The Storm Before Atlanta Read Free Page B

father’s permission to come join the army?”
    “Not exactly,” said Jeremy.
    “Perhaps you just neglected to mention it to him,” said Lieutenant Tuttle. “Where do we find your pa, Jeremy?”
    “Auburn, New York,” Jeremy admitted miserably.
    Lieutenant Tuttle pursed his lips. “When you say yourfather’s in Auburn, do you mean that he is a guest of the State of New York?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Jeremy. Tarnation! Had he come all this way only to lose his chance?
    “What’s he in for?” asked the lieutenant.
    “Chawed a man’s ear off.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Chawed off his ear. He tole him he was gonna chaw his ear off, and then he chawed. He got six years.”
    Lieutenant Tuttle was beginning to look like he was regretting bringing Jeremy here.
    But the enrolling officer said, “Maybe it can be managed. Been arrested yourself, Jeremy?”
    Worse and worse. But a soldier had to tell the truth. Jeremy took a deep breath. “Only once.”
    “What for?”
    “Fightin’. My regiment against the Geddes Street regiment.”
    “Er, did you fight with guns?”
    “Rocks. Them and us both threw some rocks.”
    Jeremy was the only one who’d gotten caught, and only because he’d stayed to make sure that all the rest of his regiment got away safe, over a board fence and down an alley.
    The two officers were exchanging looks that said they were about to tell Jeremy to go away.
    “They didn’t keep me, though,” Jeremy said. “They let me out next mornin’, on account they said I was too young to be in jail. But I was younger then.”
    “Old enough for jail now, eh?” said Lieutenant Tuttle.
    “Well, now,” said the enrolling officer. “The lad shows a good martial spirit. And he seems honest enough, at any rate.”
    Lieutenant Tuttle gave Jeremy a measuring look, as if he didn’t think he was honest at all.
    “What about your mother, then?” said the enrolling officer.
    “Pa never said nothing about her.”
    “Is she living?”
    “Don’t think so, sir.”
    “Who looks after you, then?”
    “Look after myself, sir.” Jeremy saw he had better steer the officers away from this line of questioning. Telling the officers about Old Silas would land him in a heap more trouble than he needed. “I sell newspapers.”
    “Well, that’s not a bad thing to do,” said the enrolling officer. “Do you want a drummer boy, lieutenant?”
    Lieutenant Tuttle twisted his mouth to one side, thinking.
    “I’m brave, sir,” Jeremy blurted. They didn’t hold with flat-out boasting back in York State, but he could see his chance slipping away and he wouldn’t let it go. “I ain’t scared of nothing. Everybody says so.”
    He thought of adding that he would be perfectly willing to die like the Drummer Boy of Shiloh, bravely calling out to his mother in heaven while soldiers wept aroundhim. But in the noisy train station the idea seemed somehow far-fetched.
    “I guess we’ll give him a try,” said the lieutenant at last. “But mind, boy! There’s no tolerance for misbehavior in the 107th. No tolerance at all.”
    “Thank you, sir!” said Jeremy.
    “Take this, raise your right hand, and read it,” said the enrolling officer. “Can you read?”
    Jeremy didn’t bother to answer that. He’d had over six months of schooling—of course he could read. He raised his right hand, threw his chest out, and read loudly from the card:
    “I, JeremIAH DeGroot”—he gave his first name its full, official pronunciation instead of its down-home one—“do solemnly swear that I will bear true allegiance to the United States of America, and that I will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies and opposers whatsoever, and observe and obey the orders of the”—he took a deep breath and read the next words extra loud—“
president of the United States
! And the orders of the officers appointed over me according to the rules and articles for the government of the armies of the United