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a pious-faced female in a poke bonnet, circa 1845. She held a small
child on her lap. "It says Marjory Gardener Fairhill on the back.
She was my great-great-grandmother."

"Marjory Gahdeneh," Sally mimicked.
"All right, Rebel! Hey, that reminds me-the wee one here-my
great-grand father-was in the Civil War. That rifle over there in the
corner was his, and I think his diary's around here some place."
I soon found the book; and after a few minutes of skimming
through faded, worn, and in some places illegible pages, I came to
the following entry:

"[Date obscured] Yesterday I had my first taste of battle-my
first actual realization that war isn't just speeches of 'Let's keep the
Union together' and 'Free the slaves,' or bands playing and people
singing 'When Johnny Comes Marching Home.' I hope I never hear
that song againl

"Now they're saying that it wasn't even a real battle-a mere
skirmish. But what's the difference between a battle and a skirmish
to that man I killed? Will his family think the incident's hardly
worth remembering? I can't say I'm sorry I enlisted, because I do
think that slavery should be abolished. But did HE own slaves? I
don't think I'll ever forget that scene-the old oak tree, the stream
between us, the little stone wall a few feet to the right, and then sud-
denly the blood on his coat and his falling to the ground.

"That was the only shot I fired, too. A man near me was wounded;
and by the time I'd lugged him across the hill to our camp and made
sure that he wasn't too seriously hurt, the Rebels had started to re-
treat. When I reached the fighting ground again, only a few of our
own soldiers remained.

"Suddenly exhausted, I knelt to drink and fill my canteen at the
brook. As I raised my head, I saw, a little distance in front of me, a
small stone wall, and an oak tree beyond that. A chill crept over me
as I realized that the man I'd killed lay on the other side of that wall.
Compelled by a strange fascination, I approached the wall and cau-
tiously looked over. The Rebel lay there as before, his gray tunic
stained with blood and his rifle lying across his body. But was he
lying just as he had fallen? I peered more closely and suddenly realized
that he was breathingl

"My first impulse was to turn and run from that thing on the
other side of the wall. If I could just get away from that place, away
from that man who ought to be dead, maybe I could forget it all. Be-
fore the numbness left me, however, I realized that I couldn't run.

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