In the still of the night, as I hear the song of the cricket and tree frog, I remember Gettysburg and Cemetery Ridge.
I urge you to visit the Rotunda, which enumerates those that fell in the Battle of Vicksburg.
I recall the name of Brigadier General Edward D. Tracy, whose name is inscribed on a bronze plaque. Killed on the first day of battle, he was an officer of the Confederacy.
The rebel yell is now an echo, but it still resonates with those that see beyond the label of racism and understand history.
As a born and lifelong southernor, I can tell you it is not so different from a screech owl.
I have heard it a few times, but mostly from drunk southern rednecks.
It's the sound of desperation.