In the length and breadth of the town but one Union flag was visible. Nicholas Mills, a wealthy citizen of high character and fearless temper, defied public opinion and risked popular wrath, by keeping a superb flag flying at the head of a tall staff in his garden on Leigh Street. We went out of our way, in returning from afternoon service, to refresh eyes and spirits with the sight. On Monday, the mutterings of rebellion waxed into a roar of angry revolt over the published proclamation of the President, calling for an army of seventy-five thousand men to quell the insurrection. The quota from Virginia was, I think, five thousand. “A fatal blunder!” said my father, in stern disapproval. My husband’s answer was prompt: “To omit her name from the roll would be an accusation of disloyalty.” The senior shook his head. “It may have been a choice of evils. I hope he has chosen the less! But I doubt it! I doubt it!” So might Eli have looked and spoken when his heart trembled for the ark of the Lord. That afternoon, the flagstaff in the Mills garden was empty. The Stars and Stripes were banned as an unholy ensign. Eric S. paid us a flying visit that evening. His parents urged his going. The father was especially anxious that he should not risk the probability of impressment, and, should he refuse to serve, of imprisonment. Already Union men were regarded with suspicion. The exodus of the disaffected could not be long delayed. He had influential family connections at the North who would see to it that he found occupation. When we parted that night, it was with a definite understanding that he would be our travelling companion. Tuesday noon, he appeared, haggard and well-nigh desperate. Going, like the honorable gentleman he was, to the Colonel of his regiment early in the day, to tender his resignation and declare his intentions, he was stricken by the news that the State had seceded in secret session Monday night. Whereupon the Colonel had offered the services of his regiment to the authorities of the Confederate States. They were accepted. “You are now in the Confederate army,” added the superior officer, “and, from present indications, we will not be idle long.” “But,” stammered the stunned subaltern, “I am going North this very afternoon with friends, and I shall not consent to serve.” “If you attempt to leave, you will be reckoned as a deserter from the regular army, and dealt with accordingly.” I do not attempt to estimate what proportion of men, who would have remained loyal to flag and government if they could, were coerced, or cajoled, into bearing arms under a government they abhorred. I tell the plain facts in the instance before me. Eric S. fought in fifteen general engagements, and came out with his life when the cruel war was over. He told with deep satisfaction, in after-years, that he had never worn the Confederate uniform, but always that of his own regiment.