For those who are worried, it is neither pro-north or
pro-south. It is just a story of young boys leaving on what they think is an
adventure when in reality they are leaving behind childhood for manhood.
Enjoy!
Victory Song is a wonderfully researched historical novel that brings the Civil War to life. It focuses on the thoughts and feelings of a group of enlisted boys, dealing with their hopes, prejudices and fears.
The main character, Andy Richardson, enlists in the military (against his parents' wishes) to get away from the farm. Andy leaves as a selfish and self-centered teen and over the next few years, he grown into a man that has grown physically, mentally and spiritually.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and the way that Mrs. Doner pulls the reader into the story. She focuses on the personal side of war, and creates characters that will stay with you long after you put the book down.
This is a fantastic book that would work well with the older home school student as well as anyone that is interested in historical fiction.
This was a great little book about the Civil War. The author demonstrated that
she had done considerable research on this topic. I enjoyed the story of Andy
and his struggles as a Yankee soldier. I live in Georgia and don't know a lot
of the southern history (I'm a Yankee born and bred!). However, I recognized a
lot of the sites mentioned in this book. I live in a town full of historical
markers for various points during the war. It helped me to appreciate a
different side of the story from the reading of this book
My daughter and I were at the Trinity
re-enactment in May and met you. We both bought your book Victory Song. I
finished it and wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed it. Well, I honestly
couldn’t put it down once I started reading. It was easy to follow and I found
myself believing I was right there in the field with those soldiers. This is
about the best Civil War book I’ve ever read and finding this book was the best
part of being at the re-enactment.
At 19, Andy Richardson,
longed to escape the family farm, its responsibilities, and above-all, the
control of his parents and the intricacies of family-relationships. And so,
with his father's consent, but not approval, he joined the Union Army and
headed off to Syracuse to join the 149th New York Infantry Regiment. He quickly
finds that the Army, war, friendships, and faith are not as straight-forward
and simple as he had once believed. As the war drags on, Andy rediscovers his
faith and grows in his relationships with himself, his fellow soldiers, and his
family.
Jeri Doner's knowledge of the Civil War era is remarkable. Her reader is masterfully drawn into the world of the young men who joined the Union and Confederate Armies, promises of adventure fresh in their minds, and the families who prayed daily for their safety. While at times, I felt as though the history pulled the story, Ms. Doner's simple, relaxed writing style and likable characters kept me reading and wanting to learn more.
History masquerading as fiction.
Jeri Doner's knowledge of the Civil War era is remarkable. Her reader is masterfully drawn into the world of the young men who joined the Union and Confederate Armies, promises of adventure fresh in their minds, and the families who prayed daily for their safety. While at times, I felt as though the history pulled the story, Ms. Doner's simple, relaxed writing style and likable characters kept me reading and wanting to learn more.
History masquerading as fiction.
And now, the first chapter...
Chapter One
It was not a good time to be leaving that was certain. His
mother said so often enough. She never missed a chance to remind him of the
harvest, that it was a monumental task at best. It would be almost too much for
one aging farmer and a sixteen-year-old boy. He half listened. There was always
too much work, and that was not going to change. He knew his father was not
getting any younger, and his brother, Peter, was not doing well in school. He
knew that his mother’s work had increased since his big sister, Lydia, had
married and moved to her husband’s home.
Andy had always been the bright one, the strong one, and the
reliable one. He was tired of it. He had listened eagerly to the army
recruiters, and read all the patriotic articles in the newspapers. They had
promised much in the way of adventure, glory, and victory. They had called for
the people to sacrifice for the good of the country. While the war might seem
remote and irrelevant to the rest of the Richardson family, it was very real to
Andy. He wanted a part in it. He had heard all the colorful words until they
circled continually in his mind. Adventure. Glory. Victory. Sacrifice. He
admitted only to himself that the most prominent and appealing word of all was
none of those. It was the word that had become the theme of his existence, his
prayer and constant desire. Escape.
He did not feel guilty about leaving the milking chores on
this last day of boyhood. His father did not approve of his enlisting in the
army, but he had given permission for him to have this time for himself. If
they could get by without him tomorrow, they could just as easily begin
managing today, the old man had said. It was his stern way of expressing that,
though he disapproved, he was trying to understand.
