G-26

The train was cold, dark and long. They gave us no light, no food to eat, no place to relieve ourselves. After a while we wondered if it would continue to draw on forever, waiting for us to stop fighting for the last licks of life. Maybe this was the camp, and there was no place to stay after all. Just endless darkness, swimming in the foul, thick odor of death and feces, the moans and screams of the ill and injured, who we all knew wouldn’t survive the trip. It was a hopeless nothing.

And finally, we were there. The train halted, pushing us all onto the grime covered floor right as we heard the screeching groans of metal scraping the train walls with daggers of light piercing the train cabin. Seeing was a wonderful thing. I stared out at the green landscape and blue skies, and even though the brightness pulled tears from my eyes I couldn’t bring myself to close them. But just as suddenly as there was light, it was gone again. Men crowded the exit, shoving each other over as grey backs pulled them out onto the ground. Once I had gotten out of the room I could smell the fresh air that I welcomed into my nose. We were all huddled together in a single line and counted. My name was G-26.

A guard stepped forward with a sadistic grin, facing the others, “Time for checks.”

Men came over and shook us down, patting our pockets and ripping anything they could get off of us; pocket watches, rings, even the buckles on belts and shoes. I could only watch as my most cherished belongings fell to the floor, consumed by the cloud of dust they kicked. By some joke of fate, something in my pocket caught a soldier’s eye. He strutted over, jaw tensed from chewing tobacco, and bent to pick up a little piece of paper. It was shaded with the faint image of a beautiful little girl, my little girl. Taking a glance, he chuckled to himself.

“We got here a sentimental one, boys! What a cute kid too,” His grin faltered for a moment, and in a second she was gone. Brown tobacco spit coated her face, splattering onto my own in the process.

“Pretty little things don’t live here, G-26. Better learn that quick.” I clenched my teeth, feeling sandy bits of dirt grind against my molars. I couldn’t tell if I was about to cry or punch that sorry sack right in the nose. He winked at me and returned to his position, still clutching my little girl in his fists.

They marched us to our living quarters: a section of dirt with a few blankets tossed around. Now, we don’t expect much from a confederate soldier but this was upsetting even for them. We slept hungry that night, and every night since.

Thus ended the first day at Sumter.

A boot hit my face.

“Rise and shine Tommy boy! I see you’re sleeping late again?” After all this time, it’s still difficult to remember that my name is now Thomas.

“Hospitable as always, Eugene,” I laced up my shoes and eased myself off the floor.

“Early morning is for the men who want food, so let’s skedaddle while the rats are fresh.”

We walked through the scattered rows of canvas laid shebangs, mens’ feet protruding from the edges. When the stench of death filled the air we switched directions, accustomed to the routine of the camp. Dead meat can ruin the appetite and here you can’t afford to skip a meal.

Thanks to Eugene we arrived just before the last two loaves of bread were snatched up and some hot coffee to refill our cups.

“These seem smaller than usual, you think?” I asked.

“Probably gonna bring in another batch of kids today, preparations and all,” He responded. I scoffed,

“These boat-lickers don’t prepare for anything. I’ll bet they just forgot the recipe,” Eugene chuckled and picked at the crust before wrapping it in a piece of broken cloth to preserve the crumbs.

“It has been a bit before they brought in some fresh fish. Think the war could be slowin’ down out there?” He said, looking at me.

“I sure hope so. I’d like to change my clothes. The smell’s starting to get to me,”

“The coppers would stop you before you could light ‘em up, those are biological weapons,” He smirked.

Once we reached our campsite once again, the small ceramic cups of coffee were only lukewarm and we mixed them with reserved water to make them last. Eugene and I layered our thin blankets on the ground and sat down. I broke a bit of bread, just enough so I could eat the rest for lunch and dinner, and looked out at the landscape before us. I’m sure the ground was once filled with grass, but it had been long since trampled by the thousands of men and replaced by a stiff and solid floor as if made of stone, void of life save for small patches of weeds in secluded areas of the camp. The canvas tents popped up like their own version of greenery, painted in unknown liquids; a mural of colors haphazardly splotched onto the ragged surface.

“Staying long enough here, I’ve come to appreciate some of the beauties of this place,” Eugene chimed.

“I hardly see any glamor. It looks like a paint palette, rather than a painting,”

“Paint palettes have beauty in their own way. Do you ever walk about the tents and see how the men have personalized them? It’s quite unique, each and every one. I think, despite the scum who put us here, we’ve made some of these spots all our own,”

“I see,” I looked again, but I couldn’t twist these devastating colors of war into the interesting details that Eugene went on about. He must have had better vision than I, because to me it was still just blocks of brown and green.

