PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 

Eighteen years ago, the first edition of this book, "Co. H. , FirstTennessee Regiment, " was published by the author, Mr. Sam. R. Watkins, of Columbia, Tenn. A limited edition of two thousand copies was printedand sold. For nearly twenty years this work has been out of print andthe owners of copies of it hold them so precious that it is impossible topurchase one. To meet a demand, so strong as to be almost irresistablethe Chattanooga Times has printed a second edition of 2000 copies, which to soldiers of the Army of the Tennessee and the Army of theCumberland, between whom many battles were fought, it will prove ofintense interest, serving to recall many scenes and incidents of battlefield and camp in which they were the chief actors. To them and to allother readers we respectfully commend this book as being the best andmost impersonal history of any army ever written. 

 THE CHATTANOOGA TIMES. 

 Chattanooga, Tenn. , Oct. 1, 1900. 

 "CO. AYTCH, "

 MAURY GRAYS, FIRST TENNESSEE REGIMENT;

 OR, A SIDE SHOW OF THE BIG SHOW. 

 By SAM. R. WATKINS, COLUMBIA, TENN. 

 "Quaeque ipse miserima vidi, Et quorum pars magna fui. "

 TO THE MEMORY OF MY DEAD COMRADES OF THE MAURY GRAYS, AND THE FIRST TENNESSEE REGIMENT, WHO DIED IN DEFENSE OF SOUTHERN HOMES AND LIBERTIES: ALSO TO MY LIVING COMRADES, NEARLY ALL OF WHOM SHED THEIR BLOOD IN DEFENSE OF THE SAME CAUSE, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR . . . . . 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I--RETROSPECTIVE WE ARE ONE AND UNDIVIDED THE BLOODY CHASM EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE CAMP CHEATHAM ON THE ROAD STAUNTON WARM SPRINGS CHEAT MOUNTAIN ROMNEY STANDING PICKET ON THE POTOMAC SCHWARTZ AND PFIFER THE COURT-MARTIAL THE DEATH WATCH VIRGINIA, FAREWELL

CHAPTER II--SHILOH SHILOH

CHAPTER III--CORINTH CORINTH ROWLAND SHOT TO DEATH KILLING A YANKEE SHARPSHOOTER COLONEL FIELD CAPTAIN JOE P. LEE CORINTH FORSAKEN

CHAPTER IV--TUPELO TUPELO THE COURT-MARTIAL AT TUPELO RAIDING ON ROASTINGEARS

CHAPTER V--KENTUCKY WE GO INTO KENTUCKY THE BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE THE RETREAT OUT OF KENTUCKY KNOXVILLE AH, SNEAK I JINE THE CAVALRY

CHAPTER VI--MURFREESBORO MURFREESBORO BATTLE OF MURFREESBORO ROBBING A DEAD YANKEE

CHAPTER VII--SHELBYVILLE SHELBYVILLE A FOOT RACE EATING MUSSELS POOR BERRY MORGAN WRIGHT SHOT TO DEATH WITH MUSKETRY DAVE SUBLETT PROMOTED DOWN DUCK RIVER IN A CANOE SHENERAL OWLEYDOUSKY

CHAPTER VIII--CHATTANOOGA BACK TO CHATTANOOGA AM VISITED BY MY FATHER OUT A LARKING HANGING TWO SPIES EATING RATS SWIMMING THE TENN. WITH ROASTINGEARS AM DETAILED TO GO FORAGING PLEASE PASS THE BUTTER WE EVACUATE CHATTANOOGA THE BULL OF THE WOODS THE WING OF THE "ANGEL OF DEATH"

CHAPTER IX--CHICKAMAUGA BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA AFTER THE BATTLE A NIGHT AMONG THE DEAD

CHAPTER X--MISSIONARY RIDGE MISSIONARY RIDGE SERGEANT TUCKER AND GEN. WILDER MOCCASIN POINT BATTLE OF MISSIONARY RIDGE GOOD-BYE, TOM WEBB THE REAR GUARD CHICKAMAUGA STATION THE BATTLE OF CAT CREEK RINGGOLD GAP

CHAPTER XI--DALTON GEN. JOE JOHNSTON TAKES COMMAND COMMISSARIES DALTON SHOOTING A DESERTER TEN MEN KILLED AT MOURNER'S-BENCH DR. C. T. QUINTARD Y'S YOU GOT MY HOG? TARGET SHOOTING UNCLE ZACK AND AUNT DAPHNE RED TAPE I GET A FURLOUGH

CHAPTER XII--HUNDRED DAYS BATTLE ROCKY FACE RIDGE FALLING BACK BATTLE OF RESACCA ADAIRSVILLE OCTAGON HOUSE KENNESAW LINE DETAILED TO GO INTO ENEMY'S LINES DEATH OF GENERAL LEONIDAS POLK GENERAL LUCIUS E. POLK WOUNDED DEAD ANGLE BATTLE OF NEW HOPE CHURCH BATTLE OF DALLAS BATTLE OF ZION CHURCH KINGSTON CASSVILLE ON THE BANKS OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE REMOVAL OF GEN. JOE E. JOHNSTON GEN. HOOD TAKES COMMAND

CHAPTER XIII--ATLANTA HOOD STRIKES KILLING A YANKEE SCOUT AN OLE CITIZEN MY FRIENDS AN ARMY WITHOUT CAVALRY BATTLE OF JULY 22ND, 1864 THE ATTACK AM PROMOTED 28TH OF JULY AT ATLANTA I VISIT MONTGOMERY THE HOSPITAL THE CAPITOL AM ARRESTED THOSE GIRLS THE TALISMAN THE BRAVE CAPTAIN HOW I GOT BACK TO ATLANTA THE DEATH OF TOM TUCK'S ROOSTER OLD JOE BROWN'S PETS WE GO AFTER STONEMAN BELLUM LETHALE DEATH OF A YANKEE LIEUTENANT ATLANTA FORSAKEN

CHAPTER XIV--JONESBORO BATTLE OF JONESBORO DEATH OF LIEUT. JOHN WHITTAKER THEN COMES THE FARCE PALMETTO JEFF DAVIS MAKES A SPEECH ARMISTICE ONLY IN NAME A SCOUT WHAT IS THIS REBEL DOING HERE? LOOK OUT, BOYS AM CAPTURED

CHAPTER XV--ADVANCE INTO TENNESSEE GEN. HOOD MAKES A FLANK MOVEMENT WE CAPTURE DALTON A MAN IN THE WELL TUSCUMBIA EN ROUTE FOR COLUMBIA

CHAPTER XVI--BATTLES IN TENNESSEE COLUMBIA A FIASCO FRANKLIN NASHVILLE

CHAPTER XVII--THE SURRENDER THE LAST ACT OF THE DRAMA ADIEU

CHAPTER I

RETROSPECTIVE

"WE ARE ONE AND UNDIVIDED"

About twenty years ago, I think it was--I won't be certain, though--a man whose name, if I remember correctly, was Wm. L. Yancy--I write onlyfrom memory, and this was a long time ago--took a strange and peculiarnotion that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and that thecompass pointed north and south. Now, everybody knew at the time thatit was but the idiosyncrasy of an unbalanced mind, and that the UnitedStates of America had no north, no south, no east, no west. Well, he began to preach the strange doctrine of there being such a thing. He began to have followers. As you know, it matters not how absurd, ridiculous and preposterous doctrines may be preached, there will be somefollowers. Well, one man by the name of (I think it was) Rhett, said itout loud. He was told to "s-h-e-e. " Then another fellow by the name (Iremember this one because it sounded like a graveyard) Toombs said so, and he was told to "sh-sh-ee-ee. " Then after a while whole heaps ofpeople began to say that they thought that there was a north and a south;and after a while hundreds and thousands and millions said that there wasa south. But they were the persons who lived in the direction that thewater courses run. Now, the people who lived where the water coursesstarted from came down to see about it, and they said, "Gents, you arevery much mistaken. We came over in the Mayflower, and we used to burnwitches for saying that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, because the sun neither rises nor sets, the earth simply turns on itsaxis, and we know, because we are Pure(i)tans. " The spokesman of theparty was named (I think I remember his name because it always gave methe blues when I heard it) Horrors Greeley; and another person by thename of Charles Sumner, said there ain't any north or south, east or west, and you shan't say so, either. Now, the other people who lived in thedirection that the water courses run, just raised their bristles andcontinued saying that there is a north and there is a south. When thoseat the head of the water courses come out furiously mad, to coerce thosein the direction that water courses run, and to make them take it back. Well, they went to gouging and biting, to pulling and scratching at afurious rate. One side elected a captain by the name of Jeff Davis, and known as one-eyed Jeff, and a first lieutenant by the name of AleckStephens, commonly styled Smart Aleck. The other side selected ascaptain a son of Nancy Hanks, of Bowling Green, and a son of old BobLincoln, the rail-splitter, and whose name was Abe. Well, after hewas elected captain, they elected as first lieutenant an individual ofdoubtful blood by the name of Hannibal Hamlin, being a descendant of thegeneration of Ham, the bad son of old Noah, who meant to curse him blue, but overdid the thing, and cursed him black. 

Well, as I said before, they went to fighting, but old Abe's side gotthe best of the argument. But in getting the best of the argument theycalled in all the people and wise men of other nations of the earth, and they, too, said that America had no cardinal points, and that the sundid not rise in the east and set in the west, and that the compass didnot point either north or south. 

Well, then, Captain Jeff Davis' side gave it up and quit, and they, too, went to saying that there is no north, no south, no east, no west. Well, "us boys" all took a small part in the fracas, and Shep, theprophet, remarked that the day would come when those who once believedthat the American continent had cardinal points would be ashamed to ownit. That day has arrived. America has no north, no south, no east, no west; the sun rises over the hills and sets over the mountains, the compass just points up and down, and we can laugh now at the absurdnotion of there being a north and a south. 

Well, reader, let me whisper in your ear. I was in the row, and thefollowing pages will tell what part I took in the little unpleasantmisconception of there being such a thing as a north and south. 

THE BLOODY CHASM

In these memoirs, after the lapse of twenty years, we propose to fightour "battles o'er again. "

To do this is but a pastime and pleasure, as there is nothing that somuch delights the old soldier as to revisit the scenes and battlefieldswith which he was once so familiar, and to recall the incidents, thoughtrifling they may have been at the time. 

The histories of the Lost Cause are all written out by "big bugs, "generals and renowned historians, and like the fellow who called a turtlea "cooter, " being told that no such word as cooter was in Webster'sdictionary, remarked that he had as much right to make a dictionary asMr. Webster or any other man; so have I to write a history. 

But in these pages I do not pretend to write the history of the war. I only give a few sketches and incidents that came under the observationof a "high private" in the rear ranks of the rebel army. Of course, the histories are all correct. They tell of great achievements of greatmen, who wear the laurels of victory; have grand presents given them;high positions in civil life; presidents of corporations; governors ofstates; official positions, etc. , and when they die, long obituaries arepublished, telling their many virtues, their distinguished victories, etc. , and when they are buried, the whole country goes in mourning and iscalled upon to buy an elegant monument to erect over the remains of sodistinguished and brave a general, etc. But in the following pages Ipropose to tell of the fellows who did the shooting and killing, thefortifying and ditching, the sweeping of the streets, the drilling, the standing guard, picket and videt, and who drew (or were to draw)eleven dollars per month and rations, and also drew the ramrod and torethe cartridge. Pardon me should I use the personal pronoun "I" toofrequently, as I do not wish to be called egotistical, for I only writeof what I saw as an humble private in the rear rank in an infantryregiment, commonly called "webfoot. " Neither do I propose to make thisa connected journal, for I write entirely from memory, and you mustremember, kind reader, that these things happened twenty years ago, and twenty years is a long time in the life of any individual. 

I was twenty-one years old then, and at that time I was not married. Now I have a house full of young "rebels, " clustering around my knees andbumping against my elbow, while I write these reminiscences of the warof secession, rebellion, state rights, slavery, or our rights in theterritories, or by whatever other name it may be called. These are allwith the past now, and the North and South have long ago "shaken handsacross the bloody chasm. " The flag of the Southern cause has been furlednever to be again unfurled; gone like a dream of yesterday, and livesonly in the memory of those who lived through those bloody days and times. 

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE

Reader mine, did you live in that stormy period? In the year of our Lordeighteen hundred and sixty-one, do you remember those stirring times?Do you recollect in that year, for the first time in your life, ofhearing Dixie and the Bonnie Blue Flag? Fort Sumter was fired uponfrom Charleston by troops under General Beauregard, and Major Anderson, of the Federal army, surrendered. The die was cast; war was declared;Lincoln called for troops from Tennessee and all the Southern states, but Tennessee, loyal to her Southern sister states, passed the ordinanceof secession, and enlisted under the Stars and Bars. From that day on, every person, almost, was eager for the war, and we were all afraid itwould be over and we not be in the fight. Companies were made up, regiments organized; left, left, left, was heard from morning till night. By the right flank, file left, march, were familiar sounds. Everywherecould be seen Southern cockades made by the ladies and our sweethearts. And some who afterwards became Union men made the most fiery secessionspeeches. Flags made by the ladies were presented to companies, and tohear the young orators tell of how they would protect that flag, and thatthey would come back with the flag or come not at all, and if they fellthey would fall with their backs to the field and their feet to the foe, would fairly make our hair stand on end with intense patriotism, and wewanted to march right off and whip twenty Yankees. But we soon found outthat the glory of war was at home among the ladies and not upon the fieldof blood and carnage of death, where our comrades were mutilated and tornby shot and shell. And to see the cheek blanch and to hear the ferventprayer, aye, I might say the agony of mind were very different indeedfrom the patriotic times at home. 

CAMP CHEATHAM

After being drilled and disciplined at Camp Cheatham, under theadministrative ability of General R. C. Foster, 3rd, for two months, we, the First, Third and Eleventh Tennessee Regiments--Maney, Brown and Rains--learned of the advance of McClelland's army into Virginia, towardHarper's Ferry and Bull Run. 

The Federal army was advancing all along the line. They expected tomarch right into the heart of the South, set the negroes free, take ourproperty, and whip the rebels back into the Union. But they soon foundthat secession was a bigger mouthful than they could swallow at onegobble. They found the people of the South in earnest. 

Secession may have been wrong in the abstract, and has been tried andsettled by the arbitrament of the sword and bayonet, but I am as firm inmy convictions today of the right of secession as I was in 1861. TheSouth is our country, the North is the country of those who live there. We are an agricultural people; they are a manufacturing people. They arethe descendants of the good old Puritan Plymouth Rock stock, and we ofthe South from the proud and aristocratic stock of Cavaliers. We believein the doctrine of State rights, they in the doctrine of centralization. 

John C. Calhoun, Patrick Henry, and Randolph, of Roanoke, saw the venomunder their wings, and warned the North of the consequences, but theylaughed at them. We only fought for our State rights, they for Union andpower. The South fell battling under the banner of State rights, butyet grand and glorious even in death. Now, reader, please pardon thedigression. It is every word that we will say in behalf of the rights ofsecession in the following pages. The question has been long ago settledand is buried forever, never in this age or generation to be resurrected. 

The vote of the regiment was taken, and we all voted to go to Virginia. The Southern Confederacy had established its capital at Richmond. 

A man by the name of Jackson, who kept a hotel in Maryland, had raisedthe Stars and Bars, and a Federal officer by the name of Ellsworth toreit down, and Jackson had riddled his body with buckshot from a double-barreled shotgun. First blood for the South. 

Everywhere the enemy were advancing; the red clouds of war were boomingup everywhere, but at this particular epoch, I refer you to the historyof that period. 

A private soldier is but an automaton, a machine that works by thecommand of a good, bad, or indifferent engineer, and is presumed to knownothing of all these great events. His business is to load and shoot, stand picket, videt, etc. , while the officers sleep, or perhaps die onthe field of battle and glory, and his obituary and epitaph but "one"remembered among the slain, but to what company, regiment, brigade orcorps he belongs, there is no account; he is soon forgotten. 

A long line of box cars was drawn up at Camp Cheatham one morning in July, the bugle sounded to strike tents and to place everything on board thecars. We old comrades have gotten together and laughed a hundred timesat the plunder and property that we had accumulated, compared with oursubsequent scanty wardrobe. Every soldier had enough blankets, shirts, pants and old boots to last a year, and the empty bottles and jugs wouldhave set up a first-class drug store. In addition, every one of us hadhis gun, cartridge-box, knapsack and three days' rations, a pistol oneach side and a long Bowie knife, that had been presented to us byWilliam Wood, of Columbia, Tenn. We got in and on top of the box cars, the whistle sounded, and amid the waving of hats, handkerchiefs and flags, we bid a long farewell and forever to old Camp Cheatham. 

Arriving at Nashville, the citizens turned out _en masse_ to receive us, and here again we were reminded of the good old times and the "gal weleft behind us. " Ah, it is worth soldiering to receive such welcomes asthis. 

The Rev. Mr. Elliott invited us to his college grove, where had beenprepared enough of the good things of earth to gratify the tastes of themost fastidious epicure. And what was most novel, we were waited on bythe most beautiful young ladies (pupils of his school). It was charming, I tell you. Rev. C. D. Elliott was our Brigade Chaplain all through thewar, and Dr. C. T. Quintard the Chaplain of the First Tennessee Regiment--two of the best men who ever lived. (Quintard is the present Bishop ofTennessee). 

ON THE ROAD

Leaving Nashville, we went bowling along twenty or thirty miles an hour, as fast as steam could carry us. At every town and station citizens andladies were waving their handkerchiefs and hurrahing for Jeff Davis andthe Southern Confederacy. Magnificent banquets were prepared for us allalong the entire route. It was one magnificent festival from one end ofthe line to the other. At Chattanooga, Knoxville, Bristol, Farmville, Lynchburg, everywhere, the same demonstrations of joy and welcome greetedus. Ah, those were glorious times; and you, reader, see why the oldsoldier loves to live over again that happy period. 

But the Yankees are advancing on Manassas. July 21st finds us a hundredmiles from that fierce day's battle. That night, after the battle isfought and won, our train draws up at Manassas Junction. 

Well, what news? Everyone was wild, nay, frenzied with the excitementof victory, and we felt very much like the "boy the calf had run over. "We felt that the war was over, and we would have to return home withouteven seeing a Yankee soldier. Ah, how we envied those that were wounded. We thought at that time that we would have given a thousand dollars tohave been in the battle, and to have had our arm shot off, so we couldhave returned home with an empty sleeve. But the battle was over, and we left out. 

STAUNTON

From Manassas our train moved on to Staunton, Virginia. Here we againwent into camp, overhauled kettles, pots, buckets, jugs and tents, and found everything so tangled up and mixed that we could not telltuther from which. 

We stretched our tents, and the soldiers once again felt that restraintand discipline which we had almost forgotten en route to this place. But, as the war was over now, our captains, colonels and generals werenot "hard on the boys;" in fact, had begun to electioneer a little forthe Legislature and for Congress. In fact, some wanted, and were lookingforward to the time, to run for Governor of Tennessee. 

Staunton was a big place; whisky was cheap, and good Virginia tobacco wasplentiful, and the currency of the country was gold and silver. 

The State Asylums for the blind and insane were here, and we visited allthe places of interest. 

Here is where we first saw the game called "chuck-a-luck, " afterwardsso popular in the army. But, I always noticed that chuck won, and luckalways lost. 

Faro and roulette were in full blast; in fact, the skum had begun to cometo the surface, and shoddy was the gentleman. By this, I mean that civillaw had been suspended; the ermine of the judges had been overridden bythe sword and bayonet. In other words, the military had absorbed thecivil. Hence the gambler was in his glory. 

WARM SPRINGS, VIRGINIA

One day while we were idling around camp, June Tucker sounded theassembly, and we were ordered aboard the cars. We pulled out forMillboro; from there we had to foot it to Bath Alum and Warm Springs. We went over the Allegheny Mountains. 

I was on every march that was ever made by the First Tennessee Regimentduring the whole war, and at this time I cannot remember of everexperiencing a harder or more fatiguing march. It seemed that mountainwas piled upon mountain. No sooner would we arrive at a place thatseemed to be the top than another view of a higher, and yet highermountain would rise before us. From the foot to the top of the mountainthe soldiers lined the road, broken down and exhausted. First oneblanket was thrown away, and then another; now and then a good pair ofpants, old boots and shoes, Sunday hats, pistols and Bowie knives strewedthe road. Old bottles and jugs and various and sundry articles werelying pell-mell everywhere. Up and up, and onward and upward we pulledand toiled, until we reached the very top, when there burst upon ourview one of the grandest and most beautiful landscapes we ever beheld. 

Nestled in the valley right before us is Bath Alum and Warm Springs. It seemed to me at that time, and since, a glimpse of a better andbrighter world beyond, to the weary Christian pilgrim who may have beentoiling on his journey for years. A glad shout arose from those who hadgained the top, which cheered and encouraged the others to persevere. At last we got to Warm Springs. Here they had a nice warm dinner waitingfor us. They had a large bath-house at Warm Springs. A large pool ofwater arranged so that a person could go in any depth he might desire. It was a free thing, and we pitched in. We had no idea of the enervatingeffect it would have upon our physical systems, and as the water was butlittle past tepid, we stayed in a good long time. But when we came outwe were as limp as dishrags. About this time the assembly sounded and wewere ordered to march. But we couldn't march worth a cent. There we hadto stay until our systems had had sufficient recuperation. And we wouldwonder what all this marching was for, as the war was over anyhow. 

The second day after leaving Warm Springs we came to Big Springs. It was in the month of August, and the biggest white frost fell that Iever saw in winter. 

The Yankees were reported to be in close proximity to us, and CaptainField with a detail of ten men was sent forward on the scout. I was onthe detail, and when we left camp that evening, it was dark and drearyand drizzling rain. After a while the rain began to come down harderand harder, and every one of us was wet and drenched to the skin--guns, cartridges and powder. The next morning about daylight, while standingvidet, I saw a body of twenty-five or thirty Yankees approaching, and Iraised my gun for the purpose of shooting, and pulled down, but the cappopped. They discovered me and popped three or four caps at me; theirpowder was wet also. Before I could get on a fresh cap, Captain Fieldcame running up with his seven-shooting rifle, and the first fire hekilled a Yankee. They broke and run. Captain Field did all the firing, but every time he pulled down he brought a Yankee. I have forgotten thenumber that he did kill, but if I am not mistaken it was either twentyor twenty-one, for I remember the incident was in almost every Southernpaper at that time, and the general comments were that one Southern manwas equal to twenty Yankees. While we were in hot pursuit, one trulybrave and magnanimous Yankee, who had been badly wounded, said, "Gentlemen, you have killed me, but not a hundred yards from here is themain line. " We did not go any further, but halted right there, and aftergetting all the information that we could out of the wounded Yankee, we returned to camp. 

