Sample Chapter-Horns

HORNS
Chapter 1
Ned had heard a similar sound before. Once when he was only five years old he had disturbed a hornet’s nest which was hanging from the rafters of his father’s barn. Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz! Only now the sound was louder, and a different sound was intermingled, that of unseen rifle balls smashing into the protective cover of the trees.
Leaves and small branches filled the air and fell around the huddled men as they crouched in six inches of water, fear plainly showing on their dirty faces. They held their rifles at ready and peered through the low hanging limbs and water grass which obstructed their view.
In the distance they could hear a steady roar, as if a strong surf was pounding on the shore. Then a more terrible sound, a roll of thunder crashed in the distance, the air above them hissed and the top of one of the larger trees came crashing down, covering many of those who had looked for shelter under its branches.
Screams! Curses! Prayers!
Ned looked to his left and was appalled to see the man nearest him knocked backward by an unseen force. The top of his head was missing and blood had turned what was left into a crimson blob.
In the midst of this chaos, a beautiful black stallion came crashing through the swamp, carrying a man in a grey suit on his back, who was shouting, “Pull back! Pull back to the river!” The rider’s uniform, that of a confederate colonel, was supplemented with twin revolvers strapped to his hips, and a bright red sash which was tied around his waist.
As the rider approached the frightened line of men, his right arm, which was raised holding a shiny saber, disappeared, leaving only a bleeding stub just above the elbow. He fell into the shallow water, splashing mud and blood into Ned’s face. The stallion, when his rider fell, stopped, dripping sweat and froth onto his bleeding master.
The horse was an apparition in the early morning mist of the swamp, standing tall and heaving nervously. His eyes were as black as his coat and flashed as he stood looking at the fallen officer, as if waiting for a command. Mud and dirt blotched his black coat, with spots of bright red speckled over his body, red blood from his master’s wound. The saddle which was on his back was no ordinary cavalry saddle, it carried the high horn of the western cowman, a coiled rope hung from the right side of the horn and a rifle was slung in a scabbard under the rope; saddlebags and bedroll were lashed behind the seat.
In response to his order, the huddled men rose from their crouched positions, turned and began running from the sound of the thunder and the crashing surf. But as they rose, the bzzz, bzzz, thypt, thypt, which had cut the trees to shreds, now made thumping sounds as red splotches appeared in the backs of their grey coats. They were shoved forward, face down into the now red water. The air was filled with their screams of pain as bullets from their unseen enemy found their mark.
Frightened though he was, Ned Armstrong, the young confederate soldier from Kentucky, yanked the red sash from the wounded cavalry officer’s waist, and tied it tightly above the bleeding arm stump. Ned grimaced as he looked at the severed arm, with the hand still clutching the saber, which lay in the shallow water next to the wounded officer. The colonel was conscious but in shock as he staggered to his feet.
Ned also stood to his feet, threw his rifle aside, and literally lifted the wounded officer onto the empty saddle. He then retrieved his rifle, grabbed the dangling bridle reins and began running to the rear, dragging the frightened stallion and the wounded officer behind him.
It was a miracle that they were able to escape the deadly barrage of rifle lead and cannon grape as they dodged through the trees. Dead and wounded filled the swamp around them. Soon the terrible sound of battle was a din in the distance, as they were able to outdistance the range of the guns.
Ned was exhausted, but continued to run, dragging the horse and its rider through the swamp. He was now on dry ground, and was able to travel more easily. The trees opened, and a large river blocked his escape. Stopping, he looked indecisively upstream and downstream. For the first time since he started running from the field of battle, he looked back and was appalled to see the rider clutching the horn of the saddle in an effort to keep from falling. His chalk-white face graphically indicated the loss of blood which had colored the right side of his grey uniform a bright crimson red.
The rider released the horn of the saddle long enough to motion upstream and without hesitating, Ned turned and began running in the direction indicated by the wounded officer, dragging the excited stallion by the reins.
After traveling upstream less than a mile, he came to a foot path which led into the river. Looking across the river, Ned could see the path rise out of the water on the other bank, without hesitating he led the horse and wounded rider into the water and walked cautiously towards the trail on the other side. Reaching the middle of the stream, he stopped and dropped to his knees, allowing the refreshing coolness of the water to rise to his neck, relaxing his fatigued and aching body. The stallion dropped his head, lowered his nose into the stream and drank his fill. Rising, Ned reached the other side with no trouble, and continued to travel westward down the well-used foot path.
After going another two miles, he heard a crash behind him, looked back and was shocked to see the colonel lying in a heap in the middle of the trail. He stopped, tied the stallion to a nearby bush, and rushed back to help the unconscious officer, dragging him off the trail and onto a bed of leaves below the huge overhanging trees. Releasing the tourniquet for a few seconds, he was forced to retie it quickly when the blood started gushing again. Returning to the exhausted horse, he removed the canteen which was tied to the saddle, loosened the cap and wet his dirty bandana, then used it to bathe the ashen face of the wounded colonel. Ned was afraid that he was dead, but was relieved when the wounded man groaned and slowly opened his eyes. Holding up his head, Ned placed the spout of the canteen to the parched lips and poured a few drops into his mouth.
He then put the canteen to his own lips and gulped a large drink, and only then did he realize how extremely tired he was; his hands began to shake, his lips began to tremble, and this sixteen year old Confederate soldier began to cry uncontrollably. His body shook with great sobs as the fear and the exhaustion took over his mind.
