When he looked back on that time, he could see the first days were the easiest, if also the most frightening. And more dangerous days were to follow.
Like hundreds and thousands of others, he walked home from the war, home from defeat and surrender. Glory was long gone, erased in places with names like The Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse, Petersburg, and Appomattox.
The road he took began in Virginia. It ended more than 900 miles later in Mississippi, and home. The camaraderie he’d experienced with others walking home disappeared three days into the journey, when he discovered he’d been left behind. Alone, he walked the often-deserted roads, asking the occasional fellow traveler the direction and the next town.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Dancing Priest.
Photograph by Lukasz Szmigiel via Unsplash. Used with permission.
Some Wednesday Readings
Shrouded Veterans: Father and Son United in Death – Frank Jastrzembski at Emerging Civil War.
Unyielding Faith: First Crusade’s Starving Army and the Jerusalem Miracle – Jason Clark at This is the Day.
Why French Jews Believed the Political Right Could Save Them – and France – Peter Savodnik at The Free Press.
Accidentally Raising Readers – Melissa Woodruff at Story Warren.
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