Freedom of My Brothers

The war had divided the country. I was in the Union army, fighting for the rights of my enslaved brothers. My entire family, prosperous from the sweat and blood of slaves, was fighting in for the Confederation army to preserve the right to own and barter slaves. You see, I had was born and raised in Georgia on a slave run plantation.

One extaordinarly warm summer day, I met my fiancé when she was visiting a relative in Georgia. It only took two weeks of running barefoot through the land for us to fall in love. I had to move to New York with her if we were to be married, and I was perfectly willing.

While living in New York,without but a single slave, my taste for their prescence in my life went sour. Even though I was obligated to achieve my goals without the help of a black mans crafty hands, I came to a state of appreciation. Accomplishing things on my own, a renewed sense of satisfaction over came me.

Later that year, I wrote to my father with the excited hurry of youth and renewel. He simply replied that the Negroes were created by God's hands to be nothing more than our servants. This is about the time when the war broke out. I loved my father more than anything, but disagreed with his views. They were wrong, and a new passion errupted with in my chest to protest them.

I being from the South, was more than acuainted with their views on slavery. I despised them because they treated another human so profoundly inhumane. They were extraordinarly lazy people. The men were willing to take the lives of millions just so they could have the right to have noon tea while their purchased foes worked in the fields. I became determined to stop this inhumanity, even if my life was to be lost.

I joined the 31st regiment of New York, bid farewell to my pregnant wife, and began the journey South. This was the land where I had grown from boy to man, and had been taught by my father to fire a musket in the warm honey colored fields. .

I trained relentlessly in the army, and become a Lieutenant, and in charge of firing the musket from the third row. We had been fighting for more than a year, and I was still in the alive . I had lost many friends, and have almost lost my life twice. I thanked God everyday, and was determined to win this war. I was one of the few men that actually believed in the cause. Some of my comrades had believed in the cause, but as the death toll became steeper, they believed less and less.

On May 5th, we were in southern Virginia, and fighting the 13th Regiment. I had not viewed from where they were borne. While fighting, we were losing. Our regiment was falling hard and fast, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The battle was becoming increasingly bloody, our thoughts drifted, and our senses peaked.

There were about fifteen of us from the Union left, and forty or so from the opposition. I began to load and fire, and shout out orders at the same time. I had fired as fast as my hands could move. I was a machine, and I was one with the musket in my hands. I just looked for the color gray and fired at either the head or the chest, whatever was available and would provide a kill shot.

Night had fallen, and so had two of my men. The dampness of dew settled around us, and chilled my body as well as my soul. I moved behind an long ago abandoned barn, and tried to catch my breath. I crouched into the comforting fetal position and prayed.

I had prepared to lose my life for the Freedom of those who I considered my brothers, but now I only wanted to see my wife, and my child. I had gotten a letter about a month and a half ago saying that I had a newly born son named Liam, after my grandfather. Now I was no longer fighting for a cause but fighting for the right to see my son only once. I was fighting for the right to survive and live my life.

I heard the crack of a twig, which brought my senses back to reality. I shouted the code word which identified my regiment from the enemy. “176!” I waited for the reply of "671". It never came. Now my position was apparent to my enemy. I had to load my gun, and wait. I heard him approaching toward me from the left. I heard every sound around me. I smelt every scent that filled the air. My vision sharpened. I was ready to kill anyone who got in the path of me trying to survive. In the moonlight I saw the color gray, and fired.

As I approached I saw that I had hit him in the chest. I felt a strange twinge in my the lowest point of my stomach. I had never felt this before when I killed and confederate soldier. I was curious to the face of the man who evoked this feeling. I crouched down to one knee, and lifted filthy hat of the lifeless man. My hand trembled as I stared into the stone dead eyes of the man who had taught me how to fire the musket in my hands, my father.