WILLIAM BLACK
Co. B - 55th Illinois
This sure ain't what I thought
Bein' a soldier was gonna be.
Sure I knew there'd be lots a marchin'
But I'd followed the plow for years.
I even knew the food wouldn't be the best,
But ma had died when I was just ten.
Sleepin' in tents wouldn't be too bad
As long as there were blankets to keep me warm.
I knew there'd be shootin' and killin'.
Shootin' and killin' -
That's what a soldier's s'posed to do.
I was prepared for death
To be at my stoop any time.
But I sure didn't think,
Back in Chicago when I joined up,
That I'd ever be told, by my own Colonel,
To kill one of our own men
Simply because he went home
To be with his wife
When she buried their baby boy
by Frank Crawford
* * * * * * * * * *
ALBERT S. ROLLINS
Co. B - 95th Illinois
Buried in Belvidere, Illinois City Cemetery
Placed there by his brother Lt. John Rawlins - 45th Illinois
after he resigned to find his older brother's remains
Father owns so much land in Boone County
Its been said you couldn't walk around it in a week.
All that land in Boone County -
Why was I clear down here in Mississipppi?
I often wonder where Johnny went
When he joined up.
Hope he got a good position.
Maybe even an officer on some one's staff
Johnny could do that.
I kept thinking - not hoping -
"Father will be poud of me when thiis is over."
Well, Guntown, Mississippi, is where it all began to end.
I thought I'd make it.
"Father will still be proud
Proud to show off his son with the missing leg.
Proud to show off his son -
The one that fought Bedford Forrest.
Proud to say, "Meet my son, Albert
The War Veteran'"
But infection can start any time
Any where.
That small wound in my shoulder,
The one no one noticed?
Blood poisoning.
I hope I am not buried here in Tennessee
But taken back to Boone County.
Father owns a lot of land in Boone County.
by Frank Crawford
* * * * * * * * * *
JOHN RAMSEY
Co. B - 21st Illinois
That was the sweetest drink of water
I had ever experienced
In my entire life.
I doubt, had I lived another forty years,
There would have ever been
A drink as satisfying for anyone
As that draught of fresh cool water was
To Me
The wet was a salve
To my parched, split and bleeding lips.
The moisture
separated my tongue from the roof of my mouth
And the insides of my cheeks.
The cool spread from my stomach
Across my chest;
I could feel it being absorbed
By every organ in my body.
My every muscle, every fiber,
Moved smoother,
With less pain, than I could recall for months.
My lungs inhaled more air
With each breath I took
It became less painful
And more joyful just to breathe.
Yes, that first drink, from Providence Spring,
At Andersonville Prison,
In deep southern Georgia,
Was, without a doubt
The best drink
Of anything I ever took.