It was a brisk morning, though it felt slightly warmer than the usual January days here in the outskirts of Charleston, West Virginia. Resting on the hard ground watching over the sheep gnawing on the little grass that was there, the cold breeze rushed past me every few moments. Today, like any other Thursday, I finished school early and was tending to my chores: taking care of the animals and everything else on this farm.
     Being a child of five, you'd think that I'd have less chores than I do, but it turns out not so. My two elder brothers, Henry and James, both have left to live with families of their own. Juliet, one another elder sibling, is, well, mentally ill and can only stay in her quite room in our house. And lastly, there is young Sophia, my favorite sibling. She's so sweet, always asking me to tell her stories and makes the cutest faces when she pouts. Although, when it comes to farm work, little Sophia is not much of a help since she's just barely six years old and could be trampled by one of our horses.
     My father used to manage this farm of ours, but he had been offered a good job several years back. Being a teacher at a university really suits him and it gives a decent pay. But since the university is so far from our home, he lives elsewhere for periods of time. Though, I'm fine with that: Father has always been more strict toward me than to the others. Why he doesn't sell the farm and have us all move, I just don't know.
     "Jeremy? Could you come here for a moment?" my mother's voice gently called, awaking me from my thoughts.
     I was always very fond of my mother: she was much nicer to me than Pa and gave off a warm, safe feeling whenever she was nearby.
     But now, as I headed toward the doorway where she was waiting, she looked uneasy and wore an unnatural frown on her face.
     "Come to the kitchen with me, I have some... news to tell you," She led me from the back door through a series of hallways and into our small kitchen. I noticed there was no fire crackling in the hearth. The room felt awfully cold and silent.
     She picked up an already open envelope and handed it to me. It was addressed to Mother from my father. Turning it over, I began removing the letter from within, giving her one last glance before reading:

     As I reread each sentence, dread was sinking deeper and deeper into me. I was being sold! What happened to me being his loving son - was I just some sort of animal being sold to do more work? to be killed? I surely wouldn't last this war, even if it is coming to an end. I've never even held a gun before, and I would never be able to kill someone with it.
     While all these terrible thoughts ran through my head, I didn't notice my hands were gripped so hard onto the paper, trembling. After several moments I slowly asked, "What day is it today?"
     I glanced back at my mother. Tears were slowly emerging from her eyes. I had never seen her cry before.
     "January the-the twenty... twenty-first," she choked out in stutters, "Oh, Jeremy! I don't know how your father could do this to you! And I wish I could convince him to not let you go, but - but you know how your father is, so persistent!"
     Words tumbling out of her mouth, she collapsed into a chair and started sobbing. I kneeled down and put a hand on her knee.
     "It will be all right, Mum. I mean, it's only for a year or two," I said, trying to comfort her even though I felt that I should be the one being comforted. "And the war is said to end soon. I'm bound to sur -- "
     But I was cut off while trying to say "survive" when Mother started wracking the table with her fists. Grabbing her wrists to stop her from breaking the table, I looked her in the eye in a calm, yet sad, way.

