“I’m acting as temporary sergeant. We’ll drill tonight, if nothing happens before then … see you!” he called, and then they went flashing off, wound in the hot smoke of the road. Dan stood in the grass, waiting until the dust had settled. Yes, he said—yes, they say there is a war off there behind South Mountain, behind the rolls of forest … quickly, quickly I will bind myself against you, will feel you beating upon me like a hot heart, hear the breath shiver out of your mouth, and it is all surfeited with a power which we never knew existed before … war, behind blue hills over there. Slaty rivers of men pouring up the roads where we’ve never walked. Elijah says so.

When he reached his house, there was a folded sheet of paper tacked against the mosquito-frame door. On one side was printed in soiled black type: will guarantee colt to stand and suck at the above-stated price, or service with no such guarantee at Terms To Be Arranged. On the other side was written in blunt lead pencil, “The mother stille not so well, and Aunt Emma to stay until knows what the army do. Respy, H. Wurke.” As Dan read the note, he felt a blind fever of passion climbing in his brain. Mrs. Wurke would not return from Mummasburg this day; God knew when she would come. Until knows what the army do …

He went inside, to exist, to drag out the monotonous ages until night. He lay down; he could not sleep; he could only crave the ultimate hour. A bugle ta-ta-taed far away, every few minutes, and the hazy Pike was thunderous with wagons. Mrs. Knouse had locked herself in her little brick house, tulip bulbs and all; she peered from narrow cracks behind her shutters, watching for screaming hordes of rebels who would come to uproot her flower garden.

Elijah Huddlestone was sworn to the service of his Republic, that afternoon, and Dan did not know it; he did not see Elijah before the volunteers went clamoring off to Harrisburg, waving their shabbiest hats and howling

Sam built the wagon,

The old Union wagon—

The star-crested wagon—

To give the boys a ride …

The younger boys sang in quartets, their arms locked around one another: No more ciphers, no more books, no more master’s cranky looks … Bart McKosh and Ernie Dryer and old John Burns were left behind … The recruits reached Harrisburg in a steady rain, and had to wait in the downpour for hours, and they wondered if this was war.

Chapter 7

7.