Our battle [summer]]. May it be our first and our last. So-called.…

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. I count four—St. Michael chimes. I begin to hope. At half-past four, the heavy booming of a cannon. I sprang out …

What nonsense I write here. However, this journal is intended to be entirely objective. My subjective days are over. No more silent eating into my own heart, making my own misery, when without these morbid fantasies I could be so happy.

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

My father was a South Carolina nullifier, governor of the state at the time of the nullification row, and then U.S. senator. So I was of necessity a rebel born.

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 …

Every day regiments pass by. The town is crowded with soldiers. These new ones are running in, fairly. They fear the war will be over before they get a sight of the fun.