O N THE FIRST DAY OF 1862, SOON TO BECOME THE MOST BATTLE - TORN year of the war in
Virginia, the morning unfolded beneath pewter clouds and a temperature mild for winter. It
wasn’t a bad day for nine thousand men to set off from Winchester, headed west across eight
mountain ranges toward Romney, Virginia.
With Ma’s oilcloth cast about my shoulders to ward1 against drizzle2, the softness of the
weather set me to daydreaming3. My body was light as a turkey feather. A wagon4 bore my
knapsack and blanket, leaving only my gun and ammunition5 for my back, and my feet
automatically followed those of the man in front of me. Jim Blue and Sam walked to my left
and, from time to time, sang a scrap6 of hymn7 or a verse from “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” They
demonstrated that they knew all the words to “Lorena,” unconcerned that neither could carry a
tune8. Several of the men drowned them out by boisterously9 singing to the tune of “Dixie”:
“Old Missus marry Will de Weaver10
Williams was a gay deceiver—
Look away, look away, look away, Dixieland!
But when he puts his arm around ’er
He smiles as fierce as a forty-pounder,
Look away, look away, look away,
Dixieland!”
Friendly shoves and jabs were shared between the two choirs11, each trying to silence the other.
Such nonsense leavened12 the drudgery13 of one foot endlessly planted in front of the other.
By late afternoon, needles of sleet14 pelted15 our faces. We had reached a higher altitude where
the roaring wind tore at my collar and scarf. Shortly, my pants were soaked clear through and
froze into planks16 of wool that rubbed my shins raw. My feet skated in the frozen ponds of my
shoes. Every step forward was exhausting, lifting one foot above the drifting snow to repeat that
movement with the other. By dusk it must have been close to zero degrees, and even shoving my
ice-encrusted gloves into my coat armpits didn’t warm them. Ice hung in daggers17 from visored
caps, slicked men’s cloaks in ragged18 sheets, and frosted brows and beards. Jim Blue and Sam’s
beet-red faces reflected silvery dust in the lantern light. With my free hand, I clung to my
blanket under the oilcloth and shoved the edges around my eyes to meet the now- greasy19
skullcap knitted by Aunt Ellen. I could barely see but had little choice but to keep going
forward. Sleet still dove beneath my upturned overcoat collar, and it crusted there. My blanket
would have wet patches that night.
Finally, the howling died away. We lumbered21 along, trailed by hundreds of food and artillery22
wagons23, until the horses’ hooves began to skid24 out of control. Whinnies of fright pierced the
snowy silence that had muffled25 our voices and footsteps. Falling men broke ribs26, some broke
legs, some broke arms. When the wagons finally halted that night, Sam, Jim Blue, and the rest of
our mess tore up fence posts and railings with our numb27 hands and laid them as a barrier
between the frozen ground and our thin blankets. Everything rested on thorny28 brush. Tents
would keep snow from mounding on our heads, although by morning their sides would be slabs29
of ice. Dispirited, we fell into a troubled slumber30 on the side of Mount Stevens.
Fights broke out the next morning, even between comrades, for a spot alongside the wagons.
No one wanted to suffer the fates of those who had slipped the day before. Elbowing others
aside, Zeke grabbed the side rail of a wagon and clung to it for hours as the horse-drawn31 vehicle
led his lanky32 body forward. With rags bound around his boots for traction33, he thought he was
prepared for the steep, icy road. He was absently humming a tune when he felt the wheels start
to spin. In an instant, he threw himself clear of the wagon and scrambled34 up a wide ledge35 above
the road. The wagons ahead began to slide backward and sideways. Screams and curses rent the
air. Heavily loaded with gun caskets, the vehicles swayed and then fell like dominoes, plunging36
over fallen horses and soldiers, crushing whatever lay in their path. They finally exploded
against the cliff walls, casting their contents onto blood-streaked snow. Zeke had saved himself
by quick reflexes and a sharp intuition. I had stayed out of the morning’s melee38 and had kept
pace ahead of the wagons, steadied by my own efforts to remain standing39. Now I was on a
higher part of the road and, sickened, observed the disaster from above.
Everything halted while animals were shot and dragged aside, wounded and dead men were
gathered up, and splintered wagons were cleared away. From my vantage, the impasse40 of
tumbled conveyances41 and boxes trailed down the slope as far as eyes could see. There was no
way to gin up any body warmth through movement, and stamping my feet only sent needles of
agony through my stiffened42 toes.
