An Unexpected Hero

The sun bore mercilessly down, forcing most creatures into the crevices and shadows cast by nature. Ponds sat dry; streams once swollen with spring rains harbored dust and dormant fragments of moss. Calvin T. Hobbes stared at the stream's bed, dreaming of a refreshing drink to parch his satiable thirst. He crawled into the shade of a large oak and collapsed. The scorching heat and empty canteen had taken a heavy toll and a respite from the running was what he needed. He hoped the mid-day sun had slowed the posse as well. Spies weren't treated well behind enemy lines. He checked the position of the sun and determined to seek out shelter at dusk.

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Calvin's father was a blacksmith and a circuit riding preacher; his mother an expert seamstress. Calvin was only six years old when whispers of the South's secession became the topic around the dinner table. At many evening meals, Calvin and his younger siblings quietly munched on cornbread and beans, while their parents chatted about the rumors and the North's potential response. Living in Ohio, a bastion of the Northern States, the talks of a War Between the States sounded almost ridiculous...until it wasn't.

In April of 1861, the first shots of the Civil War were fired at Fort Sumter. Men from every walk of life enlisted on both sides of the Mason Dixon Line, all believing the War would come to a quick and relatively harmless end. Calvin's father, hampered by arthritis, offered to serve as a chaplain; Calvin volunteered his rifle. Now 16, and a young man, he reported to Camp Dennison, joining Ohio's 11th infantry. Though one of the the youngest enlistees in his regiment, Calvin soon drew the approving eyes of his commanding officers. After a few weeks at Camp Dennison, his unit was attached to Cox's Kanawha Brigade in West Virginia. He saw action at Bull Run Bridge, Battle of South Mountain and Antietam. Members of his company marveled at Calvin's marksmanship and composure on the battlefield. A few months after Antietam, a bullet tore through Calvin's shoulder at Hoover's Gap in Tennessee. Transported to the back of his regiment's line, he convalesced for two months under a field surgeon's watchful care.

Calvin missed the volley lines and hand to hand combat, but knew his shoulder hindered him from performing adequately in battle. He nagged his commanding officers to assign him another position. He was still fairly mobile and his tracking abilities hadn't been hampered. He suggested his regiment assigning him the role of spy. With a nod from his sergeant, Calvin assumed the role of a Federal Scout. His primary duty was to travel ahead of his company and gather intel on the Confederate Army. With rations for a week tucked inside his knapsack, Calvin left his regiment, seeking out the goings on behind enemy lines.

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The barn sported a fresh coat of paint. The red timbers with white trim were welcoming. Calvin had spent the better part of five days watching a small unit of Rebels training for action. After a few hours of morning marching, shooting, and hand to hand combat, they retreated to a shady grove and rested during the heat of the day. Now, this barn welcomed him like an oasis in the middle of a sandy desert. The heat inside might be stifling, but at least there'd be soft straw to bed down on. Calvin waited in the tree line until the the sun hid behind the Western horizon and then slipped inside and found a quiet corner in the loft to rest.

Before drifting off to sleep, Calvin felt eyes boring into him. He eased his revolver from its holster, squinting into the growing darkness all around him. A slight movement to his right drew his attention. He peered into the shadows and made out the silhouette of an owl. The large eyes measured Calvin's threat potential momentarily and then his oval head turned to scan the barn's floor below. Within seconds, the owl spread his substantial wingspan and sailed out of the loft's window into the night, screeching in the darkness. The bird brushed Calvin so closely, he felt the wind from its flapping wings.

Calvin's heart raced. Not only was he startled from the encounter, but everyone knew the barn owl was an omen of bad luck. Some believed they were a portend of death. Calvin closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and wished for sleep. His eyes grew heavy and then there was nothing but restless dreams.

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Calvin licked his dry lips and whispered the word, "Water."

Someone dabbed his mouth with a damp cloth. "Water," he pleaded again.

Calvin's eyes opened for the first time in days. He slowly scanned the dimly lit room. He noted his clothes and other belongings resting on a table. He searched for a friendly face, but his eyes only met strangers. A doctor stood by the bed, exhaustion etched on his face.

"It's Yellow Fever, young man," the doctor said hoarsely, nodding across the room. "Good thing Mr. Lakeweather found you in the barn. Looks like you've turned the corner."

Calvin pushed to one elbow and peeked out the window. There was the barn, the last thing he remembered. Calvin motioned for a glass of water. After a few sips, his dry mouth spoke. "I need to get out of here..."

Mr. Lakeweather motioned for Calvin to stop talking. "I know who you are son. I found a bit of correspondence you were writing to your mother. Don't worry you're safe here."

Calvin laid back down. "But my regiment..."

"It's been taken care of... I sent my son to find your commanding officer two days ago. He's returned with word that you are to stay put until the fever stops and you're able to travel."

Calvin nodded. "How did you find me?"

"The owl."

Calvin turned his head to face Mr. Lakeweather. "The owl?" he rasped.

"That old owl's lived in the barn for a few years. He doesn't leave the barn at night unless he's disturbed...it's the darndest thing I've ever seen. He heads out at dusk and settles back in just before dark. When I heard him scream, I knew something had bothered him. I figured it was an old possum or racoon, but decided to investigate anyway." Mr. Lakeweather paused to apply another cool cloth to Calvin's forehead. "When I climbed in the loft, I found you...unconscious and burning with fever. I sent for Doc and my sons and I got you inside. If I hadn't found you...well, we might not be talking today."

Calvin managed a slight smile. "I'm obliged for your help. And there I thought owls were bad luck."

"Not this time, young man. Now get some rest."

Calvin closed his eyes, words of thanks on his breath..."God, thanks for this family's help...and for that old owl. Amen..."

"Amen," Mr. Lakeweather echoed. He blew out the oil lamp. "And good night."