One evening, General Robert E. Lee came to our camp. He was a fine-looking gentleman, and wore a moustache. He was dressed in bluecottonade and looked like some good boy's grandpa. I felt like going upto him and saying good evening, Uncle Bob! I am not certain at this lateday that I did not do so. I remember going up mighty close and sittingthere and listening to his conversation with the officers of ourregiment. He had a calm and collected air about him, his voice was kindand tender, and his eye was as gentle as a dove's. His whole make-upof form and person, looks and manner had a kind of gentle and soothingmagnetism about it that drew every one to him and made them love, respect, and honor him. I fell in love with the old gentleman and felt like goinghome with him. I know I have never seen a finer looking man, nor onewith more kind and gentle features and manners. His horse was standingnipping the grass, and when I saw that he was getting ready to start Iran and caught his horse and led him up to him. He took the reins of thebridle in his hand and said, "thank you, my son, " rode off, and my heartwent with him. There was none of his staff with him; he had on no swordor pistol, or anything to show his rank. The only thing that I rememberhe had was an opera-glass hung over his shoulder by a strap. 

Leaving Big Springs, we marched on day by day, across Greenbrier andGauley rivers to Huntersville, a little but sprightly town hid in thevery fastnesses of the mountains. The people live exceedingly well inthese mountains. They had plenty of honey and buckwheat cakes, andthey called buttermilk "sour-milk, " and sour-milk weren't fit for pigs;they couldn't see how folks drank sour-milk. But sour-kraut was good. Everything seemed to grow in the mountains--potatoes, Irish and sweet;onions, snap beans, peas--though the country was very thinly populated. Deer, bear, and foxes, as well as wild turkeys, and rabbits and squirrelsabounded everywhere. Apples and peaches were abundant, and everywherethe people had apple-butter for every meal; and occasionally we wouldcome across a small-sized distillery, which we would at once start todoing duty. We drank the singlings while they were hot, but like the oldwoman who could not eat corn bread until she heard that they made whiskyout of corn, then she could manage to "worry a little of it down;"so it was with us and the singlings. 

From this time forward, we were ever on the march--tramp, tramp, tramp--always on the march. Lee's corps, Stonewall Jackson's division--I referyou to the histories for the marches and tramps made by these commandersthe first year of the war. Well, we followed them. 

CHEAT MOUNTAIN

One evening about 4 o'clock, the drummers of the regiment began to beattheir drums as hard as they could stave, and I saw men running in everydirection, and the camp soon became one scene of hurry and excitement. I asked some one what all this hubbub meant. He looked at me with utterastonishment. I saw soldiers running to their tents and grabbing theirguns and cartridge-boxes and hurry out again, the drums still rolling andrattling. I asked several other fellows what in the dickens did all thismean? Finally one fellow, who seemed scared almost out of his wits, answered between a wail and a shriek, "Why, sir, they are beating thelong roll. " Says I, "What is the long roll for?" "The long roll, man, the long roll! Get your gun; they are beating the long roll!" This wasall the information that I could get. It was the first, last, and onlylong roll that I ever heard. But, then everything was new, and ColonelManey, ever prompt, ordered the assembly. Without any command or buglesound, or anything, every soldier was in his place. Tents, knapsacks andeverything was left indiscriminately. 

We were soon on the march, and we marched on and on and on. About nightit began to rain. All our blankets were back in camp, but we wereexpected every minute to be ordered into action. That night we cameto Mingo Flats. The rain still poured. We had no rations to eat andnowhere to sleep. Some of us got some fence rails and piled themtogether and worried through the night as best we could. The nextmorning we were ordered to march again, but we soon began to get hungry, and we had about half halted and about not halted at all. Some of theboys were picking blackberries. The main body of the regiment wasmarching leisurely along the road, when bang, debang, debang, bang, and a volley of buck and ball came hurling right through the two advancecompanies of the regiment--companies H and K. We had marched into aYankee ambuscade. 

All at once everything was a scene of consternation and confusion;no one seemed equal to the emergency. We did not know whether to run orstand, when Captain Field gave the command to fire and charge the bushes. We charged the bushes and saw the Yankees running through them, and wefired on them as they retreated. I do not know how many Yankees werekilled, if any. Our company (H) had one man killed, Pat Hanley, anIrishman, who had joined our company at Chattanooga. Hugh Padgett andDr. Hooper, and perhaps one or two others, were wounded. 

After the fighting was over, where, O where, was all the fine riggingheretofore on our officers? They could not be seen. Corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, captains, all had torn all the fine lace offtheir clothing. I noticed that at the time and was surprised and hurt. I asked several of them why they had torn off the insignia of their rank, and they always answered, "Humph, you think that I was going to be atarget for the Yankees to shoot at?" You see, this was our first battle, and the officers had not found out that minnie as well as cannon ballswere blind; that they had no eyes and could not see. They thought thatthe balls would hunt for them and not hurt the privates. I always shotat privates. It was they that did the shooting and killing, and if Icould kill or wound a private, why, my chances were so much the better. I always looked upon officers as harmless personages. Colonel Field, I suppose, was about the only Colonel of the war that did as muchshooting as the private soldier. If I shot at an officer, it was at longrange, but when we got down to close quarters I always tried to killthose that were trying to kill me. 

SEWELL MOUNTAIN

From Cheat Mountain we went by forced marches day and night, over hilland everlasting mountains, and through lovely and smiling valleys, sometimes the country rich and productive, sometimes rough and broken, through towns and villages, the names of which I have forgotten, crossingstreams and rivers, but continuing our never ceasing, unending march, passing through the Kanawha Valley and by the salt-works, and nearly backto the Ohio river, when we at last reached Sewell Mountain. Here wefound General John B. Floyd strongly entrenched and fortified and facingthe advance of the Federal army. Two days before our arrival he hadcharged and captured one line of the enemy's works. I know nothing ofthe battle. See the histories for that. I only write from memory, and that was twenty years ago, but I remember reading in the newspapersat that time of some distinguished man, whether he was captain, colonelor general, I have forgotten, but I know the papers said "he sought thebauble, reputation, at the cannon's mouth, and went to glory from thedeath-bed of fame. " I remember it sounded gloriously in print. Now, reader, this is all I know of this grand battle. I only recollect whatthe newspapers said about it, and you know that a newspaper always tellsthe truth. I also know that beef livers sold for one dollar apiece ingold; and here is where we were first paid off in Confederate money. Remaining here a few days, we commenced our march again. 

Sewell Mountain, Harrisonburg, Lewisburg, Kanawha Salt-works, first four, forward and back, seemed to be the programme of that day. Rosecrans, that wiley old fox, kept Lee and Jackson both busy trying to catch him, but Rosey would not be caught. March, march, march; tramp, tramp, tramp, back through the valley to Huntersville and Warm Springs, and up throughthe most beautiful valley--the Shenandoah--in the world, passing townsand elegant farms and beautiful residences, rich pastures and abundantharvests, which a Federal General (Fighting Joe Hooker), later in the war, ordered to be so sacked and destroyed that a "crow passing over thisvalley would have to carry his rations. " Passing on, we arrived atWinchester. The first night we arrived at this place, the wind blew aperfect hurricane, and every tent and marquee in Lee's and Jackson's armywas blown down. This is the first sight we had of Stonewall Jackson, riding upon his old sorrel horse, his feet drawn up as if his stirrupswere much too short for him, and his old dingy military cap hanging wellforward over his head, and his nose erected in the air, his old rustysabre rattling by his side. This is the way the grand old hero of ahundred battles looked. His spirit is yonder with the blessed ones thathave gone before, but his history is one that the country will ever beproud of, and his memory will be cherished and loved by the old soldierswho followed him through the war. 

ROMNEY

Our march to and from Romney was in midwinter in the month of January, 1862. It was the coldest winter known to the oldest inhabitant of theseregions. Situated in the most mountainous country in Virginia, and awayup near the Maryland and Pennsylvania line, the storm king seemed to rulein all of his majesty and power. Snow and rain and sleet and tempestseemed to ride and laugh and shriek and howl and moan and groan inall their fury and wrath. The soldiers on this march got very muchdiscouraged and disheartened. As they marched along icicles hung fromtheir clothing, guns, and knapsacks; many were badly frost bitten, and I heard of many freezing to death along the road side. My feetpeeled off like a peeled onion on that march, and I have not recoveredfrom its effects to this day. The snow and ice on the ground beingpacked by the soldiers tramping, the horses hitched to the artillerywagons were continually slipping and sliding and falling and woundingthemselves and sometimes killing their riders. The wind whistling witha keen and piercing shriek, seemed as if they would freeze the marrowin our bones. The soldiers in the whole army got rebellious--almostmutinous--and would curse and abuse Stonewall Jackson; in fact, theycalled him "Fool Tom Jackson. " They blamed him for the cold weather;they blamed him for everything, and when he would ride by a regiment theywould take occasion, _sotto voce_, to abuse him, and call him "Fool TomJackson, " and loud enough for him to hear. Soldiers from all commandswould fall out of ranks and stop by the road side and swear that theywould not follow such a leader any longer. 

When Jackson got to Romney, and was ready to strike Banks and Meade in avital point, and which would have changed, perhaps, the destiny of thewar and the South, his troops refused to march any further, and he turned, marched back to Winchester and tendered his resignation to theauthorities at Richmond. But the great leader's resignation was notaccepted. It was in store for him to do some of the hardest fightingand greatest generalship that was done during the war. 

One night at this place (Romney), I was sent forward with two othersoldiers across the wire bridge as picket. One of them was namedSchwartz and the other Pfifer--he called it Fifer, but spelled it with aP--both full-blooded Dutchmen, and belonging to Company E, or the GermanYagers, Captain Harsh, or, as he was more generally called, "God-for-dam. "

When we had crossed the bridge and taken our station for the night, I saw another snow storm was coming. The zig-zag lightnings began toflare and flash, and sheet after sheet of wild flames seemed to burstright over our heads and were hissing around us. The very elementsseemed to be one aurora borealis with continued lightning. Streak afterstreak of lightning seemed to be piercing each the other, the one fromthe north and the other from the south. The white clouds would roll up, looking like huge snow balls, encircled with living fires. The earth andhills and trees were covered with snow, and the lightnings seemed to beplaying "King, King Canico" along its crusted surface. If it thunderedat all, it seemed to be between a groaning and a rumbling sound. Thetrees and hills seemed white with livid fire. I can remember that stormnow as the grandest picture that has ever made any impression on mymemory. As soon as it quit lightning, the most blinding snow storm fellthat I ever saw. It fell so thick and fast that I got hot. I felt likepulling off my coat. I was freezing. The winds sounded like sweetmusic. I felt grand, glorious, peculiar; beautiful things began to playand dance around my head, and I supposed I must have dropped to sleep orsomething, when I felt Schwartz grab me, and give me a shake, and at thesame time raised his gun and fired, and yelled out at the top of hisvoice, "Here is your mule. " The next instant a volley of minnie ballswas scattering the snow all around us. I tried to walk, but my pants andboots were stiff and frozen, and the blood had ceased to circulate in mylower limbs. But Schwartz kept on firing, and at every fire he wouldyell out, "Yer is yer mool!" Pfifer could not speak English, and Ireckon he said "Here is your mule" in Dutch. About the same time we werehailed from three Confederate officers, at full gallop right toward us, not to shoot. And as they galloped up to us and thundered right acrossthe bridge, we discovered it was Stonewall Jackson and two of his staff. At the same time the Yankee cavalry charged us, and we, too, ran backacross the bridge. 

STANDING PICKET ON THE POTOMAC

Leaving Winchester, we continued up the valley. 

The night before the attack on Bath or Berkly Springs, there fell thelargest snow I ever saw. 

Stonewall Jackson had seventeen thousand soldiers at his command. The Yankees were fortified at Bath. An attack was ordered, our regimentmarched upon top of a mountain overlooking the movements of both armiesin the valley below. About 4 o'clock one grand charge and rush was made, and the Yankees were routed and skedaddled. 

By some circumstance or other, Lieutenant J. Lee Bullock came in commandof the First Tennessee Regiment. But Lee was not a graduate of WestPoint, you see. 

The Federals had left some spiked batteries on the hill side, as wewere informed by an old citizen, and Lee, anxious to capture a battery, gave the new and peculiar command of, "Soldiers, you are ordered to goforward and capture a battery; just piroute up that hill; piroute, march. Forward, men; piroute carefully. " The boys "pirouted" as best theycould. It may have been a new command, and not laid down in Hardee's orScott's tactics; but Lee was speaking plain English, and we understoodhis meaning perfectly, and even at this late day I have no doubt thatevery soldier who heard the command thought it a legal and technical termused by military graduates to go forward and capture a battery. 

At this place (Bath), a beautiful young lady ran across the street. I have seen many beautiful and pretty women in my life, but she wasthe prettiest one I ever saw. Were you to ask any member of the FirstTennessee Regiment who was the prettiest woman he ever saw, he wouldunhesitatingly answer that he saw her at Berkly Springs during the war, and he would continue the tale, and tell you of Lee Bullock's pirouteand Stonewall Jackson's charge. 

We rushed down to the big spring bursting out of the mountain side, and it was hot enough to cook an egg. Never did I see soldiers moresurprised. The water was so hot we could not drink it. 

The snow covered the ground and was still falling. 

That night I stood picket on the Potomac with a detail of the ThirdArkansas Regiment. I remember how sorry I felt for the poor fellows, because they had enlisted for the war, and we for only twelve months. Before nightfall I took in every object and commenced my weary vigils. I had to stand all night. I could hear the rumblings of the Federalartillery and wagons, and hear the low shuffling sound made by troops onthe march. The snow came pelting down as large as goose eggs. Aboutmidnight the snow ceased to fall, and became quiet. Now and then thesnow would fall off the bushes and make a terrible noise. While I waspeering through the darkness, my eyes suddenly fell upon the outlines ofa man. The more I looked the more I was convinced that it was a Yankeepicket. I could see his hat and coat--yes, see his gun. I was surethat it was a Yankee picket. What was I to do? The relief was severalhundred yards in the rear. The more I looked the more sure I was. At last a cold sweat broke out all over my body. Turkey bumps rose. I summoned all the nerves and bravery that I could command, and said:"Halt! who goes there?" There being no response, I became resolute. I did not wish to fire and arouse the camp, but I marched right up to itand stuck my bayonet through and through it. It was a stump. I tell theabove, because it illustrates a part of many a private's recollectionsof the war; in fact, a part of the hardships and suffering that they gothrough. 

One secret of Stonewall Jackson's success was that he was such a strictdisciplinarian. He did his duty himself and was ever at his post, and he expected and demanded of everybody to do the same thing. He wouldhave a man shot at the drop of a hat, and drop it himself. The firstarmy order that was ever read to us after being attached to his corps, was the shooting to death by musketry of two men who had stopped on thebattlefield to carry off a wounded comrade. It was read to us in lineof battle at Winchester. 

SCHWARTZ AND PFIFER

At Valley Mountain the finest and fattest beef I ever saw was issued tothe soldiers, and it was the custom to use tallow for lard. Tallow madegood shortening if the biscuits were eaten hot, but if allowed to getcold they had a strong taste of tallow in their flavor that did nottaste like the flavor of vanilla or lemon in ice cream and strawberries;and biscuits fried in tallow were something upon the principle of 'possumand sweet potatoes. Well, Pfifer had got the fat from the kidneys oftwo hind quarters and made a cake of tallow weighing about twenty-fivepounds. He wrapped it up and put it carefully away in his knapsack. When the assembly sounded for the march, Pfifer strapped on his knapsack. It was pretty heavy, but Pfifer was "well heeled. " He knew the goodfrying he would get out of that twenty-five pounds of nice fat tallow, and he was willing to tug and toil all day over a muddy and sloppy roadfor his anticipated hot tallow gravy for supper. We made a long and hardmarch that day, and about dark went into camp. Fires were made up andwater brought, and the soldiers began to get supper. Pfifer was in agood humor. He went to get that twenty-five pounds of good, nice, fat tallow out of his knapsack, and on opening it, lo and behold! it wasa rock that weighed about thirty pounds. Pfifer was struck dumb withamazement. He looked bewildered, yea, even silly. I do not think hecursed, because he could not do the subject justice. He looked at thatrock with the death stare of a doomed man. But he suspected Schwartz. He went to Schwartz's knapsack, and there he found his cake of tallow. He went to Schwartz and would have killed him had not soldiers interferedand pulled him off by main force. His eyes blazed and looked like thoseof a tiger when he has just torn his victim limb from limb. I wouldnot have been in Schwartz's shoes for all the tallow in every beef inVirginia. Captain Harsh made Schwartz carry that rock for two days topacify Pfifer. 

THE COURT-MARTIAL

One incident came under my observation while in Virginia that made a deepimpression on my mind. One morning, about daybreak, the new guard wasrelieving the old guard. It was a bitter cold morning, and on coming toour extreme outpost, I saw a soldier--he was but a mere boy--either deador asleep at his post. The sergeant commanding the relief went up to himand shook him. He immediately woke up and seemed very much frightened. He was fast asleep at his post. The sergeant had him arrested andcarried to the guard-house. 

Two days afterwards I received notice to appear before a court-martial atnine. I was summoned to appear as a witness against him for being asleepat his post in the enemy's country. An example had to be made of someone. He had to be tried for his life. The court-martial was made upof seven or eight officers of a different regiment. The witnesses alltestified against him, charges and specifications were read, and by therules of war he had to be shot to death by musketry. The Advocate-General for the prosecution made the opening speech. He read the law ina plain, straightforward manner, and said that for a soldier to go tosleep at his post of duty, while so much depended upon him, was the mostculpable of all crimes, and the most inexcusable. I trembled in my boots, for on several occasions I knew I had taken a short nap, even on the veryoutpost. The Advocate-General went on further to say, that the picketwas the sentinel that held the lives of his countrymen and the libertyof his country in his hands, and it mattered not what may have been hisrecord in the past. At one moment he had forfeited his life to hiscountry. For discipline's sake, if for nothing else, you gentlemen thatmake up this court-martial find the prisoner guilty. It is necessary foryou to be firm, gentlemen, for upon your decision depends the safety ofour country. When he had finished, thinks I to myself, "Gone up thespout, sure; we will have a first-class funeral here before night. "

Well, as to the lawyer who defended him, I cannot now remember hisspeeches; but he represented a fair-haired boy leaving his home andfamily, telling his father and aged mother and darling little sisterfarewell, and spoke of his proud step, though a mere boy, going to defendhis country and his loved ones; but at one weak moment, when nature, tasked and taxed beyond the bounds of human endurance, could stand nolonger, and upon the still and silent picket post, when the whole armywas hushed in slumber, what wonder is it that he, too, may have fallenasleep while at his post of duty. 

Some of you gentlemen of this court-martial may have sons, may havebrothers; yes, even fathers, in the army. Where are they tonight?You love your children, or your brother or father. This mere youth hasa father and mother and sister away back in Tennessee. They are willingto give him to his country. But oh! gentlemen, let the word go back toTennessee that he died upon the battlefield, and not by the hands of hisown comrades for being asleep at his post of duty. I cannot now rememberthe speeches, but one thing I do know, that he was acquitted, and I wasglad of it. 

"THE DEATH WATCH"

One more scene I can remember. Kind friends--you that know nothing of asoldier's life--I ask you in all candor not to doubt the following linesin this sketch. You have no doubt read of the old Roman soldier foundamid the ruins of Pompeii, who had stood there for sixteen hundred years, and when he was excavated was found at his post with his gun clasped inhis skeleton hands. You believe this because it is written in history. I have heard politicians tell it. I have heard it told from the sacreddesk. It is true; no one doubts it. 

Now, were I to tell something that happened in this nineteenth centuryexactly similar, you would hardly believe it. But whether you believeit or not, it is for you to say. At a little village called HampshireCrossing, our regiment was ordered to go to a little stream calledSt. John's Run, to relieve the 14th Georgia Regiment and the 3rdArkansas. I cannot tell the facts as I desire to. In fact, my handtrembles so, and my feelings are so overcome, that it is hard for me towrite at all. But we went to the place that we were ordered to go to, and when we arrived there we found the guard sure enough. If I remembercorrectly, there were just eleven of them. Some were sitting down andsome were lying down; but each and every one was as cold and as hardfrozen as the icicles that hung from their hands and faces and clothing--dead! They had died at their post of duty. Two of them, a little inadvance of the others, were standing with their guns in their hands, as cold and as hard frozen as a monument of marble--standing sentinelwith loaded guns in their frozen hands! The tale is told. Were theytrue men? Does He who noteth the sparrow's fall, and numbers the hairsof our heads, have any interest in one like ourselves? Yes; He doethall things well. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His consent. 

VIRGINIA, FAREWELL

After having served through all the valley campaign, and marched throughall the wonders of Northwest Virginia, and being associated with the armyof Virginia, it was with sorrow and regret that we bade farewell to "OldVirginia's shore, " to go to other fields of blood and carnage and death. We had learned to love Virginia; we love her now. The people were kindand good to us. They divided their last crust of bread and rasher ofbacon with us. We loved Lee, we loved Jackson; we loved the name, association and people of Virginia. Hatton, Forbes, Anderson, Gilliam, Govan, Loring, Ashby and Schumaker were names with which we had been longassociated. We hated to leave all our old comrades behind us. We feltthat we were proving recreant to the instincts of our own manhood, and that we were leaving those who had stood by us on the march andbattlefield when they most needed our help. We knew the 7th and 14thTennessee regiments; we knew the 3rd Arkansas, the 14th Georgia, and 42ndVirginia regiments. Their names were as familiar as household words. We were about to leave the bones of Joe Bynum and Gus Allen and PatrickHanly. We were about to bid farewell to every tender association that wehad formed with the good people of Virginia, and to our old associatesamong the soldiers of the Grand Army of Virginia. _Virginia, farewell!_Away back yonder, in good old Tennessee, our homes and loved ones arebeing robbed and insulted, our fields laid waste, our cities sacked, and our people slain. Duty as well as patriotism calls us back to ournative home, to try and defend it, as best we can, against an invadingarmy of our then enemies; and, Virginia, once more we bid you a longfarewell!

