The last run of Sgt. Barclay Tyson

800 words                                The Last Run of Sgt. Barclay Tyson                        by Josh Stone Waters

         

         My dearest and most lovely Anastasia,
                   It has been my desire for quite some time to write to you and the children regarding the details of my state. I know it has been a rather unreasonable spell but I am only just now finding the wherewithal to do so. I'm afraid things have taken a sharp turn for the worse in the time since I last wrote you. I will try to be brief.

         As the sergeant of my unit, I considered myself first and foremost a patriot and supporter of this confederate cause above many my equal. But as the war has grown long in the day and the union armies have commandeered our supply chains, we have grown weary with a deficit of all things necessary; rations, powder, clothing, medicine, the Word of God...

         Above this, I have grown weary with a surplus of death. I have seen enough killing and dismemberment, my beloved Annie, to give council to the devil himself. I am afraid I've disheartened not only of holding the hands of my own troops and transparently attempting to conjure up some words of comfort as their life slips away but also of looking into the eyes of some poor yank and fighting off the thought that there was some spark of familiarity, some glimpse of recognition in his eyes as I pulled the trigger. After a time, every scared boy becomes mistakable for the next- you'd swear you had worked with, taught, prayed over every one of them some years ago.

         So, alas, I am defecting and do thoroughly despise myself for it. There is no excuse for such action. I can only hope that God will forgive me and take into account that this man fought and fought valiantly until his vessel was full of the blood of martyrs from both this side and that. Full until it could hold no more. Until he could not tell the difference nor remember what it was he started for. So it is with great rue that I write to inform you that seeing your face once more, seeing the face of our children once more, has become much more precious to me than winning the war, than my honor, even if I be hanged for it. There is no ransom I would not pay to smell the daffodils in the dale spread out before our home yet again and feel that fertile sod beneath my feet.

         As I pen this letter, dearest wife, I sit in a wood that lies at the edge of a ridge that is the center of a clash between confederate and union soldiers. To the North sits an army that will shoot me dead upon sight of my colors. To the South, an army of countrymen that will execute me for desertion. At the other end of the ridge is a pass that would put me nearer to you and Charlotte and Jacob than I have been throughout the continuation of the war. I fully intend to take advantage of our placement.

         My predicament, and the possibility that I will not return home with my life, lies in being visible to both sides as I make my run across the ridge to freedom and to you, my love. If I appear wholly one side I will most assuredly be cut down by the other. As such I have adopted the following method of subterfuge and diversion. I am currently in possession of a union jacket that I took off of a man that I bayoneted to death while he relieved himself so as to not give away my position by gunfire while I was making my escape. It is my intent to shed my arms, rations, and shoes that I might be as nimble as possible and to replace my uniform jacket with that of the union soldier. My belief is that having on the pants of the South and the jacket of the North will confound both sides and buy just enough hesitation that I can safely cover the short distance to the end of the ridge before any would fire upon me.

         Having expressed myself in such a lengthy letter, I will now retire to my plan. It is, no doubt, needless that I say I may not make it home to you in this endeavor. If I do not, may God speed this message into your hands. Anastasia, from the days of our youth you have been the love of my life and I look forward to seeing your lovely face shortly. But and if I do not, give that same love to my children and kiss their faces.

         Eternally and gratefully yours,
                   Sgt. 1st class Barclay Jefferson Tyson III