     Giving one last glance back at my home, I headed off to the town's hall - like the letter said - the next day. Walking down the dusty road - all alone - made the fairly short journey feel as if it was taking days. But when I finally glimpsed the city of Charleston, I was not relieved - I'd have rather turned around right then and walk all the way back home, but, that wasn't one of my options.
     Working through the bustling cobblestone streets, I made my way toward the large, white building reading TOWN HALL in brass letters above the entryway. As I climbed up the marble stairs leading up to the entrance, I was surprised to see how crowded it was in there. Through a gap in the mass of people I could see several tables located on the farthest wall. Behind these tables sat a dozen or so men, each with a piece of paper in front of them, supposedly filled with names upon names of newly recruited soldiers.
     I began going through the throng filled with the young men ready to become soldiers; the crying mothers; the fathers, proud of their sons going off to the army. I felt especially small considering that all these men had broad shoulders and most more than head taller than me.
     Giving one last glance back at my home, I headed off to the town's hall - like the letter said - the next day. Walking down the dusty road - all alone - made the fairly short journey feel as if it was taking days. But when I finally glimpsed the city of Charleston, I was not relieved - I'd have rather turned around right then and walk all the way back home, but, that wasn't one of my options.
     Working through the bustling cobblestone streets, I made my way toward the large, white building reading TOWN HALL in brass letters above the entryway. As I climbed up the marble stairs leading up to the entrance, I was surprised to see how crowded it was in there. Through a gap in the mass of people I could see several tables located on the farthest wall. Behind these tables sat a dozen or so men, each with a piece of paper in front of them, supposedly filled with names upon names of newly recruited soldiers.
      I began going through the throng filled with the young men ready to become soldiers; the crying mothers; the fathers, proud of their sons going off to the army. I felt especially small considering that all these men had broad shoulders and most more than head taller than me.
     Finally, arriving at the farthest wall, I strode up to one of the men behind a lineless table. His face was covered in stubble and looked like he could do with a good night's rest. In one hand, he held a large black feather quill and was scribbling something down on a spare piece of parchment.
     When at last he looked up, he suspiciously eyed at my feeble body's form and asked in a dull, bored kind of way,
     "Name?"
     "Um... Jeremy Henage,"
     He scratched out my name on the list. "Date of birth?"
     "February 3, 1849,"
     FEB/03/49 was written in the next column. "And you live..."
     "Here in Charleston, West Virginia," I replied.
     "Well, thank you...." he glanced down at the list, "Mr. Henage. You may now go to the campsite located at the eastern field bordering the city for further instruction," he said, nodding me off. I walked back through the Hall and outside.

     The camp was a curious site. Hundreds of hundreds of tents were scattered across the usually empty area in disordered rows. The idea of trying to navigate my way through this sea of tents was thought-provoking. I headed over to the closest one to the entrance of the grounds between the gap of an old wooden fence surrounding the field. Here sat a man with a smug look, clearly in charge of us new comers. He told me that I must pick up a uniform - which were located at another tent nearby - and then he'll show me off to a place to stay.
     Picking my way through to the uniform tent, I noticed several heads popping out from the tent flaps to smell the distant scent of food. It was around time for lunch, wasn't it?
     Once I found the tent I was looking for (Which was gratefully mark with a sign that said "UNIFORMS.") , I stepped inside to find that it was as messy as the rows of tents the camp was made up of. There were several heaps of clothing: one for trousers, another of dark blue coats that had large golden buttons on them, pairs of ankle-high boots, and an especially large mound of woolen socks. The last pile contained dozens of dark blue hats that were in embroidered with amber Infantry Horns.
     Another soldier, who was bidding to those who needed uniforms, came up to me, looked at my size, and started foraging through the jumble of clothes without a word. I patiently waited as he looked for something that might fit; discarding those that wouldn't and making the turmoil even more worse.
     At last, he turned back to me, handed me his findings, and directed me to change into them.

     Walking back out through the tent's door-flap in my new uniform - well, not really new. I had the strange suspicion that they may reuse the uniforms from those who had already died since I noticed an odd decaying odor on the jacket and it was layered in mold. Anyways, I headed back to the tent where the smug man was at.
     "Oh, you again," I was greeted when I came into view of the man's tent.
     "Euh.... yes?" I responded, not quite sure what to say. He got up and led me off through the mass of tents. He wound through the alleys between the tents as if he all the passageways by heart.
     Eventually, he stopped in front one of the small tents that was as faraway from the entry-gate as you could get. The man poked his head into the tent, said something to whomever was inside, and left.

     The tent that I was sharing was extremely cramped with the three other soldiers. And since the only place left to sleep was in front of the door-flap, whenever someone left in the middle of the night, I usually got stepped on.
     On my second day there, training began. I spent my time learning to use a rifle and being educated on the other weapons of war. It was hard, yes. I would rather be on my farm, true. But once again, I had no choice.

