by Kjersti Wasiak

Created on: January 05, 2008

The Suspects:

1. Andrew
2. Jack
3. Tom
4. Little Johnny

Who Stole Pop's Springfield Musket?

The year was 1861 when I last saw my older brother Andrew. We had just learned about shots being fired at Fort Sumter. Andrew always wanted an opportunity for adventure. He figured at least if he joined the Union Army he would see more than rural Pennsylvania, where we grew up.

When Andrew told Pop that he was going to join the Army, Pop at first tried to dissuade him. Andrew was stubborn, though, and Pop knew it was better to give his blessing rather than have Andrew leave furious at his father's disapproval. That was when Pop took Andrew out to the shed to give him his trusty Springfield musket.

Little Johnny and I snuck out of the house behind Pop and Andrew. They thought we where just playing in the dirt pile next to the shed. Really, though, I wanted to see the one thing Pop had never let anyone ever touch before. Little Johnny was not so interested, but came along anyways when I promised to give him an arrowhead for his collection, although just the week before I had given him the last one I had.

Little Johnny was playing in the dirt and I was peeking in the shed window. Pop pulled down the box that he always kept his musket. He opened it and soon followed a string of not so pleasant words that I will not repeat to you, my grandchildren. The box was empty.

Pop was furious and suspected Andrew stole it. He rather calmly asked Andrew if he had taken it because he did not think Pop would approve of him going off to join the Army much less trust him with his musket. All Andrew could say was that he did not take it and point out that there was some fingerprints with residue that looked like Mom's famous strawberry jam on the edges of the box.

I did not mind the strawberry jam and Little Johnny and Tom, the free blackman that helped Dad on the farm, loved the jam. Andrew on the other hand never could stand the taste of strawberries. Pop tasted the fingerprints and sure enough it was strawberry jam. Everyone besides Andrew had been served at least a one biscuit with strawberry jam by Mom at supper the previous evening. He knew it was not Andrew, but then who could it be?

That was when Pop saw me in the window. He pointed he long work worn hands at me and yelled at me to come to him. I obeyed him out of fear of a belt lashing, but I was afraid because I knew I was next on his list of suspects. You see I tried to borrow that musket once back in 1857 when I was ten. I just wanted to

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