Institutions?  What is an institution?  We say government is an institution.  What is a government?  Is it a body of men?  No.  What is it, then?  Something formed by the people for their supposed good, a growth, a development—­a development of what?  Is it material?  No, it is moral; it is soul—­then I thought I could see what is meant by the country and by her institutions.  The country is the spirit of the nation—­and it is deathless.  It is not doomed to subjection; take the land—­enslave the people—­and yet will that spirit live and act and have a body.  Let our enemies prevail over our armies; let them destroy; yet shall all that is good in our institution be preserved even by our enemies; for a true idea is imperishable and nothing can decay but the false.

Then why fight?  Because the true must always war against the false.  The false and the true are enemies.  But why kill the body in order to spread, or even to maintain, the truth?  Will the truth be better or stronger by that?

Perhaps—­yet no.  War is evil and not good, and it is only by good that evil can be overcome.  But if our enemies come upon us, must we not fight?  The country wishes peace.  Our enemies bring war.  Must we submit?  We cannot submit.  Submission to disgrace is repugnant to the spirit of the nation; death is better than submission.  But killing, is it not crime?  Is crime better than submission?  No; submission is better than crime But is not submission also a crime?  At least it is an infringement of the law of the nation’s spirit.  Then crime must be opposed by crime?  To avoid the crime of submission we must commit the crime of killing?  It seems so—­but why?  But why?  Ah! yes; I think I see; it is because the spirit of the nation is not equal to the spirit of the world.  The world-idea forbids killing and forbids submission, and demands life and freedom for all; the spirit of the nation is not so unselfish; the spirit of the nation exalts so-called patriotism; the world-spirit raises high the principle of philanthropy universal.  The country has not developed the world-idea, and will not, except feebly; but she will at last, and will be loyal to the spirit of the world.  Then, unless I am sustained by a greater power, I cannot go contrary to the spirit of the South.  I must kill and must be killed.

But can I stand the day of battle?  Have I not argued myself into a less readiness to kill?  Will these thoughts or fancies—­coming to me I know not whence, and bringing to me a mental disturbance incomprehensible and unique—­comfort me in the hour of danger?  Will not my conscience force me to be a coward?  Yet cowardice is worse than death.

I could not sleep; I was farther from sleep than ever.  I rose, and walked through long lines of sleeping men—­men who on the morrow might be still more soundly sleeping.

Captain Haskell was standing alone, leaning against the parapet.  I approached.  He spoke kindly, “Jones, you should be asleep.”