CHAPTER II

SHILOH

This was the first big battle in which our regiment had ever beenengaged. I do not pretend to tell of what command distinguished itself;of heroes; of blood and wounds; of shrieks and groans; of brilliantcharges; of cannon captured, etc. I was but a private soldier, and ifI happened to look to see if I could find out anything, "Eyes right, guide center, " was the order. "Close up, guide right, halt, forward, right oblique, left oblique, halt, forward, guide center, eyes right, dress up promptly in the rear, steady, double quick, charge bayonets, fire at will, " is about all that a private soldier ever knows of abattle. He can see the smoke rise and the flash of the enemy's guns, and he can hear the whistle of the minnie and cannon balls, but he hasgot to load and shoot as hard as he can tear and ram cartridge, or hewill soon find out, like the Irishman who had been shooting blankcartridges, when a ball happened to strike him, and he halloed out, "Faith, Pat, and be jabbers, them fellows are shooting bullets. " But Inevertheless remember many things that came under my observation in thisbattle. I remember a man by the name of Smith stepping deliberatelyout of the ranks and shooting his finger off to keep out of the fight;of another poor fellow who was accidentally shot and killed by thedischarge of another person's gun, and of others suddenly taken sick withcolic. Our regiment was the advance guard on Saturday evening, and did alittle skirmishing; but General Gladden's brigade passed us and assumeda position in our immediate front. About daylight on Sunday morning, Chalmers' brigade relieved Gladden's. As Gladden rode by us, a courierrode up and told him something. I do not know what it was, but I heardGladden say, "Tell General Bragg that I have as keen a scent for Yankeesas General Chalmers has. "

On Sunday morning, a clear, beautiful, and still day, the order wasgiven for the whole army to advance, and to attack immediately. Wewere supporting an Alabama brigade. The fire opened--bang, bang, bang, a rattle de bang, bang, bang, a boom, de bang, bang, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, whirr-siz-siz-siz--a ripping, roaring boom, bang! The air was full of balls and deadly missiles. The litter corps was carrying off the dying and wounded. We could hearthe shout of the charge and the incessant roar of the guns, the rattleof the musketry, and knew that the contending forces were engaged in abreast to breast struggle. But cheering news continued to come back. Every one who passed would be hailed with, "Well, what news from thefront?" "Well, boys, we are driving 'em. We have captured all theirencampments, everything that they had, and all their provisions and armystores, and everything. "

As we were advancing to the attack and to support the Alabama brigade inour front, and which had given way and were stricken with fear, some ofthe boys of our regiment would laugh at them, and ask what they wererunning for, and would commence to say "Flicker! flicker! flicker!"like the bird called the yellowhammer, "Flicker! flicker! flicker!"As we advanced, on the edge of the battlefield, we saw a big fat colonelof the 23rd Tennessee regiment badly wounded, whose name, if I remembercorrectly, was Matt. Martin. He said to us, "Give 'em goss, boys. That's right, my brave First Tennessee. Give 'em Hail Columbia!"We halted but a moment, and said I, "Colonel, where are you wounded?"He answered in a deep bass voice, "My son, I am wounded in the arm, in the leg, in the head, in the body, and in another place which I havea delicacy in mentioning. " That is what the gallant old Colonel said. Advancing a little further on, we saw General Albert Sidney Johnsonsurrounded by his staff and Governor Harris, of Tennessee. We saw somelittle commotion among those who surrounded him, but we did not know atthe time that he was dead. The fact was kept from the troops. 

About noon a courier dashed up and ordered us to go forward and supportGeneral Bragg's center. We had to pass over the ground where troops hadbeen fighting all day. 

I had heard and read of battlefields, seen pictures of battlefields, of horses and men, of cannon and wagons, all jumbled together, while theground was strewn with dead and dying and wounded, but I must confessthat I never realized the "pomp and circumstance" of the thing calledglorious war until I saw this. Men were lying in every conceivableposition; the dead lying with their eyes wide open, the wounded beggingpiteously for help, and some waving their hats and shouting to us to goforward. It all seemed to me a dream; I seemed to be in a sort of haze, when siz, siz, siz, the minnie balls from the Yankee line began towhistle around our ears, and I thought of the Irishman when he said, "Sure enough, those fellows are shooting bullets!"

Down would drop first one fellow and then another, either killed orwounded, when we were ordered to charge bayonets. I had been feelingmean all the morning as if I had stolen a sheep, but when the order tocharge was given, I got happy. I felt happier than a fellow does when heprofesses religion at a big Methodist camp-meeting. I shouted. It wasfun then. Everybody looked happy. We were crowding them. One morecharge, then their lines waver and break. They retreat in wildconfusion. We were jubilant; we were triumphant. Officers could notcurb the men to keep in line. Discharge after discharge was poured intothe retreating line. The Federal dead and wounded covered the ground. 

When in the very midst of our victory, here comes an order to halt. What! halt after today's victory? Sidney Johnson killed, General Gladdenkilled, and a host of generals and other brave men killed, and the wholeYankee army in full retreat. 

These four letters, h-a-l-t, O, how harsh they did break upon our ears. The victory was complete, but the word "halt" turned victory into defeat. 

The soldiers had passed through the Yankee camps and saw all the goodthings that they had to eat in their sutlers' stores and officers'marquees, and it was but a short time before every soldier was rummagingto see what he could find. 

The harvest was great and the laborers were not few. 

The negro boys, who were with their young masters as servants, got rich. Greenbacks were plentiful, good clothes were plentiful, rations were notin demand. The boys were in clover. 

This was Sunday. 

On Monday the tide was reversed. 

Now, those Yankees were whipped, fairly whipped, and according to all therules of war they ought to have retreated. But they didn't. Flushedwith their victories at Fort Henry and Fort Donelson and the capture ofNashville, and the whole State of Tennessee having fallen into theirhands, victory was again to perch upon their banners, for Buell's army, by forced marches, had come to Grant's assistance at the eleventh hour. 

Gunboats and transports were busily crossing Buell's army all of Sundaynight. We could hear their boats ringing their bells, and hear the puffof smoke and steam from their boilers. Our regiment was the advanceoutpost, and we saw the skirmish line of the Federals advancing and thentheir main line and then their artillery. We made a good fight on Mondaymorning, and I was taken by surprise when the order came for us toretreat instead of advance. But as I said before, reader, a privatesoldier is but an automaton, and knows nothing of what is going on amongthe generals, and I am only giving the chronicles of little things andevents that came under my own observation as I saw them then and rememberthem now. Should you desire to find out more about the battle, I referyou to history. 

One incident I recollect very well. A Yankee colonel, riding a fine graymare, was sitting on his horse looking at our advance as if we were onreview. W. H. Rushed forward and grabbed his horse by the bridle, telling him at the same time to surrender. The Yankee seized the reins, set himself back in the saddle, put the muzzle of his pistol in W. H. 'sface and fired. About the time he pulled trigger, a stray ball from somedirection struck him in the side and he fell off dead, and his horsebecoming frightened, galloped off, dragging him through the Confederatelines. His pistol had missed its aim. 

I have heard hundreds of old soldiers tell of the amount of greenbackmoney they saw and picked up on the battlefield of Shiloh, but theythought it valueless and did not trouble themselves with bringing it offwith them. 

One fellow, a courier, who had had his horse killed, got on a mule he hadcaptured, and in the last charge, before the final and fatal halt wasmade, just charged right ahead by his lone self, and the soldiers said, "Just look at that brave man, charging right in the jaws of death. "He began to seesaw the mule and grit his teeth, and finally yelled out, "It arn't me, boys, it's this blarsted old mule. Whoa! Whoa!"

On Monday morning I too captured me a mule. He was not a fast mule, and I soon found out that he thought he knew as much as I did. He waswise in his own conceit. He had a propensity to take every hog path hecame to. All the bombasting that I could give him would not make himaccelerate his speed. If blood makes speed, I do not suppose he had adrop of any kind in him. If I wanted him to go on one side of the roadhe was sure to be possessed of an equal desire to go on the other side. Finally I and my mule fell out. I got a big hickory and would frailhim over the head, and he would only shake his head and flop his ears, and seem to say, "Well, now, you think you are smart, don't you?"He was a resolute mule, slow to anger, and would have made an excellentmerchant to refuse bad pay, or I will pay your credit, for his wholecomposition seemed to be made up the one word--no. I frequently thoughtit would be pleasant to split the difference with that mule, and I wouldgladly have done so if I could have gotten one-half of his no. Me andmule worried along until we came to a creek. Mule did not desire tocross, while I was trying to persuade him with a big stick, a rock in hisear, and a twister on his nose. The caisson of a battery was about tocross. The driver said, "I'll take your mule over for you. " So he got alarge two-inch rope, tied one end around the mule's neck and the other tothe caisson, and ordered the driver to whip up. The mule was loath totake to the water. He was no Baptist, and did not believe in immersion, and had his views about crossing streams, but the rope began to tighten, the mule to squeal out his protestations against such villainousproceedings. The rope, however, was stronger than the mule's "no, "and he was finally prevailed upon by the strength of the rope to crossthe creek. On my taking the rope off he shook himself and seemed to say, "You think that you are mighty smart folks, but you are a leetle toosmart. " I gave it up that that mule's "no" was a little stronger than mydetermination. He seemed to be in deep meditation. I got on him again, when all of a sudden he lifted his head, pricked up his ears, began tochamp his bit, gave a little squeal, got a little faster, and finallyinto a gallop and then a run. He seemed all at once to have rememberedor to have forgotten something, and was now making up for lost time. With all my pulling and seesawing and strength I could not stop him untilhe brought up with me at Corinth, Mississippi. 

CHAPTER III

CORINTH

Well, here we were, again "reorganizing, " and after our lax disciplineon the road to and from Virginia, and after a big battle, which alwaysdisorganizes an army, what wonder is it that some men had to be shot, merely for discipline's sake? And what wonder that General Bragg's namebecame a terror to deserters and evil doers? Men were shot by scores, and no wonder the army had to be reorganized. Soldiers had enlisted fortwelve months only, and had faithfully complied with their volunteerobligations; the terms for which they had enlisted had expired, and theynaturally looked upon it that they had a right to go home. They haddone their duty faithfully and well. They wanted to see their families;in fact, wanted to go home anyhow. War had become a reality; they weretired of it. A law had been passed by the Confederate States Congresscalled the conscript act. A soldier had no right to volunteer and tochoose the branch of service he preferred. He was conscripted. 

From this time on till the end of the war, a soldier was simply a machine, a conscript. It was mighty rough on rebels. We cursed the war, wecursed Bragg, we cursed the Southern Confederacy. All our pride andvalor had gone, and we were sick of war and the Southern Confederacy. 

A law was made by the Confederate States Congress about this timeallowing every person who owned twenty negroes to go home. It gave usthe blues; we wanted twenty negroes. Negro property suddenly became veryvaluable, and there was raised the howl of "rich man's war, poor man'sfight. " The glory of the war, the glory of the South, the glory and thepride of our volunteers had no charms for the conscript. 

We were directed to re-elect our officers, and the country was surprisedto see the sample of a conscript's choice. The conscript had no choice. He was callous, and indifferent whether he had a captain or not. Thosewho were at first officers had resigned and gone home, because they wereofficers. The poor private, a contemptible conscript, was left to howland gnash his teeth. The war might as well have ended then and there. The boys were "hacked, " nay, whipped. They were shorn of the locks oftheir glory. They had but one ambition now, and that was to get outof the army in some way or other. They wanted to join the cavalry orartillery or home guards or pioneer corps or to be "yaller dogs, " oranything. 

[The average staff officer and courier were always called "yaller dogs, "and were regarded as non-combatants and a nuisance, and the averageprivate never let one pass without whistling and calling dogs. In fact, the general had to issue an army order threatening punishment for theridicule hurled at staff officers and couriers. They were looked uponas simply "hangers on, " or in other words, as yellow sheep-killing dogs, that if you would say "booh" at, would yelp and get under their master'sheels. Mike Snyder was General George Maney's "yaller dog, " and Ibelieve here is where Joe Jefferson, in Rip Van Winkle, got the name ofRip's dog Snyder. At all times of day or night you could hear, "wheer, hyat, hyat, haer, haer, hugh, Snyder, whoopee, hyat, whoopee, Snyder, here, here, " when a staff officer or courier happened to pass. Thereason of this was that the private knew and felt that there was justthat much more loading, shooting and fighting for him; and there are thefewest number of instances on record where a staff officer or courierever fired a gun in their country's cause; and even at this late day, when I hear an old soldier telling of being on some general's staff, I always think of the letter "E. " In fact, later in the war I wasdetailed as special courier and staff officer for General Hood, whichoffice I held three days. But while I held the office in passing a guardI always told them I was on Hood's staff, and ever afterwards I madethose three days' staff business last me the balance of the war. I couldpass any guard in the army by using the magic words, "staff officer. "It beat all the countersigns ever invented. It was the "open sesame"of war and discipline. ]

Their last hope had set. They hated war. To their minds the South wasa great tyrant, and the Confederacy a fraud. They were deserting bythousands. They had no love or respect for General Bragg. When men wereto be shot or whipped, the whole army was marched to the horrid scene tosee a poor trembling wretch tied to a post and a platoon of twelve mendrawn up in line to put him to death, and the hushed command of "Ready, aim, fire!" would make the soldier, or conscript, I should say, loathethe very name of Southern Confederacy. And when some miserable wretchwas to be whipped and branded for being absent ten days without leave, we had to see him kneel down and have his head shaved smooth and slick asa peeled onion, and then stripped to the naked skin. Then a strappingfellow with a big rawhide would make the blood flow and spurt at everylick, the wretch begging and howling like a hound, and then he wasbranded with a red hot iron with the letter D on both hips, when he wasmarched through the army to the music of the "Rogue's March. " It wasenough. None of General Bragg's soldiers ever loved him. They had nofaith in his ability as a general. He was looked upon as a mercilesstyrant. The soldiers were very scantily fed. Bragg never was a goodfeeder or commissary-general. Rations with us were always scarce. No extra rations were ever allowed to the negroes who were with us asservants. No coffee or whisky or tobacco were ever allowed to be issuedto the troops. If they obtained these luxuries, they were not from thegovernment. These luxuries were withheld in order to crush the veryheart and spirit of his troops. We were crushed. Bragg was the greatautocrat. In the mind of the soldier, his word was law. He loved tocrush the spirit of his men. The more of a hang-dog look they had aboutthem the better was General Bragg pleased. Not a single soldier in thewhole army ever loved or respected him. But he is dead now. 

Peace to his ashes!

We became starved skeletons; naked and ragged rebels. The chronicdiarrhoea became the scourge of the army. Corinth became one vasthospital. Almost the whole army attended the sick call every morning. All the water courses went dry, and we used water out of filthy pools. 

Halleck was advancing; we had to fortify Corinth. A vast army, Grant, Buell, Halleck, Sherman, all were advancing on Corinth. Our troopswere in no condition to fight. In fact, they had seen enough of thismiserable yet tragic farce. They were ready to ring down the curtain, put out the footlights and go home. They loved the Union anyhow, andwere always opposed to this war. But breathe softly the name of Bragg. It had more terror than the advancing hosts of Halleck's army. The shotand shell would come tearing through our ranks. Every now and then asoldier was killed or wounded, and we thought what "magnificent" folly. Death was welcome. Halleck's whole army of blue coats had no terror now. When we were drawn up in line of battle, a detail of one-tenth of thearmy was placed in our rear to shoot us down if we ran. No pack ofhounds under the master's lash, or body of penitentiary convicts wereever under greater surveillance. We were tenfold worse than slaves;our morale was a thing of the past; the glory of war and the pride ofmanhood had been sacrificed upon Bragg's tyrannical holocaust. Butenough of this. 

ROWLAND SHOT TO DEATH

One morning I went over to the 23rd Tennessee Regiment on a visit toCaptain Gray Armstrong and Colonel Jim Niel, both of whom were glad tosee me, as we were old ante-bellum friends. While at Colonel Niel'smarquee I saw a detail of soldiers bring out a man by the name of Rowland, whom they were going to shoot to death with musketry, by order of acourt-martial, for desertion. I learned that he had served out the termfor which he had originally volunteered, had quit our army and joinedthat of the Yankees, and was captured with Prentiss' Yankee brigadeat Shiloh. He was being hauled to the place of execution in a wagon, sitting on an old gun box, which was to be his coffin. When they got tothe grave, which had been dug the day before, the water had risen in it, and a soldier was baling it out. Rowland spoke up and said, "Please handme a drink of that water, as I want to drink out of my own grave so theboys will talk about it when I am dead, and remember Rowland. " Theyhanded him the water and he drank all there was in the bucket, andhanding it back asked them to please hand him a little more, as he hadheard that water was very scarce in hell, and it would be the last hewould ever drink. He was then carried to the death post, and there hebegan to cut up jack generally. He began to curse Bragg, Jeff. Davis, and the Southern Confederacy, and all the rebels at a terrible rate. He was simply arrogant and very insulting. I felt that he deservedto die. He said he would show the rebels how a Union man could die. I do not know what all he did say. When the shooting detail came up, he went of his own accord and knelt down at the post. The Captaincommanding the squad gave the command, "Ready, aim, fire!" and Rowlandtumbled over on his side. It was the last of Rowland. 

KILLING A YANKEE SHARPSHOOTER

In our immediate front, at Corinth, Mississippi, our men were beingpicked off by sharpshooters, and a great many were killed, but no onecould tell where the shots came from. At one particular post it wassure death. Every detail that had been sent to this post for a week hadbeen killed. In distributing the detail this post fell to Tom Webb andmyself. They were bringing off a dead boy just as we went on duty. Colonel George C. Porter, of the 6th Tennessee, warned us to keep a goodlookout. We took our stands. A minnie ball whistled right by my head. I don't think it missed me an eighth of an inch. Tom had sat down on anold chunk of wood, and just as he took his seat, zip! a ball took thechunk of wood. Tom picked it up and began laughing at our tight place. Happening to glance up towards the tree tops, I saw a smoke rising abovea tree, and about the same time I saw a Yankee peep from behind the tree, up among the bushes. I quickly called Tom's attention to it, and pointedout the place. We could see his ramrod as he handled it while loadinghis gun; saw him raise his gun, as we thought, to put a cap on it. Tom in the meantime had lain flat on his belly and placed his gun acrossthe chunk he had been sitting on. I had taken a rest for my gun by theside of a sapling, and both of us had dead aim at the place where theYankee was. Finally we saw him sort o' peep round the tree, and we movedabout a little so that he might see us, and as we did so, the Yankeestepped out in full view, and bang, bang! Tom and I had both shot. We saw that Yankee tumble out like a squirrel. It sounded like distantthunder when that Yankee struck the ground. We heard the Yankees carryhim off. One thing I am certain of, and that is, not another Yankee wentup that tree that day, and Colonel George C. Porter complimented Tom andI very highly on our success. This is where I first saw a jack o'lantern(ignis fatui). That night, while Tom and I were on our posts, we saw anumber of very dim lights, which seemed to be in motion. At first wetook them to be Yankees moving about with lights. Whenever we could geta shot we would blaze away. At last one got up very close, and passedright between Tom and I. I don't think I was ever more scared in mylife. My hair stood on end like the quills of the fretful porcupine;I could not imagine what on earth it was. I took it to be some hellishmachination of a Yankee trick. I did not know whether to run or stand, until I heard Tom laugh and say, "Well, well, that's a jack o'lantern. "

COLONEL FIELD

Before proceeding further with these memoirs, I desire to give shortsketches of two personages with whom we were identified and closelyassociated until the winding up of the ball. The first is ColonelHume R. Field. Colonel Field was born a soldier. I have read manydescriptions of Stonewall Jackson. Colonel Field was his exactcounterpart. They looked somewhat alike, spoke alike, and alike weretrained military soldiers. The War Department at Richmond made agrand mistake in not making him a "commander of armies. " He was nota brilliant man; could not talk at all. He was a soldier. Hisconversation was yea and nay. But when you could get "yes, sir, " and "no, sir, " out of him his voice was as soft and gentle as a maid's when shesays "yes" to her lover. Fancy, if you please, a man about thirty yearsold, a dark skin, made swarthy by exposure to sun and rain, very blackeyes that seemed to blaze with a gentle luster. I never saw him theleast excited in my life. His face was a face of bronze. His form wassomewhat slender, but when you looked at him you saw at the first glancethat this would be a dangerous man in a ground skuffle, a foot race, or a fight. There was nothing repulsive or forbidding or evendomineering in his looks. A child or a dog would make up with him onfirst sight. He knew not what fear was, or the meaning of the word fear. He had no nerves, or rather, has a rock or tree any nerves? You might aswell try to shake the nerves of a rock or tree as those of Colonel Field. He was the bravest man, I think, I ever knew. Later in the war he wasknown by every soldier in the army; and the First Tennessee Regiment, by his manipulations, became the regiment to occupy "tight places. "He knew his men. When he struck the Yankee line they felt the blow. He had, himself, set the example, and so trained his regiment that allthe armies in the world could not whip it. They might kill every man init, is true, but they would die game to the last man. His men all lovedhim. He was no disciplinarian, but made his regiment what it was by hisown example. And every day on the march you would see some poor oldragged rebel riding his fine gray mare, and he was walking. 

CAPTAIN JOE P. LEE

The other person I wish to speak of is Captain Joe P. Lee. Captain HenryJ. Webster was our regular captain, but was captured while on furlough, sent to a northern prison and died there, and Joe went up by promotion. He was quite a young man, about twenty-one years old, but as brave asany old Roman soldier that ever lived. Joe's face was ever wreathed insmiles, and from the beginning to the end he was ever at the head of hiscompany. I do not think that any member of the company ever did call himby his title. He was called simply "Joe Lee, " or more frequently "BlackPerch. " While on duty he was strict and firm, but off duty he was "oneof us boys. " We all loved and respected him, but everybody knows Joe, and further comment is unnecessary. 

I merely mention these two persons because in this rapid sketch I mayhave cause occasionally to mention them, and only wish to introduce themto the reader, so he may understand more fully my ideas. But, reader, please remember that I am not writing a history at all, and do notpropose in these memoirs to be anybody's biographer. I am only giving myown impressions. If other persons think differently from me it is allright, and I forgive them. 

CORINTH FORSAKEN

One morning a detail was sent to burn up and destroy all the provisionsand army stores, and to blow up the arsenal. The town was in a blazeof fire and the arsenal was roaring and popping and bellowing likepandemonium turned loose as we marched through Corinth on the morning ofthe evacuation. We bade farewell to Corinth. Its history was black anddark and damning. No little speck of green oasis ever enlivened the darkrecesses of our memory while at this place. It's a desert that livesonly in bitter memories. It was but one vast graveyard that entombedthe life and spirit of once brave and chivalrous men. We left it tothe tender mercies of the Yankees without one tear of sorrow or regret, and bade it farewell forever. 

CHAPTER IV

TUPELO

We went into summer quarters at Tupelo. Our principal occupation at thisplace was playing poker, chuck-a-luck and cracking graybacks (lice). Every soldier had a brigade of lice on him, and I have seen fellows sobusily engaged in cracking them that it reminded me of an old womanknitting. At first the boys would go off in the woods and hide to lousethemselves, but that was unnecessary, the ground fairly crawled withlice. Pharaoh's people, when they were resisting old Moses, neverenjoyed the curse of lice more than we did. The boys would frequentlyhave a louse race. There was one fellow who was winning all the money;his lice would run quicker and crawl faster than anybody's lice. Wecould not understand it. If some fellow happened to catch a fierce-looking louse, he would call on Dornin for a race. Dornin would come andalways win the stake. The lice were placed in plates--this was the racecourse--and the first that crawled off was the winner. At last we foundout D. 's trick; he always heated his plate. 

Billy P. Said he had no lice on him. 

"Did you ever look?"

"No. "

"How do you know then?"

"If ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise, " said Billy. 

