Rebellion In Colonial America

Rebellions never begin well.
The words of my grandfather are ringing in my head once more. Trudging through mud in some godforsaken county in Pennsylvania – blood and bodies scattered, artillery pellets entrenched in the ground - I hope this is just the beginning. The Confederacy would pull through; I’d be dead if it didn’t.
There’s fewer places in the world more beautiful than the rural, rolling hills of the Southern States. Walhalla, South Carolina, found itself perched above the streams and lakes so attractive to the eye; its farms stretched out for miles beyond its small urban centre, dotted peacefully throughout the landscape, their crops in fruition. This was no place for war; war was, instead, to find its place here.
I joined up as
They’d hidden themselves behind the old water mill there, probably only about ten or twenty of them; and thinking they had the advantage, they charged at us. We shot every single one of them right there. One of their bullets almost got me – it left a grazing on the top of my cap – but nothing major. As much as I was lucky to be alive, I was glad we’d placed our faith in the right place.
We were jubilant after our battle, almost ecstatic. Of course, it was a fairly small one, but a victory in our first conflict raised our spirits further. We kept singing our songs and marching along, yet hoping all that time the damn war would come to an end. The Union just had to allow us to become free men. They’d see the right in our cause as soon as we finished the damn thing.
Then, we went on further. To the north once more; we needed to assist the Confederates in Pennsylvania. We never got ourselves into any particularly big battles, only some causal
Bright lights in the distance gave the game away for the Union once more. Quietly, we packed up and simply deserted the camp. Come morning, and we were able to alert the rest of the army to the Union positions. We outmanoeuvred them from then on, only engaging in confrontations we knew we could win.
We’d won the day once more. By this point, I was feeling pretty proud of myself; I felt I had a genuine connection to my country. We were winning. It was no longer inconceivable to dream of a free Dixie. I was probably over-optimistic at this point, but I really thought that we could have just about declared victory right there and then. Had a few of us just rode down to Washington, D.C., and they’d have no choice but to accept defeat and allow us to go free.
Looking back now, I was far too optimistic about our chances. We were doing well, sure, but not well enough. From there, we decided to go to some other place in Pennsylvania, where our army gathered. Robert E. Lee was to be in command of our forces. He was a good man, and a good tactician. I trusted him with all my heart. If he could just win us this last damn battle, I could go back to the family