Ray

XX

WE wear gray in the big meadow and there are three thousand enemy in blue, much cannon and machinery behind them. The shadow of the valley passes over our eyes, and in the ridge of the mountains we see the white clouds as Christ’s open chest. Many of us start weeping and smiling because we will die and we know. Last week we thought we were immortal.

“Shall we charge, my commander, or shall we fall back? We have nothing but our sabers and our pistols, which are cowardly.”

“Up!” yells the commander.

You take the saber from your left thigh and hold it straight above. The pennants go higher. You put the cavalry hat down because the sun is against you. Around you there is nothing because the horses are in perfect line. The sun is coming over the raised sabers.

“Commander, we could fall back. Our horses can run away from this.”

There is no turning back. Hold sabers. We will walk to them until they shoot and then we will charge.

Everybody was killed. One Union private lived to tell the story.

If warriors had known this story, we would have taken the war to the gooks with more dignity.