Although only sixteen, Ned stood nearly six feet tall, and was very muscular as a result of the hard work which accompanied growing up in the mountains of Kentucky. His long blonde hair fell nearly to his shoulders under the dirty confederate cap, and eyes as blue as the sky sparkled beneath the tears which rolled down his weathered cheeks. He was a child in a man’s body.
Soon, however, the sobs subsided and he took the dampened handkerchief, dried his eyes and wiped his face as he began once again to think rationally. He looked at the bleeding stump of the colonel’s arm, not knowing what to do, but realizing that if something wasn’t done immediately, he would have saved a dead man.
The officer, who was now conscious, spoke, though only in a whisper. “Thanks son, I owe my life to you.”
“Y-y-yer welcome, sir,” stammered the boy. “W-w-what are we going to do now, sir, yer bleedin to death?”
The officer looked down at his stump of an arm, grimaced and once again whispered, “You’re going to have to cauterize it for me, son, that’s my only chance. Build a fire of leaves and
twigs and heat my Bowie knife ’till it’s red hot, then you’re going to have to use it to burn those bleeding arteries until they stop.”
Ned didn’t know if he could do it or not, but he didn’t have any other ideas, for certain. Quickly, he gathered a pile of leaves and placed several small, dry twigs on top. Pulling the cork from his powder horn, he sprinkled some black powder on the leaves, and struck a spark with his flint and steel. The leaves burst into flame.
Next he pulled the large bladed Bowie knife from its sheath hanging from the officers belt and held it in the flames until the blue steel turned cherry red. Turning to the prostrate figure lying on the ground he said, “You sure this is what we need to do, sir?” His stammering had stopped but his hands still shook.
“You’ve got to do it, son. It’s our only chance. The hot blade will stop the bleeding and keep down infection,” he whispered.
Ned bit his lip as he moved the red hot blade of the knife towards the bleeding stump. With both hands trying to hold it steady, he placed it to the flesh. The sizzle of the burning was drowned out by the screams of the wounded officer. The frightened boy jumped back, dropping the knife.
The screaming stopped as the wounded officer fainted from the pain. Ned, sucking the blood from his bitten lip, put the blade of the knife back in the flames of the fire and held it until it once again turned red. This time, as he placed the hot blade on the wound, the unconscious officer only groaned as the flow of blood slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. Ned removed the sash which was tied above the wound and was thankful that no blood flowed from the cauterized blood vessels.
The task completed, he dropped the knife and rushed into the woods where he sank to his knees and began to retch and vomit. His body shook and the tears once again began to flow. The excitement and the pressure had been too much on this young Kentucky farm boy who had thought that going to war was going to be something glorious.
Crawling back to the side of the unconscious officer, he too, was unable to stay awake. Ned did not know how long he slept, but was awakened by someone shaking his shoulder. It was the wounded officer. “I believe I can ride a ways now, boy. We better put tracks between us and them Yankees. It looks like we’re the only ones what made it acrost the river, and they’ll be sending scouts to see if anyone escaped.”
Ned helped the colonel to his feet, and thought that he was going to faint again. However, after he stood awhile, the color began to return to his face. Lifting the officer into the saddle, Ned mounted behind him to make certain that he did not fall again, and urged the horse down the trail.
The big black stallion was rested and moved out at a brisk pace. After traveling for an hour down the narrow trail, they came to a wagon road which was filled with a rag-tag band of wounded and disorganized grey clad soldiers, moving south and west away from the field of battle.
After another hour, slowly moving through this sea of defeated confederates, the officer told Ned that he could go no further. Ned, seeing a deserted barn through the trees, turned the horse off the road and headed for its shelter. Dismounting, he helped his new friend to the ground, then led the stallion into the barn, removed the saddle and placed him in a dilapidated stall. There was hay for the horse, and enough for them to bed down on for the night.
The officer was made as comfortable as possible by his young friend and Ned was grateful when the colonel fell into deep sleep, knowing that at least for awhile he would be free of the pain. The next morning the colonel awoke to the smell of meat cooking over an open fire. Ned
had killed a rabbit with a rock when it strayed into the barn, removed its skin and placed it on a spit over a small fire he had built on the dirt floor of the barn. The Bowie knife was used to cut it in half, and it was quickly consumed by the two famished soldiers.
Although the pain was still almost more than the officer could bear, he was much better
after the night’s sleep and hot breakfast. Ned refilled the canteen from a nearby stream and washed the wound as clean as possible. After washing the sash which had been used as a tourniquet, he wrapped the stub, thankful that no infection seemed to be present.
The officer told Ned, while he was dressing the wound, that his name was Jim Cole, and that he was from Texas, having come with a group of cavalry volunteers to fight with General Lee. He had fought at Harper’s Ferry and Gettysburg without injury, although many of his friends had been killed when their company had been caught in a crossfire while rushing Cemetery Hill. General Lee had personally promoted him to Colonel after Gettysburg. He had been leading Ned’s group of infantry into battle when the Yankees overran his position and he lost his arm to cannon grape.
“Seems to me we’ve lost the war, Ned,” he said. “Grant’s got Richmond surrounded and its just a matter of time before Lee’s going to be forced to surrender. He’s out of food and nearly out of ammunition. Our best bet is to circle Richmond and try to rejoin Lee’s main group if he breaks out.
Ned saddled the stallion, helped Colonel Cole to mount, climbed behind him and headed the big black back towards the road where they joined the wounded and broken as they moved slowly towards the smoke of the burning city of Richmond.