Feb. 19, 2007

I heard the death a'comin. It was the sound of a thousand leather soles, clankin' guns, and tappin' drums. Over on the far off ridge you could see them like an army of ants, marching closer and closer. Cannons and guns exploded in the grey fog; even though it was nearly noon, the air full of dust, powder, and smoke hung over our heads like the fullest rain clouds. It was cold for August, as I recall. All the dyin' and killin' had run Summer on out the country. Even so, there wasn't any quittin' now. Ole' Lee wasn't about to let us boys surrender to them damnable Yankees. I stood by the boys in my regiment. There faces were young and old, sort of a run upon the two.