Pixabay
Wheat field – stands of golden grain
Bread basket – our lives to sustain
A staff of life – giving us our fill
And yet Wheat field can be a bitter pill
The Wheat field – and the harvesting of grain
But also a harvest of inhuman pain
At Gettysburg – Sickles – ironic his name
As by his order – a Wheatfield –
Was filled with the slain
Wheat field golden – production of bread
Name associated with life, and the dead
Padre
public domain
The Second Corps had advanced, and after several hours volley fire and artillery duels the Federal troops had begun yet another retreat towards Washington.
The fighting now in a lull, Corporal Cooke sat down to take a much needed rest. At twenty, he was already proved himself, so thought he could afford the break. He opened a haversack, and took out a month old copy of Harper’s Weekly. Though old, he had not yet had a chance to read this edition. He scanned the pages, and shook his head at the inaccuracy of the woodblock prints.
After reading several articles, he put the magazine back into the sack and took out an envelope. The address was in a delicate feminine hand, and he sniffed the paper to see if it retained any sign of dainty scent. He then took out the letter. It began with the words, My Dearest Harvey. The letter was mostly chatty little accounts of what was going on in the town back home, but some lines hinted at her undying love. He folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope, and withdrew the photograph of a handsome young woman with big expressive eyes. He smiled as he looked at the pretty face, and then returned the picture to the envelope as well.
As he replaced the letter back into the haversack, he took out three pieces of hardtack biscuit, and a half eaten link of hard sausage. He drew his bayonet and cut the meat into three pieces and placed each onto the square crackers. He let each bite slowly soften in his mouth before chewing them and swallowing – making the most of each and every mouthful.
The recall soon sounded, and Corporal John Cooke of Jubal Early’s Division stood up and grabbed his rifle-musket. He bent over and collected all of the percussion caps out of the belt pouch of the body of the dead Pennsylvanian he had been leaning up against.
“Thank you kindly for the lunch, Harvey,” he said to the corpse giving it a friendly nod of the head as he departed.
Padre
Jim Adams has set a challenge to share song lyrics which mention someone famous. The rules are straight forward:
The song is a lament of an Irish immigrant to the USA at the time of the American Civil War. Famine and shortages at home and war in America. The story is shared by many of the Irish who came to the US in that time. President Abraham Lincoln and GeneralThomas Francis Meagher of the Irish Brigade are both referenced in the song.
The sounds of rattling weapons, and the clang of tin cups against canteens were heard throughout the night. General Sumner’s entire Second Corps was now in place, and the little Maryland town of Sharpsburg was now going to be the focus of a tremendous battle.
Among the various sutlers and “camp followers” which accompanied the Army of the Potomac was seventeen-year old Amy Anne Howard. Amy was a pretty New York City laundress and when her employer Mrs. Harrington announced that she was going to “march south” with the boys of the 61st, Amy begged for the chance to go with her.
While Amy’s patriotism, and loyalty to the widowed Harrington, were without question, she did have her own agenda as well. This was namely the person of Private John Randolph Daniels. Howard and Daniels had grown up in the same tenement and when he had joined the army she was sure her “life would end” without him.
Now they were in Maryland, and the relationship, while still rather innocent, was blossoming. But the upcoming battle seemed ominous. On the 16th of September, John Randolph, therefore went to his company commander and begged for permission to marry. The Captain was a compassionate man and gave his assent.
John then went and found Amy and asked her to marry him. While this was an unorthodox way to arrange things it did make things run a bit smoother.
Amy jumped at the chance. Early on the morning of the 17th, Mrs. Harrington quickly prepared the soon-to-be bride’s hair and the three rushed to the Chaplain just as the opening sounds of battle began to be heard.
There, next to the Chaplain’s tent, the young couple, attended by Mrs. Harrington and a quickly waylaid Corporal Taylor, stood before the clergyman.
“Time being what it is,” the old parson said, “we will dispense with all the unnecessary bits.”
The couple nodded in agreement as a salvo of canon fire briefly drowned out their speech.
“Amy Anne, do you take John Randolph?”
“Yes, sir.” she replied.
“John Randolph, do you take Amy Anne?”
“Yes sir!” John said loudly.
“Then consider yourselves took,” the chaplain said. “Now kiss that girl, and go fetch your musket, Soldier.”
And that was that.
John survived the Battle of Antietam, and the pair had thirty-five years and seven children together.
Padre
Union Field Chapel at Sunset – ACWS UK
The battle’s o’r – the day is done-
The weary enter nocturnes’ peace –
They for now, their eyes can close –
For a moment – let struggles cease.
For these – they soon, shall need to face –
A new day’s rising sun –
Marching from place to place –
In hope of victories – to be won.
But for others today – they too can rest –
Their race has now been run –
They a glory – now will see –
As they meet the welcoming Son.
Padre
USS Rattler
Heading upriver weren’t go’in to be easy. The Rebs had put batteries on several of the bluffs, and Rattler didn’t have the thickest of armour. But orders was orders, and she and Glide would run past the Confederate guns at Fort Hindman in the morning.
The next day, Rattler and Glide steamed past the fort with all twelve of their guns blazing. The two stern-wheelers made it rather “hot” for the Secesh, many of them fled their posts as the 24 pound shells burst around them. With the rifle pits abandoned, Ol’ Bill Sherman and his boys kinda just strolled up into the fort.
Who said that the Navy don’t belong in Arkansas?
Padre
Inspired by the prompt: UPRIVER ~ PIC AND A WORD CHALLENGE #177
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