. You can't trust nobody in these parts. Wish we brought a mounted guard with us."

"That would draw too much attention," Tom called.

"Baker, quit your bellyaching," Ellis added. "Mr. Mosby and his Rangers are cowards that only attack at night. Besides, camp is just a few miles down the road."

Lawrence climbed in with Baker's help and sat on one of the leather upholstered seats that ran the length of each side of the white canvas-covered wagon. He was dizzy and glad to get off his feet.

"Dr. Townsend wants to see you as soon as we get to camp, sir," Baker called, climbing on to the driver's seat. "He said he'll be stopping by your tent and you are to get right to bed."

"Never fear. Once I get back I won't be wandering far," Lawrence said, stretching out on his back on the seat.

The ride the few miles back to camp near Aldie was anything but comfortable for him. If there was a rut in the road, the ambulance found it. He could not see how any seriously wounded man could survive transportation in this manner. By the time they reached camp, he felt worse than when he had started the trip. The ambulance pulled up close to the headquarters tent. As Baker helped him out and walked with him to the tent, he noticed the camp was neatly set up along company streets. The army seemed to be halted in mid-campaign.

Suddenly, he could not get to bed quickly enough. His energy seemed to be draining with every breath he took. As soon as he entered the tent, he took off his sword belt, coat and cap, hanging them up on pegs on a board along the tent wall by the desk. He collapsed on his cot without taking off his boots. He had just started to drift off to sleep when he heard someone at the entrance of his tent.

"Sir, I hate to disturb you," Thomas said. "But Dr. Townsend is here to see you.

Welcome back, sir."

"Send him in." Lawrence said thickly. It was all he could do to push himself up to a sitting position. Dr. Townsend, tall, in his thirties with a thin mustache, came in with a small brown bottle and spoon in hand. "Colonel, I am pleased to see you are somewhat better now than we left you."

"That seems questionable," he said and forced a weak smile. "That ride in the ambulance left something to be desired."

"As Captain Spear may have mentioned, I want to start you on some medicine. This is quinine in whiskey. I want you to try to take four doses a day about every three or four hours. Put a spoonful in some water or take it straight. I'm afraid you may have malarial fever on top of the sunstroke and this will get rid of it plus help break the fever." Dr. Townsend put the bottle on the field desk, grabbed the pitcher of water, poured a little into a tin cup, added the medicine, stirred, then handed the cup to him. "Drink. I want to be sure you get one dose right now. I'll have Sergeant Thomas see that you take the others. We may be in camp a few days, and that will give you a better chance of recovering more quickly. The men in your regiment are deeply concerned for your welfare, Colonel, so please follow my orders. Your health depends on it, as does their morale."

Lawrence nodded, took the foul tasting medicine and set the cup on the desk.

"Good. Now I'll take my leave so you can get some needed rest. I can't declare you fit for duty until that fever's gone and your strength is back a lot more than it is at present."

"Thank you, Doctor," he said and lay back on the cot as the doctor left.

He stayed in his tent all the next day and had plenty of visitors. John had appointed himself official nurse and saw that he took his medicine. Ellis took care of the daily paperwork and administrative duties, since he was acting major and in temporary command. On June 26, Ellis came in with orders they would be moving out the next day.

With a cup of coffee in hand spiked with the bitter medicine, Lawrence walked to get some exercise and to build back some strength. He met Tom carrying the regiment's papers in a wood box up to a mule drawn wagon to be left behind with the rest of the baggage.

"You're looking a lot better, Colonel," Tom said, hoisting the box to the tailgate of the wagon where a teamster took it and placed it in an empty spot.

"I feel a lot better, but not one hundred percent. Dr. Townsend will not put me back on active duty yet," he said and took a swallow of coffee. "Anything to report?"

Tom turned to him. "Well, we got eleven men under arrest, ten of whom are the hold-out transfers from the 2nd Maine. The other one is Lieutenant Addison Lewis of Company A for being three days late coming back from leave."

"Maybe the transferees will change their minds once the shooting starts." He took another swallow of coffee.

"Sir, you are the eternal optimist."

"Maybe, but men do change with the circumstances and if Lee heads North on another invasion plan like last September, our prisoners may just have a change of heart."

"Don't I wish," Tom came back.

Nick Korolev has been a serious student of the Civil War since age 12.  He is  a professional published writer and artist and his interest in the Civil War has provided many subjects for both.  He is author of a Civil War novel entitled Silver Eagles,  about Cols. Ames, Chamberlain and the 20th Maine from the formation of the regiment to Gettysburg.  Silver Eagles was nominated for the 2003 Michael Shaara Award for Civil War Fiction.  He is currently working on a novel about McClellan and Stanton titled The Sword and the Lightning  and a screen play about Brig. Gen William Averell's Salem Raid in December of 1863 currently titled  Averell and the Raiders of the North Wind (winner of the 2004 Screenplay Award at the Appalachian Film Festival).  He is a member of the Civil War Heritage Foundation for whom he portrays Gen. George McClellan and the First  Regiment of West Virginia Cavalry, for whom he portrays Gen. William Averell.  Nick is Secretary for the local Sons Of Union Veterans of the Civil War and recently joined the Falling Waters Battlefield Association.

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