"Pa, I've joined the Army."
"I thought you might. I saw the recruiter was in town, and I can see that you've become restless. A man needs some adventure, on occasion. When I was your age, it was quite an adventure just getting here from Philadelphia, with no real road to travel and the threat of hostile Indians. It's all pretty tame now. Adventure requires going a little farther away."
"So, you're not upset?"
"No, I could see it coming. Your brothers are old enough now to take on your chores. Your Ma may worry a bit, but that's what mothers do. I don't know that I think much of this so-called war with Mexico. I think we forced it to happen, but President Polk wants more land, and he sees this as a way to get it."
John found he was very excited. He was going to war! He didn't think he wanted to kill anybody, or have anybody try to kill him. It was the idea that he was going to be part of something really big, something to help the United States of America. That was what that was about.
It wasn't just the war, though. Maybe the war was the smallest part of what he was feeling. He was going out into the world. He was going to see things he'd never seen before. Sarah had called him a hayseed. Well, she was right, if it was meant to be a reflection on his experience. About the farthest he had ever been from home was Altoona, and that was only a couple hour's wagon ride away. Altoona was a big city - well, with maybe 20,000 people living in it, compared to quite a bit fewer than 1,000 at home. But he was going to see Pittsburgh, which someone had said was so big, there were only a dozen bigger cities in the whole United States. Now, that was too hard to even imagine. He was also going to see the mighty Mississippi River, and New Orleans, and the ocean. He was going to see Mexico - someplace not even in the United States. How could he possibly handle all those experiences at one time?
A week later, John said his goodbyes, and was on his way West. He hadn't had to wait a minute for his first big surprise. When he had thought about going to Pittsburgh, he had pictured a long overland ride in a horse-drawn wagon of some sort. Instead, he had pretty much just walked out his door, and climbed onto a canal boat that would take him to Altoona. Well, canals were no surprise. He'd known this particular one his whole life, as it paralleled the Juniata River, as it flowed past Williamsburg. He knew that canals could take boats up and down over terrain that wasn't completely level - John's Pa had managed the locks at Yellow Springs, before the family moved upriver. He knew he could get to Altoona on a canal boat, although he'd never done it. But what he was pretty sure of was that canals couldn't climb over mountains. He was also pretty sure that there was a rather significant mountain between Altoona and Pittsburgh. It was called the Alleghenies. John mentioned that to his father. Pa laughed, and said wait and see. He said John would be surprised.
John waited. He saw, and he was surprised. When the canal reached the base of the mountains beyond Altoona, the boats and passengers were loaded on train cars, that were then pulled up the mountain grades by machines or horses. It took five lifts to get up the east side of the mountains, then five more to get down the west side. At the western end, the boats were put back into the waters of a canal that took them into Pittsburgh. Ingenious, John thought. Someone told him that, prior to the canals and railroad lift, it took three weeks to travel from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. Now, the trip could be done in four days.
With a population approaching 50,000 people, Pittsburgh was certainly big. He didn't get to find out much more because, as soon as he and the other recruits had been officially inducted into the Army, they were put on a steamship headed down the Ohio River to meet the Mississippi. Another steamer took them down the amazingly wide Mississippi River to New Orleans. New Orleans made Pittsburgh seem small but, again, there wasn't time to see much. Soon, they were on the steamship "Florida," headed across the wide expanse of the Gulf of Mexico to Veracruz.
The surprises kept coming. From art work and books and what people said, he expected the ocean to always be energetically busy - breakers rolling in, waves crashing on rugged shores. As they crossed the Gulf of Mexico, the water was as placid as in a bathtub. Also, the water was as warm as his Friday night bath water. He was told that the Gulf could be wild and stormy - enough so that boats couldn't land or leave ports for a week at a time. The warmth was, however, pretty constant throughout the year.
The beaches of Veracruz looked beautiful - well, what he could see of them, under the thousands of soldiers and tons of military equipment covering their surfaces for miles. There was little time wasted getting organized, and on September 1, 1847, they were marching to Puebla, enroute to storming Mexico City.
They soon left the fresh breezes of the Gulf, and marched forward into increasing heat and humidity. John didn't like the closeness and density of the tropical vegetation. He felt sick and drained, and then he felt nothing.
***
They reached Janesville before 3:30, and John was alert enough to direct Clement to the McCoy house. When they arrived, Clement pounded on the front door, and eventually a sleepy young man appeared.
"This the McCoy house? I got a wounded man for you."
John remembered very little of the next hours. Someone helped get him out of the wagon, and into the house. He thought it was Anna, his wife, hovering around him, and at least two of their children were there. He learned later that Clement had helped get him onto his bed, then departed immediately - without even identifying himself - to try to get home before his neighbors woke up and began questioning his nighttime peregrinations.
John was semi-awake, when the doctor arrived - having been summoned by one of the McCoy boys. He was checked over in detail, before the doctor let Anna remove his ruined clothing and wash carefully around the wound.
"Will he die?" Anna asked, finally.
The doctor patted her hand. "No worry about that, Anna. It was a clean shot. It didn't leave much residue, and blood loss seems to have been minimal. Obviously, it's been a day or two since the shooting. With no care in that time, we need to be a little concerned about infection. Also, there is some obvious muscle damage that could affect the use of his arm in the future.
