Journal Entry; Amelia Court House, Virginia; April 2, 1865
Eye bleary, battle weary; siege surrounds our last nights, our final flight to Danville.
Cricket rhythm far and faintly fills the ravine to the east; Cheshire moon to the west; dying campfire crickcrackles at my side.
April, my favorite month before the storm of war; the spring rains of restoration. Tonight, the scent of approaching rain reaches me, quenches me; satiates me, yet the belly rumbles, grumbles, drawing a ration of only three cracker crumbles since last week.
No food, no fuel, so burn the train at Danville. If I cannot ride home, I will walk the sixty miles due north from this little courthouse. Going home soon, it seems, to the Virginia hills or the vault of heaven.