Suddenly we heard shouting in the direction of the North Gate. I silently counted ten seconds and when there was no gunshot, I realized what was happening. My eyes matched Eugene’s and he said grimly,

“I should’ve bet you on that guess,”

We were out of tent material, the last of it broken down into pieces and used what seemed like ages ago. These new kids would have to sleep in the open air. It’s at these times I feel lucky to have at least a piece of cloth covering my head to sleep.

We joined the crowd of people watching this round of checks and I noticed a particularly young looking boy in clothes that nearly swallowed him whole. I’d seen younger ones, but they didn’t usually last long enough to make it to one of these places. He had something gripped in his hand, out of view of the soldiers. I watched him pretend to swipe hair from his face and cleverly tuck it beneath his cap before one of them approached him and emptied his pockets.

“Did you see that?” I whispered to Eugene,

“See what?”

“That kid...actually I’ll tell you later,” He gave me a confused look, but nodded.

After checks, Eugene decided to scurry off to find where the new men would be staying while I returned to the tents. Because of the commotion, there was nobody else inside and I took the time to adjust my binding that had begun to slip. It was severely uncomfortable but I had become accustomed to the feeling.

Eugene returned quicker than I had anticipated, with a boy in tow.

“You!” I stood up and pointed at him. He jumped, eyes wide.

“Me?”

“You’re that kid from earlier. You snuck something past the guards,” Color flooded into his face and Eugene whipped his head to look at him,

“You did?”

“No, I didn’t! Well, I don’t know. It was sort of sneaking. It was a little thing, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I suppose I did. Please don’t tell anyone!” He rambled.

“It’s alright, kid. I would’ve snuck something if I had thought of it. What did you get?” Eugene consoled him, chuckling.

“Oh, it’s nothing interesting. I’d rather not say it, it’s quite embarrassing,”

“Oh come now! There’s worse things than being embarrassed, I’ll tell you now.”

“Okay, fine.” He pulled off his cap and retrieved a miniature handmade doll about the size of his hand, stitched together with scraps of mismatched fabric and its arm pulling apart to reveal the strings and bits of cotton that were stuffed inside. I held back a giggle at the sight.

“Don’t laugh! My little sister made this for me before I was drafted, I couldn’t leave it behind,” He admired the doll for a moment, then stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. Eugene seemed quite intrigued by this toy.

“What is your name, by the way?”

“Nicholas Davis. What’s yours?” He gave me a short smile and his frosty eyes glinted in the sun rays that poked through holes in the canvas. I paused for a moment, before replying. It’s easy to forget in these times that even with my own men, Elizabeth Wheeler isn’t welcome here.

“I’m Thomas Jones.”

“Well then, Nicholas. I think it’s right time for us to eat lunch. Not a usual occasion, but today is a special one!” Eugene took Nicholas’ arm and dragged him out of the tent.

“Greybacks don’t really believe in lunch here, unless it’s their own. We make do, though,”

We walked him across the grounds to fetch a drink from the creek where we found several men bathing in the murky water. Nicholas displayed obvious disgust in his countenance that Eugene and I both laughed at,

“You’ll get used to it,” He said. I tossed Nicholas an extra cup and we dipped them into the rushing water, taking sips. It tasted grossly worse today, so I spit it out in fear of disease. I was hydrated enough as it was. Eugene drank hungrily, which was likely due to his running around camp, and Nicholas held his nose, taking them like shots. After we finished, Eugene and I paused for a moment, watching and waiting for it to come. And come it did. Nicholas threw himself to the edge of the creek, his body rejecting the drink.

“Forgot to tell you that would happen,” I shouted over to him.

We then took him over to Sam’s.

“Sam’s got the best rats around. Got magical fingers, that man,” Nicholas looked at Eugene incredulously,

“Excuse me, rats?”

“Best meat you can get around here! Plenty of ‘em too. You catch it, he cooks it. Since we don’t have any rats to spare, we can pay him with rations,” He brandished a chunk of earlier’s loaf of bread and a handful of dried peas,

“This’ll get us about a rat and a half to share,” Again, Nicholas was quite flabbergasted at this idea but did not complain as we marched him towards the pillar of smoke erupting from the south side of camp.

