Red and Blue on a Field of White.

The man laid in the middle of the field. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the grass was lush and green. It occurred to him that exactly eight years before he had lain in another field, that one filled with corn. He had smelled the fresh, clean scent of life exploding around him. He had heard the rustling of the stocks. He had fairly seen the corn growing. Knee high by the fourth of July.

Actually the fourth had fallen on the sabbath that year, so they celebrated the day before. Laying there he had heard the celebratory explosions and cheering. Had he stood up he could have seen the flag waving atop the courthouse. Now, laying in the open field he again heard explosions and cheering. If he looked he would see the same flag waving. The fourth fell on the sabbath again this year, which was just as well. There would be little celebrating on the morrow in any case. He could see black storm clouds on the horizon. Closer to he could see white clouds of acrid, choking powder smoke. The year was 1863, and this was Gettysburg.

He remembered another fourth of July three years ago. Their Congressman had stood on the courthouse steps speaking to nearly every man in the county. "This war will not be about black slavery," he had said. "It will be about white slavery. Are the people of Virginia be subject to the whim of Strangers from far away who know nothing of the local needs and rescources? Remember the words of our own Patrick Henery. Is peace so sweet and life so dear as to be bought at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!"

He remembered another field seven months before. Usually armies sat in camp over the winter months, but apparently the Federal commander had been under pressure to do something. On that occasion he had stood with his felow soldiers atop Maryes Heights looking down on the snow covered field. It had snowed the night before the ill concieved Federal attack on the heights Looking down he was struck by the image of blue clad bodies and red pools of blood on the snow white field. It reminded him of the flag. Strangely enough it was the flag of the enemy he was reminded of, but also the flag he had lived under most of his life. He thought of the words that Francis Scott Key had written less than forty years before. Oh say, does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave? He whispered, "No."

Actually two flags now waved. The Stars and Stripes and the newer Stars and Bars. Looking down at the body strewn field he had felt an overwhelming weariness. The two flags were so similar as to be regularly mistaken the one for the other. The soldiers were identical except for their uniforms. When he thought of it Washington was almost as close to Maryes Hights as Richmond. He was no longer sure there was anything that made this terrible war worth the cost. Now the situation had reversed itself. Now he laid on the body strewn field and the Federals occupied the heights. As his sight began to dim he could hear them chanting, "Fredricksburg, Fredricksburg."