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.