Tuesday the wagons still came. You saw the dried, snuffy faces of old women peering down; white-haired children bawled, their noses ran and were not wiped clean. Kittens spilled out of peach baskets, and were left to yowl in the mud behind. There were runaways … Wagons, wagons through the turnpike gates, wallowing in from the west. Chambersburg had been seized again by hosts, by gaunt thousands … And Wednesday, the procession still came. The heavy-hoofed cavalry from Two Taverns had splashed away up the Harrisburg road: men cried at them, Verrickt! and go once the other way, for that is where the rebels come.

Chapter 8

8.

It was after dusk on Thursday evening, and Dan Bale was walking out of Pock’s store with a sack of groceries under his arm, when he heard the faint squeal of a fife. Loafers who had clustered under the buckeye trees were moving across the Diamond and peering down the black tunnel of York street … The fife trickled closer; drums were making an uneven roll, and behind this tuneless murmur was a weary drone of cheering. Lanterns began to drift out of dark houses. The word passed from square to square: our boys, people said. It’s the milishy.

There were more than a hundred of them. They straggled into the Diamond in a shambling file with the lanterns of townspeople leading them on. An officer whom no one had ever seen before, was marching ahead; he kept swinging around, limping backward, staring down the indefinite line. “Close up, men,” he entreated. “This isn’t any picnic, just because some of you have sweethearts watching.” People were calling from windows, from doorways; the drums and the fife cut their medley short. “Close up, close up! Raaat ob-leek…” The dim figures stumbled, closed a few ragged gaps. “Ult!… To the left—uss!” Yellow lanterns got in the way. So many of the soldiers seemed thin and stooped, frail shapes oppressed by unfamiliar and monumental burdens. “Kommm-pah-neee…” His command of dismissal rose high above the sudden hum of conversation.

The officer added, “Men. Remain within call. Don’t leave this town square without permission.” He walked wearily toward the lights of the hotel, holding up his sword scabbard as if the weight were too much for him.

Dan watched one figure, much taller than the rest, detach itself from the crowd. He went forward hesitantly, with the groceries still under his arm. He asked, “Elijah?”

“Yes,” a cracked voice said. Hud loomed in front of him; he seemed like an amazingly thin, long-legged monkey, trained for bizarre pranks, with the little cap cocked tightly over one ear.

They shook hands.

“What’s all this? We didn’t expect you back this soon.”

Huddlestone explained, “We were ordered here from Harrisburg. The rest of the regiment’s out at Swift Run, but we fellows moved on tonight. A lot of the local boys are here.”

“Regiment?”