home in an unknown somewhere, and these men were fighting for my home as well as theirs; if I could not fight for a home of my own, I could fight for the homes of my friends.  My home, too, was a Southern home, vague, it is true, but as real as theirs, and Southern homes were in danger from the invaders.  I must fight for Southern homes—­for my home; but could I stand up with my comrades in the peril of battle?  Few men are cowards, but was I not one of a few? perhaps unique even?

Of pride I had enough—­I knew that.  I knew that if I could but retain my presence of mind I could support a timid physical nature by the resources of reason in favour of my dignity; but, then, what is courage if it is not presence of mind in the midst of danger?  If my mind fail, I shall have no courage:  this is to think in a circle.  I felt that I should prefer death to cowardice—­the thought gave me momentary comfort.

But do not all cowards feel just that way before the trial comes?  A coward must be the most wretched of men—­not a man, an outcast from men.

And then, to kill men—­was that preferable to being killed?  I doubted it and—­perhaps it is strange to say it—­the doubt comforted me.  To be killed was no worse than to kill.

Then I thought of General Lee; what force could it be that sustained him at this moment?  If not now, at least shortly, he would give orders which must result in the death of thousands; it was enough to craze a general.  How could he, reputed so good, give such orders?  Could any success atone for so much disaster?  What could be in the mind of General Lee to make him consent to such sacrifice?  It must be that he feels forced; he cannot do it willingly.  Would it not be preferable to give up the contest—­to yield everything, rather than plunge the people of two nations into despair and horror over so many wasted lives?  For so many stricken homes?  For widows, orphans, poverty, ruin?  What is it that sustains General Lee?  It is, it must be, that he is a mere soldier and simply obeys orders.  Orders from whom?  President Davis.  Then President Davis is responsible for all this?  On him falls the burden?  No.  What then?  The country.

And what is this thing that we call the country?  Land?  People?  What is land?  I have no land.  I have no people, so far as I know.  But, supposing that I have people and land—­what is the country for which we fight?  Will the enemy take our people, and take our land, if we do not beat them back?  Yes, they will reduce our people to subjection.  I shall become a dependant upon them.  I shall be constrained in my liberties; part of my labour will go to them against my will.  My property, if I have any, will be taken from me in some way—­perhaps confiscated, if not wholly, at least in a measure, by laws of the conquerors.  I shall not be free.

But am I now free?  If we drive back the enemy, shall I be free?  Yes, I shall be free, rightly free, free to aid the country, and to got aid from the country, I shall be part of the country and can enjoy my will, because I will to be part of my country and to help build up her greatness and sustain and improve her institutions.