"Why, there is one crawling on your bosom now. "

Billy took him and put him back in his bosom and said to the louse, "You stay there now; this makes the fourth time I have put you back, and if I catch you out again today I'll martyr you. "

Billy was philosophic--the death of one louse did not stop the breed. 

THE COURT MARTIAL AT TUPELO

At this place was held the grand court-martial. Almost every day wewould hear a discharge of musketry, and knew that some poor, tremblingwretch had bid farewell to mortal things here below. It seemed to bebut a question of time with all of us as to when we too would be shot. We were afraid to chirp. So far now as patriotism was concerned, we hadforgotten all about that, and did not now so much love our country as wefeared Bragg. Men were being led to the death stake every day. I heardof many being shot, but did not see but two men shot myself. I do notknow to what regiment they belonged, but I remember that they were merebeardless boys. I did not learn for what crime or the magnitude of theiroffenses. They might have deserved death for all I know. 

I saw an old man, about sixty years old, whose name was Dave Brewer, and another man, about forty-five, by the name of Rube Franklin, whipped. There was many a man whipped and branded that I never saw or heard tellof. But the reason I remembered these two was that they belonged toCompany A of the 23rd Tennessee Regiment, and I knew many men in theregiment. 

These two men were hung up by the hands, after having their heads shaved, to a tree, put there for the purpose, with the prongs left on them, and one hand was stretched toward one prong and the other hand to anotherprong, their feet, perhaps, just touching the ground. The man who didthe whipping had a thick piece of sole-leather, the end of which was cutin three strips, and this tacked on to the end of a paddle. After thecharges and specifications had been read (both men being stark naked), the whipper "lit in" on Rube, who was the youngest. I do not think heintended to hit as hard as he did, but, being excited himself, heblistered Rube from head to foot. Thirty-nine lashes was always thenumber. Now, three times thirty-nine makes one hundred and seventeen. When he struck at all, one lick would make three whelps. When he hadfinished Rube, the Captain commanding the whipping squad told him to layit on old man Brewer as light as the law would allow, that old man Brewerwas so old that he would die--that he could not stand it. He struck oldman Dave Brewer thirty-nine lashes, but they were laid on light. OldDave didn't beg and squall like Rube did. He j-e-s-t did whip old manDave. Like the old preacher who caught the bear on Sunday. They had himup before the church, agreed to let him off if he did not again set histrap. "Well, " he said, "brethren, I j-e-s-t did set it. "

RAIDING ON ROASTINGEARS

At this place General Bragg issued an order authorizing citizens todefend themselves against the depredations of soldiers--to shoot themdown if caught depredating. 

Well, one day Byron Richardson and myself made a raid on an old citizen'sroastingear patch. We had pulled about all the corn that we could carry. I had my arms full and was about starting for camp, when an old citizenraised up and said, "Stop there! drop that corn. " He had a double-barreled shotgun cocked and leveled at my breast. 

"Come and go with me to General Bragg's headquarters. I intend to takeyou there, by the living God!"

I was in for it. Directed to go in front, I was being marched to Bragg'sheadquarters. I could see the devil in the old fellow's eye. I tried tobeg off with good promises, but the old fellow was deaf to all entreaty. I represented to him all of our hardships and suffering. But the oldfellow was inexorable. I was being steadily carried toward Bragg'sheadquarters. I was determined not to see General Bragg, even if the oldcitizen shot me in the back. When all at once a happy thought struck me. Says I, "Mister, Byron Richardson is in your field, and if you will goback we can catch him and you can take both of us to General Bragg. "The old fellow's spunk was up. He had captured me so easy, he no doubtthought he could whip a dozen. We went back a short distance, and therewas Byron, who had just climbed over the fence and had his arms full, when the old citizen, diverted from me, leveled his double-barrel atByron, when I made a grab for his gun, which was accidentally dischargedin the air, and with the assistance of Byron, we had the old fellow andhis gun both. The table was turned. We made the old fellow gather asmuch as he could carry, and made him carry it nearly to camp, when wedismissed him, a wiser if not a better and richer man. We took his gunand bent it around a black jack tree. He was at the soldiers' mercy. 

CHAPTER V

KENTUCKY

WE GO INTO KENTUCKY

After being thoroughly reorganized at Tupelo, and the troops hadrecovered their health and spirits, we made an advance into Kentucky. We took the cars at Tupelo and went to Mobile, from thence across MobileBay to Montgomery, Alabama, then to Atlanta, from there to Chattanooga, and then over the mountains afoot to the blue-grass regions of Kentucky--the dark and bloody ground. Please remember, patient reader, that Iwrite entirely from memory. I have no data or diary or anything to go by, and memory is a peculiar faculty. I find that I cannot remember townsand battles, and remember only the little things. I remember how gladlythe citizens of Kentucky received us. I thought they had the prettiestgirls that God ever made. They could not do too much for us. They hadheaps and stacks of cooked rations along our route, with wine and cidereverywhere, and the glad shouts of "Hurrah for our Southern boys!"greeted and welcomed us at every house. Ah, the boys felt like soldiersagain. The bands played merrier and livelier tunes. It was the patientconvalescing; the fever had left him, he was getting fat and strong;the old fire was seen to illuminate his eyes; his step was buoyant andproud; he felt ashamed that he had ever been "hacked"; he could fightnow. It was the same old proud soldier of yore. The bands played "Dixie"and the "Bonnie Blue Flag, " the citizens cheered, and the ladies wavedtheir handkerchiefs and threw us bouquets. Ah, those were halcyon days, and your old soldier, kind reader, loves to recall that happy period. Mumfordsville had been captured with five thousand prisoners. Newrecruits were continually joining our ranks. 

Camp Dick Robinson, that immense pile of army stores, had fallen into ourhands. We rode upon the summit of the wave of success. The boys had gotclean clothes, and had their faces washed. I saw then what I had longsince forgotten--a "cockade. " The Kentucky girls made cockades for us, and almost every soldier had one pinned on his hat. But stirring eventswere hastening on, the black cloud of battle and war had begun then toappear much larger than a man's hand, in fact we could see the lightningflash and hear the thunder roar. 

We were at Harrodsburg; the Yankees were approaching Perryville underGeneral Buell. The Yankees had been dogging our rear, picking up ourstragglers and capturing some of our wagon trains. 

This good time that we were having was too good to last. We were in anecstasy akin to heaven. We were happy; the troops were jubilant; ourmanhood blood pulsated more warmly; our patriotism was awakened; ourpride was renewed and stood ready for any emergency; we felt that oneSouthern man could whip twenty Yankees. All was lovely and the goosehung high. We went to dances and parties every night. 

When General Chalmers marched to Perryville, in flanking and surroundingMumfordsville, we marched the whole night long. We, the private soldiers, did not know what was going on among the generals. All that we had to dowas march, march, march. It mattered not how tired, hungry, or thirstywe were. All that we had to do was to march that whole night long, and every staff officer who would pass, some fellow would say, "Hey, mister, how far is it to Mumfordsville?" He would answer, "five miles. "It seemed to me we traveled a hundred miles and were always within fivemiles of Mumfordsville. That night we heard a volley of musketry in ourimmediate front, and did not know what it meant, but soon we came towhere a few soldiers had lighted some candles and were holding themover the body of a dead soldier. It was Captain Allison, if I rememberrightly, of General Cheatham's staff. He was very bloody, and had hisclothes riddled with balls. I heard that he rode on in front of theadvance guard of our army, and had no doubt discovered the Yankee picket, and came galloping back at full speed in the dark, when our advance guardfired on and killed him. 

We laid down in a graveyard that night and slept, and when we awoke thesun was high in the heavens, shining in our faces. Mumfordsville hadsurrendered. The next day Dr. C. T. Quintard let me ride his horsenearly all day, while he walked with the webfeet. 

THE BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE

In giving a description of this most memorable battle, I do not pretendto give you figures, and describe how this general looked and how thatone spoke, and the other one charged with drawn sabre, etc. I knownothing of these things--see the history for that. I was simply asoldier of the line, and I only write of the things I saw. I was inevery battle, skirmish and march that was made by the First TennesseeRegiment during the war, and I do not remember of a harder contest andmore evenly fought battle than that of Perryville. If it had been twomen wrestling, it would have been called a "dog fall. " Both sides claimthe victory--both whipped. 

I stood picket in Perryville the night before the battle--a Yankee onone side of the street, and I on the other. We got very friendly duringthe night, and made a raid upon a citizen's pantry, where we captureda bucket of honey, a pitcher of sweet milk, and three or four biscuit. The old citizen was not at home--he and his whole household had gonevisiting, I believe. In fact, I think all of the citizens of Perryvillewere taken with a sudden notion of promiscuous visiting about this time;at least they were not at home to all callers. 

At length the morning dawned. Our line was drawn up on one side ofPerryville, the Yankee army on the other. The two enemies that were soonto meet in deadly embrace seemed to be eyeing each other. The blue coatslined the hillside in plain view. You could count the number of theirregiments by the number of their flags. We could see the huge war dogsfrowning at us, ready at any moment to belch forth their fire and smoke, and hurl their thunderbolts of iron and death in our very midst. 

I wondered why the fighting did not begin. Never on earth were ourtroops more eager for the engagement to open. The Yankees commenced tomarch toward their left, and we marched almost parallel to our right--both sides watching each other's maneuvers and movements. It was but thelull that precedes the storm. Colonel Field was commanding our brigade, and Lieutenant-Colonel Patterson our regiment. About 12 o'clock, whilewe were marching through a corn field, in which the corn had been shocked, they opened their war dogs upon us. The beginning of the end had come. Here is where Captain John F. Wheless was wounded, and three others, whose names I have forgotten. The battle now opened in earnest, and fromone end of the line to the other seemed to be a solid sheet of blazingsmoke and fire. Our regiment crossed a stream, being preceded byWharton's Texas Rangers, and we were ordered to attack at once withvigor. Here General Maney's horse was shot. From this moment the battlewas a mortal struggle. Two lines of battle confronted us. We killedalmost every one in the first line, and were soon charging over thesecond, when right in our immediate front was their third and main lineof battle from which four Napoleon guns poured their deadly fire. 

We did not recoil, but our line was fairly hurled back by the leaden hailthat was poured into our very faces. Eight color-bearers were killed atone discharge of their cannon. We were right up among the very wheelsof their Napoleon guns. It was death to retreat now to either side. Our Lieutenant-Colonel Patterson halloed to charge and take their guns, and we were soon in a hand-to-hand fight--every man for himself--usingthe butts of our guns and bayonets. One side would waver and fall back afew yards, and would rally, when the other side would fall back, leavingthe four Napoleon guns; and yet the battle raged. Such obstinatefighting I never had seen before or since. The guns were dischargedso rapidly that it seemed the earth itself was in a volcanic uproar. The iron storm passed through our ranks, mangling and tearing men topieces. The very air seemed full of stifling smoke and fire which seemedthe very pit of hell, peopled by contending demons. 

Our men were dead and dying right in the very midst of this grand havocof battle. It was a life to life and death to death grapple. The sunwas poised above us, a great red ball sinking slowly in the west, yet thescene of battle and carnage continued. I cannot describe it. The mantleof night fell upon the scene. I do not know which side whipped, but Iknow that I helped bring off those four Napoleon guns that night thoughwe were mighty easy about it. 

They were given to Turner's Battery of our brigade and had the name ofour Lieutenant-Colonel Patterson and our color-bearer, Mitchell, both ofwhom were killed, inscribed on two of the pieces. I have forgotten thenames inscribed on the other two pieces. I saw these very four gunssurrendered at Missionary Ridge. But of this another time. 

The battle of Perryville presented a strange scene. The dead, dying, and wounded of both armies, Confederate and Federal, were blended ininextricable confusion. Now and then a cluster of dead Yankees and closeby a cluster of dead Rebels. It was like the Englishman's grog--'alf and'alf. Now, if you wish, kind reader, to find out how many were killedand wounded, I refer you to the histories. 

I remember one little incident that I laughed at while in the very midstof battle. We were charging through an old citizen's yard, when a bigyellow cur dog ran out and commenced snapping at the soldiers' legs--they kicking at him to keep him off. The next morning he was lying nearthe same place, but he was a dead dog. 

I helped bring off our wounded that night. We worked the whole night. The next morning about daylight a wounded comrade, Sam Campbell, complained of being cold, and asked me to lie down beside him. I did so, and was soon asleep; when I awoke the poor fellow was stiff and cold indeath. His spirit had flown to its home beyond the skies. 

After the battle was over, John T. Tucker, Scott Stephens, A. S. Horsleyand I were detailed to bring off our wounded that night, and we helpedto bring off many a poor dying comrade--Joe Thompson, Billy Bond, ByronRichardson, the two Allen boys--brothers, killed side by side--andColonel Patterson, who was killed standing right by my side. He wasfirst shot through the hand, and was wrapping his handkerchief around it, when another ball struck and killed him. I saw W. J. Whittorne, then astrippling boy of fifteen years of age, fall, shot through the neck andcollar-bone. He fell apparently dead, when I saw him all at once jump up, grab his gun and commence loading and firing, and I heard him say, "D--n 'em, I'll fight 'em as long as I live. " Whit thought he was killed, but he is living yet. We helped bring off a man by the name of Hodge, with his under jaw shot off, and his tongue lolling out. We brought offCaptain Lute B. Irvine. Lute was shot through the lungs and was vomitingblood all the while, and begging us to lay him down and let him die. But Lute is living yet. Also, Lieutenant Woldridge, with both eyes shotout. I found him rambling in a briar-patch. About fifty members of theRock City Guards were killed and nearly one hundred wounded. They wereled by Captains W. D. Kelley, Wheless, and Steele. Lieutenant ThomasH. Maney was badly wounded. I saw dead on the battlefield a FederalGeneral by the name of Jackson. It was his brigade that fought us soobstinately at this place, and I did hear that they were made up inKentucky. Colonel Field, then commanding our brigade, and on his finegray mare, rode up almost face to face with General Jackson, beforehe was killed, and Colonel Field was shooting all the time with hisseven-shooting rifle. I cannot tell the one-half, or even remember atthis late date, the scenes of blood and suffering that I witnessed onthe battlefield of Perryville. But its history, like all the balance, has gone into the history of the war, and it has been twenty years ago, and I write entirely from memory. I remember Lieutenant Joe P. Lee andCaptain W. C. Flournoy standing right at the muzzle of the Napoleon guns, and the next moment seemed to be enveloped in smoke and fire from thedischarge of the cannon. When the regiment recoiled under the heavyfiring and at the first charge, Billy Webster and I stopped behind alarge oak tree and continued to fire at the Yankees until the regimentwas again charging upon the four Napoleon guns, heavily supported byinfantry. We were not more than twenty paces from them; and here I wasshot through the hat and cartridge-box. I remember this, because atthat time Billy and I were in advance of our line, and whenever we sawa Yankee rise to shoot, we shot him; and I desire to mention here thata braver or more noble boy was never created on earth than was BillyWebster. Everybody liked him. He was the flower and chivalry of ourregiment. His record as a brave and noble boy will ever live in thehearts of his old comrades that served with him in Company H. He is upyonder now, and we shall meet again. In these memoirs I only tell what Isaw myself, and in this way the world will know the truth. Now, citizen, let me tell you what you never heard before, and this is this--there weremany men with the rank and pay of general, who were not generals; therewere many men with the rank and pay of privates who would have honoredand adorned the name of general. Now, I will state further that aprivate soldier was a private. 

It mattered not how ignorant a corporal might be, he was always right;it mattered not how intelligent the private might be (and so on up);the sergeant was right over the corporal, the sergeant-major over thesergeant, the lieutenant over him, and the captain over him, and themajor over him, and the colonel over him, and the general over him, and so on up to Jeff Davis. You see, a private had no right to knowanything, and that is why generals did all the fighting, and that istoday why generals and colonels and captains are great men. They foughtthe battles of our country. The privates did not. The generals riskedtheir reputation, the private soldier his life. No one ever saw aprivate in battle. His history would never be written. It was thegenerals that everybody saw charge such and such, with drawn sabre, his eyes flashing fire, his nostrils dilated, and his clarion voiceringing above the din of battle--"in a horn, " over the left. 

Bill Johns and Marsh Pinkard would have made Generals that would havedistinguished themselves and been an honor to the country. 

I know today many a private who would have made a good General. I knowof many a General who was better fitted to be excused from detail andfights, to hang around a camp and draw rations for the company. Aprivate had no way to distinguish himself. He had to keep in ranks, either in a charge or a retreat. But now, as the Generals and Colonelsfill all the positions of honor and emoluments, the least I say, thebetter. 

THE RETREAT OUT OF KENTUCKY

From Perryville we went to Camp Dick Robinson and drew three days'rations, and then set fire to and destroyed all those great deposits ofarmy stores which would have supplied the South for a year. We ate thoserations and commenced our retreat out of Kentucky with empty haversacksand still emptier stomachs. 

We supposed our general and commissaries knew what they were doing, and at night we would again draw rations, but we didn't. 

The Yankee cavalry are worrying our rear guards. There is danger of anattack at any moment. No soldier is allowed to break ranks. 

We thought, well surely we will draw rations tonight. But we didn't. We are marching for Cumberland Gap; the country has long ago been madedesolate by the alternate occupation of both armies. There are noprovisions in the country. It has long since been laid waste. We wantedrations, but we did not get them. 

Fourth day out--Cumberland Gap in the distance--a great indenture in theranges of Cumberland mountains. The scene was grand. But grand sceneryhad but little attraction for a hungry soldier. Surely we will getrations at Cumberland Gap. Toil on up the hill, and when half way upthe hill, "Halt!"--march back down to the foot of the hill to defend thecavalry. I was hungry. A cavalryman was passing our regiment with apile of scorched dough on the pummel of his saddle. Says I, "Halt!I am going to have a pattock of that bread. " "Don't give it to him!don't give it to him!" was yelled out from all sides. I cocked my gunand was about to raise it to my shoulder, when he handed me over apattock of scorched dough, and every fellow in Company H made a grabfor it, and I only got about two or three mouthfuls. About dark a wildheifer ran by our regiment, and I pulled down on her. We killed andskinned her, and I cut off about five pounds of hindquarter. In threeminutes there was no sign of that beef left to tell the tale. We atethat beef raw and without salt. 

Only eight miles now to Cumberland Gap, and we will get rations now. But we didn't. We descended the mountain on the southern side. Norations yet. 

Well, says I, this won't do me. I am going to hunt something to eat, Bragg or no Bragg. I turned off the road and struck out through thecountry, but had gone but a short distance before I came across a groupof soldiers clambering over something. It was Tom Tuck with a barrel ofsorghum that he had captured from a good Union man. He was selling itout at five dollars a quart. I paid my five dollars, and by pushing andscrouging I finally got my quart. I sat down and drank it; it was bully;it was not so good; it was not worth a cent; I was sick, and have neverloved sorghum since. 

Along the route it was nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, and no sound ornoise but the same inevitable, monotonous tramp, tramp, tramp, up hilland down hill, through long and dusty lanes, weary, wornout and hungry. No cheerful warble of a merry songster would ever greet our ears. It was always tramp, tramp, tramp. You might, every now and then, hear the occasional words, "close up;" but outside of that, it was butthe same tramp, tramp, tramp. I have seen soldiers fast asleep, and nodoubt dreaming of home and loved ones there, as they staggered along intheir places in the ranks. I know that on many a weary night's march Ihave slept, and slept soundly, while marching along in my proper placein the ranks of the company, stepping to the same step as the soldierin front of me did. Sometimes, when weary, broken down and worn out, some member of the regiment would start a tune, and every man would joinin. John Branch was usually the leader of the choir. He would commencea beautiful tune. The words, as I remember them now, were "Dear Paul, Just Twenty Years Ago. " After singing this piece he would commence on alively, spirit-stirring air to the tune of "Old Uncle Ned. " Now, reader, it has been twenty years ago since I heard it, but I can remember a partof it now. Here it is:

 "There was an ancient individual whose cognomen was Uncle Edward. He departed this life long since, long since. He had no capillary substance on the top of his cranium, The place where the capillary substance ought to vegetate. 

 His digits were as long as the bamboo piscatorial implement of the Southern Mississippi. He had no oculars to observe the beauties of nature. He had no ossified formation to masticate his daily rations, So he had to let his daily rations pass by with impunity. "

Walker Coleman raises the tune of "I'se a gwine to jine the rebel band, a fightin' for my home. "

Now, reader, the above is all I can now remember of that very beautifuland soul-stirring air. But the boys would wake up and step quicker andlivelier for some time, and Arthur Fulghum would holloa out, "All right;go ahead!" and then would toot! toot! as if the cars were starting--puff! puff! puff and then he would say, "Tickets, gentlemen; tickets, gentlemen. " like he was conductor on a train of cars. This littleepisode would be over, and then would commence the same tramp, tramp, tramp, all night long. Step by step, step by step, we continued to plodand nod and stagger and march, tramp, tramp, tramp. After a while wewould see the morning star rise in the east, and then after a while thedim gray twilight, and finally we could discover the outlines of our fileleader, and after a while could make out the outlines of trees and otherobjects. And as it would get lighter and lighter, and day would be aboutto break, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, would come from Tom Tuck's rooster. [Tom carried a game rooster, that he called "Fed" for Confederacy, all through the war in a haversack. ] And then the sun would begin toshoot his slender rays athwart the eastern sky, and the boys would wakeup and begin laughing and talking as if they had just risen from a goodfeather bed, and were perfectly refreshed and happy. We would usuallystop at some branch or other about breakfast time, and all wash our handsand faces and eat breakfast, if we had any, and then commence our wearymarch again. If we were halted for one minute, every soldier would dropdown, and resting on his knapsack, would go to sleep. Sometimes thesleeping soldiers were made to get up to let some general and his staffpass by. But whenever that was the case, the general always got a worsecursing than when Noah cursed his son Ham black and blue. I heard JesseeEly do this once. 

We march on. The scene of a few days ago comes unbidden to my mind. Tramp, tramp, tramp, the soldiers are marching. Where are many of my oldfriends and comrades, whose names were so familiar at every roll call, and whose familiar "Here" is no more? They lie yonder at Perryville, unburied, on the field of battle. They lie where they fell. More thanthree hundred and fifty members of my regiment, the First Tennessee, numbered among the killed and wounded--one hundred and eighty-five slainon the field of battle. Who are they? Even then I had to try to thinkup the names of all the slain of Company H alone. Their spirits seemedto be with us on the march, but we know that their souls are with theirGod. Their bones, today, no doubt, bleach upon the battlefield. Theyleft their homes, families, and loved ones a little more than one shorttwelve months ago, dressed in their gray uniforms, amid the applause andcheering farewells of those same friends. They lie yonder; no friendlyhands ever closed their eyes in death; no kind, gentle, and loving motherwas there to shed a tear over and say farewell to her darling boy;no sister's gentle touch ever wiped the death damp from off their dyingbrows. Noble boys; brave boys! They willingly gave their lives to theircountry's cause. Their bodies and bones are mangled and torn by the rudemissiles of war. They sleep the sleep of the brave. They have giventheir all to their country. We miss them from our ranks. There are nomore hard marches and scant rations for them. They have accomplished allthat could be required of them. They are no more; their names are soonforgotten. They are put down in the roll-book as killed. They areforgotten. We will see them no more until the last reveille on the lastmorning of the final resurrection. Soldiers, comrades, friends, nobleboys, farewell we will meet no more on earth, but up yonder some day wewill have a grand reunion. 

