mean it.”
Jeremy wished now that he hadn’t started the story. You could tell when Pa had got drunk, because he always came home with a horse that wasn’t his own, and it was always a worse horse than the one he’d left home on, and he was always laborin’ under the misapprehension that it was a better one.
“Sounds like he should’ve got him a better lawyer,” said Charlie.
Just then Jeremy heard voices coming from upstream. “There’s more soldiers coming—on my side,” he said. He realized he was warning Charlie, that he didn’t want him to get caught.
Charlie looked upstream at the trees. The voices came closer, but there were still no soldiers to be seen. Without looking particularly worried about it, he turned and splashed across the creek. When he was across he turned to look back at Jeremy. “We’ll meet up again to trade for that coffee, all right? I’ll find you by the water.”
“What water?” said Jeremy.
“Any water.” Charlie lifted a hand in farewell. “Beena pleasure meetin’ with you, Jeremy. Hope to make your better acquaintance.”
Jeremy was surprised at the polite words and was still trying to think of the correct response as Charlie vanished into the woods on the other side of the creek.
SEVEN
A N ARMY ON THE MARCH GOES ON FOR MILES . M ILES from front to back, miles from one side to the other. General William Tecumseh Sherman entered Georgia with 98,000 soldiers. Ninety-eight thousand soldiers take a long time to pass by, no matter how you spread them out. And then there were wagons, hundreds of them, pulled by six mules each, and a vast herd of cattle, to be eaten as they went along—Jeremy tried not to look them in the eye. There were ambulances, with drivers and stretcher bearers. And there were hundreds of civilians. There were soldiers’ wives, keeping well back because Sherman didn’t allow women, and children hawking cold drinks and fruit to the soldiers. There were sutlers, morticians, and the officers’ servants, most of them contraband, and more contraband, and people who didn’t appear to have any particular reason to follow the army but were just doing it anyway. And then there were dogs, and a pet pig, and some buzzards circling overhead.
An army isn’t an easy thing to hide. But it isn’t an easything to find, either, spread out across the high mountains of northwest Georgia, making its many ways along high, twisting trails and roadways, seething through the mountain passes. The Rebs were somewhere to the east of them, and the two armies sent out scouts to look for each other, trying to predict where the other was going next.
“I don’t reckon Johnny Reb will put up a fight,” said Dave. “We’re not likely to see any fighting till we get to Atlanta, if you want my opinion.”
“Oh, this is just a demonstration,” scoffed Jack. “We’re not going to Atlanta, we’re just out to show the Johnnies our strength, and then we’ll go back to Chattanooga.”
“I hope we don’t go back!” said No-Joke. His eyes shone black in his narrow, hollow-cheeked face. “If we take Atlanta, the Secesh will know we mean business!”
“They already know we mean business,” Lars said. “Hey, Little Drummer Boy, why ain’t you drumming?”
They were on the march, if you could call it that, along the west side of a stony mountain ridge that rose stark and gray above them. There was no point in drumming; the men couldn’t have kept time if they’d wanted to, scrabbling for footholds on the steep hillside. Jeremy wished Lars at perdition.
Once, Dulcie had seen a runaway slave caught by dogs. Her name was Anne, and seven dogs had brought her down, and bitten her again and again—they were trainedto do that. To bite without tearing out the flesh. Dulcie had been five then, and had buried her face in her mother’s skirts to hide from it. They hadn’t let the dogs kill Anne. Instead they’d let the bites heal, then whipped her two hundred lashes in
Jeremy wished now that he hadn’t started the story. You could tell when Pa had got drunk, because he always came home with a horse that wasn’t his own, and it was always a worse horse than the one he’d left home on, and he was always laborin’ under the misapprehension that it was a better one.
“Sounds like he should’ve got him a better lawyer,” said Charlie.
Just then Jeremy heard voices coming from upstream. “There’s more soldiers coming—on my side,” he said. He realized he was warning Charlie, that he didn’t want him to get caught.
Charlie looked upstream at the trees. The voices came closer, but there were still no soldiers to be seen. Without looking particularly worried about it, he turned and splashed across the creek. When he was across he turned to look back at Jeremy. “We’ll meet up again to trade for that coffee, all right? I’ll find you by the water.”
“What water?” said Jeremy.
“Any water.” Charlie lifted a hand in farewell. “Beena pleasure meetin’ with you, Jeremy. Hope to make your better acquaintance.”
Jeremy was surprised at the polite words and was still trying to think of the correct response as Charlie vanished into the woods on the other side of the creek.
SEVEN
A N ARMY ON THE MARCH GOES ON FOR MILES . M ILES from front to back, miles from one side to the other. General William Tecumseh Sherman entered Georgia with 98,000 soldiers. Ninety-eight thousand soldiers take a long time to pass by, no matter how you spread them out. And then there were wagons, hundreds of them, pulled by six mules each, and a vast herd of cattle, to be eaten as they went along—Jeremy tried not to look them in the eye. There were ambulances, with drivers and stretcher bearers. And there were hundreds of civilians. There were soldiers’ wives, keeping well back because Sherman didn’t allow women, and children hawking cold drinks and fruit to the soldiers. There were sutlers, morticians, and the officers’ servants, most of them contraband, and more contraband, and people who didn’t appear to have any particular reason to follow the army but were just doing it anyway. And then there were dogs, and a pet pig, and some buzzards circling overhead.
An army isn’t an easy thing to hide. But it isn’t an easything to find, either, spread out across the high mountains of northwest Georgia, making its many ways along high, twisting trails and roadways, seething through the mountain passes. The Rebs were somewhere to the east of them, and the two armies sent out scouts to look for each other, trying to predict where the other was going next.
“I don’t reckon Johnny Reb will put up a fight,” said Dave. “We’re not likely to see any fighting till we get to Atlanta, if you want my opinion.”
“Oh, this is just a demonstration,” scoffed Jack. “We’re not going to Atlanta, we’re just out to show the Johnnies our strength, and then we’ll go back to Chattanooga.”
“I hope we don’t go back!” said No-Joke. His eyes shone black in his narrow, hollow-cheeked face. “If we take Atlanta, the Secesh will know we mean business!”
“They already know we mean business,” Lars said. “Hey, Little Drummer Boy, why ain’t you drumming?”
They were on the march, if you could call it that, along the west side of a stony mountain ridge that rose stark and gray above them. There was no point in drumming; the men couldn’t have kept time if they’d wanted to, scrabbling for footholds on the steep hillside. Jeremy wished Lars at perdition.
Once, Dulcie had seen a runaway slave caught by dogs. Her name was Anne, and seven dogs had brought her down, and bitten her again and again—they were trainedto do that. To bite without tearing out the flesh. Dulcie had been five then, and had buried her face in her mother’s skirts to hide from it. They hadn’t let the dogs kill Anne. Instead they’d let the bites heal, then whipped her two hundred lashes in
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