He awoke without knowing why, at first. Then gradually, he came aware. Far away, the sound of rolling thunder. It wasn’t quite light out, but there was a softening pink visible at the edge of the horizon he could see through the tent flap.
He rose, from the camp bed, went to the tent flap. To the north and west, it was still dark, skies filled with stars.
He loved this time of night, just before dawn. His senses were alive; his skin almost tingled at the sensation of being alive. He’d only been asleep a few short hours, but he felt wide away and exhilarated. It was always like this.
It was already warm. It would be another scorching hot day, just like the last. Underneath the rolling thunder, other sounds: the sound of horses, caissons and cannon rattling over the road at the base of the hill below his tent. Men marching, the clank of canteens against ammunition pouches, against rifles. They’d been marching all night again. Ahead, up the road to the north, the thunder continued, the distant deadly sound of cannon.
The thrill went through him again. Like it had so many times before. Strange, how the proximity to death made him feel more and more alive.
The thunder to the north grew more insistent, calling him. He turned, beginning to button his jacket again. He’d slept in it. He half turned; his personal shadows were never far away. He felt a twinge of guilt. They got less sleep than he did. “Captain?”
“Sir?”
“Saddle the horse; let’s get back on the road.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
He took another deep breath, fresh grass, fragrant flowers, gun powder, sweat and horses filling his nostrils. Below him, at the base of the hill, the column marched on. An aide handed him his sword, and he buckled it on. The horse was there, and he patted the mare’s nose, fishing half a saved carrot out of his greatcoat pocket. He swung into the saddle. The aides came up, already mounted, the flag bearer nearby.
Still the cannon thundered to the north. “Let’s go see what stirs, gentlemen.”
He spurred the horse, and rode down the hill, up the road to the north and west. Behind him, the sun began to rise over the Pennsylvania countryside.
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Date: 2008-04-25 07:48 pm (UTC)He rose, from the camp bed, went to the tent flap. To the north and west, it was still dark, skies filled with stars.
He loved this time of night, just before dawn. His senses were alive; his skin almost tingled at the sensation of being alive. He’d only been asleep a few short hours, but he felt wide away and exhilarated. It was always like this.
It was already warm. It would be another scorching hot day, just like the last. Underneath the rolling thunder, other sounds: the sound of horses, caissons and cannon rattling over the road at the base of the hill below his tent. Men marching, the clank of canteens against ammunition pouches, against rifles. They’d been marching all night again. Ahead, up the road to the north, the thunder continued, the distant deadly sound of cannon.
The thrill went through him again. Like it had so many times before. Strange, how the proximity to death made him feel more and more alive.
The thunder to the north grew more insistent, calling him. He turned, beginning to button his jacket again. He’d slept in it. He half turned; his personal shadows were never far away. He felt a twinge of guilt. They got less sleep than he did. “Captain?”
“Sir?”
“Saddle the horse; let’s get back on the road.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
He took another deep breath, fresh grass, fragrant flowers, gun powder, sweat and horses filling his nostrils. Below him, at the base of the hill, the column marched on. An aide handed him his sword, and he buckled it on. The horse was there, and he patted the mare’s nose, fishing half a saved carrot out of his greatcoat pocket. He swung into the saddle. The aides came up, already mounted, the flag bearer nearby.
Still the cannon thundered to the north. “Let’s go see what stirs, gentlemen.”
He spurred the horse, and rode down the hill, up the road to the north and west. Behind him, the sun began to rise over the Pennsylvania countryside.