Tear In Time Read Free

limbs. With
regularity, ants returning to their nest would find their passage blocked by
the hulking mass in blue. Upon investigation, the ants angrily attacked any
bare skin, biting and pinching in a futile attempt to drive away the enemy.
Their feeble assault was met with equal aggression as the soldier swatted and
crushed his irritating attackers.
     
      Time
was their enemy. Waiting quietly in the underbrush, each soldier pondered his
own fate. Any attempt to push the morbidity from their minds proved fruitless,
as they watched the enemy in their sights, reminding them again of the
possibility of their own forthcoming violent death. Searching for solace, they
turned to their companions, whispering inquiries about families and
future.  In return, they received warm reassurance as the sound of their
comrade’s whisper helped to sooth their deep worry. Having sat through the bite
of cold as they crawled in under darkness, hunger pangs from lack of food, and
the contemplation of death, the Union volunteers of the 79th Pennsylvania were
ready and determined to complete their task.
     
      Up in
the foothills, away from the edge of the river, the Union artillery waited on
their orders from Gen. James Negley. High on his horse, barrel-chested and
confident, he posed an impressive figure. He sat pensively and observed the
scene below. Lifting his spyglass to his eye, he continued to look for weakness
and opportunity. With an authoritative voice, he redirected cannons down the
line to specific targets as he developed his impromptu battle plan.
     
      As the
Union soldiers manned their stations of artillery, they looked out over the
valley at the Confederate soldiers drilling in formation in an open field far
on the opposite side of the river. Several cannons were already directed toward
them, but with a quick nod of his head, Gen. Negley ordered additional cannon
support on that location. Feeling somewhat detached from the Confederates’
impending doom, they obeyed their orders and indifferently aimed the deadly
weapons at the center of the field.
     
     
Standing by their designated cannon, each soldier mentally prepared himself for
the battle. At their elevated position, and protected by the river, they all
felt relatively safe: that is, safer than their comrades below by the river.
They had survived the previous year’s battles, and were well seasoned in their
trade. They knew there would be casualties, but felt relatively sure that with
the element of surprise, the battle would be fairly one-sided. They looked down
at their comrades who had crept up to the river's edge just before dawn. A
sense of sadness and anxiety came over them, knowing they were in harm’s way.
Any retaliation by rebel forces would start with them. Well-hidden in the
thickets, the Confederate soldiers would have a tough time distinguishing the
exact locations of each Union soldier. The Confederates would hear the sound of
the Union rifles and fire in that direction. Most of the boys in blue would be
lucky, and escape the wild and harried volleys of lead. Some would not.
     
      The
previous day, June 6th, Dr. Jeb Morgan prepared one of the supply wagons as a
makeshift operating table in preparation for the impending battle. As a
commissioned medical officer in the regular Union army, he held the rank of
Captain. Serving in the military for most of his life, he was no stranger to
the horrors that warfare could bring. His battlefield experience was extensive,
having served in the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848, various Indian
campaigns, and now the War Between the States.
     
      Dr.
Morgan was a short, stout, older man of sixty, with a full head of white hair,
a long, white, flowing beard, and piercing blue eyes. Having dodged Mexican
bullets and fought hand to hand with Indians, he possessed an inner strength
and courage, as well as intelligence, that were uncommon for most,
distinguishing himself for his skill with a firearm as well as a