And all the time they seem to think themselves patterns — models of husbands and fathers. - Mary Boykin Chesnut

I do not pretend to go to sleep. How can I? If Anderson does not accept terms—at four—the orders are—he shall be fired upon. </br> I count four—St. Michael chimes. I begin to hope. At half-past four, the heavy booming of a cannon. </br> I sprang out of bed. And on my knees—prostrate—I prayed as I never prayed before.

I was a seceder, but I dreaded the future. I bore in mind Pugh's letter, his description of what he saw in Mexico when he accompanied an invading army. My companions had their own thoughts and misgivings, doubtless, but they breathed fire and defiance.

Sally Reynolds told a short story of a negro pet of Mrs. Kershaw's. The little negro clung to Mrs. Kershaw and begged her to save him. The negro mother, stronger than Mrs. Kershaw, tore him away from her. Mrs. Kershaw wept bitterly. Sally said she saw the mother chasing the child before her as she ran after the Yankees, whipping him at every step. The child yelled like mad, a small rebel blackamoor.