Sam was an eccentric man. He always sang the same tune to himself, picking the few teeth he had left while he sat the day away by a hot fire. He was one of the older men, with pupils as sharp as nails that pierced through the sagging skin around his eyes. The man always smiled, though people begged him not to. It ran shivers up one’s spine to see his face contort in such a way. Despite the haggard appearance, though, he was a loud sort of kind and always cooked a rat you brought him. Since the population here grew he even brought in a second man to keep up with the “kitchen”. His name was Benny, but he had no interesting features. He merely stood and worked, never spoke or looked anywhere. Many rumors have spread about him, but I doubt any were true.

“Greetings, lads! Always love to see a shinin’ face, Eugene. What can I do for you?” Sam grinned at us.

“Here to buy a rat or two from you, got any left?”

“I do, I do! Whatcha got?” He presented the offerings of food to him,

“Hm. Best I can do is one,”

“What? I thought for sure this could get me more. Is there any way I can get another half?”

“Look, boy. I’m being generous. New shipment of men are here and that means food is even more scarce,” Sam glanced over at Nicholas. Eugene turned to us and shrugged,

“Guess we get to share one,”

We brought the meat back and split it between the three of us, bones and all. Nicholas tentatively picked at the food, seemingly lost in thought, as Eugene and I savored each bite. With an extra man to share with, it wasn’t nearly as filling.

That night Eugene offered Nicholas a spot in our shelter. We had no space for another, but Eugene was not one to let logic cloud his good will. He decided to sleep outside, ignoring the disapproval from Nicholas and I.

It was as if Nicholas never slept. I fell asleep that night to the sound of him scratching words into a slab of wood with a sharp rock for hours on end, pausing only to think. It was no wonder his eyes resembled that of a raccoon’s even before he had first slept here. It made me wonder just what was so captivating that you could spend an entire night thinking about it. I thought I should ask him about it when I woke up in the morning, but that thought was paused when that same morning there was a scream.

I shot up in bed, afraid of what had happened when I saw Eugene and Nicholas kneeling above me, panic stricken in the face.

“What’s going on?” I asked drearily.

“You’re bleeding you’re bleeding!” Nicholas squeaked. I looked down at my blanket to find a patch of blood on my sheets. Oh no.

“Okay, I need to tell you something. Please be quiet.” We waited for the men who woke up to go back to bed before I said,

“I’m not hurt, alright?”

“Well where did that blood come from then?” Eugene whispered sharply.

“I’m not sure how to say this gently, but I am a woman,”

“What?” They shouted in unison.

“Shut up!”

“I’m sorry, but you said you’re a what?”

“I’m a woman.”

Once they finished bombarding me with questions they had finally come to the conclusion that I was still the same person they knew and I kindly asked that they do not discuss the topic further. Changing the subject, I asked,

“What were you doing all last night?” He reddened,

“Oh, you heard that? I’m sorry. I do journaling,”

“Journaling?”

“Yes. We don’t have parchment and pencil, so I used a rock but it does quite help to write down what happens in a day. It’s barely legible in the morning because I write in the dark, but even so I like to do it.”

“Quite an interesting hobby, especially since there is no output to your actions.”

“Well I’d like to think writing it down at all is the output. It does help me remember better,”

“Why would you want to remember anything about this place?”

“Well, I like to say remembering is always better than forgetting. If I never remember mistakes I made I will not learn from them. If I never remember the hardships I endured, I can’t appreciate the happy moments,”

“Has anybody ever told you that you have a lot of knowledge for a child? It’s no wonder you get along with Eugene so well, you both have such an odd perspective on things.”

The next morning I woke up before the sun reached the horizon to Eugene vomiting outside the tent.

“What happened to you?” I yawned, poking my head out. He tried responding, but all that came out was a second episode of bile.

“If you keep at it, you’ll be out of energy later and I’m not giving you my food,” I warned him jokingly. Once he finished, he stayed silent still and leaned against a pole clenching his stomach. His silent panting breaths dissipated into the air and I could just make out his chest convulsing with ragged breathing and his face screwed up into a painful grimace. I suddenly realized the urgency of his state, and he sharply stood and quickly staggered off towards the toilet areas.

I didn’t see him after that until the morning meal, where he came to sit in the tent rather than pick up rations.

“Did you get bread?” He lifted his head slowly with his hair sticking to his face and gave a weak smile,

“Oh I guess I forgot. That’s alright though, I wasn’t hungry,”

“For an odd reason I don’t believe you. Here, eat up.”

“No, really I’m okay!”

“You drained more liquid this morning than you even have in your body. Even if you aren’t hungry I’m going to make you eat. Here. I’m going to Sam to boil you some water because I don’t trust it anymore,” I tossed the bread and stood up, leaving before he could protest. I need to find Nicholas.

