“You’ve been in the army,” the recruiting sergeant, a one-armed man with deep brown eyes, viewed the remnants of my uniform.
“Yes, Sergeant,” I said.
“Infantry,” he told me.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Can you ride a horse?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” I knew the military style: answer directly, don’t waste words. I did not mention the horse tethered outside the building.
“Did you see any action?”
I gave the sergeant a resume of my military career.
“The Crater, eh?” He nodded. “That’s good enough for me. Welcome to the 9th Cavalry.” And that was me back in the Army again as a black man in a blue uniform defending white men from red men. In common with the other recruits, I had signed my life away for the next five years. At my young age, five years seemed an eternity.
There were two black cavalry regi
