We looked in a trunk in Mrs. Shegog's attic, and it was filled with things that belonged to her great-great grandfather, Nathaniel Wallace Shegog.
His uniform and a tattered Confederate flag were in there, along with some papers and other stuff.
Among his papers, we found a book that looks like the general's journal.
Below are some messages we found scrawled in the notebook amid battle plans and some boring letters to other generals.
Fire! Fire! Oh, Fie!
Draw their fire! Suck them tumbling and screaming into the dank, green earth, where the redness and blackness of death awaits them in a fire storm of bloody rebuke! Quench their savagery with a taste of bitter hell!
Lure them underground to steal their riches and spark them with a flare from the cannon's devilish grin. A shortcut to hell. I am no man's slave, but a servant to dastardly passions.
Biding in the bunker below my abode, I plot my takeover daily. One gets comfortable nestled in the dirty womb of the planet. I could curl up and die in a place like this.
The beasts of academies lay eggs in the belly of the world. I will lie in waiting till the serpents come to scour our lands and take with them their spoils and crimes.
Ignatius, my fellow, hand me a shovel so that I too can carve the rutted wastelands into devious design. Is it not right to salvage one's forces and fortunes by any means necessary?
Only a weak, foolish man would serve this Army one sordid second longer. I mean my victories for myself, my men, my compatriots.
For there is no nation but one’s own, and as long pitiful men wage their wars on the Earth, I will assemble my kingdom below it!
The Confederacy is dead, dying. The Union is a lost cause. This experiment failed.
None of us are worthy of all that we have attained. I must bury it, and all he who came here to die with me.
Black, white — sinners, enlightened. Good night!