The Dying Grass, page 36
Could that really be him? Not easy to know him now. That’s Flash’s bridle all right. And there’s his hat. I guess that’s him.
That’s him.
All right, soldier. Unidentified. Arrow penetrating from left eye into brainpan. Multiple blunt trauma. Teeth knocked out, evidently with rock.
Well, I guess in their excitement they didn’t cinch up their horses, or else—
Shut up, soldier.
Weren’t there but six in his squad?
Yessir, but I’m supposing that when they all fell back—
Colonel, can you help us there?
He told off six men,
and I’ve seen him naked before but I never saw him dead,
his halfnaked ribcage shining like the white canvas of a covered wagon.
Thanks, colonel.
Can’t even tell where the bullet went in.
Doctor Alexander, have you found what did for him?
Well, colonel, he was shot in the brain, I’d say with a Sharps. Here’s the ball: .50 calibre. He must have died instantly
Thanks. Let’s get him in the ground—
Yessir. A friend of yours, I know.
That’s right.
O, he’s got the shakes!
No he don’t.
It’ll be another few moments yet, because—
The general’s right. Nothing stinks like a dead horse.
That breastpin on his undershirt; it unlatches to show her photograph; O, they stole it, those GODd——d reds; well, of course they would.
Them Injuns sure took all the souvenirs.
Shut up, d——n you!
Sorry, colonel.
We could dig a nice grave for him up thisaway, colonel, on top of the hill—
—and Perry, balling up his fists as if to strike the private who will direct him, strides straight off to that place, and expressing nothing but wrath, he touches Theller’s corrupted hand.
4
Well, Major Mason?
General, I’ve examined Lieutenant Theller’s remains under the observation of Colonel Perry—
Was the doctor present?
Yessir. He’s still with the body.
“Stand up for JESUS.” Thus in death . . .
Go on.
The sainted son address’d his sire—
It appears that after they murdered Theller, Joseph’s Indians looted his gold watch, gold chain, gold buttons and several other less valuable items, such as a breastpin of sentimental value to his wife.
I’m sorry to hear that, major.
And, as he spake with failing breath,
Sir, many of the other bodies seem likewise to have been stripped of their accoutrements,
Rose heaven-ward on his car of fire,
black flies roaring out of an olive-green hollow in the high bluff, a stench, no blue cloth, only naked black-and-yellow carcasses, faces like nutshells
and picture windows for Fidelia. I won’t tell her much about this. Wonder how her folks would feel about a Christmas wedding? Because my enlistment’s up in December, and I sure don’t care to lose more of my life. Although I hate to let down Doc—
Go on, major.
Yessir. In the case of the enlisted men, of course, it’s more difficult to know just what property they possessed before death. But I would hazard that the Nez Perces robbed them of rings, gold dust, money and the like.
I’m sure this will be detailed beyond doubt in your report. Anything else?
Colonel Perry has been especially helpful, sir, especially on the subject of Lieutenant Theller’s belongings. He knew most of these men quite well by sight, although postmortem changes—
Of course he did. All right, Wilkinson, let’s step over here for an instant. Did you check on Doctor Alexander?
Yessir, and he seems to be keeping up with each new discovery. A good man. He did ask me to inform you that due to the lapse of time—
He mentioned that yesterday. Do you have my letter to Mrs. Theller?
Yessir.
Then add: Your husband’s remains have been located and respectfully committed to earth by the men who loved him. I regret to inform you that his valuables cannot be returned to you at this time as the hostiles must have taken them. We may well discover them in the course of the campaign. O, and please ask Colonel Perry to verify the doctor’s list with Major Mason. Golden sleeve-buttons, I understand.
Yessir, and his pistol.
Of course. Well, all of us here hope you are bearing up under your great affliction. If I can serve you in any way, please command me at any time. Your sincere friend, that’s right. And I’ll want you to visit each captain discreetly, to ask that any signs of corpse-robbing among our own be reported to Major Mason.
Yessir.
Don’t act so shocked! They’d do it to the enemy. They probably did it at Little Big Horn and blamed the Indians. Human ghouls!
Yessir.
I want this operation to finish within another hour. We need to camp and throw out our skirmish line. When you discover him, please send Captain Sladen over here.
Yessir.
Lieutenant Wood, what are you about?
General, Captain Pollock asked me to—
All right. He relies on you to prepare his reports, I understand.
Well, general, I do my best. For Colonel Perry’s casualty return, he—
Come aside with me. Now how are you managing?
Very well, thank you, sir,
feet itching fiercely in the sweltering boots and stomach qualmish,
hot wind-breath of putrefying carrion and a fly walking on my ear.
Do you want to ask me something?
General, what’s your opinion of this battlefield, I mean from a professional point of view?
I’d say Joseph’s ground could not have been better selected.
Thank you, sir.
Are you going to vomit, Wood?
Of course not, sir.
Good. To-day you’ve gained knowledge, haven’t you?
Yessir.
How would you characterize what you’ve learned?
