Walked here before, Dan thought. He remembered his grandfather’s face, and in his mind it would be calm and resigned forever, no matter what happened under the soil. That resignation bought of sorrow and other battles long before Dan was born … hereabouts, he thought, hereabouts.

The Bearman lot. A lame horse teetered on three legs, eating grass from a great-uncle’s grave, and Adolph’s new mound was trampled. You didn’t think they’d follow you here, did you? .. Faces went by, going about their jibes and their tasks; faces eating crackers. There were ammunition carts crowded beside the brick gate-house where the sexton had lived, and Dan could smell onions frying, somewhere. The odor slit through him. I must eat—I must. Keep alive until I see Fanning … Culp’s hill crackled like a burning woodpile, but none of these men seemed as concerned as he should have seemed.

“Where’s the Second Corps?” Dan demanded of curly red whiskers.

Ich haben none speak.

“’Way over to the left and forward,” someone called. Damnation, soldier, you’re a long ways from home. This is K Battery, First Ohio. He ain’t a soldier, muttered someone else. Another said, He must be a sutler. Sutler, you got a wagon back there? What’s the chances of—Their petitions followed him, but most of the artillerymen slept on, lumps as motionless as the graves they lay among.

Telitha F., devoted wife of Pentland Bale. Here his family waited for him. The tombstones got up, breaking their roots, and whirled like dervishes. Dan walked on: the cemetery and the sprawled blue colonies, the guns shining in smoky sunlight, interlocking shadows, hot dawn, all flowed past him. A fluent stealth to their passing … where in time is the Seventy-second Pennsylvania?

A row of stacked muskets before him. The tired young dead were arising: Culp’s hill was the trumpet sounding behind them, and this became the morning of the day of judgment with a million waking tramps past the graveyard, far beyond the green cornfield and woods, far into the torn wheat. Bayonet poked viciously. For Christ sake, don’t walk on Captain— He’ll wake up and kick the stuffing out of you. What you say? .. This is the Ninety-fourth New York. Well, Christ sake, if you want the Second Corps get down past the road toward those woods. That’s Hays’s Division.

Want the Seventy-second Pennsylvania. If I walk the whole length of the army.