Call Me Judah: A Short Story

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.”

                                                                                                                                       

Even while floating on darkness I could feel the pain. I knew sleep would not let me forget it, and I knew it would chase me to the grave. 

What am I saying? I have to survive. I have to live!

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw nothing; I panicked. I was left not only with pain, but I was also blind. I began groping, reaching for something, anything! Strong but small hands held me still. I was forced to relax, the panic inside me growing. Gradually, however, my sight returned and, with it, my sanity. I was looking into the eyes of a young soldier, barely 15 years old. He must be the nurse of this ward, a drummer boy taken off duty to help the wounded. As I lay there, gasping for breath, my memory began to trickle back slowly: The hill…The bullet... Judah.

Judah! Why hadn’t I thought of him before? I could see the moon outside of the tent where I was lying, but no sign of my friend. I called for him, but my voice cracked.

The nurse brought a canteen to my lips. I had barely begun to drink when he took it away and left me coughing over the little he gave me. The water did little to quench the fire that was alive in my throat. I begged him, in a voice so quiet and shallow he had to lean in to hear to help me find my friend, but he ignored me and moved to the man on the cot to my left. He was young, no older than I, with a bloody bandage on his head. It seemed like his face, from cheekbone to ear were torn to shreds.

Another man, across from me, was now receiving water from the boy. He seemed older, possibly 30 years. He seemed to be unconscious, but I could see that his lower left calf was missing under the blanket that covered his shaking body.

Even another man was moaning to my right. He seemed to have fever, and a doctor standing there told him he might survive if he made it through tonight. I heard the word pneumonia.

I shuddered. If only Judah were here, I’d be able to find the strength to survive in this horrid place. I had to find him, had to make sure he was still alive. Who knows how long I'd been lying here? He could've run into another battle and...No, I can't think about that. I turned my attention to my own wound. I had to make sure my worst fear wasn't a reality: I had to make sure they hadn't taken my arm off.

I turned my head slowly to look upon my shoulder. My head already pounded from following the water-boy across the small tent; all I wanted to do was sleep. But I had to know. I had heard those doctors say before surgery that I probably wouldn’t survive. Now was my chance to learn my fate.

I slowly looked down, preparing for the worst.

                                                                                                                                                                   

I saw light. Brightness; the pain was gone. What relief. Judah came running toward me, arms extended. He screamed my name over and over.

“Judah!” I awoke in a full sweat, panting for breath. I’d had the same dream for the last 5 days; always seeing Judah, never reaching him. I’d awake before he actually got to me.

It had been a week since the battle, and still no word from him. I had been moved to a house that was turned into a hospital, but my fever lingered.

The wound in my shoulder was causing considerable trouble. At first it ached all the way to my ears; my fingertips numb. Now the pain was more tolerable, and I was just left with the fever. The mother of the lady of the house, an older woman named Hannah, stayed at my side constantly. Now, she set her knitting on the table beside her, picked up the cool cloth and began to again wipe my head like she had mere minutes before.

“Any word from Judah? How long's it been since the battle? Are you sure you spelled his name right on the envelope? K-Y-L-E??” My anxious eyes searched hers. I knew what she’d say; I had asked the same questions every day upon arrival here at this house.

“No, Johnny.” She said. “You really should rest. Your fever will never let up when you’re anxious so.”

But I couldn’t. Every time my eyes were closed, I saw him. He was always on my mind.

I sighed. Despair filled my mind. I shivered again, this time bringing pain to my right arm, cradled in a sling over my chest. I tried to breathe deep, and tried to smile at Hannah’s concern-filled look. My arm was healing fast; I’d be back to the Army sooner than the doctors thought. I was just grateful the doctors let me keep my arm. If it had damaged the shoulder joint any more, they said, I could’ve lost my arm to the collar bone.

“Well, Johnny, if you can’t rest, tell me some about yourself.” Hannah probed gently, not prying but almost curious. Even after a week, I had been too tired to talk beyond asking about Judah.

“There’s not much to tell.” I shifted my head to look her in the eye, then began.

“I was born in a little town called Gettysburg, not far from here, but in Pennsylvania.” Hannah was a native of Sharpsburg, Maryland, so she somewhat knew the area. (Sharpsburg was the town where the battle was fought. The exact location was at a little body of water called Antietam Creek.)   

