Harry Turtledove
How Few Remain
Now twenty years have passed away,
Since I here bid farewell
To woods, and fields, and scenes of play
And school-mates loved so well.
Where many were, now few remain
Of old familiar things!
But seeing these to mind again
The lost and absent brings.
The friends I left that parting day How changed, as time has sped!
Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray,
And half of all are dead.
"My Childhood Home I See Again"
Prelude
1862
September
Outside Frederick, Maryland
T he Army of Northern Virginia was breaking camp. The lean, ragged soldiers, their gray uniforms and especially their shoes much the worse for wear, began the next long tramp, this one north and west toward Hagerstown. They were profoundly -and profanely-glad to be getting away from Frederick.
"That 'Bonnie Blue Flag,' that ain't nothin' but a damn pack o' lies," a corporal announced to anyone who would listen as he slung his haversack over his shoulder.
"You'd best believe it is," one of the privates in his company agreed, pausing in the middle of the agreement to spit a brown stream of tobacco juice from the chaw that bulged out his left cheek. "This here miserable Frederick town, it ain't nothin' but a stinkin' city full of damnyankees. Sons of bitches wouldn't take our money, wouldn't open up their stores so as we could get the supplies we needed, wouldn't-"
Taking a corporal's privilege, the corporal interrupted: "You can't even get into that there town without you have a letter in writin' from your officer, says you can. Otherwise, them lousy provost guards, they'd just as soon arrest you as look at you, goddamn miserable snoops. Hear them talk, you'd think we was the ones in the Yankee uniforms."