Well, sir, it feels, I’d say, poisonous.
We burned five thousand dead service animals at Gettysburg. You can imagine the rest.
Yessir.
Remember, you must never show weakness before the men.
Thanks for the advice, general. I’ll remember,
and I wonder who’s going to be promoted to Theller’s position?
You cannot be a soldier and turn away from death. Do you see that corpse in the grass?
Yessir—
Get those two privates to carry it down for the doctor. That’s right. I don’t think the limbs will come off. Now what do you fear?
I don’t fear it at all. I dislike the way it’s grinning at me—
And the odor, of course.
That, too—
Wood, very soon you’ll find that these manifestations cannot move you. Then you’ll almost be a soldier. You’ll need to master only two more things. Can you guess what they are?
Fear of pain, general?
Correct for one. Now for the other.
Belief, it must be. Belief in—
Now carry on. Have you satisfied your other obligations to Captain Pollock?
Yessir.
Good. The Dayton volunteers have just arrived. A Captain Hunter is in command. Go see what you can do for him and his company. Then return to your duties. That’s all. No, Fletch, give that inventory to Lieutenant Bomus. That’s right. Captain Miller, send out your cavalry to scout, and then corral the train. We’ve got to wrap this up here,
the yellow grass going green in the rain.
Yessir.
Well?
No sign of any hostiles, general.
Think they’re watching us?
Sure.
All right. Form the camp. And strengthen your pickets to-night. Remember, gentlemen: All told, we’re fewer than a single regiment of the Secession War.
Yes, sir. I’ll give the men permission to wash in the creek—
Fine, but keep a lookout.
And so they plant the guidon on Camp Theller on the Salmon, turning out the animals under the shade trees:
Roll call,
right face,
dismissed!
pickets out, terrified and on their bellies with their Springfields cocked
while the others blow the Funeral March,
angry, anxious, disgusted, hoping for victory and souvenirs,
spreading out their saddle blankets in order on the company street, then overlaying their rubber blankets (their saddles will be their pillows),
our infantry making do with less,
and white blossoms wilting on the chokecherry trees.
5
Then comes rain,
rain all night,
Bugler Brooks blowing “Stable Call,”
the horses halfheartedly curried
(But that Mrs. Benedict, she didn’t never get violated. Joseph took pity on her little ones.
Mrs. Bacon got shot down right in front of ’em, but that husband of hers . . .
I hear she married at fifteen.
Is that right? Pretty red hair she’s got. A real eligible widow),
Wilkinson singing hymns along with a few interested fellows:
One, two, three—
“Stand up for JESUS.” Thus in death
The sainted son address’d his sire,
And, as he spake with failing breath,
Rose heaven-ward on his car of fire.
That’s real nice. I never knew that song before,
and uncooked salt pork on pilot bread so stale they must crush it between stones,
detesting these Indians whose presence curses the earth,
turning up their collars against the rain
(the luckier men roofing themselves under oilcloth and blankets),
all hating their cruel general who has ordered: no campfires, no visiting
(wisely, no doubt, for what if those cricket-songs were Nez Perce signals, and Joseph were preparing even now to murder us in the dark, perhaps assisted by Smohallie’s devils?),
their no-account general, Uh-Oh Howard, who, being in charge of operations, must bear the blame for Perry’s defeat.
6
Rain, rain, and Blackie fetches coffee-water from the creek; rain, and his corpse-perfumed hand brushes moisture from his nose: I found me this little Indian bag. It sure would be handy to keep our sugar in.
Throw it in the fire. You heard me. No messmate of mine is keeping any squaw trash.
Both of you shut up.
We’re entertaining you.
No you ain’t. I’d rather be playing a game of “base ball” back at Lapwai.
7
Soldier, your blanket is a GODd——n lousy rag.
Yessir.
Why can’t you take care of it?
Well, colonel, they gave me a rotten one.
And you couldn’t be bothered to check it out at Lapwai? Sleep in the rain then.
Yessir.
Run up to Lieutenant Bomus and see if you can wheedle a spare. Don’t let Lieutenant Wilkinson see you visiting. You can say I gave you permission.
I thank you, Colonel Perry.
GODd——ned Leavenworth contractors should be shot—
Yessir.
Men, keep on the lookout.
Yessir,
men coughing and quietly cursing, Blackie’s belly, wrists and shoulderblades clammy with rain and old sweat, his thighs getting cold:
When will this end? This is not my life; and what if I’ll never be alive anymore? I hate these stinking instants and sodden hours—which I lay before Chief Joseph, our enemy,
Doc sitting on a boulder sewing rawhide bindings on the bottoms of his trousers,
and men sleeping in the wet grass.
8
Wood, staring up at the night sky, listens to a falling branch. He pulls his rubber blanket away from his head, then down again. Rain runs down his forehead. Someone is coughing. In Captain Pollock’s tent the other young officers are all singing nigger songs to raise each other’s spirits. Wood likes these men well enough, but it is crowded in there and he would rather be in the rain, which he certainly learned to endure in Alaska. His copper armband feels pleasantly cool. He prays: Dear LORD, I thank You for preserving me from the Battle of White Bird Cañon.