     Days passed onto weeks, and the weeks passed into months. Every so often the troops would relocated to another area and the distance between me and my home grew greater. Parts of the force would leave and fight in the battles, less would return, and then new recruits would arrive. Thankfully, I haven't been part of these soldiers that have gone off to fight. Not yet. Perhaps I'd be lucky and never have to fight in any of these battles in these next few years. I could then return back to my home. Mother would surely be happy to have me come back home alive and not in pieces. But something told me this dream would not come true.

     Making my way back from dinner one day in early October, I over heard important voices conversing in one of the tents.
     "Are you sure you're going do this?" said one voice that sounded worried.
     "Yes! For the last time! This is the perfect plan and would surely destroy those damn Rebels' hopes of winning this war!" replied a deep, furious voice.
     "Well, I must agree with William," responded a third, much more sensible voice. "The tactics of Total War always do work their best. When will you be leaving?" it asked.
     "Tomorrow," the deep second voice retorted, "We'll have to leave as soon as possible to reach the port of Savannah before the New Year."
     I continued going back to my tent, thinking about what I had heard. What is this "Total War"? Would more soldiers be leaving the next day go to this port? Would I be one of them? I thought.
     Returning back at my tent, I slid into my bed roll and luckily fell asleep soon after.

     The next day I was awaken before dawn to the sound of a bell clanging and my tent-mates moving about packing up their things. It took me a few moments before remembering the overheard conversation from last night. Packing up my belongings, I followed the other soldiers since I didn't know what else to do.
     They all were heading towards a large crowd of soldiers gathered around a lieutenant who was shouting out something to them.
     "We'll be joining with another corps coming from Atlanta and continuing our march towards Savannah, Georgia. Under the command of General William Tecumseh Sherman, you'll burn everything in your path and take what you need. At the arrival of Savannah, we'll capture the city so the Southerners can't use their port."
     Burn everything in your path? I didn't understand why destroying land and innocent people's homes would help the Union win the war. But before I could ponder anymore, the other soldiers were beginning their march.

     It took about a month of walking to join with the other corps. But once we were, it was dreadful.
     The army was divided into two wings, a left wing and a right, that marched as parallel to one another as they could due to the twisting roads. We walked in several straight columns in our wing and one section would carry torches and would burn what ever they pass by: houses, barns, fields, crops. Every hour we would march for fifty minutes and then receive a ten minute break afterwards. Some soldiers would go out foraging for food and would meet the rest of the troop later in the day.
     Although much of the land was being destroyed, we had been instructed not to burn the homes of those who did not resist the marchers. But if the people did, their towns would be burned to the ground.
     I had been surprised to learn that this army was only comprised of 60,000 troops and about 5,000 cavalrymen. I felt especially sorry for the horses that were being ridden. They trotted all through the day with few breaks and some were treated harshly by the men. It also pained me to see the animals being taken away from their farms and forced to serve this Union army; just like I had been on that horrid January day.
     The weather grew colder as December approached and the days turned darker. My feet always felt numb and walking fifteen miles each day was a much more wearisome task than before. And with rain pouring down on most of these winter days, it was even more harder to do our assigned task of burning this Southern land.

     After marching at least 300 miles, creating a 60-mile-wide strip of nothing but burnt land, plundering for goods and livestock, fighting several battles, and getting little sleep for over a month we arrived at the city of Savannah. The troops blocked all routes out from the city except for one: General Sherman had commanded to leave a way leading to South Carolina open. At first I didn't know why the general had decided this, but later learned that he wanted the military of Savannah to actually escape. And so they did on the 21st of December. It still amazes me that such a man like William Tecumseh Sherman would prefer to limit the amount of death he causes.

-This is one piece I'd like to do over in the future (if I were to be a historical fiction author in my life o_o). I really like the subject, the Civil War was quite interesting, and I think if I added a plot, it'd make a good actual story. xD When I wrote this (and note I was only 13 years old...) I just got sick of it at the end, hence the awful ending. x3