Kit

“Payday!” The cry rang through the camp, and we all hustled to secure a place in line. The first opportunity I have to go into town, I’ve decided to take a bit of money to celebrate my recent 17th birthday. I clearly remember the day when I enlisted, lying about my age as I signed up to fight the Southerners, alongside other concerned citizens from Pennsylvania.

As a private, we’re supposed to get paid $11 per month, but that doesn’t always happen. Often the money arrives so late, I can’t remember what month it’s supposed to be for.

They rouse us early and sometimes feed us a morsel or two, but usually we have to do without food. We mostly eat hardtack, which are crackers made from flour, water, and salt. There might occasionally be a bit of dried pork, but if not, we forage for berries and hunt small game. I’ve seen fellow soldiers starve in these harsh conditions.

We drill each morning and afternoon, so we’ll know our place on the battlefield and work together as a team. They bark at us to listen and obey orders from the officers. Without it, they fear we would panic, and all order would break down.

Between drills we clean, fix our tattered uniforms, and mend socks (if we have any). We sometimes play a few games, such as checkers or dominoes, or we write letters to loved ones back home. But most of our time is spent being bored. I miss my parents, brothers, and sisters beyond belief.

When aren’t we bored? When we fight. Imagine total madness. Shouting, cursing, and fear so bad you’re certain you will die from it rather than being shot. The sight is horrific; men and boys are wounded, dying, and dead.

Eventually, this will all be over, and I shall once again go home and reunite with my family. I hope that in time we can all forget this horrible event.