Читать книгу A Yankee Girl at Antietam онлайн

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“But Polly has always called me ‘Yankee girl,’” Roxy told herself, choking back a troublesome lump that came in her throat as she remembered that she had quarrelled with Polly Lawrence; with Polly, who was nearly fifteen years old, and who knew so many wonderful stories, and who sang such beautiful songs, and who owned a horse! Oh! There never was anyone like Polly, even if she did think Maryland people better than the people of Massachusetts; and now Roxy leaned her head on the rough stones of the parapet and sobbed aloud, and was so filled with unhappiness that she did not hear the sound of horses’ hoofs or the jingle of bridle reins until two horsemen clattered onto the bridge close beside her; then she turned quickly and gazed up at them in amazement. It was Roxy’s first sight of Confederate soldiers, and as she looked at the two war-worn men, in shabby gray uniforms, mounted on fine well-cared-for horses, it was no wonder that the little girl forgot her own troubles.

So far, in the summer of 1862, the war had not pressed hard on Maryland; the state seemed chiefly a highway through which passed the Northern troops; and Polly Lawrence had seen many marching men crossing that very bridge.