March

A colored girl—a mute, the men said she was-brought you into the federal lines. The pickets took you for her master-called you a secesh and wanted to drive you away, but she wouldn’t have it. Stood her ground, even when they aimed their guns at her. She was determined to make them understand. They said she pulled off her scarf in the end and picked a bit of burned stick from their fire and wrote this upon it. We saved it for you.” My vision was blurry, and the charcoal marks on the blue-green fabric blurrier still. But etched on the filthy piece of turquoise satin I could make out the quavering letters:
capn March
yoonyin preechr
he cum from plase cal concrd
he a gud kin man