The Battlefield

Bruce was a young man of 18 who was my pal when I was stationed at Fort Lee. We had a lot in common besides the love of billiards. We loved history and especially Civil War battlefields.

One morning we met to walk into town. We went through the woods and wound up in Battlefield Park where the battle of Petersburg had been fought. This was the site of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War.

It was an eerie place, but I loved it. As I walked on the soft green spongy grass, a strange feeling came over me. I felt the presence of others. These weren’t just other people. These were people who weren’t supposed to be here, long dead people. I pushed them out of my mind.

We entered a small log structure. It appeared to be sleeping quarters for soldiers, probably officers, because the enlisted would have had tents. I noticed that these soldiers were a lot shorter than we were, well shorter than my companion anyway.

These bunks were short. I would have been uncomfortable on them but I wasn’t going to try one out. I’m only 5'1" and there could have been a soldier of about 5'3", I suppose. These cots were hard wood, built into the cabin walls. How they slept was beyond me.

I suffer from the Princess and the Pea syndrome. If there is a wrinkle in the sheet, I can’t sleep. A spider walking by would have done me in.

A canon sat on a hill overlooking the battle site. This is where the weirdest thing happened. A chill came over me and I shivered. I could feel the earth vibrating under me.

Bruce was nowhere about. Then I heard the noise.

The canon was firing and I could hear gunfire and the screams. Someone was sobbing. There was smoke and blood and torn bodies. It was truly awful.

Just as suddenly as it began, it faded and again the green spongy lawn was back. Bruce was standing behind me somewhere. I could hear him calling my name. He said he’d called my name three or four times, but I didn’t seem to hear him.

We walked into town. I told him the minute we got to the USO that I needed paper and pencil. He knew me well enough to know I had to write. I wrote The Paths of Glory that day.