Andy wandered along the windbreak at the edge of a field,
enjoying for the last time the peacefulness of the land, which had been his
lifelong home. He let the slope of the ground carry him down toward the brook
where cattle were watered. Many a summer day had been spent fishing in that
stream. Through a tangle of brush, he located the well-worn path, which led to
the swimming hole. A stout rope was still suspended from an overhanging branch.
It had been the most important thing in his world the year he and his best
friend, Eddie, had hung it there. The water was still now, for Eddie had moved
away to distant Auburn, and Andy had grown up. Not many splashes were heard in
the old swimming hole these days. This summer of 1862 had been an uncommonly
dry one, and the water level was low.
Childhood was a thing of the past, Andy told himself. Only
one day separated him from manhood and a life of his own. In the morning he was
leaving for Syracuse to be mustered into the 149th New York Infantry Regiment,
and the farm boy life would be over. For now he could afford to stop resenting
the confines of the farm, the dullness of life here, and the everlasting
chores. He could simply meander about enjoying his surroundings.
There were things to enjoy here. September in Central New
York was a brightly busy time. The heat of summer was, for the most part, past.
Though there was still an occasional hot day or two, the air more often than
not held a chill that warned of winter’s inevitable approach. The southwest
breeze blew about industrious honeybees as they salvaged the last useful specks
from brilliant goldenrod blossoms. Gray squirrels that had been summer-sleek
were now fall-fluffy, romping with their abundance of hickory nuts and black
walnuts. The stately maples had not yet reached their peak of color, but lacy
sumac fairly blazed from every neglected hedgerow and patch of wasteland. Fruit
trees were heavy with spring promises kept. Pale Queen-Anne’s lace and blue
chicory cushioned the fall of ripening apples, pears, and plums. The hills lay
in gentle folds, no longer green, but gold and brown awaiting the scythe.
Andy had circled back toward the house, and could see a
horse saddled and hitched to the fence in the side yard. He felt a sudden
excitement upon recognizing it as his Aunt Jen’s. She was one of the few people
he would miss. As he neared the door, he mentally braced himself, anticipating
that because of Aunt Jen’s presence he was about to walk into a roomful of
tension.
He’s leaving, Callie, and there’s nothing more to be done
about it. You’ll have to face the fact.” The voice was raspy with age, edged
with impatience.
Callie Richardson looked up from the pot of apple butter she
had been stirring, and eyed her sister-in-law across the steamy summer kitchen.
“I’m trying to make the most of this, Jen, and I don’t need you to tell me what
I already know. I just can’t feel the way you do about it. I think he’s making
a big mistake.”
“Don’t you read the papers, girl?” Jen asked. “There’s a war
going on in this country. The worst kind of a war. Tearing the country apart. And
your son is going for a soldier in Mr. Lincoln’s army. Can’t you be proud of
him?”
“I am. In my own way. But he’s needed here at home. He never
gave that a thought when he signed up.”
“Pete is sixteen. It’s time he did his share around here. Andy
did at that age.”
“Pete is not Andy,” the mother replied. “He needs more time
with his school work. He tries his best, but he can’t keep up like Andy did.”
“That’s not Andy’s fault,” Jen pointed out. “He’d be leaving
home one of these days, no matter what. If it weren’t for the war it would be
for something else. You know I’m right, Callie.”
Callie’s brow was moist, and so were her eyes. She wiped her
face on her apron. “I know, Jen. But you really can’t understand. He’s not your
son.”
“He’s my brother’s. And since I never had a family of my
own, he’s as close to being mine as anyone can be. It’s not a secret Andy was
always my favorite. I’ll miss him something awful, but I’d never try to keep
him from going. He’s nineteen. He’s not a child.”
Callie decided the apple butter had cooked long enough, and
lifted the heavy kettle from the stove. She moved to the wooden table in the
middle of the room and set it down a little harder than necessary. “I suppose I
wouldn’t mind so much if he just wasn’t going with that Henry Birch. That boy
worries me.”
“Oh, they’ll be all right!” Jen tried to assure her. “I
thought you liked Mrs. Birch. Don’t they go to your church?”
“They did years ago. They’ve been to all different churches
since then. Never satisfied. I don’t see Henry’s mother any more. But hear
plenty about him. He’s a wild one. I don’t like Andy with him.”
