The Drummer Boy
I am a drummer boy for the Union Army.
I am only 12 years old and I have left my home far away.
Feelings rushing through me: scared of dying, afraid of what will come at morning's light.
Nevertheless, my job is keeping the roll going.
I have to make them Confederates feel the fear.
My hands are always going.
Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat
Over and over again.
Seven months have gone by since I last saw my Mother's worried face about her youngest son off to war.
I have not seen my Father's face, which was once so proud and strong, since I was 5 years old.
My Father died then.
I became a man then and now I am ever so much more a man then I was back when.
Today, I am stronger, bigger and smarter.
I have learned how to cook my own meals, to mend my own clothes, to tend too my own needs.
I know that any day I could die.
Just from one single bullet from a Confederates gun.
A person who is just trying to do what is right and lawful.
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