24 Hours Before

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             I know I'm not allowed to fight, but the idea grows more and more tempting as the months wear on. I see fellow confederates on the battlefield, suffering for our cause, and I long to be with them. Honestly, I'm lucky to be a spy; my 18th birthday allowing me to decide for myself to serve my country. As a spy, I am at their campsites often, talking with lieutenants and majors about the Union's whereabouts and strategies. Some of the soldiers know me by name, ans during my late-night rendezvous, I will stay and talk with them. Some soldiers tell me they can't wait to fight the next day and show the Yankees some southern sass. Other soldiers tell me they are dreading having to bear arms against a brother, or that they are paralyzed in fear. I can see the pain in their eyes as they tell me about a comrade who fell, about a brother lost. It makes me wish more and more that I was with them. 

I am not your typical southern belle; unlike many women of my time, i debate men in politics,  ride horseback among the best, and I am not afraid to speak my mind. My thoughts on the war are pretty simple: the union provoked my family and our way of life and they  are going to pay. We never mistreated our slaves; my daddy treated them more like hired hands. 

I was always taught to respect them, and never to harm them. I always loved talking with our slaves at dinnertime; they had the best stories.

Afterthe Union soldiers raided our home, they took our slaves with them, shot myfather, and left me and what was left of our house in shambles. I couldn't bearto see the legacy my family built lay in the dust, so I moved from my hometownof Suffolk, Virginia, and I fled to my capitol for revenge. There I became aspy, anxious to avenge my family. I amstaying with my aunt and uncle in Virginia. They think I am a distraughtteenager mourning her parents, but my mourning has turned to motivation.Motivation to fight, to spy, to aid the confederates, and maybe, to restore myfamily's honor .

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