KNOXVILLE

The first night after crossing Cumberland Gap--I have forgotten the date, but I know it was very early in the fall of the year; we had had nofrost or cold weather, and our marches all through Kentucky had beencharacterized by very dry weather, it not having rained a drop on usduring the whole time--about four o'clock in the morning it began to snow, and the next morning the ground was covered with a deep snow; the treesand grass and everything of the vegetable kingdom still green. 

When we got back to Knoxville we were the lousiest, dirtiest, raggedestlooking Rebels you ever saw. I had been shot through the hat andcartridge-box at Perryville, and had both on, and the clothing I then hadon was all that I had in the world. William A. Hughes and I were walkingup the street looking at the stores, etc. , when we met two of theprettiest girls I ever saw. They ran forward with smiling faces, andseemed very glad to see us. I thought they were old acquaintances ofHughes, and Hughes thought they were old acquaintances of mine. We weresoon laughing and talking as if we had been old friends, when one of theyoung ladies spoke up and said, "Gentlemen, there is a supper for thesoldiers at the Ladies' Association rooms, and we are sent out to bringin all the soldiers we can find. " We spoke up quickly and said, "Thankyou, thank you, young ladies, " and I picked out the prettiest one andsaid, "Please take my arm, " which she did, and Hughes did the same withthe other one, and we went in that style down the street. I imagine wewere a funny looking sight. I know one thing, I felt good all over, and as proud as a boy with his first pants, and when we got to thatsupper room those young ladies waited on us, and we felt as grand askings. To you, ladies, I say, God bless you!

AH, "SNEAK"

Almost every soldier in the army--generals, colonels, captains, as wellas privates--had a nick-name; and I almost believe that had the warcontinued ten years, we would have forgotten our proper names. JohnT. Tucker was called "Sneak, " A. S. Horsley was called "Don Von OneHorsley, " W. A. Hughes was called "Apple Jack, " Green Rieves was called"Devil Horse, " the surgeon of our regiment was called "Old Snake, "Bob Brank was called "Count, " the colonel of the Fourth was called "GuidePost, " E. L. Lansdown was called "Left Tenant, " some were called bythe name of "Greasy, " some "Buzzard, " others "Hog, " and "Brutus, " and"Cassius, " and "Caesar, " "Left Center, " and "Bolderdust, " and "OldHannah;" in fact, the nick-names were singular and peculiar, and when aman got a nick-name it stuck to him like the Old Man of the Sea did tothe shoulders of Sinbad, the sailor. 

On our retreat the soldiers got very thirsty for tobacco (they alwaysused the word thirsty), and they would sometimes come across an old fieldoff which the tobacco had been cut and the suckers had re-sprouted fromthe old stalk, and would cut off these suckers and dry them by the fireand chew them. "Sneak" had somehow or other got hold of a plug or two, and knowing that he would be begged for a chew, had cut it up in littlebits of pieces about one-fourth of a chew. Some fellow would say, "Sneak, please give me a chew of tobacco. " Sneak would say, "I don't believeI have a piece left, " and then he would begin to feel in his pockets. He would pull that hand out and feel in another pocket, and then in hiscoat pockets, and hid away down in an odd corner of his vest pocket hewould accidentally find a little chew, just big enough to make "spitcome. " Sneak had his pockets full all the time. The boys soon foundout his inuendoes and subterfuges, but John would all the time appear asinnocent of having tobacco as a pet lamb that has just torn down a nicevine that you were so careful in training to run over the front porch. Ah, John, don't deny it now!

I JINE THE CAVALRY

When we got to Charleston, on the Hiwassee river, there we found theFirst Tennessee Cavalry and Ninth Battalion, both of which had been madeup principally in Maury county, and we knew all the boys. We had agood old-fashioned handshaking all around. Then I wanted to "jine thecavalry. " Captain Asa G. Freeman had an extra horse, and I got on himand joined the cavalry for several days, but all the time some passingcavalryman would make some jocose remark about "Here is a webfoot whowants to jine the cavalry, and has got a bayonet on his gun and aknapsack on his back. " I felt like I had got into the wrong pen, butanyhow I got to ride all of three days. I remember that Mr. WillisB. Embry gave me a five-pound package of Kallickanick smoking tobacco, for which I was very grateful. I think he was quartermaster of the FirstTennessee Cavalry, and as good a man and as clever a person as I everknew. None knew him but to love him. I was told that he was killed bya lot of Yankee soldiers after he had surrendered to them, all the timebegging for his life, asking them please not kill him. But He thatnoteth the sparrow's fall doeth all things well. Not one ever falls tothe ground with His consent. 

CHAPTER VI

MURFREESBORO

We came from Knoxville to Chattanooga, and seemed destined to make apermanent stay here. We remained several months, but soon we were on thetramp again. 

From Chattanooga, Bragg's army went to Murfreesboro. 

The Federal army was concentrating at Nashville. There was no rest forthe weary. Marches and battles were the order of the day. 

Our army stopped at Murfreesboro. Our advanced outpost was establishedat Lavergne. From time to time different regiments were sent forwardto do picket duty. I was on picket at the time the advance was made byRosecrans. At the time mentioned, I was standing about two hundred yardsoff the road, the main body of the pickets being on the Nashville andMurfreesboro turnpike, and commanded by Lieutenant Hardy Murfree, of theRutherford Rifles. 

I had orders to allow no one to pass. In fact, no one was expected topass at this point, but while standing at my post, a horseman rode upbehind me. I halted him, and told him to go down to the main picket onthe road and pass, but he seemed so smiling that I thought he knew me, or had a good joke to tell me. He advanced up, and pulling a piece ofpaper out of his pocket, handed it to me to read. It was an order fromGeneral Leonidas Polk to allow the bearer to pass. I read it, and lookedup to hand it back to him, when I discovered that he had a pistol cockedand leveled in my face, and says he, "Drop that gun; you are my prisoner. "I saw there was no use in fooling about it. I knew if I resisted hewould shoot me, and I thought then that he was about to perform thatdetestable operation. I dropped the gun. 

I did not wish to spend my winter in a Northern prison, and what wasworse, I would be called a deserter from my post of duty. 

The Yankee picket lines were not a half mile off. I was perfectlywilling to let the spy go on his way rejoicing--for such he was--but hewanted to capture a Rebel. 

And I had made up my mind to think likewise. There I was, a prisonersure, and no mistake about it. 

His pistol was leveled, and I was ordered to march. I was afraid tohalloo to the relief, and you may be sure I was in a bad fix. 

Finally says I, "Let's play quits. I think you are a soldier; you looklike a gentleman. I am a videt; you know the responsibility resting onme. You go your way, and leave me here. Is it a bargain?"

Says he, "I would not trust a Secesh on his word, oath, or bond. March, I say. "

I soon found out that he had caught sight of the relief on the road, and was afraid to shoot. I quickly made up my mind. My gun was at myfeet, and one step would get it. I made a quick glance over my shoulder, and grabbed at my gun. He divined my motive, and fired. The ball missedits aim. He put spurs to his horse, but I pulled down on him, and almosttore the fore shoulder of his horse entirely off, but I did not capturethe spy, though I captured the horse, bridle and saddle. Major Allen, of the Twenty-seventh Tennessee Regiment, took the saddle and bridle, and gave me the blanket. I remember the blanket had the picture of a"big lion" on it, and it was almost new. When we fell back, as theYankee sharpshooters advanced, we left the poor old horse nipping theshort, dry grass. I saw a Yankee skirmisher run up and grab the horseand give a whoop as if he had captured a Rebel horse. But they continuedto advance upon us, we firing and retreating slowly. We had severalpretty sharp brushes with them that day. I remember that they had tocross an open field in our front, and we were lying behind a fence, and as they advanced, we kept up firing, and would run them back everytime, until they brought up a regiment that whooped, and yelled, andcharged our skirmish line, and then we fell back again. I think we musthave killed a good many in the old field, because we were firing all thetime at the solid line as they advanced upon us. 

BATTLE OF MURFREESBORO

The next day, the Yankees were found out to be advancing. Soon they camein sight of our picket. We kept falling back and firing all day, andwere relieved by another regiment about dark. We rejoined our regiment. Line of battle was formed on the north bank of Stone's River--on theYankee side. Bad generalship, I thought. 

It was Christmas. John Barleycorn was general-in-chief. Our generals, and colonels, and captains, had kissed John a little too often. Theycouldn't see straight. It was said to be buckeye whisky. They couldn'ttell our own men from Yankees. The private could, but he was no general, you see. But here they were--the Yankees--a battle had to be fought. We were ordered forward. I was on the skirmish line. We marched plumbinto the Yankee lines, with their flags flying. 

I called Lieutenant-Colonel Frierson's attention to the Yankees, and heremarked, "Well, I don't know whether they are Yankees or not, but ifthey are, they will come out of there mighty quick. "

The Yankees marched over the hill out of sight. 

We were ordered forward to the attack. We were right upon the Yankeeline on the Wilkerson turnpike. The Yankees were shooting our men downby scores. A universal cry was raised, "You are firing on your own men. ""Cease firing, cease firing, " I hallooed; in fact, the whole skirmishline hallooed, and kept on telling them that they were Yankees, and toshoot; but the order was to cease firing, you are firing on your own men. 

Captain James, of Cheatham's staff, was sent forward and killed in hisown yard. We were not twenty yards off from the Yankees, and they werepouring the hot shot and shells right into our ranks; and every man wasyelling at the top of his voice, "Cease firing, you are firing on yourown men; cease firing, you are firing on your own men. "

Oakley, color-bearer of the Fourth Tennessee Regiment, ran right up inthe midst of the Yankee line with his colors, begging his men to follow. I hallooed till I was hoarse, "They are Yankees, they are Yankees; shoot, they are Yankees. "

The crest occupied by the Yankees was belching loud with fire and smoke, and the Rebels were falling like leaves of autumn in a hurricane. The leaden hail storm swept them off the field. They fell back andre-formed. General Cheatham came up and advanced. I did not fall back, but continued to load and shoot, until a fragment of a shell struck me onthe arm, and then a minnie ball passed through the same paralyzing my arm, and wounded and disabled me. General Cheatham, all the time, was callingon the men to go forward, saying, "Come on, boys, and follow me. "

The impression that General Frank Cheatham made upon my mind, leadingthe charge on the Wilkerson turnpike, I will never forget. I saw eithervictory or death written on his face. When I saw him leading our brigade, although I was wounded at the time, I felt sorry for him, he seemed soearnest and concerned, and as he was passing me I said, "Well, General, if you are determined to die, I'll die with you. " We were at that timeat least a hundred yards in advance of the brigade, Cheatham all the timecalling upon the men to come on. He was leading the charge in person. Then it was that I saw the power of one man, born to command, over amultitude of men then almost routed and demoralized. I saw and felt thathe was not fighting for glory, but that he was fighting for his countrybecause he loved that country, and he was willing to give his life forhis country and the success of our cause. He deserves a wreath ofimmortality, and a warm place in every Southron's heart, for his braveand glorious example on that bloody battlefield of Murfreesboro. Yes, his history will ever shine in beauty and grandeur as a name among thebrightest in all the galaxy of leaders in the history of our cause. 

Now, another fact I will state, and that is, when the private soldier wasordered to charge and capture the twelve pieces of artillery, heavilysupported by infantry, Maney's brigade raised a whoop and yell, andswooped down on those Yankees like a whirl-a-gust of woodpeckers in ahail storm, paying the blue coated rascals back with compound interest;for when they did come, every man's gun was loaded, and they marched uponthe blazing crest in solid file, and when they did fire, there was asudden lull in the storm of battle, because the Yankees were nearly allkilled. I cannot remember now of ever seeing more dead men and horsesand captured cannon, all jumbled together, than that scene of blood andcarnage and battle on the Wilkerson turnpike. The ground was literallycovered with blue coats dead; and, if I remember correctly, there wereeighty dead horses. 

By this time our command had re-formed, and charged the blazing crest. 

The spectacle was grand. With cheers and shouts they charged up the hill, shooting down and bayoneting the flying cannoneers, General Cheatham, Colonel Field and Joe Lee cutting and slashing with their swords. The victory was complete. The whole left wing of the Federal army wasdriven back five miles from their original position. Their dead andwounded were in our lines, and we had captured many pieces of artillery, small arms, and prisoners. 

When I was wounded, the shell and shot that struck me, knocked mewinding. I said, "O, O, I'm wounded, " and at the same time I grabbedmy arm. I thought it had been torn from my shoulder. The brigade hadfallen back about two hundred yards, when General Cheatham's presencereassured them, and they soon were in line and ready to follow so braveand gallant a leader, and had that order of "cease firing, you are firingon your own men, " not been given, Maney's brigade would have had thehonor of capturing eighteen pieces of artillery, and ten thousandprisoners. This I do know to be a fact. 

As I went back to the field hospital, I overtook another man walkingalong. I do not know to what regiment he belonged, but I remember offirst noticing that his left arm was entirely gone. His face was aswhite as a sheet. The breast and sleeve of his coat had been torn away, and I could see the frazzled end of his shirt sleeve, which appeared tobe sucked into the wound. I looked at it pretty close, and I said "GreatGod!" for I could see his heart throb, and the respiration of his lungs. I was filled with wonder and horror at the sight. He was walking along, when all at once he dropped down and died without a struggle or a groan. I could tell of hundreds of such incidents of the battlefield, but tellonly this one, because I remember it so distinctly. 

ROBBING A DEAD YANKEE

In passing over the battlefield, I came across a dead Yankee colonel. He had on the finest clothes I ever saw, a red sash and fine sword. I particularly noticed his boots. I needed them, and had made up my mindto wear them out for him. But I could not bear the thought of wearingdead men's shoes. I took hold of the foot and raised it up and made onetrial at the boot to get it off. I happened to look up, and the colonelhad his eyes wide open, and seemed to be looking at me. He was stonedead, but I dropped that foot quick. It was my first and last attemptto rob a dead Yankee. 

After the battle was over at Murfreesboro, that night, John Tucker andmyself thought that we would investigate the contents of a fine brickmansion in our immediate front, but between our lines and the Yankees', and even in advance of our videts. Before we arrived at the house we sawa body of Yankees approaching, and as we started to run back they firedupon us. Our pickets had run in and reported a night attack. We ranforward, expecting that our men would recognize us, but they opened fireupon us. I never was as bad scared in all my whole life, and if anypoor devil ever prayed with fervency and true piety, I did it on thatoccasion. I thought, "I am between two fires. " I do not think that aflounder or pancake was half as flat as I was that night; yea, it mightbe called in music, low flat. 

CHAPTER VII

SHELBYVILLE

It is a bad thing for an army to remain too long at one place. The mensoon become discontented and unhappy, and we had no diversion or pastimeexcept playing poker and chuck-a-luck. All the money of the regiment hadlong ago been spent, but grains of corn represented dollars, and withthese we would play as earnestly and as zealously as if they were so muchmoney, sure enough. 

A FOOT RACE

One of those amusing episodes that frequently occur in the army, happenedat this place. A big strapping fellow by the name of Tennessee Thompson, always carried bigger burdens than any other five men in the army. For example, he carried two quilts, three blankets, one gum oil cloth, one overcoat, one axe, one hatchet, one camp-kettle, one oven and lid, one coffee pot, besides his knapsack, haversack, canteen, gun, cartridge-box, and three days' rations. He was a rare bird, anyhow. Tennesseeusually had his hair cut short on one side and left long on the other, so that he could give his head a bow and a toss and throw the long hairsover on the other side, and it would naturally part itself without acomb. Tennessee was the wit and good nature of the company; always ina good humor, and ever ready to do any duty when called upon. In fact, I would sometimes get out of heart and low spirited, and would hunt upTennessee to have a little fun. His bye-word was "Bully for Bragg;he's hell on retreat, and will whip the Yankees yet. " He was a good andbrave soldier, and followed the fortunes of Company H from the beginningto the end. 

Well, one day he and Billy Webster bet twenty-five dollars, put up inBill Martin's hands, as to which could run the faster. John Tucker, Joe Lee, Alf. Horsley and myself were appointed judges. The distancewas two hundred yards. The ground was measured off, and the judgesstationed. Tennessee undressed himself, even down to his stocking feet, tied a red handkerchief around his head, and another one around his waist, and walked deliberately down the track, eyeing every little rock andstick and removing them off the track. Comes back to the starting pointand then goes down the track in half canter; returns again, his eyesflashing, his nostrils dilated, looking the impersonation of the championcourser of the world; makes two or three apparently false starts; turnsa somersault by placing his head on the ground and flopping over on hisback; gets up and whickers like a horse; goes half-hammered, hop, step, and jump--he says, to loosen up his joints--scratches up the ground withhis hands and feet, flops his arms and crows like a rooster, and says, "Bully for Bragg; he's hell on a retreat, " and announces his readiness. The drum is tapped, and off they start. Well, Billy Webster beat him onehundred yards in the two hundred, and Tennessee came back and said, "Well, boys, I'm beat; Billy Martin, hand over the stakes to Billy Webster. I'm beat, but hang me if I didn't outrun the whole Yankee army coming outof Kentucky; got away from Lieutenant Lansdown and the whole detail atChattanooga with half a hog, a fifty pound sack of flour, a jug ofMeneesee commissary whisky, and a camp-kettle full of brown sugar. I'm beat. Billy Martin, hand over the stakes. Bully for Bragg; he'shell on a retreat. " Tennessee was trying bluff. He couldn't run worth acent; but there was no braver or truer man ever drew a ramrod or tore acartridge than Tennessee. 

EATING MUSSELS

Reader, did you ever eat a mussel? Well, we did, at Shelbyville. We were camped right upon the bank of Duck river, and one day Fred Dornin, Ed Voss, Andy Wilson and I went in the river mussel hunting. Every oneof us had a meal sack. We would feel down with our feet until we felt amussel and then dive for it. We soon filled our sacks with mussels intheir shells. When we got to camp we cracked the shells and took out themussels. We tried frying them, but the longer they fried the tougherthey got. They were a little too large to swallow whole. Then we stewedthem, and after a while we boiled them, and then we baked them, but everyflank movement we would make on those mussels the more invulnerable theywould get. We tried cutting them up with a hatchet, but they were soslick and tough the hatchet would not cut them. Well, we cooked them, and buttered them, and salted them, and peppered them, and battered them. They looked good, and smelt good, and tasted good; at least the fixingswe put on them did, and we ate the mussels. I went to sleep that night. I dreamed that my stomach was four grindstones, and that they turned infour directions, according to the four corners of the earth. I awoketo hear four men yell out, "O, save, O, save me from eating any moremussels!"

"POOR" BERRY MORGAN

One of those sad, unexpected affairs, that remind the living that even inlife we are in the midst of death, happened at Shelbyville. Our regimenthad been out to the front, on duty, and was returning to camp. It wasnearly dark, and we saw a black wind cloud rising. The lightning's flashand the deep muttering thunders warned us to seek shelter as speedily aspossible. Some of us ran in under the old depot shed, and soon the stormstruck us. It was a tornado that made a track through the woods beyondShelbyville, and right through the town, and we could follow its coursefor miles where it had blown down the timber, twisting and piling it inevery shape. Berry Morgan and I had ever been close friends, and wethrew down our blankets and were lying side by side, when I saw roofs ofhouses, sign boards, and brickbats flying in every direction. Nearlyhalf of the town was blown away in the storm. While looking at the stormwithout, I felt the old shed suddenly jar and tremble, and suddenlybecome unroofed, and it seemed to me that ten thousand brickbats hadfallen in around us. I could hear nothing for the roaring of the storm, and could see nothing for the blinding rain and flying dirt and bricksand other rubbish. The storm lasted but a few minutes, but those minutesseemed ages. When it had passed, I turned to look at "poor Berry. "Poor fellow! his head was crushed in by a brickbat, his breast crushedin by another, and I think his arm was broken, and he was otherwisemutilated. It was a sad sight. Many others of our regiment were wounded. 

Berry was a very handsome boy. He was what everybody would call a"pretty man. " He had fair skin, blue eyes, and fine curly hair, whichmade him look like an innocent child. I loved Berry. He was my friend--as true as the needle to the pole. But God, who doeth all things well, took his spirit in the midst of the storm to that beautiful home beyondthe skies. I thank God I am no infidel. We will meet again. 

WRIGHT SHOT TO DEATH WITH MUSKETRY

I saw a young boy about seventeen or eighteen years old, by the name ofWright, and belonging to General Marcus J. Wright's brigade, shot todeath with musketry at this place. The whole of Cheatham's division hadto march out and witness the horrid scene. Now, I have no doubt thatmany, if not all, would have gone without being forced to do so, but thenyou know that was Bragg's style. He wanted always to display his tyranny, and to intimidate his privates as much as possible. The young man washauled in a wagon, sitting on his coffin, to the place where the gravewas to be dug, and a post was planted in the ground. He had to sit therefor more than two hours, looking on at the preparations for his death. I went up to the wagon, like many others, to have a look at the doomedman. He had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and was busily picking atthe ends of his fingers. The guard who then had him in charge told methat one of the culprit's own brothers was one of the detail to shoothim. I went up to the wagon and called him, "Wright!" He made no reply, and did not even look up. Then I said, "Wright, why don't you jump outof that wagon and run?" He was callous to everything. I was sorry forhim. When the division was all assembled, and the grave dug, and thepost set, he was taken out of the wagon, and tied to the post. He wasfirst tied facing the post, and consequently would have been shot in theback, but was afterwards tied with his back to the post. The chaplain ofthe regiment read a chapter in the Bible, sang a hymn, and then all kneltdown and prayed. General Wright went up to the pinioned man, shookhands with him, and told him good-bye, as did many others, and then theshooting detail came up, and the officer in charge gave the command, "Ready, aim, fire!" The crash of musketry broke upon the morning air. I was looking at Wright. I heard him almost shriek, "O, O, God!"His head dropped forward, the rope with which he was pinioned keeping himfrom falling. I turned away and thought how long, how long will I haveto witness these things?

