June 28th, 1863. The army of Northern Virginia is pushing on to the invasion of the North. In this land of ours a curious species of fault-finders has developed. While the men, the true men, are at the front, struggling with might and main to save the South from destruction, there are others, poor weak-kneed cowards, who stand on street corners and criticise President Davis and the generals in command of our armies.
These cowardly back-biters have never smelled gun powder, they are Carpet Generals and yet, to listen to them talk, you would think that the only thing needed to insure victory would be to put them in command. I turn sick with scorn when I am obliged to be present while they are exploiting their wisdom.
