9 January 1865 – 15 January 1865

You do the Anabasis business when you want to get out of the enemy’s country, and the Thermopylæ business when they want to get into your country. But we retreated in our own country and we gave up our mountain passes without a blow. But never mind the Greeks; if we had only our own Game Cock, Sumter, our own Swamp Fox, Marion. Marion’s men or Sumter’s, or the equivalent of them, now lie under the sod, in Virginia or Tennessee.

Yesterday I broke down—gave way to abject terror under the news of Sherman’s advance with no news of my husband. To-day, while wrapped up on the sofa, too dismal even for moaning, there was a loud knock. Shawls on and all, just as I was, I rushed to the door to find a telegram from my husband: “All well; be at home Tuesday.” It was dated from Adam’s Run. I felt as light-hearted as if the war were over. Then I looked at the date and the place—Adam’s Run. It ends as it began—in a run—Bull’s Run, from which their first sprightly running astounded the world, and now Adam’s Run. But if we must run, who are left to run? From Bull Run they ran fullhanded. But we have fought until maimed soldiers, women, and children are all that remain to run. To-day Kershaw’s brigade, or what is left of it, passed through. What shouts greeted it and what bold shouts of thanks it returned! It was all a very encouraging noise, absolutely comforting. Some true men are left, after all.