by Larry Hunt
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Meanwhile, back on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge Mountains Nate is inquiring from Luke, on how much further do they have to go? Luke answers, “Nate we have been in Virginia for the past couple of days, I reckon we should be in Petersburg tomorrow, and Richmond is just a hop-skip-and-jump from there. We should be to Port Royal a few days later, no more than a week I reckon. What’s wrong Nate, you’re rump got saddle sores?”
“Yer darn tooting, my saddles sores done got saddle sores! How ‘bout we set up camp for the night down yonder by that creek?”
After supper Nate walks down to the water to wash their eating utensils. “Luke! Come here, what’s that floating down this here creek? I’s thank you needs to see this!”
As Luke approaches the creek bank, he can see the object in the water that has Nate so upset – it is a dead body. A body dressed in the blue wool of a Yankee, floating face down in the slow moving water. Watching the young soldier float by their attention suddenly turns to another body, then another in the water.
“Must have been some more big battle that took place upstream Nate. Glad we didn’t have to use any of this water for our supper.”
