Travis~ Now it’s April. The war has been going on for a year and there’s no sign of it ending any time soon, even though everyone talks about it. We’re getting so close to the rebels that sometimes at night I can hear them. It’s funny, because we’re supposed to be fighting the rebels, but I know my father’s here somewhere and I don’t want to be fighting him.

Some of the soldiers are getting jittery. We know that we’ll be in a battle soon but we don’t know how soon or how bad it’ll be. Some of them have started writing their names on the inside of their hats and coats so that they can be identified if they’re killed. Tree advises me to do the same, so I write my name and address on a piece of paper and pin it to the inside of my jacket.

We keep marching south. Tramp, tramp, tramp. It’s much warmer now, and the dust we kick up from the road gets in my throat and eyes. We have to pause often to get a drink of water. Some times groups of soldiers break rank and wander off into nearby fields to pick berries. On time some soldiers do that, when they get to the middle of the field and we hear a shot ring out from somewhere on the other side. One soldier collapses like a rag doll. The others stand terrified for a second but then come tearing back through the briars to where we are still marching. There had been a rebel sharpshooter hidden in the trees, waiting for some of us to come along.

We march all day, day after day after day. What with the heat and the dust and the miles and miles of nothing but green southern countryside, I’m already tired of the war even though I haven’t even seen any rebels yet. It’s getting hard for me to keep up with everybody else when we’re marching because my legs are shorter than everybody else’s. My coat’s wool and so are my pants, and wearing wool in the middle of summer makes me feel like an un-sheared sheep.

One particularly hot day we’re marching along this wide, sunny, dusty road and I’m getting hotter by the minute. Some of the soldiers farther ahead start singing:

“Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! the boys are marching,

Cheer up, comrades, they will come,

And beneath the starry flag we shall breath the air again,

Of the free land in our own beloved home!”

  but they soon stop because it’s just too hot to sing. I’m feeling a little sick from guzzling a whole canteen full of water in one gulp. Now my empty canteen’s rattling by my side. As we trudge along the road, the long line of blue-coated soldiers that I’ve been staring at starts to become fuzzy and I get dizzy. My legs stop working. I’m standing there in the middle of the road for a moment, and then the next moment I’m on the ground, crumpled up in the dust. Then I see a bearded soldier standing over me, gathering me up, and carrying me like a baby towards the rest of our regiment. I start kicking, and yell,

“Lemme down, I can walk!”

But he ignores me, and soon I’m too sick and dizzy to struggle anymore. I let him carry me the rest of the way.

I wake up that evening lying on a small cot in a tent. Tree is sitting next to me, watching me anxiously. My coat and hat are hanging on the back of his chair, and without them I feel much cooler and my head is less heavy. As I gulp down water, Tree explains that I must’ve passed out from heat stroke on the march, and even though I’m sort of ashamed of that I’m glad I didn’t have to walk all that way.

“We had to sling you across the back of one of the officer’s horses,” Tree tells me, grinning. “Poor horse nearly passed out, too.”

We are ordered not to sing while marching or while at camp, because there are plenty of other rebels in the area. We soon learn that for ourselves, because late in April we have our first battle.

We know it’s coming soon. The rebels are close by but we can’t tell exactly where. We sit around our campfires, chatting quietly and eating our beans and hardtack. We’re all a lot quieter than usual. There’s no storytelling or jokes, just people talking seriously to each other. It’s so gloomy you’d think everyone is expecting to be killed. When we crawl into our tents to sleep, nobody really sleeps. We’re all just waiting for the morning.

Our first battle is really just a skirmish, but it’s quite enough. There’s more noise than I would ever have thought—shells exploding in every direction, cannons roaring, bullets zipping. I’ve gotten pretty good at handling my rifle, but trying to fire and reload in the middle of a battle when you could be killed any second is ten times harder than just practicing. Tree is right next to me, instructing me while trying to look after his own rifle. On my other side is our regiment’s flag bearer, crouched behind the stone wall with the rest of us. Suddenly he gives a yell and pitches backwards, letting the flag slowly drop. He’s been shot. The only thing I can think of to do is drop my rifle and grab the flag. While two soldiers rush to bring the flag bearer away on a stretcher, there I am holding the flag and a perfect target for any rebel.

Well, I end up being fine. The skirmish lasts only a few hours and then both sides draw back. No one has won. Back at our camp, we are suddenly ravenous and stuff ourselves with food. There have only been a few casualties, and one of them is the flag bearer who is dead.

“Well,” Tree says, “looks like you’re our new flag bearer now. Now listen, Travis. You’ve got the most important job of all of us, understand? If you let that flag drop we’re all done for. Don’t let it drop unless you’re dead or dying.”

