Bernard Henrique Gurglson

Well, I got a journal (if you could call it that), supposed to help us cope with the struggle of war, as if it could help. It's got my name on it and everything, however it's illusion of mental sanctity is far from apparent. There's no way I'm reading this and getting it past any of my associates without them gigglin' off their cots. Camp life was quite the bore, compared to life back home with Pa in Philly. The city there was truly dizzying, men, women, and children rushed back and forth attending to their duties as factory workers, teachers, shop owners, or the occasional political figure. It all got dull after a while. Once Mama left but two years ago, when I was twelve, My father and I were reeling in the effects of it. Since Pa was the one with the steady job, and Mom constantly getting fired and laid off from sleazy office to sleazy office, my father was the only true parent I had. Although my mother was but a pig with the brain of a genius ape (she looked the part too), she had always wanted me to be the "true man of the house", since my father had looked at the good side of life and talked about how I felt with me. Quite a different roof I was under. It was truly she that influence my love for the military, the one good trait of mine I can attribute to her brashness.



John: Thanks, possums.

Saloni: Hunky Dory!

Caylie: Here are the greenbacks!

William: Been through the mill, have ya?

John: I’m played out from all this partying.

Fiza: Lets have cake! I will cut it with Arkansas toothpick


John: I’m feeling the quick-step comin, gotta Skedaddle!

Caylie: I’m whipped, bye guys!


To Pa:

Camp life took quite the turn these past months. I cannot describe the pure torture it is to wake up before the chickens, grab your rifle, and head out to the field and move, twist, and shoot for a whole riveting day. Every drill we take makes my heart feel closer to imploding from sheer boredom! A scrawny boy in my regiment, Gerald or somethin' got to do drills by himself as everyone else was asleep! That's the whole night, throwing your rifle to and fro, all because he stole some food from the camp mess hall. Boy is it a drag in this lace, but I signed up for this mini-hell.


Interview Question 1:

When I chose to board the train, waves of guilt had become of me. I hadn't the slightest clue on what to do without my brother, and I was living in constant fear afterwards. I had already cheated my way into the army, and my conscience beckoned me towards the railroad, away from the last shred of family I had.

Interview Question 2:

Following in my brother's footsteps made me fell as though I was growing up, and becoming more like a man in the wake of my father's absence. The pride from the moments of leaving my brother struck me like a bullet, and I could not feel the same emotions again as I felt that same day.

Interview Question 3:

Nothing. All I have done so far has shown my endurance and humility on wartime by leaving my brother and showing my solidarity as a person, and how strong I truly am. I am quite glad to see how my life has panned out.


                             Life of a Soldier


                            Johnny and the Boys

The Life of a Soldier ain't no fun,

All you do is shoot your gun.

Toilin' away in the Summer sun.

It's the life of a soldier! (x2)

We fight until we're bleedin out red,

My chest is full of searin' hot lead!

Getting real close to being quite dead!

It's the Life of a Soldier! (x2)

And I'm headin' back to bed...


Camp life has its ups and downs. Most of the down came from those who put their bets a tad too high, and lost it all in the face of failure. Poker was the game to play at camp, and some could still ruin their life, even in war. Many bet all their rations, some clothes, tobacco, money, anything worth a dime was out on that table. I myself only chose to play once our measly rations came in, due in part that everyone bet real high those nights, and I always had a fair bit of luck. Just last night I managed to win myself a couple hardtack squares, plus a whole strip of salted beef, which made quite a nice meal.


However, it wasn't all stupid bets and meaningless games. Just last week, Fourth Battalion came back form a small skirmish with the Confederates just west of us, and they had forty-five casualties wheeled back. One boy, no older than me, had the right side of his head, ear and all, ripped off by one lead ball. Another's leg was made mincemeat by cannon shrapnel, nothing more than a curtain of meat and bone fragment. I saw their faces wheel by, screaming, crying, and kicking in agony. No one really slept that night, what with the crying from the medical tent.


I'm going home today. My three year enlistment is finally up. I haven't written in this journal for about a year, which is somewhat of a shame. We won, finally, cornering the South and forcing them to surrender. The only reason I didn't have my journal was that we weren't at this camp for a long time, since we had to make a camp way out west, after that tussle Fourth Battalion had, which I wrote about earlier. We just picked up and left, leaving this camp all alone. It was looted by the South about two months ago, and they took everything of value. Although we took all the food,water, and money, we left the sentimental stuff. They took everything, Everything! Looted, robbed, and broken. I was so lucky to keep my journal, tucked away under some loose floorboards, only because I didn't want anyone reading my inner most thoughts, or something deep and profound like that. But finally, I'm going home. Father has died, however, a fever taking over his body and wiping it out. I only got this news yesterday, which means it is only my tiny, tiny brother at home, alone. A distant uncle is there, however, taking care of him.. I pity him, although I am going to be there for him soon, and I promise I shall hold the farm down with him.


There was a man from New York that was here with his fancy camera, and took pictures of some of the camp life we saw. This is a doucmentation of his photos.

This is a portrait taken of me at the beginning of the war. IT shocks me that they did not notice I was of such young age, as I am obviously not 18 judging by this picture!

This one was taken in a bright green forest, highlighting the beautiful scenery.
This was was a picture that the photographer took in the mess hall, making oats.
To pass time, we played card games of all sorts, and this captures a nice hand.
This was our drill sergeant giving the first demonstration of live firing.
The last picture taken, this one was for all those going out when 3 years ended.

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