“It’s time you started trusting Andy. He’s a grown man, and
your job of raising him is over. You’ve given him a proper Christian
upbringing, and that’s all you can do. Besides, I hear that Captain Townsend
that was recruiting in Elbridge was some kind of a preacher in civilian life. He
was a chaplain in the cavalry before he resigned to raise a company for the
Fourth Onondagas. That’s whose company they’ll be in, isn’t it?”
“Yes…that gives me some comfort,” Callie admitted. “But I
still worry that he’ll turn out like that good-for-nothing Henry.”
“Or like me?” Jen asked.
Callie let the exasperation show on her face. Something was
wrong here. She was a Godly woman, but it was Jen’s total honesty that made her
the most uncomfortable. It was hard enough making polite conversation after all
the differences they had suffered over the years. She did not know how to
respond to this. Jen was the undisputed black sheep of the Richardson family,
having rejected the strict moral standards of the rest of the clan. She was a
painfully honest woman, and occasionally used some colorful language to tell
her relatives what she thought of the way they pressured their children to
conform. She was a true non-conformist, dressing as she pleased, coming and
going bareheaded in the streets at all hours. She commonly hung laundry out on
Sunday, read scandalous novels, and it was said she used alcohol to relieve a
chronic cough. Callie wondered once or twice if the cough could have been the
result of the use of tobacco, but that seemed rather outrageous, even for Jen. It
was true she found it easy to disapprove of the old woman, and the more she
gave voice to her disapproval, the more Andy seemed to admire his aunt. Perhaps
he would turn out like her, a religious agnostic and a social outcast. There
was nothing wrong with wanting more for him than that.
Before Callie had a chance to think of anything to say, the
front door banged and loud footsteps came through the house toward the summer
kitchen.
“What’s cooking?’ Andy’s voice called. “It smells great in
here!”
Both mother and aunt turned toward the doorway as he
entered. His gray-green eyes blinked as he tried to hurry the adjustment from
outdoor sunlight to the dimness of the room.
“Aunt Jen! Glad you came over,” he said, looking with
satisfaction at the old woman sitting near the table. “I figured on coming over
to your place tonight to say good-bye.”
“You’re a fine one!” Jen scolded playfully. “I come visiting
and you’re off someplace!”
“I just went for a walk in the woods and down by the old
swimming hole. Wanted to see it once more before I leave. Water sure is low
this year.” Having discovered the apple butter, he cut a generous slice of
bread from a loaf on the sideboard and sat down on the edge of the table to dip
it into the steaming kettle.
“Get out of there!” Callie chided, swatting him on the thigh
with a dishtowel to remove him from the table. “You know better than that!”
“How come you’re making this stuff when it’s so hot out?” He
asked with his mouth full. “Apples ‘ll keep till cold weather.”
“Because it’s your favorite, and what I made last year is all
gone,” the mother replied.
“Mom, you didn’t have to do that.” He tried to sound
grateful, but suspected that she was too busy or too tired to notice.
“When you were gone so long I thought you walked into Canton
to say good-bye to somebody,” she said.
“I said all my farewells Sunday,” he told her. “And it’s
Memphis, not Canton.”
It seemed he was forever correcting her about that. The
nearest village was always called Canton, short for Canal Town, and that word
best described the little settlement. A year ago, for some obscure reason, the
name had been changed to Memphis. Andy had no trouble recalling the new name
and thought his parents should have been able to keep it in mind too coming as
it did from the Bible. He would never understand how older people could bring
to mind lengthy passages from their favorite book, quoting chapter and verse
without error, and not recall that they were members of the First Baptist
Church of Memphis, not Canton. The inconsistency baffled him; if that was a
characteristic of old age, he hoped never to reach it.
The door banged again, and a familiar voice called, “Mom,
we’re finally here. Where do you want the pies?”
“I’ll take care of them,” Andy offered, bounding into the
dining room where his sister Lydia was unpacking her contribution to dinner.
“Not a chance, little brother,” she said. “Somebody else
might like a taste.”
