Boys of Wartime: Will at the Battle of Gettysburg Read Online Free PDF Page A

what we do with abolitionists, don’t you, boy?” he asked.
    I couldn’t answer. I waited for the shot that would end my life. All the noise around me stopped. My eyes were locked on his face—on the hatred in it. The Courthouse clock struck the four o’clock hour.
    I closed my eyes. Every muscle in my body froze up. I couldn’t even swallow.
    â€œBe extra careful,” Mother had said. It pained me to think that her last memory of me would be one of me disobeying. Tears began to leak out of my eyes.
    â€œI’ll take him, Cap’n,” a voice said. It was liquid, Southern, and high like a boy’s.
    The boot pressure lifted a bit, but Joe was still ready to stomp the life out of me, or shoot me, or both. His musket still held my head to the ground.
    â€œI’ll take him to the Courthouse over yonder,” the voice said. It was nearer now. “With the other prisoners. They’ll make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”
    The speaker came into my range of vision. It was the drummer I had seen earlier, the one with more holes than trousers.
    â€œWho are you?” Captain Joe demanded.
    I was relieved to have Joe’s anger directed at someone else, even for a second. My muscles thawed enough to start trembling.
    â€œAbel Hoke, Tenth Tennessee,” he replied with a nod. He waved in the direction of the Negroes. “You keep ’em rounded up here. I’ll take the boy to the Courthouse.”
    Joe’s eyes flicked from the drummer to me and back to the drummer. His men waited to see what he would do.
    Abel Hoke took another step forward and talked so quietly that only Joe and I could hear him. “We’re under orders not to hurt the civilians,” he said calmly. “I’ll take him to the Courthouse. They’ll keep him there with the prisoners.”
    Joe took his boot off my chest and gave me a kick in the ribs. “You cost me three slaves, boy,” he spat.
    I sat up, wiping the tears off my cheeks with shaking hands. The drummer stuck his hand out to pull me up, but I ignored him. I half expected Joe to change his mind and shoot me.
    I guess the drummer did, too. He stepped between Joe and me and grabbed my arm.
    â€œC’mon now,” he said sternly, pulling me to my feet.
    I glared at him. I hated to be crying in front of the enemy. I hated it even more that a Rebel had saved my life.
    We took a few steps, and I did my best to calm myself. I took big, shaky breaths until the urge to weep went away.
    As soon as we were out of Joe’s sight, I yanked my arm out of the drummer’s grip. He paid me no mind, simply stuck out his hand, like he was introducing himself in church or some such thing.
    â€œAbel Hoke from Tennessee,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    Fighting for the Cause
    P leased to make your acquaintance? Was this Rebel drummer trying to make friends? I stared at his hand until he dropped it.
    â€œDon’t you worry none. I’m not taking you to the Courthouse,” he said, nodding. “That captain looked like a mean one. It was the only thing I could think of to get you away.”
    He was helping me? “Are you a Rebel?” I asked.
    â€œA loyal Southerner.” He nodded again. “Fighting for the cause.”
    I soon learned that he ended almost every sentence with a sharp nod, as if he was verifying the truth of his statements.
    â€œFighting for slavery, you mean,” I corrected.
    â€œMy people don’t own slaves,” he said. “I’d set every last one of them free if I could.”
    I scratched my head, even more mystified. “Then what are you fighting for?”
    â€œFor the South,” he said simply. “The North can’t come into our land and tell us what’s what,” he said. “The South gets to decide things its own self. We don’t need to be told what to do by no