Written by Ashlei Havili

The Diary of Thomas Beecher

horrible thing. People die from it, but yet others tell stories of how wonderful and exciting it is. Is all this so necessary for freedom? I guess all things come with some price. The guard has changed. The man is obviously drunk. He keeps telling us to be quiet you black demons. Soon enough youll be off our hands. We have not made a sound, for most of us are asleep or imagining our loved ones. I would hate to find out if well be leaving this place in chains or staying forever. I hope to never find out. I intend to get out of this stinking hole and help finish this fight. June 3, 1863 The battling is driving me crazy. I was working on chores given to us by the Rebs when I overheard the war strategies being discussed by

the generals. Sneaking to a hole in the tents side I peeked in. I dont care. I think that the middle will be the weakest point, said Lee, pointing to the map on the table. We have been heavily hitting the left and right flanks. If we charge straight down the middle we will divide the Federal soldiers and have an easy victory, he said, enthusiastically thumping the table. June 22, 1863 The Colonel says I should keep a diary of things that happen in this war. He gave me this journal to write in and to pass the time with. He said to me, Thomas, you need to write in this book so your childrens grand-children know that their ancestor served in the war that ended their captivity. Little does he know that I am actually a woman. My name is Esther Lou Bailey. I am seventeen. My mama would say I shouldnt write that in my journal. Shed say that Im going to get caught. I dont care. I am part of the 2nd Pennsylvania Regiment for Coloreds. My mans name is Thomas Beecher. I am pretending to be nineteen. I was born a slave to a man named Jeremiah Finley, a stout mean man whose overseer was meaner than a crocodile. He sold me when I was only nine to Eliza Wheatley. Eliza was an abolitionist, and as soon as we crossed the Ohio River, she set me free. I stayed with her and worked as a paid servant in her large manor in New York. She taught me to read and write,

something that no other colored person I know of can do except the famous Phyllis Wheatley, who lived before America was a country, almost 100 years ago. When this war broke out, I signed up, as a young free man. I should stop writing soon. The fire is burning so low, that I can hardly see my hands. I will write more the next time I can. June 25, 1863 I havent been able to write. We have been drilling so much that I would fall asleep before I even hit the ground. Lucky for me, we dont have a change of clothes for bedtime. We just sleep in the clothes we wore that day. Washing isnt a problem either. If someone complains about the smell, we just jump in the creek. When I first got here, I was warmly welcomed by George, the regiments second in command. With his white teeth and easy smile, he is easily the friendliest man in camp. He helped me get my own cot and set me in a tent with Henry. Henry is likeable enough, but a little too ornery, and proud for my taste. When I first got here, he said, Well, lookee here. This one almost looks like a girl. Have you heard of all the women signed up as men? Thats unnatural that is. A woman is for cookin and keepin house. The worst of them is that Harriet Tubman. Leadin all those slaves North and helpin with this war. Disgraceful. He shook his head. I like Miz Tubman. Se helped me escape from North Carolina. Why if it werent for her, Id

probably be dead by now, the way the master acts, George said defensively. Henry shut up. I wonder if George was just defending Tubman, or if he really did meet her. Boy, I sure would love to. July 1, 1863 I am lucky to be alive. We were part of a group in a large battle against the Confederate devil General Robert E. Lee. We were called to help fight by General John Fulton Reynolds. We helped fight Hills advance but we lost many men. Henry, among others, is dead. This war has been long and bloody. I am one of many captives of the Rebels. My last sentry was a kind and helpful fellow. He gave me a pencil and a candle to write by. I saw many men gripped in a bloodlust. Most of the younger men were hungry for battle. They are innocent in their thoughts that war is a wonderful game of cat and mouse. They are wrong. War is a

That could be true, but our spies have not yet reported back, one of the lesser generals replied. we could to that and lose most of our men in a largely flawed plan. I dont care, Lee shouted. General Pickett, I want you to charge right down the middle. If we are successful in this battle, we might put an end to this thrice accursed war. Yes, sir, right away. I slowly backed away. I had to go warn General Meade. I left the tent and ran for the trees. I had to make it to the trees before the Rebels noticed I was missing. That black is trying to escape! I heard someone shout. I ran, trying to get around the battle site. I outran the Rebel soldiers and ran to the Union encampment. When I got there, I was taken captive by the sentries. I asked to go talk to the General.

You think that the General wants to be bothered by a spy? they said disdainfully. And a black one at that. My captives laughed. I know information to help with this battle, I pleaded. Please, if you take me to my regiment, youll know that Im not a spy. Thomas? Is that you? George! I was relieved to see a familiar face. please tell these fellows that I am not a spy, I begged. Hes not. Let go of him. The men quickly let go of my arms. I ran to the Generals tent. I stood at the entrance. General Meade, sir. I have some information from the Confederate camp that could help us with this battle.
Endnote: Esther helped with the winning of the Battle of Gettysburg, but because she was a black, she was not given the credit that she deserved. George later found out her true identity, and married her in 1865, after the end of the war. Her descendants live on today.
THIS STORY IS COMPLETELY FICTIONAL

The Diary of Thomas Beecher

Written by Ashlei Havili