"Our women never were whipped!" I have heard grizzled Confederates say that proudly. "There is a difference," remarked one hoary-headed hero, who, after wearing stars on his collar in Confederate service represented his State in the Federal Congress, "between the political and the feminine war-spirit. The former is too often for personal gain. Woman's is the aftermath of anguish. It has taken a long time to reconstruct Southern women. Some are not reconstructed yet. Suffering was stamped too deep for effacement. The Northern woman suffered with her Southern sister the agony of anxiety and bereavement. But the Southern had other woes, of which the Northern could have no conception. The armies were upon us. There was devastation. The Southern woman and her loved ones lacked food and raiment, the enemy appropriating what we had and blocking ways by which fresh supplies might come; her home was burned over her head. Sometimes she suffered worse things than starvation, worse things than the destruction of her home. "And women could only sit still and endure, while we could fight back. Women do not understand that war is a matter of business. I had many friends among the men I fought--splendid, brave fellows. Personally, we were friends, and professionally, enemies. Women never get that point of view." Woman's war spirit is faithfulness and it is absolutely reckless of personal advantages, as the following incident may illustrate. General Hunton and General Turner knew each other pretty well, although in their own persons they had never met. They had commanded opposing forces and entertained a considerable respect for each other. General Turner was the first Federal officer that came to Lynchburg, when General Hunton's wife and youthful son were refugees; he sent Dr. Murray, a Confederate surgeon, to call upon Mrs. Hunton with the message that she was to suffer for nothing he could supply. General Hunton was in prison, she knew not where; was not sure if he were alive or dead. She had not the feelings her lord entertained for his distinguished antagonist, and her response was: "Tell General Turner I would not accept anything from him to save my life!" Yet she must have been very hungry. She and her youthful son had been reduced to goober-peas. First, her supplies got down to one piece of beef-bone. She thought she would have a soup. For a moment, she left her son to watch the pot, but not to stir the soup. But he thought he would do well to stir it. So he stirred it, and turned the pot over. That day, she had nothing for dinner but goober-peas. "When I came home," said General Hunton, when asked for this story's sequel, "and she told me about her message to General Turner, I wrote him the nicest letter I knew how to write, thanking him for his kindness to the wife of a man whose only claim on him was that he had fought him the best he knew how.