Call Me Judah: A Short Story Part 1

The following is a short story that I wrote surrounding the battle of Antietam. I'll be posting it in parts as it was written, but I will also be posting it in one full article upon completion.

Call Me Judah: A Short Story
Part 1

I took a deep breath. “You can do this Johnny,” I told myself. 

I looked around me. I saw my division, my regiment, my company, my group of friends; we seemed small in the thousands lined up for battle.  I had seen battle before, lots of times. But my hands still shook every time; my legs still trembled. I admitted to myself: I was scared.

I gripped my musket tight; my heart pounded. It was always during this time that I thought the most of home. With both Pa and Ma gone now and the house sold, I yearned for those days again. Those days when I’d run up to the house with Carrie on my back and mud up to my knees…

“Stand at attention!”

The leader of our regiment, Colonel Coulter, diverted my attention back to the task at hand: Chasing the Rebels back down South and out of my precious Northern soil.

My life-long friend Judah stood next to me. He was scared too, I could see it in his eyes. I felt kind of reassured; Judah was always the biggest boy in school. If he was scared, I could be scared. 

I remember when I had first met him. He was new to town, and lived in the farm right next to mine. Ma insisted that I go right over and introduce myself (it'd be the Christian thing to do, she said), but I was still nervous walking over there. That kid was 6 feet tall, and I was barely 5'3! I felt...small next to him. I figured him to be a bully.

When I reached his house, I introduced myself, quickly blurting out "Johnny Young", and turned to leave. But he called me back, saying "My name's Benjamin, but that's my Pa's name too. Call me 'Judah'. That's my middle name."

Needless to say, after that, we were best friends. I had showed him around, introduced him to my friends at school. I had no reason to fear the bullies anymore with Judah by my side. One look and they'd all disintegrate into the air, or something like that. Now we were soldiers; we had enlisted together, back in '61. Course we weren't eligible to fight, but we were smart. Got in without even lying about our age. 

I don't think I ever could've made it through thus far without Judah.

With a quick pace, our company began climbing the hill. My stomach was doing flips; the suspense of waiting for the bullets to begin flying was killing me. At least I hoped not to die today.

CRACK!

 As soon as I heard the Confederate cannons start to go off, that was our cue. We began to run. We had to take this hill.

I saw a Reb raise his musket, not 10 feet from where we were heading. He was aiming right at Judah. I shoved Judah to the left, then ducked myself. Too late. The bullet come crashing into my right shoulder with the strongest impact I have ever felt. My shoulder, at first, was numb. But then the shock caught up with the metal tearing into my shoulder.

 I gasped for breath; I fell to the ground.

Everything around me was shaking, moving and tipping.

I saw Judah almost throw his musket to the ground and run over to me. “Johnny,” he said, “where’d it git ya?”

“Shoulder, I think.”

Judah tore my uniform to care for my shoulder, but even in my wounded state it saddened me. I had worked hard to get this fresh uniform; one with the corporal's stripes I had just earned on the sleeves. The cloth was still stiff with the newness. It would take me months to earn enough money for a new one.

Concern was etched on Judah’s face while he turned his handkerchief into a bandage to stop the bleeding. He was mumbling to himself something about how the bullet should’ve been in his shoulder.

“Huh. So I saved your life. You should be grateful.”

I was trying to be positive in a grave situation. The Rebs were advancing down the hill. Judah looked scared. Really scared.

“Eve’s gonna kill me if I don’t bring you home!” Judah’s worried look changed slowly into mock horror.

My face blushed red despite the pain. How dare he bring her up at a time like this! At least he was coming back to his old jovial self again.

Judah looked up the hill. “C’mon, Johnny. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

I couldn’t even lift my shoulder, but we were still in battle. Reality came back: One wrong move and we were both dead men.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

 I used my good arm to push myself up, and Judah grabbed, gently, at my right arm. I gasped; seeing black as Judah put his right hand under my knees and picked the rest of me off of the ground. If we hadn’t been best friends since childhood, I would never allow this action. I may be small, but I still have my pride.

My six-foot-three companion then half-runs, half-walks the two of us back down the hill to our own lines. My feet swung around as the big man carries me, my shoulder delicately cradled in Judah’s chest.

 I don’t remember when or how we got back, but as soon as we stepped into the tree-line, I heard Judah start yelling for Cousin.

 Cousin's name, John, like my own, was famous in our company. There were 3 men named it in our company of 25, so he used his nickname, “Cousin”. (He had earned that name from the large amount of cousins he had back home in Hanover, Pennsylvania.) I had known him forever, and he had joined a week before I had.

I was feeling faint. Everything around me started wavering in a blurry mess.

 Cousin, a worried look on his face, ran over to us. “You’ll do anything to get home to your Evie, won’t you Johnny?”

 If my shoulder wouldn’t have been on fire, I probably would’ve slapped him. 

A doctor ran over then, and the three of them got me to a cot. I think I screamed; the boys looked worried and tried to tell me I’d be all right. Blood immediately soaked where I was laying. Judah’s bandage had kept me from bleeding to death, but a continual drip poured from my shoulder.

 “Is he going to be okay?” Judah’s face again was white with fear.

The doctor looked professional when he sent the two boys away, but before the chloroform knocked me out, I could hear him tell his assistant: “He’ll be lucky if he survives.”