‘Here, Sir!’ says that serious-faced canalman to my right who has got the same liquor smell as Mr. Lewis back home.
Captain walks up and down the line yelling out names, and that is how I learn that Towhead Boy is Will Eberhart and Leatherskin is called John Morgan and the younger man beside him is his son Frank. Foul Mouth is Hiram Binhimer and his friend Black Eye is Edward Stiles, the two of them making a naughty pair. When Captain calls out ‘Ross Stone,’ there is a long pause and Jeremiah elbows my side before I remember myself. I forget to make my voice deep when I call out, ‘Present, Sir!’ My throat almost closes up to see dainty Mrs. Chalmers staring at me, but Captain keeps on down the line.
When all our names have been called, Mrs. Chalmers takes a small book from her apron and gives it to Captain before she swishes away in her long skirt. He opens it, flipping through the pages.
‘I ain’t ever seen book learning be any help when push comes to shove, but Captain can’t get enough of that manual,’ Ambrose Clark says, his voice thick and slurry.
‘It’s his wife I can’t get enough of,’ Hiram laughs from ahead of us. ‘Don’t know how he found a sweet-assed angel like that, but I’d sure like push to come to shove with her!’
My neck prickles. I want to get farther away from Hiram, but instead I stand tall, pretending not to see Henry’s smug face and the eyebrow he raises at Jeremiah.
‘We move together to keep safe,’ Captain tells us.
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Ambrose says, ‘There ain’t no place safe on a battlefield.’
But Captain don’t hear him, one hand stroking his beard as if he’s ironing it, his eyes pasted to that book in the other hand. Finally he yells, ‘Company H as Skirmishers, by the Left Flank, Take Intervals, March!’
It ain’t a drill we did yesterday, but the other boys turn left so I follow.
We march forward twenty steps more and then Jeremiah whispers at me, ‘Stop right here and face front and then move ten steps to the right!’
I do like he says even though there ain’t no more orders coming from Captain yet and I don’t see how I’m going to get this drill straight, learning after everyone else already did. When I turn, the whole line of our Company is stretched out, some men kneeling and some lying down. I keep standing. I don’t see either how kneeling or making a left flank is going to help when the bullets start flying, but I feel better when everyone is doing the same thing.
Jimmy says, ‘Ross, take cover,’ and he kneels down on the ground so I do too.
And then Captain yells again, ‘Company H, Assemble on the Right Flank!’ and as we stand, Jimmy whispers at me, ‘Go back into fours!’
We keep drilling, going from marching in column to fanning out in line of battle and back again, ’til the ground that started out icy has turned to mud again. We get to where we move in a herd, only we don’t do it smooth on the flick of an ear or the turn of a haunch. After every new order, Captain looks up from his book to see if we’re doing like he said, his ironing hand sliding inside his frock coat.
‘Private Blalock!’ he bellows after he has sent us out ahead of where Company G waits in reserve. Only one man in front of us is standing.
‘Have you forgotten yourself?’ Captain yells. ‘Are you offering yourself as a sacrificial lamb for Company H? Why have you not taken cover? Why are you STILL standing?’
The words ain’t even out of Captain’s mouth and Blalock is down on the ground, but Captain keeps yelling. Jeremiah bumps my elbow.
‘You’ve got to stop that.’
‘Stop what?’
He points to my hand on my hip. I screw my nose up and stick my tongue out at him, but he just shakes his head real small at me. I see I’ve got to mind what I do without thinking and be like Jimmy standing with his legs spread out, or Henry scratching under his hat and then at places no lady would, or Sully spitting off to one side every time I look over at him.
‘And you can’t run like that,’ Jeremiah scowls while Captain stands over Blalock, yelling something about incompetence, and I guess Captain ain’t the only one I’ve got to worry about watching to see I get things right.
‘Like what?’
‘Bigger steps,’ he says.
When Captain is finally done making an example out of Blalock, he orders us back into line of battle. A man who is older than my Papa and all string and sinew, who I remember being called Thomas Stakely, claps my shoulder as I’m falling back. I jump in my skin.
‘You’re a quick study,’ he says, and I smile to hear it.
That smile don’t last long, though, because then he says, ‘Bet your family is real proud.’