part 1 chapter

20

m ary’s letter about sukie and her question about how those who owned slaves

could consider themselves christians tormented me with self-doubt. what about those of us who

were killing men to preserve slavery? i wasn’t the kind of christian that my parents were, and

maybe wasn’t one at all. but i did believe in the same principles. six months after her letter, the

issue rose to such a boil that i could no longer escape it. it was just a few days before

gettysburg.

at the end of june 1863, general lee had led so many of us across the maryland line into

pennsylvania that it took three days for troops to pass through a single small town. those of us

in the infantry were the last to file through, and by that time, fearful locals were wearied of the

sight and no longer stood in their yards to gawk.

after setting up camp, our company and several others were ordered to capture every edible

farm critter from miles around. hundreds of us chased about in fields, pursuing panicked

turkeys, ducks, and chickens in all directions. the promise of regular food put everyone in high

spirits. squawks, gobbles, quacks, and hisses filled the air. as i was grabbing for an elusive hen

trembling under a wild rose hedge, i saw zeke approach with a duck under each arm. their

orange feet frantically paddled the air. with a tight grip, he was trying to steer clear of their

snapping bills, but one pinched his forearm. he dropped the duck like a hot coal, and it ran off

until another fellow caught it. feathers clung to our hair, made us sneeze, and carpeted the field

like snow. the creatures’ final destination was an acre so packed with fowl that you couldn’t see

an inch of ground. there they were quickly slaughtered, plucked, and cooked on spits laid over

fires. another field was crowded with wagons piled high with loaves of bread, cheeses, chunks

of corned beef, sides of bacon, crocks of apple butter, barrels of dairy butter, and other edibles

seized from surrounding houses. my stomach was in a state of continuous rumble, anticipating a

real meal for a change.

a few days earlier, general lee had issued a command that was read down through the ranks

until it reached us. during this foray into pennsylvania, we were forbidden to destroy property

as union troops had in the south and were to wage war only against armed men. the last night

of encampment before we reached chambersburg, thanks to beards’ wandering ways, we

learned that very few soldiers intended to obey. men were aching to retaliate for union barbarity

in the south. beards had seen a copy of the richmond times handed around that called for

troops to light a sea of flame in every pennsylvania town. the newspaper claimed even that

punishment wasn’t enough for the theft of over 500,000 slaves, or fifty million dollars’ worth of

investment, since the beginning of the war.

“it’s not just the officers,” beards said. “i heard a lot of angry talk around the campfires.”

he’d rejoined us as we loafed around our fire, enjoying the last bit of goose grease on our

fingers and sucking marrow from leftover bones. “it’s not easy to forgive burning virginia farms

and to forget the danger to our families.”

signs of disobedience became obvious the next day. while the fellows and i were on a hill

chopping fence rails for firewood, i caught sight of a distant cloud of brown dust that seemed to

swirl closer. propping my axe against a tree, i walked toward the road to see who approached.

“where are you going?” beards yelled.

“i’ll be back in a minute.” i waved my hat at him and kept walking. the crack of splitting

wood told me he’d returned to work.

as i waited by the road, the outlines of cavalry soldiers became clearer, and behind them

streamed a line of blacks on foot. most of them were women and children, hands bound loosely

with rope. soldiers with rifles trotted alongside, enforcing order in the lines by screaming curses

and pointing their rifles menacingly. the distant tide of sound now became a buzz of voices.

cries of “mama” and despairing wails assaulted my ears. women with exhausted children

clinging to their backs stirred up the dry road. soldiers clasped toddlers on the front of their

saddles, while sobbing mothers who couldn’t keep pace with the army horses trailed behind.

one black woman passed close where i stood. she carried herself straight-backed as ma and

looked to be about the same age. she was dressed in a crisp calico dress, a white kerchief neatly

knotted around her head. “please, officer, i’m free,” she cried out to a cavalry officer who rode

nearby. his face was like carved stone, and he kept his eyes straight forward as though he was

deaf. “i was born and raised right here in the north, in franklin county!” she cried more loudly.

“oh, lord, this ain’t right! we’re all freed or weren’t never slaves to start with! why are you

taking us?” again, her captive ignored her. she lifted her eyes to the sky and called out, “lord

jesus, how have i failed you, to be punished this way?” her head fell to her chest, and she

moaned inconsolably as she trudged forward.

a soldier mounted on a black horse noticed me standing by the road and waved. “look what

we’ve got here” he called. “as fine a bunch of contraband as you’ll see anywhere.”

“where are you headed?” i hollered back.

“taking ’em to auction across the mason-dixon line. we’ll sell every one of ’em to make up

for what was stole from us. too bad there ain’t so many men amongst them so we’d get a better

price. guess they run off to join the yankees.” he raised his hat in farewell as he rode by. i

forced myself to nod in response.

when he was out of sight, i sank down on the red earth by the side of the road. a powerful

despair blackened my vision on the edges and made me weak. how could this be happening?

how many others would suffer in this way? now that we were no longer fighting to defend

home ground, the evil underbelly of the war’s purpose was inescapable. saliva surged in my

throat, and then i was on my hands and knees disgorging the contents of my gut. i puked until

nothing but bile filled my mouth. through my misery, i could hear the sounds of agony

lingering in the air for what seemed an eternity as the dust cloud disappeared over the next hill.

emptied out, i sat with my head in my hands until i heard footsteps crunch in the dirt behind me.

i looked up and found beards by my side.

“what’s the matter? you’ve been gone for a long time.”

“did you see that?” i asked him.

“just the end of the line. it’s pretty awful, isn’t it?”

i nodded. there were no words for what was going through my head. i guess because i

looked so out of sorts, beards decided to wait with me. he squatted on the ground and joined

my silence. eventually, he picked up a twig and drew lines in the dirt. but i knew that

something momentous had changed for me that afternoon. like the other boys, i’d disliked the

business of soldiering, slogging through rain and bone-numbing cold, the fear that loosened your

gut, and bloody chores on the battlefield when fighting was over. now a biting sense of

revulsion toward the entire confederacy and my own role took hold, stronger even than when

sam died. i choked back another surge of bile. i would disown anything to do with the

confederacy.

but what were my choices? as a deserter, i couldn’t go home, and i’d be executed if i were

caught. i was trapped. i had to stay where i was, but from this day forward, my goals would be

pared down to only one thing, protecting my friends and saving myself. nothing more. i had to

return to my family at war’s end. given the valley’s wreckage, they would need me more than

ever.

“we ought to be heading back now,” beards said. he threw his stick aside and stood up.

i silently got to my feet, brushed the clay from my pants, and slowly followed him to the

fence post where i’d abandoned my axe, never imagining how, in just a few days, my resolve to

return home alive would be sorely tested in the farm fields to the southeast near gettysburg.