I swear I won’t. Not unless I’m dead or dying. I keep that flag very close to me over the next few days, guarding it as if someone’s going to steal it from me. Which is silly, but I feel responsible for it.

Now it’s early May. We’re heading towards Yorktown, Virginia, where McClellan has besieged the rebels. We get there on May 5, but the rebels have slipped away in the night. They’ll be near Williamsburg in the morning. We get ready for our second battle.

Sorry it's so long! 

I'm so sorry, HSG! I've been having issues with my laptop (it's old), and I've hardly been on CB at all this week, and haven't had a chance to post.

Hannah~

The day I got the news, about a year ago, was one of the best and worst things that ever happened to me.

My older brother, Jason, had been injured in a battle. They didn't think he was going to make it, but a nurse treated him around the clock. He eventually had to have his leg taken off, but he survived. He lives with me, at my small house in New York, with his wife, the nurse who treated his leg. Her name is Hope. She has the prettiest blonde hair, and brown eyes, and the happiest smile. We've become best friends since she married Jason.

But I don't get to see her often anymore. What happened to Jason inspired me to be a battelfield nurse. I work on the battlefield, treating soldiers as they are injured. This job has changed me for the better. It's not a fun job. But I've met so many amazing soldiers who are all willing to give their lives for their country. So many of them have died, and I feel like it's my fault for not saving them. 

~~~~~~~

Sorry for the short post- I'm out of time. 

I am going to post really soon!

I am going to post really soon!

What do you expect?

TOP! 

Sam~

The war has been wearing on for well over a year now, somedays l will hear gun shots as l go. l try to avoid all soliders and people in general, but some times l stumble across a battle field, the battle long gone from it. It is like  a hauted place. l will never stay long at those battle fields, but keep moving on. l'm going to Canada. That's where l'll find freedom for sure. There is no reason for me to stay in the States, with the war and all going on, it's not safe for someone like me. l did consider joining the Union army, but l don't like war.

Instead, l slowly wander my way on through the woods and hills, avoiding everyone. You can't trust anyone. This is war. l can tell from the smell of snow in the air that Canada is near, soon l will be away from all of this, soon l will be truely free.

l am winding my way down a muddy road, narrow and rocky. The rocks are sharp through the worn soles of my shoes, l've been going a long way now. Canada is near. Freedom is near. Panting, l lean on a tree to catch my breath for a few moments. And then l hear voices.

l freeze. People. Enemy until proven friend. They sound like soliders, laughing at each other and talking. l can hear their loud footsteps as they tramp along the trail, ever closer to me.

Okay. Stay calm. They probaby wouldn't send you back South. What would anyone from the South being doing this far north anyways? They must be friends, they must be. l try to convince myself of this. It isn't working.

~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps those soliders could be someone's character.  

I AM GOING TO POST TONIGHT. IF I DON'T THEN I'M CRAZY AND A PROCRASTINATOR.

Yay I'm not crazy or a procrastinator!!! Also, thanks for correcting my spelling. 

---

Lucy ~ It's rough out in the field. Every day for several weeks, we've had to stand out in the cold, rain, and heat to practice drumrolls, formations, and drumbeats. It's exhausting and mentally unstabilizing. My muscles usually end up hurting afterwards, and all I wanna do is sleep. 

But I think the hardest part for me is trying to keep my identity a secret. All the boys like to stare and throw pebbles at me. Sometimes the boys get into fights, where they begin punching each other and giving themselves black eyes. 

On the first day of training, we all received a special hat, one that's navy blue with a gold button on each side. It kinda sloops down on the face, and I'm very thankful for it. Now the other boys will stop asking why I always wear a straw hat. I also must make sure my ponytail is never revealed.

Finally, after weeks of vigorous training, it was time to march through. We presented ourselves as we walked through towns and towns. I have to constanly keep up a steady beat, never ceasing. Sometimes whenI sleep at night, I can still hear the music of the drums.

As we stomped through a grassy plain on a very hot and humid day, I had stuck my tongue out like a dog. We were all wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants, and we could never stop to rest. Some of the other boys stared and pointed, but I just ignored them.

Out of the blue, a shot rings out from a field. We all race towards it and see a soldier lying on the ground, not moiving and as I assume, devoid of life. We all gasp as someone puts him on a stretcher.

Surprised, I had never seen a killing before. I stand there for a few seconds before a bigger boy shoves me. "Get a move on--"

