soldier food, and he was a soldier, and proud to be eating like one. The song about the Drummer Boy of Shiloh had never mentioned the courage that was needed to face camp food. Jeremy wondered what Charlie had to eat, over on the other side. Probably nothing near as good as this. Thinking of Charlie, Jeremy tried hard to take a sip of the coffee that was offered him, letting it slide back between his molars in hopes of getting it to his throat without having to pass the bitter taste over his tongue. It was no good. He just didn’t like the stuff. It was his biggest failing as a soldier, he felt.
After dinner he sharpened the surgeon’s instruments. This was good because it drove Lars away.
“I can’t listen to another second of that,” said Lars. “Aren’t they sharp enough yet?”
“Nope,” said Jeremy, pleased to have found a way to really annoy Lars. “They gotta be really sharp. Surgeon’s gotta be able to slice in quick-like. And the saws …”
But Lars gave a grunt and was out of the trench and away.
“Aren’t you supposed to be to the rear?” No-Joke said suddenly. This was the thing about No-Joke. He was perfectly capable of defending Jeremy to Lars and then lighting into Jeremy on his own account.
“Nope. S’posed to be up here, ready to drum out the officers’ orders during the battle,” said Jeremy.
“I thought drummer boys were supposed to be stretcher bearers.”
“Not anymore. Ambulance corps are stretcher bearers now.” Jeremy was sure that No-Joke knew this, and was just being annoying.
No-Joke grunted and took his Bible out of his shirt pocket and began reading it.
From a rifle pit farther down came the sound of other men in the regiment singing:
Just before the battle, Mother
,
I am thinking most of you
,
While upon the field we’re watching
,
With the enemy in view
.
Comrades brave are round me lying
,
Filled with thoughts of home and God
,
For well they know that on the morrow
Some will sleep beneath the sod
.
“I hate that song,” said Jack. “What idiot made up that song?”
Dr. Flood came himself to get his weapons—his instruments, Jeremy corrected himself.
“You sharpen a good saw, Jeremy,” said the surgeon. “I haven’t had such an edge on my blades since my assistant mustered out two months ago.”
The next morning began with the sound of guns, not birds, and then cannons. The woods shook with cannonfire, and the 107th New York stayed in the trenches. The firing went on and on, and no orders came. Jeremy wavered between being very excited and very bored. Would they never get into the battle? It was all around them, to their left and right, ahead of them … miles of battle. Behind them on the hilltops the artillery boomed again and again, firing over the heads of the infantry into the enemy ranks beyond.
“Are they never going to let us into the battle at all?” said Jeremy.
“Oh, shut your bazoo, Little Drummer Boy. Go find some more saws to sharpen.”
“We’re being held in reserve, and we like it like that,” said Nicholas.
“Don’t worry. When the front regiments are all shot to pieces, they’ll call us in.”
Jeremy knew he shouldn’t be eager for the battle if other people had to be shot to pieces first for him to get in. But he
was
. He wanted to get it over with. He wanted to see the elephant and to find out that he wasn’t afraid. He had always been tough. He knew he was brave; he wasn’t scared to walk on roofs or jump off the fifth-highest branch of the tree into the swimming hole back home. But going into battle was different, and deep inside of him was a terror that he might run away, and then have to be shot for desertion.
Finally, in the afternoon, the regiment was ordered to fall in. Jeremy and his messmates climbed out of their riflepit and joined the other men of the 107th New York, forming ranks. Jeremy beat his drum, at least to start off with. Then they were moving, up a steep hill and through entangling pine
After dinner he sharpened the surgeon’s instruments. This was good because it drove Lars away.
“I can’t listen to another second of that,” said Lars. “Aren’t they sharp enough yet?”
“Nope,” said Jeremy, pleased to have found a way to really annoy Lars. “They gotta be really sharp. Surgeon’s gotta be able to slice in quick-like. And the saws …”
But Lars gave a grunt and was out of the trench and away.
“Aren’t you supposed to be to the rear?” No-Joke said suddenly. This was the thing about No-Joke. He was perfectly capable of defending Jeremy to Lars and then lighting into Jeremy on his own account.
“Nope. S’posed to be up here, ready to drum out the officers’ orders during the battle,” said Jeremy.
“I thought drummer boys were supposed to be stretcher bearers.”
“Not anymore. Ambulance corps are stretcher bearers now.” Jeremy was sure that No-Joke knew this, and was just being annoying.
No-Joke grunted and took his Bible out of his shirt pocket and began reading it.
From a rifle pit farther down came the sound of other men in the regiment singing:
Just before the battle, Mother
,
I am thinking most of you
,
While upon the field we’re watching
,
With the enemy in view
.
Comrades brave are round me lying
,
Filled with thoughts of home and God
,
For well they know that on the morrow
Some will sleep beneath the sod
.
“I hate that song,” said Jack. “What idiot made up that song?”
Dr. Flood came himself to get his weapons—his instruments, Jeremy corrected himself.
“You sharpen a good saw, Jeremy,” said the surgeon. “I haven’t had such an edge on my blades since my assistant mustered out two months ago.”
The next morning began with the sound of guns, not birds, and then cannons. The woods shook with cannonfire, and the 107th New York stayed in the trenches. The firing went on and on, and no orders came. Jeremy wavered between being very excited and very bored. Would they never get into the battle? It was all around them, to their left and right, ahead of them … miles of battle. Behind them on the hilltops the artillery boomed again and again, firing over the heads of the infantry into the enemy ranks beyond.
“Are they never going to let us into the battle at all?” said Jeremy.
“Oh, shut your bazoo, Little Drummer Boy. Go find some more saws to sharpen.”
“We’re being held in reserve, and we like it like that,” said Nicholas.
“Don’t worry. When the front regiments are all shot to pieces, they’ll call us in.”
Jeremy knew he shouldn’t be eager for the battle if other people had to be shot to pieces first for him to get in. But he
was
. He wanted to get it over with. He wanted to see the elephant and to find out that he wasn’t afraid. He had always been tough. He knew he was brave; he wasn’t scared to walk on roofs or jump off the fifth-highest branch of the tree into the swimming hole back home. But going into battle was different, and deep inside of him was a terror that he might run away, and then have to be shot for desertion.
Finally, in the afternoon, the regiment was ordered to fall in. Jeremy and his messmates climbed out of their riflepit and joined the other men of the 107th New York, forming ranks. Jeremy beat his drum, at least to start off with. Then they were moving, up a steep hill and through entangling pine
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