Matthew Phillips was born on June 25, 1843. He lived his entire boyhood in a small cabin on the outskirts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. His father was a politician just like his grandfather, and they both supported the emancipation of slaves, despite the fact that they owned three. Matthew attended a single room schoolhouse in Pennsylvania, where he was not paid much attention and barely passed. When he came home, their house slave helped him learn. Ever since then, Matthew loved Negroes.
When Matthew graduated at the top of his class at fifteen, he was accepted into West Pointe, and he was neither at the top nor the bottom of his class. At seventeen, he met a girl in town named Elizabeth, and they soon fell in love, and were married at eighteen.
His father had never made it to the wedding, not to mention never seeing his son. Matthew’s father, Michael, passed from a combination of tuberculosis and a fall that had broken his leg; infection set in, and by the time Matthew had proposed marriage to Elizabeth, his father was departed.
She bore him a son when he was nineteen. During Elizabeth’s pregnancy, the war was raging, and the North was suffering. Matthew was recruited for the Union army before he could see his son, Josiah. In July of 1863, just after Chancellorsville, Matthew enlisted and was put into the 23rd Pennsylvania Regiment. He fought valiantly, and just a year after enlisting, he was able to join the army of Ulysses S. Grant, seeing his way through some of the most important battles of the war.
This chapter takes place on April 2, 1865. Today is the day where Matthew becomes a key player in the war.
The trumpet call sounded sonorously throughout the entire camp. Matthew Phillips’s head pounded with thoughts like it had every morning for almost two years of the war. Today is the day. Lee will surrender today, and I will see my son. Matthew swung his feet over his bed and sighed to himself, shaking the ridiculous thought from his head.
Matthew’s lieutenant, Charles, tossed a pen and paper at Matthew. “Orders from Unconditional Surrender. He told me to distribute these. Today is said to be a day of battle, and we want to get you home to Liza.” Matthew tried to control his impulse, but a tear slipped out. Charles patted Matthew on the back. “Sorry, Cadet. I’m just trying to be realistic. You know Liza would want you to consider this as strongly as possible.”
Matthew didn’t think about what he said, “Do you think he has my eyes? I mean my son. Do you think my child has my eyes? Liza was with child when I left…”
Charles replied in his raspy voice, “Cadet, you’ll find out soon enough. Just do this for Grant; I’ll make sure you make it home at all costs.”
Matthew nodded and wiped away the tear. “Thank you, sir.” Charles tipped his hat and walked out. Matthew scribbled down his name and address like he had had to do every day of this war. He taped the paper onto his chest and leaned down to strap on his boots when he caught the glimpse of his box.
A box was the only thing a soldier had to remind him of home. Although Matthew only had a few drawings and a couple letters, the box meant the world to him. Liza had sent him a love letter and a drawing of their son once just after he was born, and it was only letter he had received in the entirety of the two years. Liza had never been able to find where to send the letter, so she hadn’t sent one for a year. The other letter and drawings came from when he was in basic training and Liza had written him a letter just after they had started courting. These were the mementos of his life, and they were now the only things that kept him alive.
Now Matthew had written letters and stored them in the box to give to Liza when he got home. They all told of important days of the war and days when he had been thinking specifically of Liza. Matthew looked from the pen to the box, and pulled out a spare sheet of paper, pouring out his soul.
Dear Love,
I cannot wait to arrive home. Today, Lieutenant Charles told me that it will be a big battle. If I am without the ability to return and see you, I will leave you with these words. I love you, My Sweet. Tell Josiah that his father died a brave man, and make sure he knows I loved him. I will make it home to you though, Love. This shall be simply a net for if I am being a naïve fool. I will probably make it home in a matter of months, just to see you and my darling son. Good night My Sweet, as good bye means forever.
Matthew
Matthew stored the letter underneath his bed in the box and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding. His brain and heart were hundreds of miles away with his wife and son, but Matthew was able to drag himself into camp, where everyone was already going through morning drills.
A trumpet blared and everyone fell into lines as the band played The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Grant followed just after the last drummer boy with his serious expression on his face. Everyone knew Grant enjoyed the tunes, but when battle day came, nothing could remove his grim expression.
“At ease, Cadets. Cadet Phillips, you will be acting as our Scout today. You will go see how Lee and his troops are holding out.” Matthew opened his mouth, but it snapped quickly shot. “Problem Cadet?” Matthew shook his head vigorously. “I thought not. Charles, you go with him. The rest of you, back to training.”
Charles and Matthew exchanged a nervous look. Charles was a fifty year old man, and had already lived as much as he had wanted; he lived for wars, and had had enough fighting to die, as he said. But that didn’t make Matthew any less sad about being willing to sacrifice his friend. Throughout the war, Charles had helped the stumbling young boy get his footing beneath him. If Charles had not been there to assist Matthew in training, Matthew feared how many times he would have been dead.
“Ready to go, ole boy?” Charles asked Matthew as he selected a horse and mounted it. “Don’t look so sad. We’ll be back in an hour; you have nothing to worry about. Let’s check up on the losers. Grab a rain jacket, too. I feel it coming.”
Matthew nodded. He never understood it, but Charles could predict the rain. He had always had a sense of it, and at first it scared Matthew, but it had become something of value. Charles simply explained it by saying that he was “one with the rain.”
