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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 2 4 step, but the echo of his, and the thump of his saber scabbard, also each step, that resounded along behind. Keeping the sword Bryan Grimes had worn and wielded in the War, trying to hold these fine things together. That night, again in the general's bed, I tried the more—struggled with all my might—to cross the bridge and close the years. To hear and see all that had transpired— the living and the dying—that had taken place under that 200-year- old roof. To be there. So I might know the loss the more. But could not. A nd as I write this, sitting at the major general's aged plantation desk and gazing periodically to his gray frock-coat hanging thereby, three stars emblazoned boldly upon its collar— in the library and study where he composed the speech that he presented before an unfortunately optimistic audience on the day of secession—I'm left only to consider again evermore sadly the blood that was shed then to preserve a way of life—a good way—but could not. Except in faint gray remnants and incomplete memories. Tomorrow, I may write of Chamberlain's gallantry at Little Round Top, but tonight at Grimesland my Northern fellows, I'm fiercely Southern—in the ranks of the home guard, the 4th North Carolina under Bryan Grimes . . . as ever I'll be. Thankful that this much is still here. That at least this much is still real. Author's Note: Dedicated to Eddie and Jo Allison Smith, who gratefully rescued from ruin and meticulously and heartstakingly restored Grimesland, circa 1790, and the Grimes manse, on the National Historic Register, to vintage splendor. The restoration was completed in 2011.