"I know!" I exclaim, facing him. I lose it. My voice isn't disguised, and my ponytail gets dislodged. I gasp and quickly tuck it back under my cap. I race off as he loks at me awestruck.

Suddenly, a young soldier, one that looks too young, stops and drops to the ground. Sweat drenches his clothes, and his eyes are droopy.

A bearded man picks him up and flings him over his shoulder. "Heat stroke," he mutters.

The soldier begins to flail weakly. "Lemme down!" he exclaims. "I can walk!" But soon he stops and just slumps down. 

---

On the battlefield, it's even worse. Bullets fly everywhere, and so much dust is kicked up that you can't tell who's enemy or friend. Cannnons blare and everything is deafening. Today's was a short battle, with only one death, the flag waver. But one death is still too many.

I constantly have to beat my drum, as the general orders.

Nobody won, but I know when the war ends, there will be a winner and a loser.

---

Finally, when the small, hours-long fight is done, we all go to celebrate. I ask myself exactly what we're celebrating, but I stay quiet as the soldiers go into a local tavern in a nearby town. Everyone starts to cheer as they make their way in. 

The drummerboys and I are stuck outside, and the general told us to go "play." 

"Hey," says a boy named Ron. "Let's have a horse race."

The others cheer. "Yeah! We can steal some horses and ride through town like bandits!" One of them used two fingers and imitated a gun going off.

I stay quiet. I don't want myself to get into any more trouble.

"Hey Luke," he says, gesturing at me. "Ya don' see very excited. What do ya think?'

I gasped at my name being mentioned. "Um, well, I don't--"

"Ah," says another, waving his hand me disapprovingly. "He's just a sissy. He scared as a girl."

This ignites an anger inside of me. "Girls are not scared!" I exclaim. Just to prove something, I walk right up to the nearest horse, untie it in a split second, jump on its saddled back, and begin prancing it around, doing tricks and fancy stuff.

The boys look at me confusedly, but then they suddenly cheer.

"OH YEAH!" I yell proudly. Big mistake.

My shout spooks the horse, and he goes off running. He jumps over a tall fence, winds through stones and rocks, but suddenly stops at a cluster of trees. I'm thrown off, inertia in motion.

I landed on my arm, and I can here a bone crack. I groan as a sharp pain shoots up. I blearily open my eyes and see a man with dark skin hiding behind a tree. Up ahead, laughing soldiers are coming close.

---

Sorry my post is kind of short. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Annika~ “Annie?”

I spin on my heel, startled, before realizing it’s Jane, my tent mate. With as much of a business like gesture as I can manage, I fold the letter I was clutching with white fingers and set it on my bed, stifling the tears threatening to run down my cheek.

“Where were you?” blunt and to the point, Jane isn’t rude exactly, just brisk. There had been a service held for fallen soldiers that night, a brief interlude to grieve for our loved ones before being once more swept into the endless tide of war. She is the first one back of my three tent mates.

“Oh! Jane, I can’t believe I forgot it was tonight,” I sputter apologetically, I hadn’t forgotten.

“Really.” She shoots me a look but pushes me no further. I like that about Jane, she accepts that we all have a past, a history, and doesn’t let it worry her. She climbs into her side of the tiny camp bed she shares with Connie, and stares at me quietly, meditatively, before turning over and closing her eyes. Following her example, I prepare for bed lost in my own thoughts. I awake in the early morning to a cold drizzly day, and jump out of bed, shaking the other girls. The confederates are close, there will be a battle today.

Sam~

l hear a pounding of hooves and the sharp whinnying of a horse, and then a sickening thud. The laughter of the soliders starts to draw closer, their footsteps coming ever closer. 

"So much of a rider, are you now?" One of them jeers, l'm supposing at the person who was thrown from the horse. They moan, softly, not saying anything. And then a sharp scream, strangely human even though l know that it is a horse, echos around, and then yells and running footsteps. 

l listen for a mintue, hearing only my beating heart and ragged, nervous breath, seeming so loud in the silence. And then l take a deep breath, and step out into the open.

l can see some soliders, facing away from me running off, and a camp, father off, a few people wandering about. 

l relax. No one is going to notice me anytime soon, l'm pretty safe here, dispite being nearly right on top of an army camp.  

l hear soft rustling sounds behind me and nearly jump out of my skin. The solider who was thrown off the horse, whom l have completely forgotten about, has gotten to his feet. He is holding his arm at an akward angle, gingerly trying not to move it too much. 

l don't know what to say, or weather this solider means me ill.  

"Ah, that arm of yours looks like it needs a splint. Infection spreads pretty quickly."

The solider glances down at his arm, as if in an after thought.

"Oh, that." He says, in an odd voice, as if it was someone with a high voice pretending to have a low voice. He seems just as suprised to see me as l am to see him.