Who goes there?

by B. K. Benson

The night of the 25th was exceedingly warm. After all was ready for the march, I lay on my blanket and tried vainly to sleep. Joe Bellot was lying not more than three feet from me, and I knew that he, too, was awake, though he did not speak or move. Busy, and sometimes confused, thoughts went through my mind. I doubted not that I should soon see actual war, and I was far from certain that I could stand it. I had never fired a shot at a man; no man had ever fired at me. I fully appreciated the fact of the difference between other men and me; perhaps I exaggerated my peculiarity. I had heard and had read that most men in battle are able from motives of pride to do their duty; but I was certainly not like most men. I was greatly troubled. The other men had homes to fight for, and that they would fight well I did not doubt at all; but I was called on to fight for an idea alone--for the abstraction called State rights. Yet I, too, surely had a home in an unknown somewhere, and these men were fighting for my home as well as theirs; if I could not fight for a home of my own, I could fight for the homes of my friends. My home, too, was a Southern home, vague, it is true, but as real as theirs, and Southern homes were in danger from the invaders. I must fight for Southern homes--for my home; but could I stand up with my comrades in the peril of battle? Few men are cowards, but was I not one of a few? perhaps unique even?

Of pride I had enough--I knew that. I knew that if I could but retain my presence of mind I could support a timid physical nature by the resources of reason in favour of my dignity; but, then, what is courage if it is not presence of mind in the midst of danger? If my mind fail, I shall have no courage: this is to think in a circle. I felt that I should prefer death to cowardice--the thought gave me momentary comfort.

But do not all cowards feel just that way before the trial comes? A coward must be the most wretched of men--not a man, an outcast from men.

And then, to kill men--was that preferable to being killed? I doubted it and--perhaps it is strange to say it--the doubt comforted me. To be killed was no worse than to kill.

Then I thought of General Lee; what force could it be that sustained him at this moment? If not now, at least shortly, he would give orders which must result in the death of thousands; it was enough to craze a general. How could he, reputed so good, give such orders? Could any success atone for so much disaster? What could be in the mind of General Lee to make him consent to such sacrifice? It must be that he feels forced; he cannot do it willingly. Would it not be preferable to give up the contest--to yield everything, rather than plunge the people of two nations into despair and horror over so many wasted lives? For so many stricken homes? For widows, orphans, poverty, ruin? What is it that sustains General Lee? It is, it must be, that he is a mere soldier and simply obeys orders. Orders from whom? President Davis. Then President Davis is responsible for all this? On him falls the burden? No. What then? The country.

And what is this thing that we call the country? Land? People? What is land? I have no land. I have no people, so far as I know. But, supposing that I have people and land--what is the country for which we fight? Will the enemy take our people, and take our land, if we do not beat them back? Yes, they will reduce our people to subjection. I shall become a dependant upon them. I shall be constrained in my liberties; part of my labour will go to them against my will. My property, if I have any, will be taken from me in some way--perhaps confiscated, if not wholly, at least in a measure, by laws of the conquerors. I shall not be free.

But am I now free? If we drive back the enemy, shall I be free? Yes, I shall be free, rightly free, free to aid the country, and to got aid from the country, I shall be part of the country and can enjoy my will, because I will to be part of my country and to help build up her greatness and sustain and improve her institutions.

Institutions? What is an institution? We say government is an institution. What is a government? Is it a body of men? No. What is it, then? Something formed by the people for their supposed good, a growth, a development--a development of what? Is it material? No, it is moral; it is soul--then I thought I could see what is meant by the country and by her institutions. The country is the spirit of the nation--and it is deathless. It is not doomed to subjection; take the land--enslave the people--and yet will that spirit live and act and have a body. Let our enemies prevail over our armies; let them destroy; yet shall all that is good in our institution be preserved even by our enemies; for a true idea is imperishable and nothing can decay but the false.

Then why fight? Because the true must always war against the false. The false and the true are enemies. But why kill the body in order to spread, or even to maintain, the truth? Will the truth be better or stronger by that?

Perhaps--yet no. War is evil and not good, and it is only by good that evil can be overcome. But if our enemies come upon us, must we not fight? The country wishes peace. Our enemies bring war. Must we submit? We cannot submit. Submission to disgrace is repugnant to the spirit of the nation; death is better than submission. But killing, is it not crime? Is crime better than submission? No; submission is better than crime But is not submission also a crime? At least it is an infringement of the law of the nation's spirit. Then crime must be opposed by crime? To avoid the crime of submission we must commit the crime of killing? It seems so--but why? But why? Ah! yes; I think I see; it is because the spirit of the nation is not equal to the spirit of the world. The world-idea forbids killing and forbids submission, and demands life and freedom for all; the spirit of the nation is not so unselfish; the spirit of the nation exalts so-called patriotism; the world-spirit raises high the principle of philanthropy universal. The country has not developed the world-idea, and will not, except feebly; but she will at last, and will be loyal to the spirit of the world. Then, unless I am sustained by a greater power, I cannot go contrary to the spirit of the South. I must kill and must be killed.