SPIRITS REMEMBERED

Late in the day, as more ominous clouds formed and a slight drizzle threatened to turn into rain, commanding officers once again called their subordinates together.  Lightning flashed and thunder echoed the length of the valley of Wilson Creek as ‘Cap’ Bancroft ordered loudly over the increasing wind, “It’s off, at least for now.  The State Guard from up here ain’t too well equipped.  Nearly a thousand of ‘em ain’t even got guns.  Most ‘a those that do have guns don’t have waterproof cartridge boxes ‘n have ta carry their ammunition in their pockets, or in cloth bags.  If we git a good downpour their powder’ll git ruined.  So we’ll wait ‘n see what the weather’s gonna do.”  To save time the men slept on their arms, cavalry horses remained saddled, artillery limbered, and mules stood in the traces of the baggage wagons.  However, in the confusion of ‘now we go, now we don’t go,’ no one posted pickets around the perimeter of the Confederate encampment. 

To compound the situation, only ten miles away in Springfield, after days of procrastination and indecision Nathaniel Lyon was preparing for a daring attack on the rebels.  During that night the Federals marched southwest in a two-pronged assault.  Colonel Franz Sigel led 1,200 men, mostly German immigrants from the Midwest, on a wide sweep to the Confederate rear.  At the same time Lyon, with 4,200 troops, marched southward along the western bank of Wilson’s Creek against the rebel front.  The crescent moon provided little illumination, but no rain fell on the Federal troops as they made way for the Confederate encampment.  Nearing the unguarded enemy camps the officers had their men wrap horses’ hooves in sacks and artillery wheels in blankets to soften the rumble.  While the combined armies of McCulloch, Pearce, and Price slept, the Yankees advanced.

~

Bancroft’s men were bivouacked in Sharp’s cornfield; temporarily assigned to Colonel Elkanah Greer’s regiment, the South Kansas-Texas cavalry.  Ordered to ‘stand to horse’, they awaited orders that never came and eventually were allowed to lay at the feet of their horses, reins in hand, and get what sleep they could.  Tim and Grady placed one rubber blanket on the ground and their wool blankets on top of it.  The night was warm enough not to need cover, but they lay under the other rubber blanket so it would shed the slight rain that continued to fall into the night.  They had slept through conditions worse than this during the past months.  Tim woke first.  He was unsure of the time, but wasn’t concerned enough to look at his pocket watch.  He was replaying in his mind the dream that had waked him.  It was a dream he had had before:

It is a beautiful day in New York City and Tim is in a lighthearted mood.  He knows he’s on his way to a telegraph office but isn’t sure why, and doesn’t care; it’s a perfect day for a stroll.  As he rounds a corner the sunshine vanishes along with the other pedestrians; the street traffic is gone.  The gay sounds and sights of the gorgeous day have disappeared and there is only indescribable, impenetrable silence.  Storefronts with their myriad of colorful displays are gone, replaced by gray, lifeless buildings with broken windows and no merchandise to present.  A thick fog boils down the debris-strewn street and engulfs Tim.  The only other being visible in the almost-solid cloud stands in the middle of the block with his hands held to his sides.  The figure is The Dodger, dressed in the suit Tim wore when he fled the Hiawatha Hotel.

In the dream, Tim never wants to approach the figure, but he does, he always does.  Hesitantly, he is compelled to move forward, step by agonizing step.  On good nights, as Tim nears The Dodger, the former Paddy smiles and puts out his hand to Tim, but he evaporates into the vapor before Tim can accept the offer.  On bad nights, like last night, just as their hands touch, the Paddy’s head bursts apart, filling the street with Sweepers, each firing blindly about with pistols.  Tim fades into the fog, and awakens.  So much for sleep tonight, I may as well go out and see if the rain left any damage behind. 

Tim stood and used his hat to slap raindrops from his clothes as he looked about the massive encampment.  The rain had stopped but a slight mist filled the air.  Everything was wet and puddles formed randomly across the area.  There were tents as far as he could see through the trees and across the fields where others that couldn’t sleep were coaxing campfires to life, spitting and spluttering on wet kindling.  A glance at his watch told him it is was nearly five A.M.  Well, I got more sleep than some nights.  Maybe that means this will be a good day.  He busied himself starting a fire, then fetched water fr