March Toward the Thunder Read Online Free PDF Page A

slouch cap on his head. Their military hats were all one size, but since his head was one of the bigger ones, his bonnet fit snug and almost looked sharp. It didn’t come down over his eyes like Merry’s.
    Not that Merry complained. Will Merry was almost as taciturn as Louis himself. The little recruit only uttered a few words now and then—in a gruff tone meant to cover up how high and boyish his normal voice was. But despite his shyness, Merry was the most helpful person in their company—even if he was also physically the weakest. Louis wondered if Merry had some sort of sickness like consumption that made him seem so frail. Though he didn’t have the cough.
    If he’d been looked at close , I doubt he would have gotten into this army .
    Louis shook his head at the thought of the exam he and the others had gotten. The doctor had been more interested in the dime novel he was reading than the men brought before him in rapid succession. Every soldier was supposed to get a complete physical. For Louis and all the rest it checked just three things.
    â€œHold out your hands and take off your shoes.”
    To prove you’ve fingers enough to pull a trigger and two feet for marching.
    â€œStick out your tongue.”
    To make sure you can answer “Yes, sir.”
    Get tapped on your collarbone.
    As to what purpose that tap served, Louis had no idea.
    â€œFit to serve. Next.”
    Louis made sure all four buttons of his sack coat were fastened, strapped on his belt, grabbed his musket, and scrambled out of the tent.
    â€œLine up!”
    And there they stood at attention, him and the nineteen other privates in his section in two ranks. Two corporals in front. Ready for the sergeant to call the roll.
    The first day they’d tried it, they’d looked like a troop of clowns. The clumsy farm boy that Louis thought was named either Ike or Jake fell on his face as he tried to pull on the pants he’d been foolish enough to take off during the night. Kirk had but one shoe. Three of the others were without hats. Louis’s coat was buttoned up wrong and Devlin had his musket upside down. Little Will Merry, who’d had the presence of mind to sleep fully clad, would have been the first to line up if he hadn’t kept tripping on his pants legs.
    Now, after two weeks of constant practice, their whole squad managed the lineup with ease. One after another, men responded smartly to the calling of their names by Corporal Hayes.
    â€œSmith?”
    â€œHere, sir!”
    "O’Day?”
    â€œHere, sir!”
    And that’s a wonder , Louis thought. Over the past week William O’Day had cut himself twice with his own bayonet, almost shot himself in the foot with his rifle, and stumbled at least twice over every stone on the drill field. Bad Luck Bill.
    â€œNolette?”
    â€œHere, sir!”
    â€œWilson?”
    â€œHe-he-here, sir.”
    Shaky, indeed , Louis thought. That was the nickname the company had bestowed upon Kevin Wilson, a nervous, big-bellied Albany boy who often stammered. Joker was taking wagers on which man would be the first to run from battle. The only one with more bets on him than Shaky Wilson was . . .
    â€œBelaney?”
    â€œHere, sir.”
    Only the undertone of a sneer in his voice today.
    â€œKirk?”
    â€œHere, sir!”
    â€œDevlin?”
    â€œHere, sir!”
    â€œDedham?”
    There was a pause. Louis held his breath.
    Jake Dedham was a rail-thin, good-natured farm boy. His lanky frame and the way his reddish blond hair stuck up at all angles from under his cap were the reasons the company settled his nickname the first day they were together.
    â€œScarecrow?” Jake had said with a grin. “Well, I guess that’ll do.”
    Louis had never met anyone as pleased with everything around him.
    â€œSoldierin’,” Scarecrow said to Louis one day as they stood in the mess line, “is a sight easier than