The Deserter by Jane Langton

in the battle for the possession of Culp’s Hill.

MORNING REPORT
    N ext day the morning report for the Second Massachusetts was as melancholy as that of any other regiment in all the seven corps that had fought in the three-day battle.
    First there was an address by Major Morse, who had taken the place of Colonel Mudge as commander of the regiment. His speech was partly a congratulation to the troops for the courage of their assault on the trenches the day before. “Did you see that, boys? General Slocum, his whole staff, did you see the way they took off their hats?” But mostly his address was a eulogy for Colonel Mudge. The colonel’s death was no news to the remaining members of the regiment. They had all seen Charley Mudge go down.
    It was raining when the first sergeants called the roll. The men stood huddled under their blankets, wincing at the pauses when nobody answered. Although all the men in Company E knew about Captain Tom Robeson, they hung their heads when he failed to respond.
    But there were surprises in the rest of the roll call.
    â€œLieutenant Seth Morgan?”
    When there was no answer, the sergeant spoke up louder, “Lieutenant Morgan? Seth?”
    There was still no answer. Seth’s fellow officers looked at each other. The sergeant leaned toward a corporal and muttered a question. The corporal, who was acting as company clerk, consulted his sheet. “No, sir,” he said. “He’s not here no place among the wounded.”
    â€œWell, what about the dead?” whispered the sergeant.
    â€œHe’s not there neither.”
    The sergeant whistled under his breath. The clerk moved his pencil to the column headed “MISSING” and scribbled, “1st Lt. Seth Morgan,” and the sergeant continued to call the roll.
    When he got down to the Ps there was another pause after he called the name of Private Otis Pike. During the silence there were snickers. Otis must have skedaddled .
    â€œPut the damn fool down as missing,” said the sergeant, but then the corporal leaned toward him and whispered, “No, sir, that ain’t right, sir. Otis Pike’s daid.”
    â€œDead!”
    The corporal tapped his sheet and pointed to a name.
    â€œWell, if that don’t beat all. How did the poor bastard manage to get himself killed?”
    The corporal looked around and whispered to another sergeant, then cleared his throat. “Sir, Sergeant Willow here was in the burial detail.” The corporal wagged his head in the direction of Culp’s Hill. “He found Otis layin’ out there daid.”
    â€œOut there?” The first sergeant couldn’t believe it. He raised his eyebrows at Sergeant Willow, who stepped forward and gave his report.
    â€œPrivate Pike, that’s right, his body was out there, sir. I didn’t recognize it at first because his head was all”—the sergeant swept a hand across his face—“well, it was mostly gone, but he had a tag on him, and it was Otis all right. He was out there way in front.”
    â€œIn front? What do you mean, in front?”
    â€œRight behind Colonel Mudge, sir, that’s where he was.” Sergeant Willow looked uncomfortable. “Believe it or not, sir.”
    â€œWell, if that don’t beat the devil.” The first sergeant cleared his throat and called out the next name. “Alpheus Peterson?”
    â€œHere, sir.”
    â€œPrivate Scopes?” The first sergeant looked more closely at his list. “Private Lemuel Scopes?”
    No answer.
    â€œHe’s daid, sir,” said the corporal.
    â€œWhat about his brother?” The sergeant read the name aloud, “Rufus Scopes?”
    Again there was no answer.
    â€œBoth of ’em’s daid, sir,” murmured the corporal. “They was twins.”
    â€œI know they was twins,” said the first sergeant angrily. Muddled, he looked fiercely back at his list. “Private