9
Wilkinson, how are you bearing up?
Very well indeed, thanks, general.
Not quite as pleasant as our stroll beneath Arcturus the other night.
Not quite, sir. Just a moment, sir; let me trim the wick—
Much better. Now can you see to take more dictation?
Yessir. To Portland or San Francisco?
Portland, to be telegraphed onward. Please ask General Sherman to send one (1) regiment of infantry for duty in this Department. This force will be needed for permanent occupation.
Yessir.
The Indians throughout the northern and eastern parts of the Department are very restless and uneasy.
Yessir.
Now tell Captain Whipple to come here. I need to quiz him about this country.
Right away, general. And what about Ad Chapman?
O, let him not buzz around me before I’m a carcass! We met enough flies to-day!
10
Having flittered and hovered over Colton’s map with Whipple, until he knows the terrain well enough for to-morrow, and so now waiting Mason’s report on coördinations achieved, the general sits in his tent, on a stool made out of a packing-box overlaid with one of Lizzie’s old curtain-covers which she has fitted to the occasion (the cloth folds up to almost nothing on the march, and it makes him happy to look upon the work of her hands), with Colton’s map from this year outspread before him on another packing-case as he listens to the roar of the Salmon River, remembering GOD’s promise against all heathens: They were as the grass of the field, and as the green herb, as the grass on the housetops, and as corn blasted before it be grown up.
Having overseen his files strike down into the cañon this morning, most of them unflinching, and remembering the expectations of Captain Joceyln, the anxiety of Mr. Croaesdale, and that sad crazed woman whom Joseph violated,
and Joseph’s eyes, not to mention the lightning-blasted streak of grey in Looking-Glass’s hair
(Lizzie must be suffering nightmares),
and the time not long ago when I considered Joseph and Ollicut to be good Indians,
he broods perplexed:
Should I wait upon my second force collecting at Lapwai
—Throckmorton’s, Rodney’s and Morris’s companies of Fourth Artillery, and Burton’s company from Twenty-first Infantry
(our effectives hence practically doubled to four hundred men)—
or immediately pursue Joseph across the Salmon before he can commit more murders? Should I underestimate him a second time, McDowell will write to Sherman—
When should I make a junction with Trimble’s command?
I must say, I like Captain Pollock even better than I remembered. An energetic, straightforward officer. A fine father for Wood, I trust.
LORD, I’m tired!
Dismissing Theller’s specter with no desperate gesture, for he is familiar with many such, he shuts the doorflap, refreshes his arm-stump with carbolic acid, deepens his study of the way that the Little Salmon and the South Fork wriggle down south by southeast into the green and beige and pink blanknesses at the heart of Colton’s map, which was printed just this year
(that’s where Joseph will withdraw, no doubt: precisely into the place we do not know),
opens the flap again, and pleases himself remembering the spring leaves beginning to clothe the skeletal tree-fingers upon the natural dyke of the “Indian carry” where our bygone red men portaged their canoes, Mr. Stinchfield’s rowboat, tied to a pine, swaying across those trees’ reflections; and at the far side of the carry, Androscoggin Lake glows with liquid mist-light. His father, who died when the boy was ten, is smiling at him; just this once they will go fishing.
I wonder if Mother ever got a single holiday with him? O, in their time it was work, work, work! I’m practically ashamed to be so lucky—
What is it now, Mr. Chapman?
I think you got the wrong idea about me, general.
Don’t irritate me.
General, if I didn’t know how to deal with Injuns, I wouldn’t have taken one unto my bosom just like the Good Book says. And maybe you’re not aware of my capabilities. One thing I sure can do—
You sent her back to the reservation, I hear.
Her mother’s passing sick, general—
No doubt.
And, you know, general, I could easily have kept out of this affair, but I volunteered.
That you did. And fired on Joseph when he raised the white flag.
That wasn’t Joseph anyway. It was Wettiwetti Houlis and his no-good bucks—
Not to the point.
I can tell you keep right on suspecting me, general. That ain’t fair.
Mr. Chapman, you can go now.
Yessir.
Wilkinson, what news?
Sir, I have Major Mason’s report—
Thanks. First thing in the morning, you and the major are to detail an escort of twenty men and ride back up toward Norton’s to fetch the artillery wagons. I know you’ll be on guard; Joseph could strike anywhere. Return by the thirtieth at the latest. The citizens are getting frazzled.
Yessir.
Any despatch yet from Captain Trimble?
No, sir.
Now can you take dictation, please?
I’m ready, sir.
On the twenty-sixth we successfully accomplished a reconnaissance into the cañon while Captain Paige with twenty volunteers from Walla Walla traversed the ridgeline, and altho’ the captain has not yet reported in person I am informed by scouts that he has located the hostiles’ position on the far side of the Salmon. After burying our dead, we went into camp—