It was a joke they shared, her calling him a little brother,
for she said it looking up into his face as she had been doing for years. Not
all Richardsons were tall; when it came to height, Lydia favored Callie, but
Andy had inherited all his father’s considerable size and more. While many
youngsters experienced a winter of illness sometime during their growing years
resulting in a slowed growth rate, Andy had always enjoyed excellent health and
an unimpaired appetite for the abundance of good food with which the family had
always been blessed. Besides his long, muscular arms and legs, he received from
his father a distinctive face, which was easily recognizable in the locality as
belonging to a Richardson. The forehead was broad and high, the nose a bit
longer than most would consider becoming. The cheekbones were prominent and
deeply tanned from exposure to sun and wind. The mouth was the most distinctive
feature of all, and the one Andy liked the least. It had a tendency to turn
down at the corners, producing a look of immovable sternness on his father’s
face. On Aunt Jen the look was one of impudence. On Lydia it was just plain
pouty. Andy, when he thought of it, smiled a lot in hopes that the effort would
make him look less like the rest of the family.
Callie came in from the summer kitchen to greet her only
daughter. The oldest of the three children, Lydia had married the son of a
neighboring farmer less than a year ago. She was still much in evidence about
the homestead and especially on important occasions like today.
“Where’s Don?” Callie asked, referring to Lydia’s husband.
“He went down to the barn to meet Daddy and Pete,” the girl
explained. “I hope they finish milking soon. I’m starved. Too bad SOME people
don’t see fit to help with the chores anymore.” With that she nudged Andy in
the ribs.
“Before you barged in I was trying to have a nice visit with
Aunt Jen,” he said.
Lydia made a face at the mention of the aunt, but dutifully
went to the doorway and called, “Hello, Aunt Jen. I hope you’re staying for
supper.”
The old woman got to her feet and replied, “No, I got my own
food at home. Just came over to see Andy before he goes off tomorrow. Now if
you’ll walk me out to my horse, boy, I’ll be on my way and out from under
foot.”
They all politely tried to convince her to stay, but she
would not be persuaded. Callie and Lydia did not seem overly disappointed when
she insisted upon leaving, but Andy was reluctant to walk out into the yard
with her.
“I hoped I’d get to see you in your uniform,” Aunt Jen said
when they were outside and the commotion left behind.
“We have to go to Syracuse to get all our stuff issued. I
don’t know how quick the government can supply us. You’ll have to come to the
camp at the fairgrounds to see us in uniform.”
“I ain’t traipsing all the way to Syracuse!” Aunt Jen
informed him. “You send me a picture.”
“I’ll try. But I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be over to see
you when I get back, and that’s a promise.”
She did not respond except to shake her head sadly. “It
won’t be the same here with you gone.”
Andy nodded. “I can’t say I’ll miss everything here, but I
sure will miss you, Aunt Jen.”
They had been close and he thought he knew her as well as
anyone alive, but he was surprised when she did something uncharacteristic. She
stretched to hug and kiss him. When he lifted her onto her horse she did
something else he did not expect. She wept.
“Aunt Jen, I only enlisted for three years. And if we get
the Rebels licked before then, I can come back earlier. Please don’t act as if
it’s the end of everything.”
She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat as if to speak,
but said nothing. She had the unladylike habit of riding astride, and had
designed her skirts to accommodate the man’s saddle she used. Once sure of her
seat, she slapped the horse on the withers and cantered off down the road.
Andy watched for a while after the dust settled. After a few
moments he looked out across the field to see his father, Pete and Don leaving
the barn. They were weary, but walked quickly toward the house, for supper
would soon be ready. Andy thought of the same thing, but waited for them to
catch up to him so they could all enter together.
The sun was beginning to fade when he turned back to the old
house. It was painted barn red and looked dark in the shadows. It sat on a
hillside protected from the ferocity of the north wind, its front yard sloping
down toward the road, which ran south of it. Light spilled from the kitchen
window along with mingled smells of roasting beef, fresh bread, and the apple
butter. Behind the house the kitchen garden looked well used, offering the last
of its beans and squash. The corn stalks were brown and dry, holding one
another erect against the autumn winds. His eyes followed the road until it
twisted out of sight among surrounding maples. It was edged by a split rail
fence he had built with his father. Beyond that lay a field newly cultivated
this year. Wrestling the stubborn sumac out of the ground had been an ordeal he
would not soon forget. He came up to the house and pumped some fresh water up
from the well he had helped to dig and keep clean. It was good water, and had
proved sufficient for their needs. He took a last look around the place and
sighed. While his parents took pride in the home and saw in it a testimony to
achievement, Andy saw only backbreaking work—work that would never be done. It
was not the sort of life he wanted for himself, and he was excited to think
that his escape was only a day in the future.
Here is a link to the ebook on Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CJYML6G
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