Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7.
Frank Moore, Ed.

Dearest Aunt: Mr. P. could not attend to Rob's business for the same reason that he dissuaded him from going, as Rob neglected to bring his proper papers, and without them, Mr. P. felt certain he could have gone no further than Canton, as our laws are decidedly more rigid, at least the conscript law, and carried out to the very letter, than in your State or any other. So Mr. P. assisted Rob in getting the services of our old friend Mr. J. I fear to tell any names, as the unprincipled demon foe prides himself upon discovering important information through intercepted letters, which have been extracted from the poor, affrighted negro, child, or unprotected female, whom they may chance to meet or discover in their murdering, thieving, devil-like travels. I wish they could see all that I have written of them, and wish still more fervently that every line and desire of my heart could fall upon them to place them in situations I would designate. If there is an hereafter, a heaven or hell, I pray to go to perdition ere my soul would be joined or rest in heaven with the fiendish foe. But God has ever shown himself a just, true Father, and will ere long mete out to them their proper punishment. Heaven would not be the place described to us were it filled with spirits so foul, so hellish, (excuse the expression.) Words are too weak, too trite, too feeble, to convey even the slightest idea of feeling which our refined, elegant, high-toned, principled, chivalrous people feel or look upon such an offcast, degenerate set. It would be some solace to us when we lose our husbands, fathers, sons, and friends, to know they were fighting an enemy civilized or refined to a great degree. But oh! the thought is killing, is too painful, to see our men, the choicest, most refined specimens of God's work, destroyed and even forced to take up arms against the offscourings, outcast dregs of creation; for every man they lose is a blessing, a god-send to humanity and society. But enough of such stuff. I might write ten thousand pages and then fail to pen one idea correctly.

If ever I had one lady-like feeling or wish for a Northern man, even before this bloody war, I was not aware of it, and I pray to live just to raise my son and daughter, to despise the whole race, and our boy must shoot them down as he would the most ferocious wild beast whenever they cross his path. So extreme is my disgust, that if I once thought my children would ever countenance — not a Yankee, but a Northerner, (for they are the same,) I could and would plunge a dagger into their hearts, and laugh to see their life's blood oozing. They must notice them only to murder and poison.

The overseers and managers treat the property of private patriotic men at Vicksburgh more like the Yanks than I thought a Southern man could do. They are not only cruel but worse. They neglect them in sickness, whereas an hour's attention would save hundreds; but we must stand it, even if we lose all we have. Say not a word — the laws of State so order. I see not why Mississippi cannot remunerate our losses as easily as other States, but we run some things into the ground and entirely neglect other items equally as important. I pray the hated foe will all be sent to perdition, vessels and all, ere they gain one inch more foothold on any property of any kind that can benefit them. I would joyously see every thing we own crumble to ashes ere it should fall into the hands of the devils.