It took me a good bit to find him throughout the mountains of shebangs after boiling water with Sam, but eventually I spotted his golden curls poking out from the ground. He was curled up inside a small dirt pit with a lip that he seemed to have been working on all night, still holding a stick that I can only assume he used to break up the dirt. I ruffled his head and he jumped upright, eyes even more sunken than yesterday.

“I need you to check in on Eugene. Here’s some water I boiled, but don’t drink it. I’m going to the infirmary,”

“What do I do with it then? Why are you going to the infirmary, are you alright?”

“Give it to him, of course. You’ll know why when you get there just go,”

It didn’t take long to get to the hospital. The problem is the wait. I sat in the humid sun for likely an hour before a nurse donning a bloodied white gown emerged and announced that they cannot take any more patients.

“Half the camp has dysentery and we can only heal so many at a time. I apologize for this inconvenience and we ask you to return later,” I approached her before she scuttled back inside,

“Is there anything I can do otherwise to remedy it?”

“Just try to drink as much clean water as you can,” She rushed, and closed the curtains.

With this information, I returned to Sam to boil more water and ran to the shelter. The scene was a mess. Eugene was vomiting once again outside the tent, the stench rose with the blistering heat, and Nicholas was inside, just about hyperventilating with stress. I shuffled my way inside, dodging the puddles, and sat next to Nicholas. All the other men from the tent had evacuated previously, so it felt quite spacious. Eugene crawled back towards the door and we each grabbed an arm and heaved him back inside.

“Here drink this,” I gave him the cup. He accepted and sipped slowly, skin glistening with even more sweat. I studied his face, attempting to assess how bad it had become in the short time. Upon feeling my gaze he looked up and mustered a smile.

“I know, I’m beautiful,” I snorted,

“That’s one way to say it,”

His chestnut hair was blackened with dust and his face was hollow and discolored, yet the shimmer in his eyes remained. That spark was what made us friends. He never lost hope, even when his body was rejecting his very existence and there was nobody to help. It was quite inspiring, but I knew he still thought the same things I do. He was just better at hiding it.

“How do you do that?” Nicholas broke the silence.

“Do what?” His body sagged,

“Smile.”

“Oh well that’s easy, you just do it,”

“I suppose. Sometimes it’s more of a skill than instinct, in my opinion,”

“Well then, I guess you just need to practice-” Eugene interrupted himself by sprinting from the tent once again. We sat quietly, prepared to wait for his return.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Nicholas asked me. His face was racked with concern. I could see lines forming on his face, despite how young he was.

“To be honest, I don’t think so. You don’t recover from this without help.” He looked away and I could tell that wasn’t the answer he wanted from me,

“But you never know, I’ve seen crazier things happen,” I added.

Two days of Eugene’s sickness snailed by, each becoming more difficult to watch than the last. Eventually he could not muster the strength to lift his body. Nicholas and I traded jobs tucking a bowl beneath is head to catch vomit. We would talk to him, but his voice grew slowly quieter, until we had to lean in to hear his words.

“You just need to fight until the war ends. It won’t be long,” I would say to him. Lying felt like a betrayal but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the truth. He still always managed to give us a smirk at times, too stubborn to give that up.

Near the end of the third day he said to me,

“Elizabeth,” The name still startled me, “We both know I won’t survive this. When the war ends, I want you to step outside and live the life you were meant to. Leave this behind. Please, for my sake, forget me.” I couldn’t. He had to have known I can’t erase the things that happened here. His companionship kept my days moving, got me out of bed in the morning, saved me from the thoughts that swam through my mind. I never fully appreciated the things he had done. It almost made me angry that he asked that of me, though it was his last request. It was something I could never promise to do.

“I won’t do that.” He gave me an exasperated smile,

“Then promise me you’ll live. In joy instead of fear. With no regrets.”

The next morning we found him cold. Dead. The morning after that, we were free.

I never forgot Eugene. I could never forget. In the words of the wise Nicholas Davis, “Remembering is always better than forgetting.” I remembered the joy we shared, the jokes we traded, the trials we’d faced together. It gave me the strength to live my life, to honor the life that was lost. It is a small offering to dedicate my optimism to him, but loss can never be mended by commitment. Love comes second to the kiss of death. We all know this, but we persevere; as all must. I pick flowers every morning, hoping I can send a message above that I still remember him. That I remember what he asked of me. The two men that stayed by my side changed my life forever. I have escaped, and I finally see the beauty who lived in those haunted canvas tents.