As Matthew mounted his horse, it even seemed to neigh sympathetically. The sun rose slowly above the clouds and Matthew savored every moment of it. Enjoy, it may be your last.
******
Matthew and Charles tied their horses to two trees. “Best make the trip by foot from here on. Follow me, Matthew, and have your weapon at the ready.”
Matthew did as he was told, holding the weapon with shaky hands. Every other day, he would have been fine. Any other day, Matthew would have gladly followed his fellow soldiers into war, but today Matthew had a bad feeling that something was going to happen.
Charles rounded a tree and saw two Confederate soldiers standing in a clearing. “Matthew,” Charles whispered, clapping his hand onto Matthew’s shoulder, “if it comes down to it, leave me. You have children and a wife. All I have is the bottle, and I’m nearing the end anyway. Matthew, I respect you, and I want you to know that you’re like a son to me.”
Matthew felt the greatest urge to hug his lieutenant, but he knew it would be inappropriate considering the time. Charles gave the same nod to Matthew and counted down. 3… 2… 1…
Charles and Matthew charged from behind the bushes and ambushed the two soldiers. Before they knew what had happened, both of the soldiers were bleeding out on the ground.
More soldiers came into the clearing from somewhere yet to be determined by Matthew. He and Charles began shooting them down left and right, and before they knew it, they had run out of ammo. “Grab their guns!” Charles commanded, running to take the guns of dead soldiers.
Matthew followed suit, and once again began shooting with the guns of the fallen. All of the soldiers were either dead or had run away and everything was silent. Matthew recognized the faint sound of a horse trot, and he asked Charles, “Do you hear that?”
The galloping got louder, and they knew it was coming closer. Suddenly, the noise became thunderous, and Robert E. Lee was in the clearing, with troops visible behind him. “Look here, boys, we got ourselves a couple of Union soldiers. Let’s get ‘em.”
Enveloped by the urge to run, Matthew barely noticed the frozen look on Charles’s face. Never had Charles frozen in combat, but never had they been confronted by a group so large.
“Charles!” Matthew shouted, wrapping his arm around Charles and pulling him. Matthew was on the brink of tears, trying to get his fellow soldier, his best friend, out from open fire. “Charles!” Matthew screamed again, attempting to pick Charles up now. Anything would do as long as they could escape and get out alive.
Matthew looked up and saw a bullet coming straight for him. He too froze under pressure, no longer able to move. Time slowed down; it was as if Matthew could watch the bullet coming straight for him.
Closing his eyes slightly, Matthew could see his whole life. He remembered all of the times his father had left him out to dry. It was part of the reason Matthew had entered West Point; his father was never there for him, and Matthew wanted to be taught by someone. He hadn’t learned how to be a man; that was until he joined the army and met his superiors. Matthew realized it had been more than seven seconds and he decided to look around.
By the time Matthew had opened his eyes, the bullet had disappeared. The bullet was gone, and all of the soldiers rode off on their horses. What had happened? Matthew looked down and saw it. His friend Charles’s torso was gushing blood.
“Matthew,” Charles’s voice came as barely a whisper as Matthew fell to his knees. “You leave me here, boy. Ride back to Grant and tell him what happened here. If you hurry, it’s about a fifteen minute ride. Maybe Grant can stop him. Leave me, Matthew.” Matthew’s face turned and Charles noticed. “I am one with the rain.”
Matthew couldn’t move. He sat on the ground with Charles’s head in his lap, immobilized. He wanted to throw a tantrum like a young child. No! It’s not fair! Why did Charles have to die? Charles grabbed Matthew’s hand and a tear rolled down Mathew’s cheek. It was in this moment that Matthew had an epiphany and told it to Charles, “Charles, I love you like a father.”
Charles’s last words were whispered into the breeze. “I love you, too.”
In this moment, Matthew noticed everything. The dead bodies around him began to make Charles feel anonymous. He cannot just be an unknown, Matthew swore to himself, cradling his fallen father-figure in his arms. Charles’s blood coated Matthew’s shaking hands; he rubbed them on the ground asking himself, why won’t it come off? Everything for Matthew had become dull and grey. He remembered the rain that Charles has foretold as a drop hit Charles’s forehead. The blood was washed from Charles body, which to Matthew made the tragedy even sadder. Why did it have to look like the Charles who was always so happy in life, was just suddenly dead? On the other hand, it was good. No one should see Charles as less than the perfect person he always was.
Matthew could hear the thumping of horses behind him, and the blare of the trumpet signaled that the noise came from his fellow soldiers. But he didn’t care from whom the noise came. Something had been awakened in Matthew; he felt different like his heart was out of his body. All Matthew could think about was his dead best friend, and the family that waited for him at home.
Matthew arrived home on May 15, 1865. Liza’s parents were with Josiah, so they had a weekend for themselves. That Monday, Matthew saw his son for the first time. He did indeed have Matthew’s eyes, and so did their next daughter that came a year later.
Her name was Lauren Charlotte Phillips, named for his fallen lieutenant, Charles. She was born on April 2nd, 1866. Matthew was glad that for the loss of his best friend, he had been able to find a new life, with which he made a beautiful baby girl. Holding his children, Lauren and Josiah, Matthew knew that the day Charles had been killed; a new man had risen from him. And the man’s name was Matthew Phillips.