DAVE SUBLETT PROMOTED

While at Shelbyville, a vacancy occurring in Captain Ledbetter's company, the Rutherford Rifles, for fourth corporal, Dave Sublett became acandidate for the position. Now, Dave was a genius. He was a noble andbrave fellow, and at one time had been a railroad director. He had adistinguished air always about him, but Dave had one fault, and that was, he was ever prone to get tight. He had been a Union man, and even nowhe always had a good word for the Union. He was sincere, but eccentric. The election for fourth corporal was drawing nigh. Dave sent off and gottwo jugs of _spirits vini frumenti_, and treated the boys. Of course, his vote would be solid. Every man in that company was going to cast hisvote for him. Dave got happy and wanted to make a speech. He went tothe butcher's block which was used to cut up meat on--he called itButchers' Hall--got upon it amid loud cheering and hurrahs of the boys. He spoke substantially as follows:

"Fellow Citizens--I confess that it is with feelings of diffidence andgreat embarrassment on my part that I appear before you on this occasion. But, gentlemen and fellow-citizens, I desire to serve you in an humblecapacity, as fourth corporal of Company I. Should you see cause to electme, no heart will beat with more gratitude than my own. Gentlemen, you well know that I was ever a Union man: "'A union of lakes, and a union of lands, A union that no one can sever; A union of hearts, and a union of hands, A glorious union forever. '

[Cheers and applause. ]

"Fellow-citizens, I can look through the dim telescope of the past andsee Kansas, bleeding Kansas, coming like a fair young bride, dressed inher bridal drapery, her cheek wet and moistened with the tears of love. I can see her come and knock gently at the doors of the Union, askingfor admittance. [Wild cheering. ] Looking further back, I can see ourforefathers of the revolution baring their bosoms to the famine of aseven years' war, making their own bosoms a breastwork against the wholehosts of King George III. But, gentlemen, as I before remarked, I desireto ask at your hands the high, distinguished and lucrative office, my fellow-citizens, and for which I will ever feel grateful--the officeof fourth corporal in your company. " [Cheers. ]

Now, Dave had a competitor who was a states' rights democrat. If Imistake not, his name was Frank Haliburton. Now, Frank was an originalsecessionist. He felt that each state was a separate, sovereigngovernment of itself, and that the South had the same rights in theterritories as they of the North. He was fighting for secession andstate rights upon principle. When Sublett had finished his speech, Frank took the stand and said:

"Gentlemen and Fellow-Citizens--I am a candidate for fourth corporal, and if you will elect me I will be grateful, and will serve you to thebest of my ability. My competitor seems to harp considerably upon hisUnion record, and Union love. If I mistake not, my fellow-citizens, it was old George McDuffie that stood up in the senate chamber of theUnited States and said, 'When I hear the shout of "glorious Union, "methinks I hear the shout of a robber gang. ' McDuffie saw through hisprophetic vision the evils that would result, and has foretold them asif by inspiration from above. 

"Fellow-citizens, under the name of Union our country is invaded today. 

"These cursed Yankees are invading our country, robbing our people, and desolating our land, and all under the detestable and damning nameof Union. Our representatives in congress have been fighting them forfifty years. Compromise after compromise has been granted by the South. We have used every effort to conciliate those at the North. Theyhave turned a deaf ear to every plea. They saw our country rich andprosperous, and have come indeed, like a gang of robbers, to steal ourproperty and murder our people. But, fellow-citizens, I for one am readyto meet them, and desire that you elect me fourth corporal of Company I, so that I can serve you in a more efficient manner, while we meet as aband of brothers, the cursed horde of Northern Hessians and hirelings. I thank you for your attention, gentlemen, and would thank you for yourvotes. "

Well, the election came off, and Dave was elected by an overwhelmingmajority. But the high eminence of military distinction enthralled him. He seemed to live in an atmosphere of greatness and glory, and waslooking eagerly forward to the time when he would command armies. He had begun to climb the ladder of glory under most favorable andauspicious circumstances. He felt his consequence and keeping. He wasdetailed once, and only once, to take command of the third relief of campguard. Ah, this thing of office was a big thing. He desired to holda council of war with Generals Bragg, Polk, Hardee, and Kirby Smith. He first visited General Polk. His war metal was up. He wanted a fightjust then and there, and a fight he must have, at all hazards, and to thelast extremity. He became obstreperous, when General Polk called a guardand had him marched off to the guard-house. It was then ordered that heshould do extra fatigue duty for a week. The guard would take him to thewoods with an ax, and he would make two or three chops on a tree and lookup at it and say:

 "Woodman, spare that tree; touch not a single bough; In youth it sheltered me, and I'll protect it now. "

He would then go to another tree; but at no tree would he make more thantwo or three licks before he would go to another. He would hit a limband then a log; would climb a tree and cut at a limb or two, and keepon this way until he came to a hard old stump, which on striking his axwould bound and spring back. He had found his desire; the top of thatstump became fun and pleasure. Well, his time of misdemeanor expiredand he was relieved. He went back and reported to Colonel Field, whoinformed him that he had been reduced to the ranks. He drew himself upto his full height and said: "Colonel, I regret exceedingly to be sosoon deprived of my new fledged honors that I have won on so many a hardfought and bloody battlefield, but if I am reduced to the ranks as aprivate soldier, I can but exclaim, like Moses of old, when he crossedthe Red sea in defiance of Pharaoh's hosts, 'O, how the mighty havefallen!'" He then marched off with the air of the born soldier. 

DOWN DUCK RIVER IN A CANOE

"Ora pro nobis. "

At this place, Duck river wended its way to Columbia. On one occasion itwas up--had on its Sunday clothes--a-booming. Andy Wilson and I thoughtthat we would slip off and go down the river in a canoe. We got thecanoe and started. It was a leaky craft. We had not gone far before thething capsized, and we swam ashore. But we were outside of the lines now, and without passes. (We would have been arrested anyhow. ) So we put oursand paddles to work and landed in Columbia that night. I loved a maid, and so did Andy, and some poet has said that love laughs at grates, bars, locksmiths, etc. I do not know how true this is, but I do know thatwhen I went to see my sweetheart that night I asked her to pray for me, because I thought the prayers of a pretty woman would go a great dealfurther "up yonder" than mine would. I also met Cousin Alice, anotherbeautiful woman, at my father's front gate, and told her that she mustpray for me, because I knew I would be court-martialed as soon as I gotback; that I had no idea of deserting the army and only wanted to see themaid I loved. It took me one day to go to Columbia and one day to return, and I stayed at home only one day, and went back of my own accord. When I got back to Shelbyville, I was arrested and carried to theguard-house, and when court-martialed was sentenced to thirty days'fatigue duty and to forfeit four months' pay at eleven dollars per month, making forty-four dollars. Now, you see how dearly I paid for that trip. But, fortunately for me, General Leonidas Polk has issued an order thatvery day promising pardon to all soldiers absent without leave if theywould return. I got the guard to march me up to his headquarters andtold him of my predicament, and he ordered my release, but said nothingof remitting the fine. So when we were paid off at Chattanooga I wasleft out. The Confederate States of America were richer by forty-fourdollars. 

"SHENERAL OWLEYDOUSKY"

General Owleydousky, lately imported from Poland, was Bragg's inspectorgeneral. I remember of reading in the newspapers of where he trickedBragg at last. The papers said he stole all of Bragg's clothes one dayand left for parts unknown. It is supposed he went back to Poland to actas "Ugh! Big Indian; fight heap mit Bragg. " But I suppose it must haveleft Bragg in a bad fix--somewhat like Mr. Jones, who went to ask theold folks for Miss Willis. On being told that she was a very poor girl, and had no property for a start in life, he simply said, "All right;all I want is the naked girl. "

On one occasion, while inspecting the arms and accoutrements of ourregiments, when he came to inspect Company H he said, "Shentlemens, vatfor you make de pothook out of de sword and de bayonet, and trow decartridge-box in de mud? I dust report you to Sheneral Bragg. Minegracious!" Approaching Orderly Sergeant John T. Tucker, and lifting theflap of his cartridge box, which was empty, he said, "Bah, bah, mon Dieu;I dust know dot you ish been hunting de squirrel and de rabbit. MonDieu! you sharge yourself mit fifteen tollars for wasting sixtycartridges at twenty-five cents apiece. Bah, bah, mon Dieu; I dustreport you to Sheneral Bragg. " Approaching Sergeant A. S. Horsley, he said, "Vy ish you got nodings mit your knapsack? Sir, you must havesomedings mit your knapsack. " Alf ran into his tent and came back withhis knapsack in the right shape. Well, old Owleydousky thought he wouldbe smart and make an example of Alf, and said, "I vish to inspect yourclodings. " He took Alf's knapsack and on opening it, what do you supposewas in it? Well, if you are not a Yankee and good at guessing, I willtell you, if you won't say anything about it, for Alf might get mad ifhe were to hear it. He found Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, Cruden'sConcordance, Macauley's History of England, Jean Valjean, Fantine, Cosset, Les Miserables, The Heart of Midlothian, Ivanhoe, Guy Mannering, Rob Roy, Shakespeare, the History of Ancient Rome, and many others which I havenow forgotten. He carried literature for the regiment. He is in thesame old business yet, only now he furnishes literature by the car load. 

CHAPTER VIII

CHATTANOOGA

BACK TO CHATTANOOGA

Rosecrans' army was in motion. The Federals were advancing, but as yetthey were afar off. Chattanooga must be fortified. Well do we rememberthe hard licks and picks that we spent on these same forts, to beoccupied afterwards by Grant and his whole army, and we on LookoutMountain and Missionary Ridge looking at them. 

AM VISITED BY MY FATHER

About this time my father paid me a visit. Rations were mighty scarce. I was mighty glad to see him, but ashamed to let him know how poorly offfor something to eat we were. We were living on parched corn. I thoughtof a happy plan to get him a good dinner, so I asked him to let us go upto the colonel's tent. Says I, "Colonel Field, I desire to introduce youto my father, and as rations are a little short in my mess, I thought youmight have a little better, and could give him a good dinner. " "Yes, "says Colonel Field, "I am glad to make the acquaintance of your father, and will be glad to divide my rations with him. Also, I would like youto stay and take dinner with me, " which I assure you, O kind reader, I gladly accepted. About this time a young African, Whit, came in with afrying-pan of parched corn and dumped it on an old oil cloth, and said, "Master, dinner is ready. " That was all he had. He was living likeourselves--on parched corn. 

We continued to fortify and build breastworks at Chattanooga. It wasthe same drudge, drudge day by day. Occasionally a Sunday would come;but when it did come, there came inspection of arms, knapsacks andcartridge-boxes. Every soldier had to have his gun rubbed up as brightas a new silver dollar. W. A. Hughes had the brightest gun in the army, and always called it "Florence Fleming. " The private soldier had tohave on clean clothes, and if he had lost any cartridges he was chargedtwenty-five cents each, and had to stand extra duty for every cartridgelost. We always dreaded Sunday. The roll was called more frequently onthis than any other day. Sometimes we would have preaching. I rememberone text that I thought the bottom had been knocked out long before:"And Peter's wife's mother lay sick of fever. " That text always did makea deep impression on me. I always thought of a young divine who preachedit when first entering the ministry, and in about twenty years came back, and happening to preach from the same text again, an old fellow inthe congregation said, "Mr. Preacher, ain't that old woman dead yet?"Well, that was the text that was preached to us soldiers one Sunday atChattanooga. I could not help thinking all the time, "Ain't that oldwoman dead yet?" But he announced that he would preach again at 3o'clock. We went to hear him preach at 3 o'clock, as his sermon wasso interesting about "Peter's wife's mother lay sick of a fever. " Wethought, maybe it was a sort of sickly subject, and he would liven usup a little in the afternoon service. 

Well, he took his text, drawled out through his nose like "smallsweetness long drawn out:" "M-a-r-t-h-a, thou art w-e-a-r-i-e-d andtroubled about many things, but M-a-r-y hath chosen that good part thatshall never be taken from her. " Well, you see, O gentle and fair reader, that I remember the text these long gone twenty years. I do not rememberwhat he preached about, but I remember thinking that he was a greatladies' man, at any rate, and whenever I see a man who loves and respectsthe ladies, I think him a good man. 

The next sermon was on the same sort of a text: "And the Lord God causeda deep sleep to fall on Adam and took out of"--he stopped here and said_e_ meant out of, that _e_, being translated from the Latin and Greek, meant out of, and took _e_, or rather out of a rib and formed woman. I never did know why he expaciated so largely on _e_; don't understand ityet, but you see, reader mine, that I remember but the little things thathappened in that stormy epoch. I remember the _e_ part of the sermonmore distinctly than all of his profound eruditions of theology, dogmas, creeds and evidences of Christianity, and I only write at this time frommemory of things that happened twenty years ago. 

"OUT A LARKING"

At this place, we took Walter Hood out "a larking. " The way to go "alarking" is this: Get an empty meal bag and about a dozen men and go tosome dark forest or open field on some cold, dark, frosty or rainy night, about five miles from camp. Get someone who does not understand the gameto hold the bag in as stooping and cramped a position as is possible, to keep perfectly still and quiet, and when he has got in the right fix, the others to go off to drive in the larks. As soon as they get out ofsight, they break in a run and go back to camp, and go to sleep, leavingthe poor fellow all the time holding the bag. 

Well, Walter was as good and as clever a fellow as you ever saw, waspopular with everybody, and as brave and noble a fellow as ever tore acartridge, or drew a ramrod, or pulled a trigger, but was the kind of aboy that was easily "roped in" to fun or fight or anything that wouldcome up. We all loved him. Poor fellow, he is up yonder--died on thefield of glory and honor. He gave his life, 'twas all he had, for hiscountry. Peace to his memory. That night we went "a larking, " andWalter held the bag. I did not see him till next morning. While I wasgulping down my coffee, as well as laughter, Walter came around, lookingsort of sheepish and shy like, and I was trying to look as solemn as ajudge. Finally he came up to the fire and kept on eyeing me out of onecorner of his eye, and I was afraid to look at him for fear of breakingout in a laugh. When I could hold in no longer, I laughed out, and said, "Well, Walter, what luck last night?" He was very much disgusted, and said, "Humph! you all think that you are smart. I can't see anythingto laugh at in such foolishness as that. " He said, "Here; I have broughtyour bag back. " That conquered me. After that kind of magnanimousact in forgiving me and bringing my bag back so pleasantly and kindly, I was his friend, and would have fought for him. I felt sorry that wehad taken him out "a larking. "

HANGING TWO SPIES

I can now recall to memory but one circumstance that made a deepimpression on my mind at the time. I heard that two spies were going tobe hung on a certain day, and I went to the hanging. The scaffold waserected, two coffins were placed on the platform, the ropes were danglingfrom the cross beam above. I had seen men shot, and whipped, and shaved, and branded at Corinth and Tupelo, and one poor fellow named Wright shotat Shelbyville. They had all been horrid scenes to me, but they wereRebels, and like begets like. I did not know when it would be my time tobe placed in the same position, you see, and "a fellow feeling makes uswondrous kind. " I did not know what was in store in the future for me. Ah, there was the rub, don't you see. This shooting business wasn't apleasant thing to think about. But Yankees--that was different. Iwanted to see a Yankee spy hung. I wouldn't mind that. I would like tosee him agonize. A spy; O, yes, they had hung one of our regiment atPulaski--Sam Davis. Yes, I would see the hanging. After a while I saw aguard approach, and saw two little boys in their midst, but did not seethe Yankees that I had been looking for. The two little boys were rushedupon the platform. I saw that they were handcuffed. "Are they spies?"I was appalled; I was horrified; nay, more, I was sick at heart. One wasabout fourteen and the other about sixteen years old, I should judge. The ropes were promptly adjusted around their necks by the provostmarshal. The youngest one began to beg and cry and plead most piteously. It was horrid. The older one kicked him, and told him to stand up andshow the Rebels how a Union man could die for his country. Be a man!The charges and specifications were then read. The props were knockedout and the two boys were dangling in the air. I turned off sick atheart. 

EATING RATS

While stationed at this place, Chattanooga, rations were very scarce andhard to get, and it was, perhaps, economy on the part of our generals andcommissaries to issue rather scant rations. 

About this time we learned that Pemberton's army, stationed at Vicksburg, were subsisting entirely on rats. Instead of the idea being horrid, we were glad to know that "necessity is the mother of invention, " andthat the idea had originated in the mind of genius. We at once actedupon the information, and started out rat hunting; but we couldn't findany rats. Presently we came to an old outhouse that seemed to be anatural harbor for this kind of vermin. The house was quickly torn downand out jumped an old residenter, who was old and gray. I suppose thathe had been chased before. But we had jumped him and were determined tocatch him, or "burst a boiler. " After chasing him backwards and forwards, the rat finally got tired of this foolishness and started for his hole. But a rat's tail is the last that goes in the hole, and as he went in wemade a grab for his tail. Well, tail hold broke, and we held the skin ofhis tail in our hands. But we were determined to have that rat. Afterhard work we caught him. We skinned him, washed and salted him, butteredand peppered him, and fried him. He actually looked nice. The delicatearoma of the frying rat came to our hungry nostrils. We were keen to eata piece of rat; our teeth were on edge; yea, even our mouth watered toeat a piece of rat. Well, after a while, he was said to be done. I got a piece of cold corn dodger, laid my piece of the rat on it, eat a little piece of bread, and raised the piece of rat to my mouth, when I happened to think of how that rat's tail did slip. I had lost myappetite for dead rat. I did not eat any rat. It was my first and lasteffort to eat dead rats. 

SWIMMING THE TENNESSEE WITH ROASTINGEARS

The Tennessee river is about a quarter of a mile wide at Chattanooga. Right across the river was an immense corn-field. The green corn waswaving with every little breeze that passed; the tassels were bowing andnodding their heads; the pollen was flying across the river like littlesnowdrops, and everything seemed to say, "Come hither, Johnny Reb;come hither, Johnny; come hither. " The river was wide, but we werehungry. The roastingears looked tempting. We pulled off our clothesand launched into the turbid stream, and were soon on the other bank. Here was the field, and here were the roastingears; but where was theraft or canoe?

We thought of old Abraham and Isaac and the sacrifice: "My son, gatherthe roastingears, there will be a way provided. "

We gathered the roastingears; we went back and gathered more roastingears, time and again. The bank was lined with green roastingears. Well, what was to be done? We began to shuck the corn. We would pull up a fewshucks on one ear, and tie it to the shucks of another--first one andthen another--until we had at least a hundred tied together. We put thetrain of corn into the river, and as it began to float off we jumped in, and taking the foremost ear in our mouth, struck out for the other bank. Well, we made the landing all correct. 

I merely mention the above incident to show to what extremity soldierswould resort. Thousands of such occurrences were performed by theprivate soldiers of the Rebel army. 

AM DETAILED TO GO FORAGING

One day I was detailed to go with a wagon train way down in Georgia ona foraging expedition. It was the first time since I had enlisted asa private that I had struck a good thing. No roll call, no drilling, no fatigue duties, building fortifications, standing picket, dress parade, reviews, or retreats, had to be answered to--the same old monotonous rollcall that had been answered five thousand times in these three years. I felt like a free man. The shackles of discipline had for a time beenunfettered. This was bliss, this was freedom, this was liberty. Thesky looked brighter, the birds sang more beautiful and sweeter than Iremember to have ever heard them. Even the little streamlets andbranches danced and jumped along the pebbly beds, while the minnowssported and frollicked under the shining ripples. The very flocks andherds in the pasture looked happy and gay. Even the screech of thewagons, that needed greasing, seemed to send forth a happy sound. It was fine, I tell you. 

The blackberries were ripe, and the roadsides were lined with thisdelicious fruit. The Lord said that he would curse the ground for thedisobedience of man, and henceforth it should bring forth thorns andbriars; but the very briars that had been cursed were loaded with theabundance of God's goodness. I felt, then, like David in one of hispsalms--"The Lord is good, the Lord is good, for his mercy endurethforever. "

PLEASE PASS THE BUTTER

For several days the wagon train continued on until we had arrived at thepart of country to which we had been directed. Whether they bought orpressed the corn, I know not, but the old gentleman invited us all totake supper with him. If I have ever eaten a better supper than thatI have forgotten it. They had biscuit for supper. What! flour bread?Did my eyes deceive me? Well, there were biscuit--sure enough flourbread--and sugar and coffee--genuine Rio--none of your rye or potatocoffee, and butter--regular butter--and ham and eggs, and turnip greens, and potatoes, and fried chicken, and nice clean plates--none of your tinaffairs--and a snow-white table-cloth and napkins, and white-handledknives and silver forks. At the head of the table was the madam, havingon a pair of golden spectacles, and at the foot the old gentleman. He said grace. And, to cap the climax, two handsome daughters. I knowthat I had never seen two more beautiful ladies. They had on littlewhite aprons, trimmed with jaconet edging, and collars as clean and whiteas snow. They looked good enough to eat, and I think at that time Iwould have given ten years of my life to have kissed one of them. We were invited to help ourselves. Our plates were soon filled with thetempting food and our tumblers with California beer. We would have likedit better had it been twice as strong, but what it lacked in strength wemade up in quantity. The old lady said, "Daughter, hand the gentlemanthe butter. " It was the first thing that I had refused, and the reasonthat I did so was because my plate was full already. Now, there isnothing that will offend a lady so quick as to refuse to take butterwhen handed to you. If you should say, "No, madam, I never eat butter, "it is a direct insult to the lady of the house. Better, far better, for you to have remained at home that day. If you don't eat butter, it is an insult; if you eat too much, she will make your ears burn afteryou have left. It is a regulator of society; it is a civilizer; it isa luxury and a delicacy that must be touched and handled with care andcourtesy on all occasions. Should you desire to get on the good side ofa lady, just give a broad, sweeping, slathering compliment to her butter. It beats kissing the dirty-faced baby; it beats anything. Too muchpraise cannot be bestowed upon the butter, be it good, bad, orindifferent to your notions of things, but to her, her butter is alwaysgood, superior, excellent. I did not know this characteristic of thehuman female at the time, or I would have taken a delicate slice of thebutter. Here is a sample of the colloquy that followed:

"Mister, have some butter?"

"Not any at present, thank you, madam. "

"Well, I insist upon it; our butter is nice. "

"O, I know it's nice, but my plate is full, thank you. "

"Well, take some anyhow. "

One of the girls spoke up and said:

"Mother, the gentleman don't wish butter. "

"Well, I want him to know that our butter is clean, anyhow. "

"Well, madam, if you insist upon it, there is nothing that I love so wellas warm biscuit and butter. I'll thank you for the butter. "

I dive in. I go in a little too heavy. The old lady hints in a delicateway that they sold butter. I dive in heavier. That cake of butter wasmelting like snow in a red hot furnace. The old lady says, "We sellbutter to the soldiers at a mighty good price. "

I dive in afresh. She says, "I get a dollar a pound for that butter, "and I remark with a good deal of nonchalance, "Well, madam, it is worthit, " and dive in again. I did not marry one of the girls. 

WE EVACUATE CHATTANOOGA

One morning while sitting around our camp fires we heard a boom, and abomb shell passed over our heads. The Yankee army was right on the otherbank of the Tennessee river. Bragg did not know of their approach untilthe cannon fired. 