We huddled43 together the second night with only a blanket and oilcloth. Tents and supplies
were trapped miles behind. Forms spooned together, sharing two blankets for extra thickness as
the falling snow gathered on our heads and shoulders and filled the hollows in between. I’d
never imagined that Jim Blue’s warm breath on the back of my neck would be so welcome.
Lying out there on those icy rocks, I recalled how Blue and I once shared something else
when we were lads—our mutual44 disdain45 for New Jerusalem Sunday School. We plotted our
mutual expulsion, to be achieved by mimicking46 the teacher’s pompous47 orations48 behind his back
but where all the class could see. The teacher’s face washed purple with rage as students giggled49
and pointed50. But no one wanted to be guilty of expelling the grandson of a former minister,
Reverend Winthrop Blue. He founded our neighborhood Presbyterian church near the start of
the century and was just as renowned51 for marrying the last person in our area to be kidnapped by
Indians and then rescued. Jim Blue would wrinkle his slightly turned-up nose and then launch
into tales of family ties to Indians, generally irking everyone within earshot.
In the dark that night, a voice softly asked, “Do you ever wonder why anyone believed this
was worth doing? Were we crazy? Why did we leave home for this?” It was Otis McCorkle,
who had joined us only a month before this march to western Virginia. His deep sigh enfolded
us. We’d noted52 by the first day’s end that McCorkle was cursed with a melancholic53 streak37. To
make matters worse, he was sorely missing his wife and baby. He was dark inside and out: thick
black hair framed his plump face, one rarely brightened by a smile. Bushy brows were often
drawn together in morbid54 contemplation. We steered55 clear of him when we could because he too
often reminded us of things we didn’t want to consider. McCorkle and Zeke had been the last
members to join our mess. They had walked into camp together from Rockbridge County in late
November and were immediately assigned to our group. That’s about all they had in common.
Zeke thought about things at least as seriously as Beards, but he never let anything get him
down. He always had a twinkle in his eyes and a ready laugh. McCorkle floundered in his
unhappiness so often that he couldn’t notice what lay outside of it.
A few feet away I heard Beards reciting, “A man has to live by his decisions and then drive
himself forward, one step at a time. One step at a time.” He uttered it as a sacrament, as if to
convert a resistant56 part of himself. The rest of us, who might have agreed with McCorkle’s view
and Beards’ resolution, made no comment. We couldn’t afford to acknowledge either of them. I
fell asleep with the rabbit’s foot in my grip, its raggedy fur a reminder57 of home.
On the morning of the third day, severe hunger pangs58 radiated from my stomach to my legs
and hobbled every step. I stumbled along, oblivious59 to the vague rumbling60 and low cacophony61
of voices coming closer. When it could no longer be ignored, I saw over my shoulder that the
increasing commotion62 heralded63 the arrival of the food wagons. You never heard such jubilant
cheering as when the first one wobbled over the hill. The brittle64, tasteless hardtack was as
welcome as Ma’s fresh-baked lemon cake.
About fourteen miles along, the acrid65 odor of wood smoke stung our noses, and swirls66 of
gray floated above low hills. Zeke was ahead of us and reached the break in the trees first.
“My God, what happened there?” He pointed his thin arm in the direction of the valley
below. “Get up here and take a look!”
We sped up the path and stopped next to him. Our dark line of soldiers threaded from the
hilltop toward a small town in ruins below. We gawked, then set off in its direction. Brick
chimneys slumped67 over charred68 foundations, and the residents had clearly fled the flames and
perhaps something else they feared just as much. Slaughtered69 cattle and pigs dotted the fields.
A sober hush70 fell upon the lines ahead of Company D as we crossed the town’s perimeter71.
Steps faltered72, and a pall73 fell over the group even as the officers loudly berated74 fellows to keep
moving.
I asked Sam, “What’s slowed things down in front?” He was several men ahead of me.
“Damned if I can tell.” He craned his neck. “I can’t spy anything yet.” A dozen strides along,
I saw some of the fellows in front of us avert75 their faces and heard others gag. An unnatural76 odor
of burning fat assaulted my nose. Then we saw it.
A man’s corpse77, intentionally78 laid out face up and hands crossed, was smoldering79 in still
glowing embers within his incinerated home. White teeth sparkled in his coal-black skull20. The
remnants of house, body, and the murky80 circle of watery81 soil around the foundation were the
only melted parts of the frozen yard. His slain82 cattle and pigs were heaped by the side of the
road, their throats circled by icy collars of gore83. I assumed that the man had been suspected of
spying for the Confederates.
“Jeeezus! This stinks84 just like pork left too long on the spit.” Sam stared for a second with his
scarf pulled across his nostrils85 and then turned abruptly86 from the scene.
