On the 15th the division moved to Bunker Hill.  I gave out.  Starvation and a full meal had been too much for me.  I suffered greatly, not from fatigue, but from illness.  I stepped out of ranks, went fifty yards into the thicket, and lay down under a tree.

That the enemy was following was likely enough; I hardly cared.  I shrank from captivity, but I thought of death without fearing it.

My mind was in a peculiar attitude toward the war.  We had heard of the surrender of Vicksburg.  Not even the shadow of demoralization had touched Lee’s army in consequence of Gettysburg; but now men talked despairingly—­with Vicksburg gone the war seemed hopeless.

Under the tree was peace.  Company H had gone on.  Company A had gone on.  What interest had they in me or I in them?  I had fever.

The sounds of the troops marching on the road reached me in the thicket.  A few moments ago I was marching on the road.  I was one of fifty thousand; they have gone on.

Here, under this tree, I am one.  But what one?  I came I know not whence; I go I know not whither.  Let me go.  What matter where?  My Captain has gone.

Perhaps I wander in mind.  I have fever.

At one time I think I am going to die, and I long for death.  The life I live is too difficult.

And the South is hopeless.  Better death than subjection.  The Captain has not died too soon.

What a strong, noble, far-seeing man!  I shall never forget him.  I shall never see his like, I envy him.  He has resolved all doubt; I am still enchained to a fate that drags me on and on into ... into what?  What does the Captain think now?  Does he see me lying here?  Can he put thoughts into my mind?  Can he tell me who I am?  What does he think now of slavery? of State rights? of war?

He is at peace; he knows that peace is better.  Yes, peace is better.  He is at peace.  Would I also were at peace.

I slept, and when I awoke my strength had returned.  I crept to the road, fearing to see Federal troops.  Neither Confederate nor Federal was in sight.  I tramped steadily southward and caught up at Bunker Hill.

* * * * *

By the 24th of July we had crossed the Blue Ridge and were approaching Culpeper.

During the months of August and September we were in camp near Orange Court-House.

My distaste for the service became excessive, unaccountably, I should have thought, but for the fact that my interest in life had so greatly suffered because of the Captain’s death.

My friend was gone.  I wished for nothing definite.  I had no purpose.  To fight for the South was my duty, and I felt it, but I had no relish for fighting.  Fighting was absurd.

The Captain had said, on the last night of his life, that he imagined General Lee and perhaps General McClellan felt great reluctance in giving orders that would result in the death of Americans at the hands of Americans.  I remembered that at Gettysburg, in the act of pulling the trigger, I had found no hatred in me toward the man I was trying to kill.  I wondered if the men generally were without hate.  I believed they were; there might be exceptions.