March to the Sea
It’s late November, but my uniform feels like a fur coat in the summer and my hair must be melting because I can feel it run down my face. I really shouldn’t complain, but I’m boiling. The heat and the aching, itchy spots torment me as much as they do the other seething soldiers. The ground seems an almost artificial green and it’s cooler than the surrounding air, even if a minuscule amount is all there is; the grass looks heavenly to the eye, a softness that only a cloud can offer. Sadly, such beauty can’t compensate for how I loathe the thick hot steam I’m breathing or how my feet take anchor in the thick sludge as I trudge along this Southern climate. The vegetation conceals pests and lacks sympathy for those trying to ward off the parasitic beasts that are now swelling with the blood of my brethren. The only thing that can be heard is the never ending buzzing. The coming storm in the distance taunts me; it will keep the pests away for as long as the rain lasts. Heavy sagging black clouds remind me of shade and how shade means nothing to me in such a humid climate. The rain would surely turn the smoke to mire before our eyes, or at least I think so, and would blanket the burnt collapsing buildings. The ghostly man-made structures we leave behind are like the walking cadavers plagued by disease I have seen over the course of this civil war.
My job is to force the Confederates to abandon their cause through destruction of everything. I’m to go beyond what keeps them from fighting back against the Union. I burn and slaughter more than houses and livestock. I slaughter hopes, dreams and friendships. That’s my job. My job as a “bummer”, or so they call us, is to “forage”. No, we don’t call it stealing. We take food and supplies. Sure, we leave a small amount of food for families we take from. We don’t burn down buildings with the inhabitants inside or burn people but such small attempts at mercy still fail to ease my conscience. It still isn’t kindness. I refuse to count the number of buildings I burn; I’m much too weak.
I watch with apparent dismay as we approach a new building. This barn is innocent and unsuspecting of its fate to come. I slow my heavy steps to observe this green and white building. I can envision its scorched white paint curl and float to the ground, the wood crackle and its sparks dance. I’ve seen enough now to know. The other soldiers quickly run up to the unsuspecting barn with torch in hand. My hands take my shirt in a twisted fist and I let out a shuddering disappointed sigh. The scarlet flares make me feel powerless and I gaze helplessly as they engulf the barn. The poor barn’s downfall saddens me. I have feelings for a barn, how pathetic I’ve become.
My job is to force the Confederates to abandon their cause through destruction of everything. I’m to go beyond what keeps them from fighting back against the Union. I burn and slaughter more than houses and livestock. I slaughter hopes, dreams and friendships. That’s my job. My job as a “bummer”, or so they call us, is to “forage”. No, we don’t call it stealing. We take food and supplies. Sure, we leave a small amount of food for families we take from. We don’t burn down buildings with the inhabitants inside or burn people but such small attempts at mercy still fail to ease my conscience. It still isn’t kindness. I refuse to count the number of buildings I burn; I’m much too weak.
I watch with apparent dismay as we approach a new building. This barn is innocent and unsuspecting of its fate to come. I slow my heavy steps to observe this green and white building. I can envision its scorched white paint curl and float to the ground, the wood crackle and its sparks dance. I’ve seen enough now to know. The other soldiers quickly run up to the unsuspecting barn with torch in hand. My hands take my shirt in a twisted fist and I let out a shuddering disappointed sigh. The scarlet flares make me feel powerless and I gaze helplessly as they engulf the barn. The poor barn’s downfall saddens me. I have feelings for a barn, how pathetic I’ve become.