I wanted to be a good soldier. This day I had heard for the first time
the sound of hostile arms. I thought it would be but natural to be
nervous, and I found myself surprised when I decided that I was not
nervous. The cry of the lone screech-owl below me in the swamp sounded
but familiar and appropriate.
That we were to attack the enemy I well knew; a battle was certain
unless the enemy should retreat. My thoughts were full of wars and
battles. My present duty made me think, of Indians. I wondered whether
the rebels were well armed; I knew them; I knew they would fight; I had
lived among those misguided people.