Arsenic And Old Books

Andrew told us of the horrors of the battle that took place in early July near Gettysburg, which is in the Union state of Pennsylvania. The carnage, the bloodshed, the noise, the cries of the wounded and dying, he made them all seem much too real to us. I know Father Long was moved by this recital, and by Andrew’s sobs. The horror of it clearly overwhelmed him, and that I could understand, for what he described to us was a veritable Hell upon earth. Andrew had his own horse shot out from under him, but he was able to roll free and thus not be pinned beneath the dying beast. Andrew said he does not really remember what happened next. At some point he found himself away from the battlefield. How he came to be there he cannot, or will not, say, but he turned his back on his men and General Lee and walked away.

Poor Andrew, I thought. I could not imagine the horror of that battle. Simply reading descriptions of it made me sick to my stomach. Gettysburg was truly the stuff of nightmares. I was not surprised that Andrew had walked away from it, but of course I knew his family and his fellow soldiers would not see it that way. I understood Rachel’s reaction, but my sympathy was with Andrew.

I resumed reading although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know much more.

Andrew begged his father for forgiveness. “You cannot imagine the demons that live inside my head,” he said. “All I knew is that I must find my way home again, in hopes the demons would leave my dreams, my every waking thought.”

Father Long could not speak during Andrew’s confession. When Andrew fell to his knees before him, Father Long turned away from him. “No true son of mine would dishonor his name in such a cowardly fashion.” He walked from the room, and Andrew turned to me. I wanted to comfort him, but I did not know how. I too was stunned by his betrayal of his country and of his family, though my tender woman’s heart ached to see my beloved husband brought to such a state.

Old Mr. Long’s reaction to his son’s desertion didn’t surprise me but it certainly saddened me. Dereliction of duty was a serious thing, and I couldn’t approve of desertion in wartime. I did, however, have compassion for Andrew. I understood the stress that drove him to walk away from the hell of war.

I read on. Rachel’s entries after this one confided more of her distress over Andrew’s state of mind and his desertion from the Confederate Army. Mr. Long remained obdurate and refused even to speak to his son. Rachel came up with the idea to tell people that Andrew had been seriously wounded and had come home to convalesce. She also told them he did not want to be seen until such time as he felt he could face his friends and neighbors with composure.

Rachel wrote several times of the nightmares that terrorized her husband and kept her from sleeping through the night. Andrew’s mental state deteriorated, along with his physical condition. Finally, one night when Rachel was sleeping soundly, Andrew slipped out of their bedroom, found some rope, and hanged himself from the rails of the staircase. Mr. Long found him, and the shock caused the stroke that led to his own death only three days later. Rachel was devastated.