Gabriel's Journey by Alison Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

given the worst mounts in camp. They need grooming, doctoring, and training. Many of these nags are unbroken; some spent their lives behind plows. And others, like my own mount Champion, are like riding greased thunderbolts. They must have bucked off enough white soldiers to get themselves sent along to us.”
    I grin. “Sounds like Mister Giles’s colt, Aristo.”
    â€œYou’ll need a pass from Colonel Brisbin. Right now, he’s in charge of organizing the regiment, which will most likely be called the Fifth. The colonel’s a well-known abolitionist who believes colored soldiers will fight as hard and valiantly as white. ” He points to the field of tents on the hill. “First I’ll show you where to stow your gear. You can bunk with the drummer boys.”
    â€œThank you, sir, but a stall will do me fine.”
    The approaching
clip-clop
of horses’ hooves draws my attention to the road. The mounted guard who chased me into the dead house is trotting toward us, his expression more peeved than Pa’s.
    Stopping his horse, which is still lathered from the chase, he salutes Captain Waite. “Sir, permission to throw this guttersnipe from camp.”
    â€œPermission denied, Lieutenant Wagoner. This boy is Company B’s new stable hand.”
    The lieutenant’s nostrils flare, as if he detects a bad smell. “Sir, we don’t need any more coloreds in camp. There are already too many refugees and Negro soldiers. The orders from headquarters—”
    â€œDash headquarters,” Captain Waite says. “I’ll take the matter up with Colonel Brisbin.”
    â€œYes, Captain.” Lieutenant Wagoner scowls at me and then at the captain before cantering off. The lieutenant is years older than Captain Waite. I wonder how he and the other soldiers feel about taking orders from an officer so young.
    â€œThe lieutenant’s from Tennessee,” Captain Waite mutters, as if that explains all. I’d like to tell him I don’t need no explanation. Being in the North for a while already taught me that hatred knows no borders.
    Still, I’d hoped Union soldiers would be different. Ain’t they fighting to free the slaves? Why then are so many of them dead set against having coloreds in camp? Then I remind myself that Captain Waite has been mighty helpful to me and my pa, and Colonel Brisbin is an abolitionist, which I gather means he cottons to black folks. At least there’s a few Yankees who ain’t like the lieutenant.
    That thought cheers me as I follow Captain Waite. I’m in sore need of some cheering up after my less-than-cordial reunion with Pa. He’ll come around, I know. I just have to convince him that I belong here with Company B.
    *  *  *
    The next morning finds me nestled in a bed of sweet-smelling straw in an empty horse stall. I’m half-asleep, my blanket over my head, when something pokes me in the side. Flinging off the blanket, I leap to my feet, fists clenched, ready to smite skeletons and corpses. Only it’s just Pa, leaning on a pitchfork.
    â€œThink you’re still in Saratoga fighting those bullies?” he asks.
    I shake my head sheepishly. “No sir.”
    â€œYou slept through reveille and the call to breakfast.” He tosses the pitchfork and I catch it by the handle. “You’ll have to clean stalls on an empty stomach.”
    â€œBut Pa—”
    â€œI ain’t Pa no more.” He gives me a stern look. “I’m Sergeant Alexander, your superior, and you will obey orders without question. Do you understand?”
    I nod.
    â€œCompany B has about sixty men, divided into squads. I’m sergeant of the 1st Squad. We’ve sixteen men. That’s sixteen horses and sixteen stalls. You’ll muck, lime, and bed them all by tonight.”
    â€œBy
tonight?”
    â€œWithout question!” he barks.
    I startle. At Woodville Farm, Pa and me worked