Rosecrans' army is crossing the Tennessee river. A part are already onLookout Mountain. Some of their cavalry scouts had captured some of ourforaging parties in Wills valley. The air was full of flying rumors. Wagons are being packed, camps are broken up, and there is a generalhubbub everywhere. But your old soldier is always ready at a moment'snotice. The assembly is sounded; form companies, and we are ready fora march, or a fight, or a detail, or anything. If we are marched athousand miles or twenty yards, it is all the same. The private soldieris a machine that has no right to know anything. He is a machine thatmoves without any volition of his own. If Edison could invent a woodenman that could walk and load and shoot, then you would have a good sampleof the private soldier, and it would have this advantage--the privatesoldier eats and the wooden man would not. 

We left Chattanooga, but whither bound we knew not, and cared not;but we marched toward Chickamauga and crossed at Lee & Gordon's mill. 

THE BULL OF THE WOODS

On our way to Lafayette from Lee & Gordon's mill, I remember a ludicrousscene, almost bordering on sacrilege. Rosecrans' army was very near us, and we expected before three days elapsed to be engaged in battle. In fact, we knew there must be a fight or a foot race, one or the other. We could smell, as it were, "the battle afar off. "

One Sabbath morning it was announced that an eloquent and able LL. D. , from Nashville, was going to preach, and as the occasion was anexceedingly solemn one, we were anxious to hear this divine preach fromGod's Holy Word; and as he was one of the "big ones, " the whole army wasformed in close column and stacked their arms. The cannon were parked, all pointing back toward Chattanooga. The scene looked weird andpicturesque. It was in a dark wilderness of woods and vines andoverhanging limbs. In fact, it seemed but the home of the owl and thebat, and other varmints that turn night into day. Everything lookedsolemn. The trees looked solemn, the scene looked solemn, the men lookedsolemn, even the horses looked solemn. You may be sure, reader, that wefelt solemn. 

The reverend LL. D. Had prepared a regular war sermon before he left home, and of course had to preach it, appropriate or not appropriate; it wasin him and had to come out. He opened the service with a song. I didremember the piece that was sung, but right now I cannot recall it tomemory; but as near as I can now recollect here is his prayer, _verbatimet literatim_:

"Oh, Thou immaculate, invisible, eternal and holy Being, the exudationsof whose effulgence illuminates this terrestrial sphere, we approach Thypresence, being covered all over with wounds and bruises and putrifyingsores, from the crowns of our heads to the soles of our feet. And Thou, O Lord, art our dernier resort. The whole world is one great machine, managed by Thy puissance. The beautific splendors of Thy face irradiatethe celestial region and felicitate the saints. There are the mostexuberant profusions of Thy grace, and the sempiternal efflux of Thyglory. God is an abyss of light, a circle whose center is everywhere andHis circumference nowhere. Hell is the dark world made up of spiritualsulphur and other ignited ingredients, disunited and unharmonized, and without that pure balsamic oil that flows from the heart of God. "

When the old fellow got this far, I lost the further run of his prayer, but regret very much that I did so, because it was so grand and fine thatI would have liked very much to have kept such an appropriate prayer forposterity. In fact, it lays it on heavy over any prayer I ever heard, and I think the new translators ought to get it and have it put in theirbook as a sample prayer. But they will have to get the balance of itfrom the eminent LL. D. In fact, he was so "high larnt" that I don'tthink anyone understood him but the generals. The colonels might everynow and then have understood a word, and maybe a few of the captains andlieutenants, because Lieutenant Lansdown told me he understood everyword the preacher said, and further informed me that it was none of yourone-horse, old-fashioned country prayers that privates knew anythingabout, but was bang-up, first-rate, orthodox. 

Well, after singing and praying, he took his text. I quote entirely frommemory. "Blessed be the Lord God, who teaches my hands to war and myfingers to fight. " Now, reader, that was the very subject we boys didnot want to hear preached on--on that occasion at least. We felt likesome other subject would have suited us better. I forget how hecommenced his sermon, but I remember that after he got warmed up a little, he began to pitch in on the Yankee nation, and gave them particular fitsas to their geneology. He said that we of the South had descended fromthe royal and aristocratic blood of the Huguenots of France, and of thecavaliers of England, etc. ; but that the Yankees were the descendents ofthe crop-eared Puritans and witch burners, who came over in the Mayflower, and settled at Plymouth Rock. He was warm on this subject, and waked upthe echoes of the forest. He said that he and his brethren would fightthe Yankees in this world, and if God permit, chase their frightenedghosts in the next, through fire and brimstone. 

About this time we heard the awfullest racket, produced by some wildanimal tearing through the woods toward us, and the cry, "Look out! lookout! hooie! hooie! hooie! look out!" and there came running right throughour midst a wild bull, mad with terror and fright, running right over andknocking down the divine, and scattering Bibles and hymn books in everydirection. The services were brought to a close without the doxology. 

This same brave chaplain rode along with our brigade, on an oldstring-haltered horse, as we advanced to the attack at Chickamauga, exhorting the boys to be brave, to aim low, and to kill the Yankees as ifthey were wild beasts. He was eloquent and patriotic. He stated that ifhe only had a gun he too would go along as a private soldier. You couldhear his voice echo and re-echo over the hills. He had worked up hispatriotism to a pitch of genuine bravery and daring that I had neverseen exhibited, when fliff, fluff, fluff, _fluff_, FLUFF, FLUFF--a whir, a BOOM! and a shell screams through the air. The reverend LL. D. Stopsto listen, like an old sow when she hears the wind, and says, "Remember, boys, that he who is killed will sup tonight in Paradise. " Some soldierhallooed at the top of his voice, "Well, parson, you come along and takesupper with us. " Boom! whir! a bomb burst, and the parson at that momentput spurs to his horse and was seen to limber to the rear, and almostevery soldier yelled out, "The parson isn't hungry, and never eatssupper. " I remember this incident, and so does every member of the FirstTennessee Regiment. 

PRESENTMENT, OR THE WING OF THE ANGEL OF DEATH

Presentment is always a mystery. The soldier may at one moment be ingood spirits, laughing and talking. The wing of the death angel toucheshim. He knows that his time has come. It is but a question of time withhim then. He knows that his days are numbered. I cannot explain it. God has numbered the hairs of our heads, and not a sparrow falls withoutHis knowledge. How much more valuable are we than many sparrows?

We had stopped at Lee & Gordon's mill, and gone into camp for the night. Three days' rations were being issued. When Bob Stout was given hisrations he refused to take them. His face wore a serious, woe-begoneexpression. He was asked if he was sick, and said "No, " but added, "Boys, my days are numbered, my time has come. In three days from today, I will be lying right yonder on that hillside a corpse. Ah, you maylaugh; my time has come. I've got a twenty dollar gold piece in mypocket that I've carried through the war, and a silver watch that myfather sent me through the lines. Please take them off when I am dead, and give them to Captain Irvine, to give to my father when he gets backhome. Here are my clothing and blanket that any one who wishes themmay have. My rations I do not wish at all. My gun and cartridge-box Iexpect to die with. "

The next morning the assembly sounded about two o'clock. We commencedour march in the darkness, and marched twenty-five miles to a little townby the name of Lafayette, to the relief of General Pillow, whose commandhad been attacked at that place. After accomplishing this, we marchedback by another road to Chickamauga. We camped on the banks ofChickamauga on Friday night, and Saturday morning we commenced to crossover. About twelve o'clock we had crossed. No sooner had we crossedthan an order came to double quick. General Forrest's cavalry had openedthe battle. Even then the spent balls were falling amongst us with thatpeculiar thud so familiar to your old soldier. 

Double quick! There seemed to be no rest for us. Forrest is needingreinforcements. Double quick, close up in the rear! siz, siz, doublequick, boom, hurry up, bang, bang, a rattle de bang, bang, siz, boom, boom, boom, hurry up, double quick, boom, bang, halt, front, right dress, boom, boom, and three soldiers are killed and twenty wounded. BillyWebster's arm was torn out by the roots and he killed, and a fragment ofshell buried itself in Jim McEwin's side, also killing Mr. Fain King, a conscript from Mount Pleasant. Forward, guide center, march, chargebayonets, fire at will, commence firing. (This is where the LL. D. Ran. )We debouched through the woods, firing as we marched, the Yankee lineabout two hundred yards off. Bang, bang, siz, siz. It was a sort ofrunning fire. We kept up a constant fire as we advanced. In ten minuteswe were face to face with the foe. It was but a question as to who couldload and shoot the fastest. The army was not up. Bragg was not readyfor a general battle. The big battle was fought the next day, Sunday. We held our position for two hours and ten minutes in the midst of adeadly and galling fire, being enfiladed and almost surrounded, whenGeneral Forrest galloped up and said, "Colonel Field, look out, you arealmost surrounded; you had better fall back. " The order was given toretreat. I ran through a solid line of blue coats. As I fell back, they were upon the right of us, they were upon the left of us, they werein front of us, they were in the rear of us. It was a perfect hornets'nest. The balls whistled around our ears like the escape valves of tenthousand engines. The woods seemed to be blazing; everywhere, at everyjump, would rise a lurking foe. But to get up and dust was all we coulddo. I was running along by the side of Bob Stout. General Preston Smithstopped me and asked if our brigade was falling back. I told him it was. He asked me the second time if it was Maney's brigade that was fallingback. I told him it was. I heard him call out, "Attention, forward!"One solid sheet of leaden hail was falling around me. I heard GeneralPreston Smith's brigade open. It seemed to be platoons of artillery. The earth jarred and trembled like an earthquake. Deadly missiles wereflying in every direction. It was the very incarnation of death itself. I could almost hear the shriek of the death angel passing over the scene. General Smith was killed in ten minutes after I saw him. Bob Stout andmyself stopped. Said I, "Bob, you wern't killed, as you expected. "He did not reply, for at that very moment a solid shot from the Federalguns struck him between the waist and the hip, tearing off one leg andscattering his bowels all over the ground. I heard him shriek out, "O, O, God!" His spirit had flown before his body struck the ground. Farewell, friend; we will meet over yonder. 

When the cannon ball struck Billy Webster, tearing his arm out of thesocket, he did not die immediately, but as we were advancing to theattack, we left him and the others lying where they fell upon thebattlefield; but when we fell back to the place where we had left ourknapsacks, Billy's arm had been dressed by Dr. Buist, and he seemed to bequite easy. He asked Jim Fogey to please write a letter to his parentsat home. He wished to dictate the letter. He asked me to please look inhis knapsack and get him a clean shirt, and said that he thought he wouldfeel better if he could get rid of the blood that was upon him. I wentto hunt for his knapsack and found it, but when I got back to where hewas, poor, good Billy Webster was dead. He had given his life to hiscountry. His spirit is with the good and brave. No better or braver manthan Billy Webster ever drew the breath of life. His bones lie yondertoday, upon the battlefield of Chickamauga. I loved him; he was myfriend. Many and many a dark night have Billy and I stood together uponthe silent picket post. Ah, reader, my heart grows sick and I feel sadwhile I try to write my recollections of that unholy and uncalled forwar. But He that ruleth the heavens doeth all things well. 

CHAPTER IX

CHICKAMAUGA

BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA

Sunday morning of that September day, the sun rose over the eastern hillsclear and beautiful. The day itself seemed to have a Sabbath-day lookabout it. The battlefield was in a rough and broken country, with treesand undergrowth, that ever since the creation had never been disturbed bythe ax of civilized man. It looked wild, weird, uncivilized. 

Our corps (Polk's), being in the engagement the day before, were held inreserve. Reader, were you ever held in reserve of an attacking army?To see couriers dashing backward and forward; to hear the orders givento the brigades, regiments and companies; to see them forward in line ofbattle, the battle-flags waving; to hear their charge, and then to hearthe shock of battle, the shot and shell all the while sizzing, andzipping, and thudding, and screaming, and roaring, and bursting, andpassing right over your heads; to see the litter corps bringing back thewounded continually, and hear them tell how their command was being cutto pieces, and that every man in a certain regiment was killed, and tosee a cowardly colonel (as we saw on this occasion--he belonged toLongstreet's corps) come dashing back looking the very picture of terrorand fear, exclaiming, "O, men, men, for God's sake go forward and helpmy men! they are being cut all to pieces! we can't hold our position. O, for God's sake, please go and help my command!" To hear some of ourboys ask, "What regiment is that? What regiment is that?" He replies, such and such regiment. And then to hear some fellow ask, "Why ain'tyou with them, then, you cowardly puppy? Take off that coat and thosechicken guts; coo, sheep; baa, baa, black sheep; flicker, flicker;ain't you ashamed of yourself? flicker, flicker; I've got a notion totake my gun and kill him, " etc. Every word of this is true; it actuallyhappened. But all that could demoralize, and I may say intimidate asoldier, was being enacted, and he not allowed to participate. How wewere moved from one position to another, but always under fire; ournerves strung to their utmost tension, listening to the roar of battle inour immediate front, to hear it rage and then get dimmer until it seemsto die out entirely; then all at once it breaks out again, and you thinknow in a very few minutes you will be ordered into action, and then allat once we go double-quicking to another portion of the field, the battleraging back from the position we had left. General Leonidas Polk ridesup and happening to stop in our front, some of the boys halloo out, "Say, General, what command is that which is engaged now?" The general kindlyanswers, "That is Longstreet's corps. He is driving them this way, and we will drive them that way, and crush them between the 'upper andnether millstone. '" Turning to General Cheatham, he said, "General, move your division and attack at once. " Everything is at once set inmotion, and General Cheatham, to give the boys a good send-off, says, "Forward, boys, and give 'em h--l. " General Polk also says a good word, and that word was, "Do as General Cheatham says, boys. " (You know he wasa preacher and couldn't curse. ) After marching in solid line, see-sawing, right obliqueing, left obliqueing, guide center and close up; commencefiring--fire at will; charge and take their breastworks; our pent-upnervousness and demoralization of all day is suddenly gone. We raiseone long, loud, cheering shout and charge right upon their breastworks. They are pouring their deadly missiles into our advancing ranks fromunder their head-logs. We do not stop to look around to see who iskilled and wounded, but press right up their breastworks, and plant ourbattle-flag upon it. They waver and break and run in every direction, when General John C. Breckinridge's division, which had been supportingus, march up and pass us in full pursuit of the routed and flying Federalarmy. 

AFTER THE BATTLE

We remained upon the battlefield of Chickamauga all night. Everythinghad fallen into our hands. We had captured a great many prisoners andsmall arms, and many pieces of artillery and wagons and provisions. The Confederate and Federal dead, wounded, and dying were everywherescattered over the battlefield. Men were lying where they fell, shot inevery conceivable part of the body. Some with their entrails torn outand still hanging to them and piled up on the ground beside them, andthey still alive. Some with their under jaw torn off, and hanging by afragment of skin to their cheeks, with their tongues lolling from theirmouth, and they trying to talk. Some with both eyes shot out, withone eye hanging down on their cheek. In fact, you might walk over thebattlefield and find men shot from the crown of the head to the tip endof the toe. And then to see all those dead, wounded and dying horses, their heads and tails drooping, and they seeming to be so intelligent asif they comprehended everything. I felt like shedding a tear for thoseinnocent dumb brutes. 

Reader, a battlefield, after the battle, is a sad and sorrowful sightto look at. The glory of war is but the glory of battle, the shouts, and cheers, and victory. 

A soldier's life is not a pleasant one. It is always, at best, one ofprivations and hardships. The emotions of patriotism and pleasure hardlycounterbalance the toil and suffering that he has to undergo in orderto enjoy his patriotism and pleasure. Dying on the field of battle andglory is about the easiest duty a soldier has to undergo. It is theliving, marching, fighting, shooting soldier that has the hardships ofwar to carry. When a brave soldier is killed he is at rest. The livingsoldier knows not at what moment he, too, may be called on to lay downhis life on the altar of his country. The dead are heroes, the livingare but men compelled to do the drudgery and suffer the privationsincident to the thing called "glorious war. "

A NIGHT AMONG THE DEAD

We rested on our arms where the battle ceased. All around us everywherewere the dead and wounded, lying scattered over the ground, and in manyplaces piled in heaps. Many a sad and heart-rending scene did I witnessupon this battlefield of Chickamauga. Our men died the death of heroes. I sometimes think that surely our brave men have not died in vain. It is true, our cause is lost, but a people who loved those brave andnoble heroes should ever cherish their memory as men who died for them. I shed a tear over their memory. They gave their all to their country. Abler pens than mine must write their epitaphs, and tell of their gloriesand heroism. I am but a poor writer, at best, and only try to tell ofthe events that I saw. 

One scene I now remember, that I can imperfectly relate. While a detailof us were passing over the field of death and blood, with a dim lantern, looking for our wounded soldiers to carry to the hospital, we cameacross a group of ladies, looking among the killed and wounded for theirrelatives, when I heard one of the ladies say, "There they come withtheir lanterns. " I approached the ladies and asked them for whom theywere looking. They told me the name, but I have forgotten it. We passedon, and coming to a pile of our slain, we had turned over several of ourdead, when one of the ladies screamed out, "O, there he is! Poor fellow!Dead, dead, dead!" She ran to the pile of slain and raised the deadman's head and placed it on her lap and began kissing him and saying, "O, O, they have killed my darling, my darling, my darling! O, mother, mother, what must I do! My poor, poor darling! O, they have killed him, they have killed him!" I could witness the scene no longer. I turnedand walked away, and William A. Hughes was crying, and remarked, "O, law me; this war is a terrible thing. " We left them and began againhunting for our wounded. All through that long September night wecontinued to carry off our wounded, and when the morning sun arose overthe eastern hills, the order came to march to Missionary Ridge. 

CHAPTER X

MISSIONARY RIDGE

After retreating from Chickamauga, the Yankees attempted to re-form theirbroken lines on Missionary Ridge. We advanced to attack them, but theysoon fell back to Chattanooga. We knew they were in an impregnableposition. We had built those breastworks and forts, and knew whereofwe spoke. We stopped on Missionary Ridge, and gnashed our teeth atChattanooga. I do not know what our generals thought; I do not know whatthe authorities at Richmond thought, but I can tell you what the privatesthought. But here we were on Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain, looking right down into Chattanooga. We had but to watch and wait. We would starve them out. 

The Federal army had accomplished their purpose. They wantedChattanooga. They laughed at our triumph, and mocked at our victory. They got Chattanooga. "Now, where are you, Johnny Reb? What are yougoing to do about it? You've got the dry grins, arn't you? We've gotthe key; when the proper time comes we'll unlock your doors and go in. You are going to starve us out, eh? We are not very hungry at present, and we don't want any more pie. When we starve out we'll call on you forrations, but at present we are not starving, by a jug full; but if youwant any whisky or tobacco, send over and we'll give you some. We'vegot all we wanted, and assure you we are satisfied. "

The above remarks are the supposed colloquy that took place between thetwo armies. Bragg, in trying to starve the Yankees out, was starved outhimself. Ask any old Rebel as to our bill of fare at Missionary Ridge. 

In all the history of the war, I cannot remember of more privations andhardships than we went through at Missionary Ridge. And when in the veryacme of our privations and hunger, when the army was most dissatisfiedand unhappy, we were ordered into line of battle to be reviewed byHonorable Jefferson Davis. When he passed by us, with his great retinueof staff officers and play-outs at full gallop, cheers greeted them, with the words, "Send us something to eat, Massa Jeff. Give us somethingto eat, Massa Jeff. I'm hungry! I'm hungry!"

SERGEANT TUCKER AND GENERAL WILDER

At this place the Yankee outpost was on one side of the Tennessee river, and ours on the other. I was on the detail one Sunday commanded bySergeant John T. Tucker. When we were approaching we heard the old guardand the Yankee picket talking back and forth across the river. The newguard immediately resumed the conversation. We had to halloo at the topof our voices, the river being about three hundred yards wide at thispoint. But there was a little island about the middle of the river. A Yankee hallooed out, "O, Johnny, Johnny, meet me half way in the riveron the island. " "All right, " said Sergeant Tucker, who immediatelyundressed all but his hat, in which he carried the Chattanooga Rebel andsome other Southern newspapers, and swam across to the island. When hegot there the Yankee was there, but the Yankee had waded. I do not knowwhat he and John talked about, but they got very friendly, and Johninvited him to come clear across to our side, which invitation heaccepted. I noticed at the time that while John swam, the Yankee waded, remarking that he couldn't swim. The river was but little over waistdeep. Well, they came across and we swapped a few lies, canteens andtobacco, and then the Yankee went back, wading all the way across thestream. That man was General Wilder, commanding the Federal cavalry, and at the battle of Missionary Ridge he threw his whole division ofcavalry across the Tennessee river at that point, thus flanking Bragg'sarmy, and opening the battle. He was examining the ford, and theswapping business was but a mere by-play. He played it sharp, and Bragghad to get further. 

MOCCASIN POINT

Maney's brigade fortified on top of Lookout Mountain. From this positionwe could see five states. The Yankees had built a fort across the river, on Moccasin Point, and were throwing shells at us continually. I havenever seen such accurate shooting in my life. It was upon the principleof shooting a squirrel out of a tree, and they had become so perfect intheir aim, that I believe they could have killed a squirrel a mile off. We could have killed a great many artillery men if we had been allowed toshoot, but no private soldier was ever allowed to shoot a gun on his ownhook. If he shot at all, it must by the order of an officer, for if justone cartridge was shot away or lost, the private was charged twenty-fivecents for it, and had to do extra duty, and I don't think our artillerywas ever allowed to fire a single shot under any circumstances. Ourrations were cooked up by a special detail ten miles in the rear, andwere sent to us every three days, and then those three days' rations weregenerally eaten up at one meal, and the private soldier had to starve theother two days and a half. Never in all my whole life do I remember ofever experiencing so much oppression and humiliation. The soldiers werestarved and almost naked, and covered all over with lice and camp itchand filth and dirt. The men looked sick, hollow-eyed, and heart-broken, living principally upon parched corn, which had been picked out of themud and dirt under the feet of officers' horses. We thought of nothingbut starvation. 

The battle of Missionary Ridge was opened from Moccasin Point, whilewe were on Lookout Mountain, but I knew nothing of the movements ormaneuvers of either army, and only tell what part I took in the battle. 

BATTLE OF MISSIONARY RIDGE

One morning Theodore Sloan, Hog Johnson and I were standing picket at thelittle stream that runs along at the foot of Lookout Mountain. In fact, I would be pleased to name our captain, Fulcher, and Lieutenant Lansdown, of the guard on this occasion, because we acted as picket for the wholethree days' engagement without being relieved, and haven't been relievedyet. But that battle has gone into history. We heard a Yankee call, "O, Johnny, Johnny Reb!" I started out to meet him as formerly, when hehallooed out, "Go back, Johnny, go back; we are ordered to fire on you. ""What is the matter? Is your army going to advance on us?" "I don'tknow; we are ordered to fire. " I jumped back into the picket post, and a minnie ball ruined the only hat I had; another and another followedin quick succession, and the dirt flew up in our faces off our littlebreastworks. Before night the picket line was engaged from one end tothe other. If you had only heard it, dear reader. It went like tenthousand wood-choppers, and an occasional boom of a cannon would remindyou of a tree falling. We could hear colonels giving commands to theirregiments, and could see very plainly the commotion and hubbub, but whatwas up, we were unable to tell. The picket line kept moving to ourright. The second night found us near the tunnel, and right where tworailroads cross each other, or rather one runs over the other high enoughfor the cars to pass under. We could see all over Chattanooga, and itlooked like myriads of blue coats swarming. 

