Journal Entry #103
November 27, 1864
I lay still. Hunched over my blood stained cot, I could feel the cold wind burst through the dirty white flaps of the hospital tent. The stars hung still while canons and gunfire shook the earth. Wounded, but I could not shake the sense of urgency to fight alongside my brothers. “There is no use for me now.” I thought. “Tomorrow they take my leg.”
It was that moment a tingle ran down my spine. It ran deep down. Down to the tip of where my foot once was. My leg gave a jerk and then another much stronger far greater. Frightened, I gasped and fell to the floor. I summoned what strength I had left and held onto my wounded leg with both my hands. Just then, I heard a voice speak to me. It was a voice, not of anger or frustration, but one of sincerity and tenderness. “Why do you strangle me?” it asked. “I seek not to frighten you but to bid you farewell.” “Who speaks?” I called out. “The one you hold.” it replied. “Release me and see your friend.” “
“Why must you make a fool of a fallen soldier?” I called out. “I only ask of you to help me onto my cot to rest for tomorrow they shall take what’s left of my leg.” While lying on the floor, I looked to either side only to find no one standing nor conscious. Another tingle ran down my spine. The sense of loneliness grew greater.
As I freed my leg the voice spoke to me once more. “I have grown alongside you all your life my friend.” It said. “I have been with you in your happiest moments and your troubled hours. We’ve ran and fallen. You’ve even scarred me once, yet we’ve travelled several hundreds of miles together and I am proud to have been there for each one.” I lay there staring down at my bandaged leg, blood still dripping onto the ground. Slowly, I un-bandaged the rags and took a last look. Immediately, my throat swelled with sorrow and the tears began to stream from my eyes as I gazed at the almost unrecognizable limb. It lay beaten beyond extreme. It was then that all fear and anger left me. I grew weak and lightly brushed my fingertips along its side. “I shall miss you as well my old friend.”