Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
Question: Have you been a slave?
Answer: Yes, sit.
Question: How long have you been in the army?
Answer: About two months.
Report #65-United States Congress
Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War
April 20, 1864
April 12, 1864
At one time he'd simply been Obi, the slave of JohnJennings. When he joined the army he was told he had to have a family name, so he used his former master's last name. His superior officers addressed him as Private Jennings, but he wouldn't allow his fellow soldiers to call him that-just Obi.
He dreaded the sound of his name at roll call. It was as ill-fitting as his clumsy boots.
"Private Jennings!" the sergeant yelled.
"Here, suh!" he yelled back, standing at attention and holding his rifle against his thigh. He kept his head erect while his large, deep-set eyes stared directly ahead, as the Yankee drillmasters had taught him. His tall frame was as lean and straight as a young pine.
The sergeant continued talking after he took the roll call. Like most of the men of the Sixth U.S. Heavy Artillery of Colored Troops, Sergeant Johnson was an ex-slave.
"You men be alert. General Forrest an' his Rebs burn down Union City an' kill everything movin'," he said, rocking his stocky body back and forth in time to his words. "Union City ain't far from here." The sergeant's eyes, as round as the gold-colored buttons on his blue jacket, scanned the black and brown faces of his men. Some of them were as old as forty-five, but most were younger-many as young as seventeen or eighteen.
All of the soldiers wore soft foragecaps, which a few of the younger men, including Obi, had turned a little to the sides of their heads.
Obi was nineteen or twenty. He didn't know his exact age, but he remembered that he was about ten years old when he became the property of the Jennings family. Even now, he'd still get a slight throbbing in his temple when he recalled his mother's screams as he was taken from her.
"Severe punishment to any man sleepin' or even lookin' in the wrong direction when you on duty. This a war, not a rabbit hunt. You boys smell somethin' funny, start shootin'. "
"Better hope it ain't him we smell," the soldier behind Obi mumbled. His name was Joseph Chaney, and he had joined the army at the same time Obi had.
Obi's smooth, black face creased into a slight smile at the man's joke. The soldiers of Company B had nicknamed Sergeant Johnson "the Driver," saying that he was like those slaves on the plantation whose job it was to make sure the other slaves did their work.
"Save the Union!" Johnson said as he finished, holding up his fist. Some of the men moaned, some laughed at his customary dismissal. Obi ran out of the fort with the other troops who had guard duty. Private Thomas West caught up to him, and they walked down the slope of the steep hillside to their guard post. This was the river side of the hill. The Mississippi River was hidden below them by the predawn darkness and by the trees, bushes, and fallen timber along the side of the hill.
"The Driver is trying to scare us into being soldiers," Thomas said. "The only things we've been fighting since we've been here is river rats."
Obi adjusted his rifle so that it fit comfortably on his arm. "Some of them rats may be havin' grey coats yet," he said dryly.
As they continued walking down the bluff, they crossed a level portion of ground situated below the fort. Here were the shacks and log huts where the white soldiers of the Thirteenth Tennessee Battalion were quartered. The black troops were quartered up the hill inside the fort in tents.
The weary voices of men coming off night guard duty reached them as they continued their walk down the hill. The croaks and clicks of frogs and insects blended with the voices of the soldiers.
When they reached the bottom of the hill, they turned left and walked toward their post. Their job was to watch several buildings near the riverbank where supplies of food, arms, ammunition, clothing, and medicines were stored.
A blacksmith's shop and a general store stood a few yards behind the building. Log cabins and broken-down shacks were sprawled near the stores. The soldiers called this cluster of homes and shops "the town."
Instead of going directly to their post, they continued to the river's edge. Side by side, leaning against a tree, they faced the river in front of them.
"I don't think the Rebels are coming here," Thomas said. "The Driver is just making himself feel important, Obi. That's why he keeps telling us the enemy is just around the bend. "
Obi still hadn't gotten used to seeing Thomas's rich, brown face and hearing the nasal Yankee accent coming out of his full African mouth. Thomas, with his large head and wide, dark eyes, was born in the North and was the first black that Obi had met who had not been a slave at some point in his life. About the same age as Obi, he had become a brother and a friend in spite of his Yankee accent. "Why you think they not go try an' take this fort back?" Obi asked.
Thomas turned away from the river and gazed in the direction of the fort. "If they charge that hill, we can swat 'em down like flies," he said, moving his hand swiftly back and forth. Thomas was shorter than Obi, and he had quick, nervous movements.
"Them was some awful stories we hear about what happen in that Union City," Obi said. "And Major Booth been lookin' terrible worried lately."
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