Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [16]
All of us have seen men die. Most of us never saw a black man back home. We think on that, too. But freedom... is not just a word."
He looked up in to the sky, over silent faces.
"This is a different kind of army. If you look at history you'll see men fight for pay, or women, or some other kind of loot. They fight for land, or because a king makes them, or just because they like killing. But we're here for something new. I don't... this hasn't happened much in the history of the world. We're an army going out to set other men free."
He bent down, scratched the black dirt into his fingers.
He was beginning to warm to it; the words were beginning to flow. No one in front of him was moving. He said, "This is free ground. All the way from here to the Pacific Ocean. No man has to bow. No man born to royalty. Here we judge you by what you do, not by what your father was. Here you can be something.
Here's a place to build a home. It isn't the land-there's always more land.
It's the idea that we all have value, you and me, we're worth something more than the dirt. I never saw dirt I'd die for, but I'm not asking you to come join us and fight for dirt. What we're all fighting for, in the end, is each other."
Once he started talking he broke right through the embarrassment and there was suddenly no longer a barrier there. The words came out of him in a clear river, and he felt himself silent and suspended in the grove listening to himself speak, carried outside himself and looking back down on the silent faces and himself speaking, and he felt the power in him, the power of his cause. For an instant he could see black castles in the air; he could create centuries of screaming, eons of torture. Then he was back in sunlit Pennsylvania. The bugles were blowing and he was done.
He had nothing else to say. No one moved. He felt the embarrassment return. He was suddenly enormously tired.
The faces were staring up at him like white stones. Some heads were down. He said, "Didn't mean to preach. Sorry.
But I thought... you should know who we are." He had forgotten how tiring it was just to speak. "Well, this is still the army, but you're as free as I can make you. Go ahead and talk for a while. If you want your rifles for this fight you'll have them back and nothing else will be said. If you won't join us you'll come along under guard. When this is over I'll do what I can to see that you get fair treatment.
Now we have to move out." He stopped, looked at them.
The faces showed nothing. He said slowly, "I think if we lose this fight the war will be over. So if you choose to come with us I'll be personally grateful. Well. We have to move out."
He turned, left silence behind him. Tom came up with the horse-a pale-gray light-footed animal. Tom's face was shiny red.
"My Lawrence, you sure talk pretty."
Chamberlain grunted. He was really tired. Rest a moment. He paused with his hands on the saddle horn. There was a new vague doubt stirring in his brain.
Something troubled him; he did not know why.
"You ride today, Lawrence. You look weary." Chamberlain nodded. Ellis Spear was up. He was Chamberlain's ranking officer, an ex-teacher from Wiscasset who was impressed with Chamberlain's professorship. A shy man, formal, but very competent. He gestured toward the prisoners.
"Colonel, what do you suggest we do with them?"
"Give them a moment. Some of them may be willing to fight. Tom, you go back and see what they say. We'll have to march them under guard. Don't know what else to do.
I'm not going to shoot them. We can't leave them here."
The Regiment had formed out in the road, the color bearers in front.
Chamberlain mounted, put on the wide-brimmed hat with the emblem of the infantry, began walking his horse slowly across the field toward the road.
The uneasiness still troubled him. He had missed something, he did not know what. Well, he was an instinctive man; the mind would tell him sooner