Journal Entry of a Young Rebel Soldier

Journal Entry of a Young Rebel Soldier

Today is March 12, 1865. We have been fighting this fight for what feels like an eternity. What promised to be a swift and resolute reunion has drawn out to be a bitter, relentless blur. I can hardly remember why we are here and the enemy is beginning to look like my brother and my brothers are beginning to look like the enemy. We are delirious from sheer exhaustion and often fall literally dead asleep in our tracks from fatigue. When the war began we stood proud to defend the mighty South and her way of life. We were proud to wave the Confederate flag and were determined to teach those Northern Yankees who we were as men. I am still proud to be a Confederate and the flag still moves my heart and stirs my soul, but all this senseless dying is singeing my brain and I hardly know what’s right anymore. My eyes have seen so much brutal maiming of bodies, I feel them wanting to see no more and I beg them not to fail me. But seeing bloody heapings of dead bodies, day after day makes a mind go mad.
Last summer when we won the battle at Cold Harbor, I thought that event marked a turn in the tide and surely we were winning this war. For two weeks we fought from the trenches and held the Yankees at bay. It seemed like they were prepared to sacrifice every soldier in their army as they just kept coming, no matter how many we killed. They bombarded us, causing every man we had to work double duty to stand our ground. We were able to withstand their assault, but not before killing more than a thousand of their men and even a hundred of our men. So we thought there would be certain victory after Hanover, but shortly after that they seized Petersburg, cutting off all the supplies to our Capital city of Richmond. Since then we have sustained our fight but we are weary beyond words. The slaughter seems pointless now.
My grandfather started our plantation with only the money he earned from working as a cobbler. He saved his money and bought two strong slaves and a mule. He was able to clear his field and plant a crop of corn. With the money from that crop he was able to provide food for his family, buy seeds and plant another crop of corn and also a crop of tobacco the following year. He continued to work his land and as his Negroes multiplied he was able to grow and sell larger crops and eventually he built a beautiful manor for himself and for his family.
My Daddy inherited that manor and the land and the slaves, now sixteen in all. It was my Daddy who had the good sense to buy cotton seeds and grow us several fields of cotton. It is cotton that has made us the greatest amount of wealth. And it is honest labor and harvest that has made us the successful family that we are today. That is why I was honored to take up the musket in support of our cause.
It is unthinkable that we would let the Northerners who despise our wealth, come and take away our way of life just out of spite. No sir! I would give my last drop of blood to defend the land my Grandfather cultivated and the way of life we have carved out for ourselves here in the south. It may be a peculiar institution to some, but it is a noble institution to the men of my family and to all who proudly wave the blood stained flag of the Confederacy.