It is eerily silent on the battlefield. The only sound audible to me is the blood that is pounding in my ears; my heart is in my throat, and the smell of gunpowder and earth reach my nostrils in a sickly sweet mixture of scents. We are quietly awaiting the order that would change all of our lives, and possibly, history, as we know it. How I hate this dreaded war! This war that has torn our fair country asunder, that has ravaged her beautiful face with death and destruction, this, this civil war, that has turned brother upon brother. I, myself, would not be here, were it not for the loyalty I feel for my fair Virginia, the state I have known since boyhood. On the day she seceded from the Union, my heart cried. I love this great country, but feel the same love for my fair Virginia. It is my overwhelming devotion to her, that I don this horrid charcoal uniform and stand, now, here on this field where we are to face our brothers. These events are lessened in their gloom and sadness only by my thoughts of my fair state and of my dear friend, who has vowed to stand beside me. Edward Thomas has been by my side since we were young boys. I look back fondly upon memories of hunting and fishing together, he doing both so much better than I. He joined the service for the same reasons as I, our homes lie a few miles from where we are now. I myself am a family man, not yet two years married, with a young baby girl. He has no family to speak of, even being a few years older than I, but still has a house, that his father built, near my own. While the thought of our country being divided hurts our hearts, we cannot allow the soldiers of the Union to harm that which we also love. My friend looks at me, his blue eyes have grayed a bit with what we have encountered thus far, his face holds age that years themselves did not put there, but his form is tall and confident, perfect for a uniform of some sort. I pale in comparison. I am still quite young, my uniform sags around my small form, as I do not have the shoulders to fill it out, as he does. My eyes are hard to see, as the glasses that sit upon the bridge of my nose are dirty, the parts that are not, reflect the firelight. I pull out a handkerchief to try and clean the glass, yet the dirt will not fully leave my spectacles. My young wife gave me this handkerchief as a gift before I left. I look down remembering that goodbye hug and kiss, my friend looks at me questioningly as a tear falls from my eye. I hold up the object of my attention, and he nods, knowingly. He had stood in the doorway that night as my wife and I said our, ‘until next we meets’. He had the grace to look away and give us some privacy as we hugged and kissed each other. His deep voice with the nice southern drawl resounded throughout my small home as he promised my wife and daughter that he would protect me always.