Several camp followers came round, bringing water to the men or administering rum to those who were about to have surgery. Between those who had only suffered shallow wounds and those whose death was certain, Caleum waited his turn for treatment.
His comrades who had brought him bandaged his wound themselves with rags they found in the infirmary. They then left to report back to duty — as there was more fighting to be done the next day — leaving Caleum among those other war claimed. He felt fatigue creep through his entire being then, although the pain in his leg kept him from sleeping, as it did almost that whole night through.
As he listened to his fellow soldiers’ moans the only thing that gave him solace was to remove his coat, which was cold with sweat, and stare at the scene of Stonehouses his wife had embroidered into its lining long ago. It comforted him as he saw his uncle and aunt, then wife and child, although all were older in life than in the picture. It was a magical thing Libbie had made, even if her craft could not hold up against the movement of time. Young Rose was five already, and conversing about all she saw around her, and they already had another who was no longer so small. Why their father was gone was hardest for them, but they understood he did something very important and was any day going to return. Staring then at all of them from Stonehouses, even from so long ago, he was filled with all the universe of love. It was this alone that gave him comfort in his pain and allowed him to suffer through that night without succumbing to the well of grief that claimed those who were injured and did not hold on so strongly as he. Through all the hell of that night, it was the only tether that kept him fastened to the world.
He suffered there in the medical hall for four days, as the surgeon let Nature work upon his wound. Each one was a greater agony for Caleum than the one before, and he dreamed feverishly during this time of all manner of things. By the fourth day of the ordeal he could bear it no longer, as his wound had begun to fester and the pain tossed his mind like some small play toy. He saw himself in a dark cavern that last night, descending endlessly.
When he finally reached the end of his descent, Jasper Merian was waiting for his grandson before a massive gate. He took from Caleum his old sword, which the living was at first hesitant to relinquish, and handed him a carved stick to help him walk. He bid Caleum to follow, and led the way through the entrance. They emerged in one of the gigantic rooms of that place, and soon after reached an open field. When they came into the field, there was a great swarm of people, some in the most tortured positions and others very content. Jasper Merian pointed out each group and explained all the men and beasts there to his grandson as the two of them walked along the bank of a river that flowed through the field, dividing it in half. One of the demi-spheres was hung with dark clouds, while sunshine and abundance ruled over the other. It looked to Caleum like one of the scenes from his sword, and he strained to see all he could, and to understand it.
On an island in the center of the river was a great assembly, and Jasper pointed at those gathered there, as they looked back at Caleum with keen interest and longing. His own curiosity was unbearable, and he wanted nothing more than to hear what each had to say, but Jasper would not let him cross over, although from where he stood their voices were just beyond comprehension. Among them were two who needed no explaining, as they looked at Caleum and he at them for a very long time — all wanting speech and communion: Purchase Merian, his father, and beside him his wife, who Caleum knew to be his own mother, though he had not seen her since he was a tiny boy. Each of the others was also either an ancestor or descendant of Caleum himself; Merian explained who each one was who came before him but said little about those who would come after, except to point out how many of them there were and to say some would achieve great things in their day.
How he craved to cross the water then, but Jasper Merian still held him back and began to lead him away from the shores of that river and out of that meadow.
When they reached the gates again, Jasper concluded his conversation with his grandson and bid good-bye to him until it was his time to join them there, and was instantly gone from his side. Caleum, who had been warned to take care, stood straight and marched back through that tableau of misery, until he reached the cavern he had first come down. He began to climb endlessly against those sharp walls, until he was finally back in the air and light of the earth.
He sought to stand then, thinking he had some mission to accomplish, but a brace of men stood over him, holding him down. It took all of them there to keep him from moving, for the agony he felt next filled him with inhuman strength, as the physician began cutting at his fetid wound.
He had felt pain before in his life, but nothing had prepared him for the anguish of that day. He struggled at first against the hands holding him down, but soon had no choice but to relent and bite down upon the musket ball the surgeon placed in his mouth, as he continued cutting away the skin and flesh that had gone bad. When he finished with that, the real pain started, as he took a saw and began to cut through the bone.
After the surgery was done the doctor covered the wound with flour and lint, then wrapped it in cloth to keep it dry, and moved on to the next man down the line. The hands that had been holding him came off; there was no fear of his standing anymore — for that he had not strength to do, or means by which to do so.
He lay upon his cot, with his greatcoat pulled close beneath his chin, but shivered nonetheless, as he could neither find comfort nor stop the coldness that clung to him that night. When he looked at the picture inside his coat he turned his head away, not wanting to see, for sorrow he might glimpse himself from before.
For two weeks he stayed there, healing from the surgery. When they changed the dressing over his stump, at the end of the first week, he was told it was going nicely. He no longer cared. He only wanted to be able to move around again under his own power, and he longed to go away from that place.
By early November he was able to stand at last, and they gave him a pair of crutches to hold himself up with. He wrapped his coat around his shoulders and moved himself out of the tent — for how he did it he no longer considered to be walking.
It was three years since he had first signed up, and his natural term of enlistment would soon be over. He himself counted it done, and that he had fulfilled his terms of service. The tide of war had turned with that fight at Saratoga, and the army had moved on, and he was alone in the world again.
There was one place on earth he belonged to and ought go, and his mind was locked hard upon it. He had in his possession money enough, and this he used now to hire a coach to carry him down to New York City, where he might get a fast boat back to Stonehouses.
two
It was late in the evening when his hired coach finally reached town. The streets were all deserted, and he took his trunk from the driver in the darkened lane, uncertain where he would sleep the night. The coachman had suggested the hotel they were standing in front of, but, looking up at the shabby building, he knew it was not a place for him. He hoisted his trunk over his shoulder, with a rope tied to both ends, and started up Pearl Street on his crutches in the failing light. The weight of the trunk and the unevenness of the paving threatened several times to steal his balance, but he held fast and at last came to an elegant building with a small plaque on its door that seemed suitable. He turned the brass handle, entered the foyer, where a small desk stood on top of an Oriental carpet, and approached the man sitting behind it to request a room. When the proprietor asked how long he would be staying, he answered that he did not know. He only knew it would be until he had concluded his business there in the city. “A week seems right.”