Read Online Billy Boy by Jean Mary Flahive - Free Book Online

instructor from Livingston’s battery to teach you how to use the big guns—howitzers and mortars. You’ll be practicing on them today, so move your lazy hides to the clearing behind the ridge!”
    Flashing a wide grin, Harry glanced at Billy as they approached the target field. “We ain’t likely to be bored today,” he said. “Look at those twelve-pound howitzers! Must be what’s firing at Antietam.”
    â€œAin’t likin’ them big guns. Only like my musket is all,” said Billy.
    They hurried past the tethered horses and moved closer to the howitzers, mingling with the other privates as they circled the large guns. Finally Sergeant Noyes called the company to attention and introduced the artillery instructor, a tall, thin man with thick yellow hair and a jutting chin.
    â€œThe Dutchman,” whispered Harry. “Heard one of the privates say he was a miserable ol’ skunk.”
    The Dutchman ran his hand over the howitzer and stared intently at the anxious men. He cleared his throat, hesitating before he spoke.
    â€œFiring a smoothbore cannon is a team effort. It requires as much precision as your drills. Experienced gunners should be able to load and fire a fieldpiece every thirty seconds.” His eyes were cold. “If you can’t, well,” he paused, lowering his voice, “you can be sure the Rebs will see you in Hell.
    â€œThe corporal is the gunner—the one who does the aiming.” The Dutchman leaned over and picked up the long sponge and rammer. “On the command ‘Load,’ crewman number one sponges the bore—like this,” he said as he rammed it into the cannon. “You men, two and three,” he said, pointing his finger at Billy and the soldier next to him, “for the next two rounds, you will be the load crewmen. Two passes to three, three to four. Four,” he continued as he picked another private for the team, “you will receive the round from three—four places it in the muzzle and ignites the charge …”
    The Dutchman helped the load crewmen issue the first round. The smoothbore cannon fired, and the projectile belched from the muzzle and shot across the field, exploding in a grove of pine and snapping branches, scattering them in a haze of white smoke.
    Billy clapped his hands over his ears. Horses whinnied, pumped their hooves backward over the ground, straining their reins against the posts. Over his shoulder, Billy glanced at the frightened animals.
    The Dutchman stepped back and shouted to the load crewman to begin the next round. Billy turned around, nervous,uncertain what to do. He froze. One of the privates shoved him into the gun carriage.
    â€œPick up the projectile, you blasted fool,” the private whispered. “Hurry! Pass it off.”
    Billy placed his hands on the projectile and hesitated. Sweat trickled beneath his shirt and ran down the back of his legs.
    â€œPrivate! Are you daft?” The Dutchman stepped forward, eyes flared with anger. “I said a round goes off every thirty seconds, not thirty minutes.”
    â€œAin’t sure is all.” Billy swallowed hard.
    â€œOh, you
ain’t sure
? You pick up the projectile and hand it off! Lunkhead,” he muttered, loud enough for the others to hear.
    Billy tried to ignore the muffled laughter as he lifted the projectile from the gun carriage and handed it off. Moments later the cannon fired. Billy felt the earth shake beneath his feet.
    Suddenly one of the horses reared, snapping the leather reins from the post, and bolted across the stony field, the limber and ammunition caisson still hitched to its back. Soldiers scattered in all directions as the ammunition crate bounced loose from the caisson and tumbled onto the ground, tossing shells into the air.
    â€œWatch out for the caisson!”
    â€œLook out! It’s gonna hit that boulder!”
    â€œShoot the blasted