United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories
The tanned veterans didn't mind the marching. They stretched their legs
and went swinging along with a happy-go-lucky air, always ready for
anything that might turn up. But it was rough on the new troops, just
from home. It taxed their locomotive powers to the utmost limit.
The boys of the 200th Ind. started out bravely. Their fresh, clean
faces, new uniforms, and shiny accouterments contrasted strongly with
those of the weather-beaten soldiers of '61. You could tell a
"tenderfoot" as far as you could see him.
They trudged along in fair shape for an hour or two. Before starting in
the morning strict orders had been read to the regiment forbidding
straggling, for any reason, under the most terrifying pains and
penalties.
"Them fellers that's been in the service longer 'n we have think they're
smart," said Si Klegg, as he and Shorty plodded on, both already a
little blown. "Well show 'em that we can hoof it jest as fast as they
can, and jest as fur in a day!"
"Seems to me we're git'n over the ground party lively to-day," replied
Shorty, who was in a grumbling mood. "Wonder if the Gin'ral thinks we're
bosses! I'm a little short o' wind, and these pesky gunboats are
scrapin' the bark off'n my feet; but I'll keep up or bust."
Though e spirit of these young patriots was willing, the flesh was weak.
It wasn't long till Si began to limp. Now and then a groan escaped his
lips as a fresh blister "broke." But Si clinched his teeth, humped his
back to ease his shoulders from the weight of his knapsack, screwed up
his courage, and tramped on over the stony pike. He thought the
breathing spells were very short and a long way apart.
Si's knapsack had experienced the universal shrinkage, as told in a
previous chapter of our hero's martial career. He still had, however, a
good many things that he thought he couldn't spare, but which he found
later he could very well get along without.
By noon the 200th began to show signs of going to pieces. The column
stretched out longer and longer, like a piece of India-rubber. The ranks
looked thin and ragged. Lame and foot-sore, with wo-begone faces, their
bodies aching in every bone and tendon, and overcome with a weariness
that no one can realize unless he has "been there," the men dropped out
one by one and threw themselves into the fence-corners to rest. The
officers stormed and drew their swords in vain. Nature—that is, the
nature of a new soldier—could endure no more. The ambulances were filled
to their utmost, but these would not hold a twentieth part of the
crippled and suffering men.
"How're ye gittin' on, Shorty?" said Si, as he and his comrade still
struggled along.
"Fair to middlin'," replied Shorty. "I'm goin' to try and pull through!"
"I thought I could," said Si, "but I'm 'bout played out! I am, fer a
fact! I guess ef I rest a bit I'll be able to ketch up after a while."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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