March Toward the Thunder Read Online Free PDF

farmin’. I have took to it like a duck to a pond.”
    Day after day, though, at roll call Scarecrow persisted in raising a hand to the sky and declaring in a pleased voice, “Wull, that’s me, for sure!”
    He’d done so with such innocent eagerness that even Sergeant Flynn found it hard not to crack a smile. But it hadn’t kept Flynn from taking corrective measures. Day after day Scarecrow was pulled out of his bunk early by their determined sergeant to practice the proper response.
    Come on! S ay it!
    â€œHere, sir!” Scarecrow piped in.
    Then, in a voice so soft that only Louis could hear it, Scarecrow added under his breath: “Me, for sure.”
    â€œAll present and accounted for,” Corporal Hayes concluded, turning toward Sergeant Flynn. “Even Belaney, sir.”
    Flynn nodded. “Corporal Hayes,” he said in a gentle voice, “would ye be so kind as to run the lads through the drill our own beloved Brigadier General Silas Casey wrote down so well in his Infantry Tactics ?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Corporal Hayes replied, snapping a salute.
    Louis had been taught by his father how to shoot a musket when he was six, but the army’s detailed firing routine had been as foreign to him as the lilting Gaelic language the Irishmen of the brigade sometimes spoke to each other. Now, though, he knew the drill.
    â€œLoad!” Corporal Hayes barked, stepping to the side.
    Louis stood his rifle barrel-up between his feet. His left hand held the muzzle eight inches from his body. His right hand reached into the cartridge box, its brass oval plate stamped U.S., that hung from his belt.
    â€œHandle cartridge!”
    Louis pulled out a paper-wrapped .58-caliber cartridge and stuck the powder end between his teeth.
    â€œTear cartridge!”
    Rip the paper from the end with my teeth. Spit the paper out. Bring the cartridge down in front of the muzzle.
    â€œCharge cartridge!”
    Empty the powder into the barrel . Disengage the minié ball from the paper with my right hand and the first two fingers of my left. Insert the ball, pointed side toward the sky, press it down with my right thumb .
    â€œDraw rammer!”
    Louis grasped the end of the rammer and pulled the long metal rod from its carrying groove by extending his arm. Keeping the back of his hand toward the front, Louis placed the head of the rammer on the minié ball.
    â€œRam cartridge!”
    Louis pressed the ball home, remembering to hold his elbows near his body as he did so. There was a satisfying thunk as the minié ball seated itself against the black powder.
    â€œReturn rammer!”
    Draw the rammer halfway out , Louis said to himself, his hands taking action before his thought. Grasp it near the muzzle with my right hand. Extend my arm to clear the barrel. Turn it, insert it in the carrying groove. Force it home by placing the little finger of my right hand on its head.
    â€œPrime!”
    With his left hand, Louis raised his rifle until his wrist was at eye level. He was standing half-face now, his right foot at a right angle to his left. He half cocked the hammer with the thumb of his right hand, reached without looking into the cap pouch at his side, pulled out a percussion cap, placed it on the nipple where the hammer would strike, pressed it down with his thumb.
    â€œShoulder!”
    Louis swung the rifle to his right shoulder, feeling his heartbeat quicken a little as he did so.
    â€œReady!”
    Check your foot stance , Louis reminded himself.
    â€œAim!”
    Incline your head to the side to sight with your right eye, left eye closed. Look down the open V notch at the rear and center the blade sight. Finger on the trigger.
    â€œFire!”
    Twenty .58-caliber Springfield Rifle Muskets belched out fire and clouds of white smoke.
    Fifty yards away, a satisfying number of minié balls struck the barrel set up as a target, sending up a shower of splinters.
    â€œCan