Nobody was sure if Gillie was a boy a girl. Nobody asked. I believe we got Gillie and Abe at the same time. And there’s no doubt that Abe was an eagle. Nobody needed to ask. And Gillie could march and fight as well as anybody. That’s a fact… and that’s all any of us cared about anyway. Some say Gillie was an Indian, and I believe that’s true. But I will tell you this, and I don’t give a damn if anybody believes it or not. Gillie was a witch. Some men can fight like devils, but can’t march worth a damn. They’re usually late… but welcome.
Then there are some who could march like insects but couldn’t fight. They are all dead. And that’s who I heard the stories from. When they saw Gillie around the eagle… they would see bird and human heads together. Nobody else came that close to Abe without fear of losing an eye. Huge Rebel boys came at Gillie with bayonets and I stood and shot one of them. Time the smoke was gone, the Rebel boys were gone. Mine was dead. Gillie’s were gone. And swear Old Abe was up there screaming, “Hardtack! Hardtack!” So they said: the ones now dead.
Sherman attacked once again down the Graveyard Road, with 150 volunteers Sherman told Tuttle, "This is murder; order those troops back." They had no more success than any of Sherman's other assaults. By then, Forlorn Hope was gone and so was Gillie who sounded like a girl, moved like a boy and had the ability to become invisible. That was back in the last days of May or the first of June in 1863. Today it might be called “Remote Viewing” or some other humbug. It was witchcraft. Straight from the ancient forests all over the world.
Witchcraft. Suppressed for over a thousand years. Remembered through tens of millennia before that, the language of the forest and its creatures intermixed with the bursting shells and that devilish rebel yell, I could compare to nothing but one of Dante's pictures of Hell, a something too fearful to describe. The Great Remembering in the presence of Trans- dimensional beings. Never saw Gillie again until sometime in 1864 when we all mustered out together and the war was about over anyway.
Sometimes I wish we had a "like" button. I want to let you know that I really enjoyed reading that but I feel a weight to write something meaningful in return.