"... I bought a diary".

August 17, 1861

It was not supposed to happen. Our leaders said that it would not happen. There would be no war. The Yankees would not fight. They would see the futility of keeping the South in the old Union and would let us go in peace. If there was a war, the fire-eaters said, one big battle would end with a victory for Southern arms. The Yankees would go home with their tails between their legs, lick their wounds and regret ever having invaded our country. One such confident wag said he would wipe up all the blood that would be shed with his pocket handkerchief.

The battle did come, at Manassas, in the Old Dominion State. Our army, under Generals Johnston and Beauregard, the latter the hero of Fort Sumter, whipped McDowell and his hordes. They ran all the way back to Washington. The papers call it, "The Great Skedaddle".  I regret that I was not there to witness the sight.  Many a brave lad surrendered his life on the field of honor in the cause of liberty. One of our Palmetto State generals, Bee, was killed while ordering his troops to rally behind the Virginians.

But though we have been proved victorious, there is still War. We did not follow them to their capital and hoist our flag up their pole. The war would have ended that day but we did not advance to our advantage.The Yankees are now licking their wounds and are preparing to have at us again. It is only a matter of time before they fling themselves across the Potomac again to burn, loot and pillage. We shall have to whip them again and again and again. That fool will need a million handkerchiefs and more.

Given my advanced years, I doubt that I could ever make a positive contribution to the war effort. I have already served in the Mexican War, with Zachary Taylor. Our regiment of Virginians arrived too late to see the elephant but it was a grand adventure none the less. After our state declared itself free of Yankee chains, and the militia was called out, I went to Fort Moultrie in Charleston and witnessed the firing on the Yankee ship, Star of the West in January. I did not fire my musket even once. Then in April, I and my fellow militia witnessed the grand bombardment of Fort Sumter. I fired my musket only twice, and not in anger but in joy when our flag flew over the former Yankee thorn in our side.

I am not needed in this war. It is for young boys who will be neither young nor boys much longer. War will do that. Still, I want to keep a record of these events during this struggle for independence so that in my later years I can recall with some accurracy how we accomplished this. It will be a fantastic story to be told for generations. The battles will be fought and re-fought long after we are gone.

I had to go to the Post Office and Fyler's store was just next door. In addition to the beans and nails, I bought a diary. This is the first entry.