“Pa, he was a farmer. Taught me and my sister Carrie how to plant the corn right, how to hitch up the mules for plowing, all that. He never went to school, but he was smart. Taught by his pa how to read, do his numbers. He didn’t like schools much. Said they were too controlled by other people. So he had Ma teach us at home. That’s how we got so much time to learn the farmin’ stuff.”

I paused to catch my breath. Hannah’s point of tiring me out by talking was working. She nodded for me to continue, so I went on.

“I got the fever three years ago; I was sick for months. Maybe that’s why I can’t shake this one. Pa..”

“Johnny,” Hannah cut in. “How old were you then?”

There came the question. Hannah knew I wasn't old enough to be a soldier. Judah and I had known the enlistment officer; so he looked the other way so we could enlist. I didn't lie then, and I wasn't starting now.

“13."

"So..." Hannah looked to the ceiling as she did the simple addition. "that makes you 16 now. You're the same age of my grandson. He was a soldier too." 

Was?

"Go ahead Johnny."

 "Pa got the fever a month after I did, and it only took a week to take him. His last words to me were a Bible verse, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’

“What about your mother?”

“She got the fever too, but later, in ’60. She died after two weeks. I took Carrie to an aunt’s house in ’61, just weeks after Fort Sumter was attacked. I wanted to enlist, and I did. I guess you know the rest.”

“I’m so sorry for your losses, Johnny. Losing your family is a hard thing. I’ve already lost a son and a grandson to the war, both at Shiloh."

There it was. Her grandson was now dead.

 I’m going to get you some broth and more water. Stay awake till I get back.”

I nodded, but I knew I’d be asleep in moments, back to the terrible nightmare.

“Judah”, I breathed again in my sleep. But this time, instead of being startled awake before he reached me, I wrapped my arms around him, sobbing.

                                                                                                                                                                   

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

I was basically screaming in delight. Kind of like a child on Christmas; though most children wake up to presents on Christmas, and I woke to find my friend by my bedside.
I was a pathetic sight, but I didn't care. I was so worried about Judah, and now he was here!

“You didn’t think I’d just let you die in peace, would you, hero?” Judah’s face was a sight for sore eyes; or in my case, a sight for fever-filled eyes to behold. He had a burn mark on his head where a bullet had grazed, but otherwise was completely unharmed.

Deep down, I had prepared myself to learn that Judah had died. After this long without contact, I just had assumed Judah was gone. I’d already lost more than one friend to just petty sickness, and this was battle.

“I can’t believe you’re here! How’d you find me? How’s the regiment? Did we win the battle? Have you heard from…”

“Slow down Johnny. You’re wearing yourself.” The calm voice of Hannah brought me back to my senses. I was exhausted; though I didn’t realize it until she stopped me. Hannah was carrying a cup of hot liquid, probably the tea with the nasty medicine in it she always gave me.

“So, this is Judah. I’m so glad you finally decided to show up. I don’t know how much longer I could hear him talk about you.”

 Hannah smiled, and I knew she was teasing. She bent over me and spooned some of the tea into my mouth. I tried to resist, I didn’t want to be spoon-fed right in front of my friend! But I found I had no strength to resist or drink the tea for myself.

Judah laughed at me--though only partly--in his eyes. The other part of his expression was…worry? Pity? Thankfulness? All three mixed together?

I could barely listen fast enough as Judah explained what the regiment had been up to. He described how the men had been asking about me, I was now known as "Johnny Hero" around the camp. Then came the tragic casualty list: 1 dead (I didn't even ask whom...) and 15 wounded.

"...so the Colonel promoted me to take Sgt Owens' place. I'm a sergeant now, Johnny!"

I let that sink in. My friend, a boy from small town Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a sergeant. I knew it was common to promote a man to replace a fallen officer, but I had no idea that Judah would replace our wounded sergeant!

“That’s what kept me from finding you; I had ‘duties’ as a sergeant after the battle. One of them was finding our missing man, though. I felt that to be the up most priority."

I cleared my throat.

“So..…does that mean I have to call you Sgt. Kyle? Never thought I'd be saluting to you."

“No, hero, . You won't ever salute to me. And about this 'sergeant' business. It's not Sgt. Kyle...” Judah would've said more, but I fell asleep for a mere second. Sure enough, Hannah had given me more medicine. I couldn't fight the sleep any longer.

Judah turned to leave, but first I heard him finish his statement, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“Call me Judah.”