"Well, I wish we had a better place to take care of him, but this will have to do. In his condition, we can't get him to a hospital."
***
Obviously, John was in a hospital, with a dozen beds holding men like himself, and several nurses in white, in attendance. One saw he was awake, and came over to him.
"You are awake. Good. How do you feel?"
Clearly, she was Mexican, which made John wonder what this place was. "I feel very weak, but not too poorly."
She reached, and put her hand on his forehead. "You have a little fever, but not too strong. That's an improvement."
"You speak very good English," he commented.
She gave him a little smile. "At this time and in this place, it is good to be able to talk to everyone."
That was what he wanted to know. "What is this place?"
"Perote."
"What is Perote?"
That confused her. She shrugged. "Perote is Perote."
He smiled at her. "I guess I didn't ask that very well. Are we close to Mexico City?"
"Yes. Two or three days march."
"So, our troops must be getting prepared to make the assault soon."
She was confused, again. "It is done. You Americans captured Chapultepec a week ago. I think this war must be nearly over, now."
John was stunned, like he'd been hit by something. "Over? How can it be over?"
The nurse shrugged.
There had to be more to say. "How long have I been here?"
She thought. "Three - nearly four - weeks."
That couldn't be! "Have I been unconscious the whole time?"
She wiggled her hand. "In and out, sometimes awake, but not for long. Not like now."
"What's wrong with me?"
The nurse hesitated. "Fiebre amarilla - yellow fever. Malaria. We have several similar diseases. The doctor is not sure in your case, but he suspects malaria, because it is the most likely to cause unconsciousness."
John felt overwhelmed with depression. "What happens to me, now?"
"I think your army will soon send you home. You may have the fever for some time, but we will have done all we can for you."
Men in fresh military outfits appeared later in the day. "Glad to see you awake, soldier. You've been gone a long time."
"Is it true that the war is over?"
The soldier laughed. "Well, not completely, but I think pretty much so. As soon as we took Chapultepec, the City was pretty much ours. God, it was a glorious battle. We poured everything we had into fighting our way up the hill to the Castle, but the outcome was clear. At the end, there were some students defending the Castle who refused to surrender. They killed themselves, by jumping off the walls, or by shooting or stabbing one another. I imagine they'll be remembered in Mexican folk songs in the future. It was an exciting ending!
"Well, the doctors say you are well enough to travel, so we'll probably get you and a couple of others soon, and start you on your way home."
John was too discouraged to even talk to the nurses, after that. On the following day, the soldiers returned. They officially mustered out John and three others, put them on a wagon headed for the coast, and saw them safely onto a steamer bound for New Orleans. Once there, it quickly became clear that the Army claimed no more responsibility for them.
With his military pay in his pocket, and a feverish body, he found a ship to take him up the Mississippi toward home. With increasing irony, he remembered his "plans" to really spend some time, seeing the country, on his way home. To Pittsburgh, then over the mountains to Altoona, he remembered only illness and anguish.
Finally at Altoona, he opted to hitch a ride with a teamster hauling supplies to Williamsburg, rather than arriving by canal boat. Inevitably, the teamster asked him about the war. John told him in glorious detail. He couldn't bring himself to say he had missed it all. The driver was thrilled, and thanked him for his courage.
About a mile from town, John decided he wanted to be on his own two feet when he first saw his family. He thanked the teamster for the ride, and began to walk home. It wasn't long before he saw a familiar figure running toward him, and suddenly Sarah was in his arms.
"For weeks, I've been asking everyone who came to town if they'd seen or heard of you. Finally, someone had!"
She was out of breath, and was holding on to him tightly for some time, before she realized that he wasn't really hugging her. It was more like her embrace was all that was holding him upright.
"Johnny, you're ill!" She helped him walk over to the stone wall beside the road, and they sat together. "What is it?"
He told her of the malaria. Then, because it was Sarah, he poured out his whole tale, from the time he left home until that minute on the road. She was quiet beside him.
"Johnny dear, I'm so sorry. I would do anything to help you, you know."
He did know and, actually, he felt much better, now that he had told her. They sat peacefully together for a while, longer.
Finally, he started to get up. "Well, we better go see the rest of the family."
She held onto his sleeve. "Wait, Johnny. I rushed out here because I wanted to see you so badly. But I also have something to tell you that I thought you should hear before you got to town."
John was alarmed. "Has someone died?"
"Not that, Johnny, but bad." She paused, to prepare herself. "Margaret is married."
John acted like he didn't understand what she had said. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that Margaret got married, and she and her husband have left the area, apparently to go to Philadelphia."
He still didn't want to understand. "You never liked her," he said, accusingly.
"That isn't true! I don't really know her. From what you've said, she thought of me as just a jealous rival."
"You weren't."
"Don't be so sure of that," she said, before she could stop herself. "Anyway, I admit that I didn't think she cared for you as much as you cared for her. But even life-long best friends can't get involved in affairs of the heart. That had to be between you and her."
"You were my representative. You could have talked to her."
"Johnny, that's nonsense. There's nothing I could have done. She didn't even write you a letter, did she?"
He seemed not to hear her. "I can't go home, now," he said. He got up, turned in the direction he had come, and started walking.
"Johnny, stop, please!"'
He didn't.
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