Culpepper's Cannon Read Online Free

spy!”
    â€œA spy!” the little one said again.
    Amos saw the sergeant start to walk toward him. He was so big that every time he took a step, Amos thought he could feel the ground tremble. He tried to shake himself free of the tall man, but he had a stronger grip than he looked like he should have had.
    Before Amos could get away, the sergeant had a hold on his shoulder, and he quit struggling. He knew he would never get away from the sergeant. He knew he would never get away from a grip like that. It was like a vise.
    â€œA spy, eh?” The sergeant’s voice was asstrong as his grip was. He looked at Amos with startling blue eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “He’s a spy.”
    â€œI’m not a spy,” Amos protested.
    â€œRight. That’s what the other one said, too.”
    â€œThe other one?” Amos asked. “There’s another one?”
    â€œThere’s another one,” the sergeant said, “and he’s dressed just like you.”

• 5
    â€œHe’s a spy, sir,” the sergeant said. “He was talking about the
Virginia
, and he called it the Yankee name.”
    Amos was standing in a canvas tent in front of a captain of the Army of the Confederacy. The captain was an older man with a bald head. He had a fringe of white hair and gold-rimmed glasses with little round lenses. He sweated and continually dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.
    â€œDid he now?” The captain leaned over his desk and looked at Amos. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”
    â€œI’m not a spy,” Amos said. “I live here.”
    â€œWell, fine,” the captain said. “That should be easy to verify. We’ll just talk to your mother.”
    Amos swallowed loudly. “Well, you can’t do that.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause she’s not from here. Well, she is, but she isn’t. She isn’t
yet
.” The captain stared at him blankly. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
    The captain left the question hanging in the air. He pointed at Amos’s sweatshirt. “What is that?” he asked.
    Amos looked down. He was wearing a sweatshirt that his parents had bought him when they visited Gettysburg National Military Park the year before. There was a picture of a cannon and a grave and two crossed flags, one the Union’s and one the Confederacy’s. He looked back up. He didn’t know what to say.
    â€œIt’s a shirt,” he said.
    â€œI can see that. What’s it say on it?”
    â€œGettysburg, sir.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought it said.” The captaindabbed at his forehead. “Sergeant Bremish.”
    Amos looked at the sergeant. “Your name is Bremish?”
    â€œYeah. So?” Amos looked at him but didn’t say anything.
    â€œSergeant Bremish,” the captain repeated, “have you ever heard of a Gettysburg?”
    â€œI believe there’s a town up north called that, sir.”
    â€œWhere at?”
    â€œPennsylvania, I believe, sir.”
    â€œYes, I thought so. Do you suppose this lad is from there?”
    â€œProbably, sir.”
    â€œAnd that would make him a spy, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYes, I thought so.” The captain took off his glasses, tried to clean them with his sweaty handkerchief, and put them back on.
    Amos swallowed again. “What do you do with spies?” he asked.
    â€œGenerally, we shoot them,” the captain said. “Isn’t that what we do, Sergeant?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYes, I thought that’s what we did with them.” The captain dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief.
    â€œI’m not a spy, I swear,” Amos said. “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
    â€œOh, we could do that, too,” the captain said. “We could, couldn’t we, Sergeant?”
    â€œIf you