Meat. That’s all this man was now—flesh flaking87 from bone and fat sizzling in the flames. No
history, no dignity, no name—only a sign, a warning.
Later that night, there was dispirited conversation. McCorkle said, “I don’t know about the
rest of you, but this past week has set me against this entire business.” All of us but Zeke looked
away.
His eyes darkened above his sharp cheekbones. “I’m there with you, McCorkle. We are in
this hell of a fix because of a bunch of fat cats who are looking out for their investments. And
now some of them command this army and control our lives. Which are nothing to these sons-
of-a-bitches.” He spat88 into the campfire.
“You’re damned right,” I admitted. I didn’t add that Reverend McIntyre’s comments in the
parlor89 the previous spring about the evil of one human owning another had begun to gnaw90 at
me. My questions ran deeper than Zeke’s, but I blocked them whenever I could.
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ward
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n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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drizzle
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v.下毛毛雨;n.毛毛雨,蒙蒙细雨 | |
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daydreaming
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v.想入非非,空想( daydream的现在分词 ) | |
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wagon
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n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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ammunition
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n.军火,弹药 | |
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scrap
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n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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hymn
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n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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tune
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n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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boisterously
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adv.喧闹地,吵闹地 | |
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weaver
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n.织布工;编织者 | |
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choirs
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n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 );唱诗队;公开表演的合唱团;(教堂)唱经楼 | |
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leavened
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adj.加酵母的v.使(面团)发酵( leaven的过去式和过去分词 );在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
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13
drudgery
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n.苦工,重活,单调乏味的工作 | |
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14
sleet
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n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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15
pelted
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(连续地)投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 ); 连续抨击; 攻击; 剥去…的皮 | |
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planks
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(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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17
daggers
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匕首,短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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18
ragged
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adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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19
greasy
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adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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20
skull
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n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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lumbered
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砍伐(lumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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22
artillery
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n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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23
wagons
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n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 );铁路货车;小手推车 | |
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24
skid
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v.打滑 n.滑向一侧;滑道 ,滑轨 | |
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25
muffled
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adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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ribs
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n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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numb
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adj.麻木的,失去感觉的;v.使麻木 | |
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thorny
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adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
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slabs
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n.厚板,平板,厚片( slab的名词复数 );厚胶片 | |
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30
slumber
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n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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lanky
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adj.瘦长的 | |
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traction
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n.牵引;附着摩擦力 | |
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34
scrambled
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v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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ledge
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n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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plunging
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adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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streak
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n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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melee
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n.混战;混战的人群 | |
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standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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impasse
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n.僵局;死路 | |
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conveyances
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n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 );运送;表达;运输工具 | |
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stiffened
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加强的 | |
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huddled
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挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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mutual
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adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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disdain
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n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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mimicking
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v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的现在分词 );酷似 | |
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pompous
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adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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orations
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n.(正式仪式中的)演说,演讲( oration的名词复数 ) | |
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giggled
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v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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renowned
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adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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noted
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adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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melancholic
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忧郁症患者 | |
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morbid
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adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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steered
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v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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resistant
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adj.(to)抵抗的,有抵抗力的 | |
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reminder
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n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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pangs
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突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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oblivious
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adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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rumbling
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n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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cacophony
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n.刺耳的声音 | |
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commotion
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n.骚动,动乱 | |
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heralded
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v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 );宣布(好或重要) | |
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brittle
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adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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acrid
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adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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swirls
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n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 );卷状物;漩涡;尘旋v.旋转,打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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slumped
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大幅度下降,暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 ); 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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charred
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v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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slaughtered
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v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hush
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int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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perimeter
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n.周边,周长,周界 | |
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faltered
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(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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pall
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v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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berated
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v.严厉责备,痛斥( berate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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avert
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v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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unnatural
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adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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corpse
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n.尸体,死尸 | |
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intentionally
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ad.故意地,有意地 | |
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smoldering
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v.用文火焖烧,熏烧,慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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murky
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adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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watery
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adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的 | |
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slain
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杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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gore
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n.凝血,血污;v.(动物)用角撞伤,用牙刺破;缝以补裆;顶 | |
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stinks
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v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 );发臭味;名声臭;糟透 | |
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nostrils
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鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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abruptly
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adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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87
flaking
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刨成片,压成片; 盘网 | |
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88
spat
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n.口角,掌击;v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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89
parlor
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n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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90
gnaw
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v.不断地啃、咬;使苦恼,折磨 | |
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