War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy/Chapter 27
XXVII
HIS SHARE OF GLORY
THE editor not only got his hundred men but twenty over in case any should back out—or to begin a new company. And it was off to war for certain. I think those words of his sunk in. It was just in the lull when everybody, North and South, was tired of the war and when a hard push either way would win. And from the spirit of the men who enlisted, they were of the opinion that the war had lasted long enough, and it was time to give the push from the North.
It wasn't so bad as long as they played soldier in zouave uniforms and shiny arms. But when bread and coffee and meat had almost disappeared, when paper money was worth twice itself, when nobody was doing anything but fight, when the farms were lying idle and barns tumbling down—
And then we began to know that much more of that would ruin the country beyond repair—so's any other country—which was fool enough to want it—could step in and take it—and us with it! The Johnies were fighting harder than we thought they would to get away from us, and we were fighting harder than they thought we would to keep them with us—just because they had proved such fine fellows. Well, it was like a fight between two boys—which one jokes about until the noses bleed and the eyes are bunged shut. Then it's got to stop. It's serious. But just then the boys fight the hardest, and the blindest—just about the time they got to stop on account of being played out.
I met Kratz, the editor, on the street, and I didn't know him! He was in a zouave uniform and wore a sword a yard long. Second lieutenant!
"Halt!" he yells at me, as happy as a baby!
"Vonner, your uniform—all of them—will be ready the day after to-morrow. We drill twice a day after that. Center Square. Be on hand or I'll send a guard after you. Oh, man, don't you see the victory already? Why, a year ago I would no more have thought of getting a hundred men out of Excelsior for the Union army than I would have thought of flying. Well, don't you see what that means? The South has used up all they have. Poor chaps! Not another man can they get into the army. Lord, haven't they fought! While the North is just waking up. Don't lag. Let's go and end it. Let us get our share of the glory before it is too late. Let us help to force a peace! We want all those bully boys south of Mason and Dixon's line back again in our bed. They're too good to lose."
Well, do you think he got his share of the glory? There's a tombstone in Gethsemane burying-ground with this on:
JACOB KRATZ
Second Lieutenant and
Organizer of Company "K",
8th Regt. Md. Vols.,
Killed at
Chancellorsville.
But the stone has fallen on its face, and, though I lifted it up the other day, I could hardly make out the words. I asked a young man passing by if Jacob Kratz had lived in Excelsior.
"Never heard of him—and I've been right here all my life!" he answered.
"Who's paying for the uniforms and so on?" asks I of Kratz.
"I am," says he. "You think I'm too poor? Well, I am. But I've sold the paper to Gorman. If we lose, I shan't want it. I'll emigrate. If we win I'll start a new one three times as big! Yes, I will. I'll set the type and pull the press, and carry it around to the subscribers myself. And glad to do it. Yes, if we can save this glorious Union, a government better than any ever conceived in this world before, bring our Southern brothers back into it, I'll give all I have and get more to give!"
Ah, the foolishness!
But I saw that red-headed idiot at Chancellorsville on that hot Sunday morning go into the smoke with a crazy yell, too, not knowing what was before him. When I saw him again, he was in a lead-lined box, with that yell still on his lips, that light still in his face. And I thought then of what he had said about the glorious Union. He believed it. He died for it! It must be so! By the Lord God, it is so!