WEN: 2260EE
Exhibitor Name: Jeshua Wickham
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
eyes. His blond hair fell over his forehead in wayward locks. The lad turned and glanced at Henry, flashing him a cheery grin. “Hullo, there. I reckon you’re a new recruit too? Henry nodded assent, “I joined in April.” “Me too. My name’s Randall Williams, but most folks call me Rand. What’s your name, and where are you from?” “Henry Sanders. My family lives on a farm, near the town of Hillsborough, North Carolina. How ‘bout you?” “Massachusetts, small town too. I’ve been to Boston a few times though. He laughed, “I don’t much like it, though. Too many folks there, ‘specially loyalists” He paused, studying Henry. “How did you ever manage to get in with the recruits? You don’t look a day over sixteen.” “I’m not much. I turned sixteen five months ago,” he admitted, “but my parents didn’t object, and the men taking recruits weren’t too particular.” He quickly turned the tables. “You yourself don’t look much older than I.” Randall laughed, “No, but I beat you by a couple months. “I do hope that we get assigned to the same regiment. Twould be regularly splendid to have a chap like you to stand by. We could have all sorts of fun.” Henry soon found out they could indeed. Randall was full of high spirits and always had a joke or a prank up his sleeve. Both boys were delighted when they found they were to share a tent and had been assigned to the same regiment. The first few months of the war were, as Rand expressed it, “first rate”. There were six men assigned to each tent, and they soon found out who their other companions would be. There were two older men, one kindly, but absentminded, and the other stern, morose, and harsh. He had a stony countenance, and never smiled. He seemed embittered against anyone who looked like they enjoyed life. The boys found out not to mess with him soon enough. Randall, when he first saw him, jabbed Henry in the ribs and whispered, “his face sure could use a cracking, don’t you think?” Randall certainly did enough to make even the grimest man’s face crack. He also learned never to get in Smith’s way again. In addition to these two, they had two middle aged men in their tent. Both were rather absorbed in their own affairs. All in all, it was not as bad as it could have been, and they consoled themselves with the thought of the coming campaign. . . . . . .
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