Day's and Mannigault's brigades got into a night attack at the foot ofLookout Mountain. I could see the whole of it. It looked like lightningbugs on a dark night. But about midnight everything quieted down. Theodore Sloan, Hog Johnson and myself occupied an old log cabin asvidette. We had not slept any for two nights, and were very drowsy, I assure you, but we knew there was something up, and we had to keepawake. The next morning, nearly day, I think I had dropped off into apleasant doze, and was dreaming of more pretty things than you ever sawin your life, when Johnson touched me and whispered, "Look, look, thereare three Yankees; must I shoot?" I whispered back "Yes. " A bang;"a waugh" went a shriek. He had got one, sure. Everything got quietagain, and we heard nothing more for an hour. Johnson touched me againand whispered, "Yonder they come again; look, look!" I could not seethem; was too sleepy for that. Sloan could not see them, either. Johnson pulled down, and another unearthly squall rended the night air. The streaks of day had begun to glimmer over Missionary Ridge, and Icould see in the dim twilight the Yankee guard not fifty yards off. Said I, "Boys, let's fire into them and run. " We took deliberate aim andfired. At that they raised, I thought, a mighty sickly sort of yell andcharged the house. We ran out, but waited on the outside. We took asecond position where the railroads cross each other, but they beganshelling us from the river, when we got on the opposite side of therailroad and they ceased. 

I know nothing about the battle; how Grant, with one wing, went up theriver, and Hooker's corps went down Wills valley, etc. I heard fightingand commanding and musketry all day long, but I was still on picket. Balls were passing over our heads, both coming and going. I could nottell whether I was standing picket for Yankees or Rebels. I knew thatthe Yankee line was between me and the Rebel line, for I could see thebattle right over the tunnel. We had been placed on picket at the footof Lookout Mountain, but we were five miles from that place now. IfI had tried to run in I couldn't. I had got separated from Sloan andJohnson somehow; in fact, was waiting either for an advance of theYankees, or to be called in by the captain of the picket. I could seethe blue coats fairly lining Missionary Ridge in my head. The Yankeeswere swarming everywhere. They were passing me all day with their deadand wounded, going back to Chattanooga. No one seemed to notice me;they were passing to and fro, cannon, artillery, and everything. Iwas willing to be taken prisoner, but no one seemed disposed to do it. I was afraid to look at them, and I was afraid to hide, for fear someone's attention would be attracted toward me. I wished I could makemyself invisible. I think I was invisible. I felt that way anyhow. I felt like the boy who wanted to go to the wedding, but had no shoes. Cassabianca never had such feelings as I had that livelong day. 

 Say, captain, say, if yet my task be done? And yet the sweeping waves rolled on, And answered neither yea nor nay. 

About two or three o'clock, a column of Yankees advancing to the attackswept right over where I was standing. I was trying to stand aside toget out of their way, but the more I tried to get out of their way, the more in their way I got. I was carried forward, I knew not whither. We soon arrived at the foot of the ridge, at our old breastworks. I recognized Robert Brank's old corn stalk house, and Alf Horsley's fort, an old log house called Fort Horsley. I was in front of the enemy's line, and was afraid to run up the ridge, and afraid to surrender. They wereordered to charge up the hill. There was no firing from the Rebel linesin our immediate front. They kept climbing and pulling and scratchinguntil I was in touching distance of the old Rebel breastworks, right onthe very apex of Missionary Ridge. I made one jump, and I heard CaptainTurner, who had the very four Napoleon guns we had captured at Perryville, halloo out, "Number four, solid!" and then a roar. The next order was"Limber to the rear. " The Yankees were cutting and slashing, and thecannoneers were running in every direction. I saw Day's brigade throwdown their guns and break like quarter horses. Bragg was trying torally them. I heard him say, "Here is your commander, " and the soldiershallooed back, "here is your mule. "

The whole army was routed. I ran on down the ridge, and there was ourregiment, the First Tennessee, with their guns stacked, and drawingrations as if nothing was going on. Says I, "Colonel Field, what's thematter? The whole army is routed and running; hadn't you better begetting away from here? The Yankees are not a hundred yards from here. Turner's battery has surrendered, Day's brigade has thrown down theirarms; and look yonder, that is the Stars and Stripes. " He remarked verycoolly, "You seem to be demoralized. We've whipped them here. We'vecaptured two thousand prisoners and five stands of colors. "

Just at this time General Bragg and staff rode up. Bragg had joined thechurch at Shelbyville, but he had back-slid at Missionary Ridge. He wascursing like a sailor. Says he, "What's this? Ah, ha, have you stackedyour arms for a surrender?" "No, sir, " says Field. "Take arms, shoulderarms, by the right flank, file right, march, " just as cool and deliberateas if on dress parade. Bragg looked scared. He had put spurs to hishorse, and was running like a scared dog before Colonel Field had achance to answer him. Every word of this is a fact. We at once becamethe rear guard of the whole army. 

[ Author's Note: I remember of General Maney meeting Gary. I do notknow who Gary was, but Maney and Gary seemed to be very glad to see eachother. Every time I think of that retreat I think of Gary. ]

I felt sorry for General Bragg. The army was routed, and Bragg looked soscared. Poor fellow, he looked so hacked and whipped and mortified andchagrined at defeat, and all along the line, when Bragg would pass, the soldiers would raise the yell, "Here is your mule;" "Bully for Bragg, he's h--l on retreat. "

Bragg was a good disciplinarian, and if he had cultivated the love andrespect of his troops by feeding and clothing them better than they were, the result would have been different. More depends on a good generalthan the lives of many privates. The private loses his life, the generalhis country. 

GOOD-BYE, TOM WEBB

As soon as the order was given to march, we saw poor Tom Webb lying onthe battlefield shot through the head, his blood and brains smearing hisface and clothes, and he still alive. He was as brave and noble a man asour Heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom, ever made. Everybody lovedhim. He was a universal favorite of the company and regiment; was braveand generous, and ever anxious to take some other man's place when therewas any skirmishing or fighting to be done. We did not wish to leavethe poor fellow in that condition, and A. S. Horsley, John T. Tucker, Tennessee Thompson and myself got a litter and carried him on ourshoulders through that livelong night back to Chickamauga Station. The next morning Dr. J. E. Dixon, of Deshler's brigade, passed by andtold us that it would be useless for us to carry him any further, andthat it was utterly impossible for him ever to recover. The Yankees werethen advancing and firing upon us. What could we do? We could not carryhim any further, and we could not bury him, for he was still alive. To leave him where he was we thought best. We took hold of his hand, bent over him and pressed our lips to his--all four of us. We kissedhim good-bye and left him to the tender mercies of the advancing foe, inwhose hands he would be in a few moments. No doubt they laughed andjeered at the dying Rebel. It mattered not what they did, for poorTom Webb's spirit, before the sun went down, was with God and the holyangels. He had given his all to his country. O, how we missed him. It seemed that the very spirit and life of Company H had died with thedeath of good, noble and brave Tom Webb. 

I thank God that I am no infidel, and I feel and believe that I willagain see Tom Webb. Just as sure and certain, reader, as you are nowreading these lines, I will meet him up yonder--I know I will. 

THE REAR GUARD

When we had marched about a mile back in the rear of the battlefield, we were ordered to halt so that all stragglers might pass us, as we weredetailed as the rear guard. While resting on the road side we saw Day'sbrigade pass us. They were gunless, cartridge-boxless, knapsackless, canteenless, and all other military accoutermentsless, and swordless, and officerless, and they all seemed to have the 'possum grins, likeBragg looked, and as they passed our regiment, you never heard such funmade of a parcel of soldiers in your life. Every fellow was yelling atthe top of his voice, "Yaller-hammer, Alabama, flicker, flicker, flicker, yaller-hammer, Alabama, flicker, flicker, flicker. " I felt sorry forthe yellow-hammer Alabamians, they looked so hacked, and answered backnever a word. When they had passed, two pieces of artillery passed us. They were the only two pieces not captured at Missionary Ridge, and theywere ordered to immediately precede us in bringing up the rear. Thewhole rear guard was placed under the command of the noble, generous, handsome and brave General Gist, of South Carolina. I loved General Gist, and when I mention his name tears gather in my eyes. I think he was thehandsomest man I ever knew. 

Our army was a long time crossing the railroad bridge across Chickamaugariver. Maney's brigade, of Cheatham's division, and General L. E. Polk'sbrigade, of Cleburne's division, formed a sort of line of battle, and hadto wait until the stragglers had all passed. I remember looking at them, and as they passed I could read the character of every soldier. Somewere mad, others cowed, and many were laughing. Some were cursing Bragg, some the Yankees, and some were rejoicing at the defeat. I cannotdescribe it. It was the first defeat our army had ever suffered, but theprevailing sentiment was anathemas and denunciations hurled against JeffDavis for ordering Longstreet's corps to Knoxville, and sending offGenerals Wheeler's and Forrest's cavalry, while every private soldier inthe whole army knew that the enemy was concentrating at Chattanooga. 

CHICKAMAUGA STATION

When we arrived at Chickamauga Station, our brigade and General LuciusE. Polk's brigade, of Cleburne's division, were left to set fire to thetown and to burn up and destroy all those immense piles of army storesand provisions which had been accumulated there to starve the Yankees outof Chattanooga. Great piles of corn in sacks, and bacon, and crackers, and molasses, and sugar, and coffee, and rice, and potatoes, and onions, and peas, and flour by the hundreds of barrels, all now to be given tothe flames, while for months the Rebel soldiers had been stinted andstarved for the want of these same provisions. It was enough to make thebravest and most patriotic soul that ever fired a gun in defense of anycause on earth, think of rebelling against the authorities as they thenwere. Every private soldier knew these stores were there, and for thewant of them we lost our cause. 

Reader, I ask you who you think was to blame? Most of our army hadalready passed through hungry and disheartened, and here were all thesestores that had to be destroyed. Before setting fire to the town, every soldier in Maney's and Polk's brigades loaded himself down withrations. It was a laughable looking rear guard of a routed andretreating army. Every one of us had cut open the end of a corn sack, emptied out the corn, and filled it with hard-tack, and, besides, everyone of us had a side of bacon hung to our bayonets on our guns. Ourcanteens, and clothes, and faces, and hair were all gummed up withmolasses. Such is the picture of our rear guard. Now, reader, if youwere ever on the rear guard of a routed and retreating army, you know howtedious it is. You don't move more than ten feet at furthest before youhave to halt, and then ten feet again a few minutes afterwards, and soon all day long. You haven't time to sit down a moment before you areordered to move on again. And the Yankees dash up every now and then, and fire a volley into your rear. Now that is the way we were marchedthat livelong day, until nearly dark, and then the Yankees began to crowdus. We can see their line forming, and know we have to fight. 

THE BATTLE OF CAT CREEK

About dark a small body of cavalry dashed in ahead of us and captured andcarried off one piece of artillery and Colonel John F. House, GeneralManey's assistant adjutant-general. We will have to form line of battleand drive them back. Well, we quickly form line of battle, and theYankees are seen to emerge from the woods about two hundred yards fromus. We promptly shell off those sides of bacon and sacks of hard-tackthat we had worried and tugged with all day long. Bang, bang, siz, siz. We are ordered to load and fire promptly and to hold our position. Yonder they come, a whole division. Our regiment is the only regimentin the action. They are crowding us; our poor little handful of men arebeing killed and wounded by scores. There is General George Maney badlywounded and being carried to the rear, and there is Moon, of Fulcher'sbattalion, killed dead in his tracks. We can't much longer hold ourposition. A minnie ball passes through my Bible in my side pocket. All at once we are ordered to open ranks. Here comes one piece ofartillery from a Mississippi battery, bouncing ten feet high, over brushand logs and bending down little trees and saplings, under whip and spur, the horses are champing the bits, and are muddied from head to foot. Now, quick, quick; look, the Yankees have discovered the battery andare preparing to charge it. Unlimber, horses and caisson to the rear. No. 1 shrapnel, load, fire--boom, boom; load, ablouyat--boom, boom. I saw Sam Seay fall badly wounded and carried to the rear. I stoppedfiring to look at Sergeant Doyle how he handled his gun. At everydischarge it would bounce, and turn its muzzle completely to the rear, when those old artillery soldiers would return it to its place--and itseemed they fired a shot almost every ten seconds. Fire, men. Ourmuskets roll and rattle, making music like the kettle and bass drumcombined. They are checked; we see them fall back to the woods, andnight throws her mantle over the scene. We fell back now, and had tostrip and wade Chickamauga river. It was up to our armpits, and was ascold as charity. We had to carry our clothes across on the points ofour bayonets. Fires had been kindled every few yards on the other side, and we soon got warmed up again. 

RINGGOLD GAP

I had got as far as Ringgold Gap, when I had unconsciously fallen asleepby a fire, it being the fourth night that I had not slept a wink. Before I got to this fire, however, a gentleman whom I never saw in mylife--because it was totally dark at the time--handed me a letter fromthe old folks at home, and a good suit of clothes. He belonged toColonel Breckinridge's cavalry, and if he ever sees these lines, I wishto say to him, "God bless you, old boy. " I had lost every blanket andvestige of clothing, except those I had on, at Missionary Ridge. I laiddown by the fire and went to sleep, but how long I had slept I knew not, when I felt a rough hand grab me and give me a shake, and the fellow said, "Are you going to sleep here, and let the Yankees cut your throat?"I opened my eyes, and asked, "Who are you?" He politely and pleasantly, yet profanely, told me that he was General Walker (the poor fellow waskilled the 22nd of July, at Atlanta), and that I had better get further. He passed on and waked others. Just then, General Cleburne and staffrode by me, and I heard one of his staff remark, "General, here is aditch, or gully, that will make a natural breastwork. " All I heardGeneral Cleburne say was, "Er, eh, eh!" I saw General Lucius E. Polk'sbrigade form on the crest of the hill. 

I went a little further and laid down again and went to sleep. How longI had lain there, and what was passing over me, I know nothing about, but when I awoke, here is what I saw: I saw a long line of blue coatsmarching down the railroad track. The first thought I had was, well, I'm gone up now, sure; but on second sight, I discovered that they wereprisoners. Cleburne had had the doggondest fight of the war. The groundwas piled with dead Yankees; they were piled in heaps. The scene lookedunlike any battlefield I ever saw. From the foot to the top of the hillwas covered with their slain, all lying on their faces. It had theappearance of the roof of a house shingled with dead Yankees. They wereflushed with victory and success, and had determined to push forward andcapture the whole of the Rebel army, and set up their triumphant standardat Atlanta--then exit Southern Confederacy. But their dead were sopiled in their path at Ringgold Gap that they could not pass them. TheSpartans gained a name at Thermopylae, in which Leonidas and the wholeSpartan army were slain while defending the pass. Cleburne's divisiongained a name at Ringgold Gap, in which they not only slew the victoriousarmy, but captured five thousand prisoners besides. That brilliantvictory of Cleburne's made him not only the best general of the armyof Tennessee, and covered his men with glory and honor of heroes, butchecked the advance of Grant's whole army. 

We did not budge an inch further for many a long day, but we went intowinter quarters right here at Ringgold Gap, Tunnel Hill and Dalton. 

CHAPTER XI

DALTON

GENERAL JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON

General Joseph E. Johnston now took command of the army. General Braggwas relieved, and had become Jeff Davis' war adviser at Richmond, Virginia. We had followed General Bragg all through this long war. We had got sorter used to his ways, but he was never popular with histroops. I felt sorry for him. Bragg's troops would have loved him, if he had allowed them to do so, for many a word was spoken in his behalf, after he had been relieved of the command. As a general I have spoken ofhim in these memoirs, not personally. I try to state facts, so that youmay see, reader, why our cause was lost. I have no doubt that Bragg everdid what he thought was best. He was but a man, under the authority ofanother. 

But now, allow me to introduce you to old Joe. Fancy, if you please, a man about fifty years old, rather small of stature, but firmly andcompactly built, an open and honest countenance, and a keen but restlessblack eye, that seemed to read your very inmost thoughts. In his dresshe was a perfect dandy. He ever wore the very finest clothes that couldbe obtained, carrying out in every point the dress and paraphernalia ofthe soldier, as adopted by the war department at Richmond, never omittinganything, even to the trappings of his horse, bridle and saddle. Hishat was decorated with a star and feather, his coat with every star andembellishment, and he wore a bright new sash, big gauntlets, and silverspurs. He was the very picture of a general. 

But he found the army depleted by battles; and worse, yea, much worse, by desertion. The men were deserting by tens and hundreds, and I mightsay by thousands. The morale of the army was gone. The spirit of thesoldiers was crushed, their hope gone. The future was dark and gloomy. They would not answer at roll call. Discipline had gone. A feeling ofmistrust pervaded the whole army. 

A train load of provisions came into Dalton. The soldiers stopped itbefore it rolled into the station, burst open every car, and carried offall the bacon, meal and flour that was on board. Wild riot was the orderof the day; everything was confusion, worse confounded. When the newscame, like pouring oil upon the troubled waters, that General JoeE. Johnston, of Virginia, had taken command of the Army of Tennessee, men returned to their companies, order was restored, and "Richard washimself again. " General Johnston issued a universal amnesty to allsoldiers absent without leave. Instead of a scrimp pattern of one day'srations, he ordered two days' rations to be issued, being extra forone day. He ordered tobacco and whisky to be issued twice a week. Heordered sugar and coffee and flour to be issued instead of meal. Heordered old bacon and ham to be issued instead of blue beef. He orderednew tents and marquees. He ordered his soldiers new suits of clothes, shoes and hats. In fact, there had been a revolution, sure enough. He allowed us what General Bragg had never allowed mortal man--afurlough. He gave furloughs to one-third of his army at a time, untilthe whole had been furloughed. A new era had dawned; a new epoch hadbeen dated. He passed through the ranks of the common soldiers, shakinghands with every one he met. He restored the soldier's pride; hebrought the manhood back to the private's bosom; he changed the orderof roll-call, standing guard, drill, and such nonsense as that. Therevolution was complete. He was loved, respected, admired; yea, almostworshipped by his troops. I do not believe there was a soldier in hisarmy but would gladly have died for him. With him everything was hissoldiers, and the newspapers, criticising him at the time, said, "Hewould feed his soldiers if the country starved. "

We soon got proud; the blood of the old Cavaliers tingled in our veins. We did not feel that we were serfs and vagabonds. We felt that we had ahome and a country worth fighting for, and, if need be, worth dying for. One regiment could whip an army, and did do it, in every instance, before the command was taken from him at Atlanta. But of this anothertime. 

Chaplains were brought back to their regiments. Dr. C. T. Quintard andRev. C. D. Elliott, and other chaplains, held divine services everySabbath, prayer was offered every evening at retreat, and the morale ofthe army was better in every respect. The private soldier once moreregarded himself a gentleman and a man of honor. We were willing to doand die and dare anything for our loved South, and the Stars and Barsof the Confederacy. In addition to this, General Johnston ordered hissoldiers to be paid up every cent that was due them, and a bounty offifty dollars besides. He issued an order to his troops offeringpromotion and a furlough for acts of gallantry and bravery on the fieldof battle. 

The cloven foot of tyranny and oppression was not discernible in the actsof officers, from general down to corporal, as formerly. Notwithstandingall this grand transformation in our affairs, old Joe was a strictdisciplinarian. Everything moved like clockwork. Men had to keep theirarms and clothing in good order. The artillery was rubbed up and put ingood condition. The wagons were greased, and the harness and hamestringsoiled. Extra rations were issued to negroes who were acting as servants, a thing unprecedented before in the history of the war. 

Well, old Joe was a yerker. He took all the tricks. He was a commander. He kept everything up and well in hand. His lines of battle wereinvulnerable. The larger his command, the easier he could handle it. When his army moved, it was a picture of battle, everything in its place, as laid down by scientific military rules. When a man was to be shot, he was shot for the crimes he had done, and not to intimidate and cow theliving, and he had ten times as many shot as Bragg had. He had seventeenshot at Tunnel Hill, and a whole company at Rockyface Ridge, and twospies hung at Ringgold Gap, but they were executed for their crimes. No one knew of it except those who had to take part as executioners ofthe law. Instead of the whipping post, he instituted the pillory andbarrel shirt. Get Brutus to whistle the barrel shirt for you. Thepillory was a new-fangled concern. If you went to the guard-house ofalmost any regiment, you would see some poor fellow with his head andhands sticking through a board. It had the appearance of a fellow takinga running start, at an angle of forty-five degrees, with a view ofbursting a board over his head, but when the board burst his head andboth his hands were clamped in the bursted places. The barrel shirtbrigade used to be marched on drill and parade. You could see a fellow'shead and feet, and whenever one of the barrels would pass, you would hearthe universal cry, "Come out of that barrel, I see your head and feetsticking out. " There might have been a mortification and a disgrace inthe pillory and barrel shirt business to those that had to use them, but they did not bruise and mutilate the physical man. When one of themhad served out his time he was as good as new. Old Joe had greatermilitary insight than any general of the South, not excepting even Lee. He was the born soldier; seemed born to command. When his army moved itmoved solid. Cavalry, artillery, wagon train, and infantry stepped thesame tread to the music of the march. His men were not allowed to bebutchered for glory, and to have his name and a battle fought, with thenumber of killed and wounded, go back to Richmond for his own glory. When he fought, he fought for victory, not for glory. He could fall backright in the face of the foe as quietly and orderly as if on dress parade;and when his enemies crowded him a little too closely, he would aboutface and give them a terrible chastisement. He could not be taken bysurprise by any flank movement of the enemy. His soldiers were to himhis children. He loved them. They were never needlessly sacrificed. He was always ready to meet the attack of the enemy. When his line ofbattle was formed it was like a wall of granite. His adversaries knewhim, and dreaded the certain death that awaited them. His troops werebrave; they laughed in the face of battle. He had no rear guard toshoot down any one who ran. They couldn't run; the army was solid. Theveriest coward that was ever born became a brave man and a hero under hismanipulation. His troops had the utmost confidence in him, and feared noevil. They became an army of veterans, whose lines could not be brokenby the armies of the world. Battle became a pastime and a pleasure, and the rattle of musketry and roar of cannon were but the music ofvictory and success. 

COMMISSARIES

Before General Joseph E. Johnston took command of the Army of Tennessee, the soldiers were very poorly fed, it is true, but the blame was notentirely attributable to General Bragg. He issued enough and more thanenough to have bountifully fed his army, but there was a lot of men inthe army, generally denominated commissaries, and their "gizzards, "as well as fingers, had to be greased. There was commissary-general, then corps commissary, then division commissary, then brigade commissary, then regimental commissary, then company commissary. Now, you know wereyou to start a nice hindquarter of beef, which had to pass through allthese hands, and every commissary take a choice steak and roast off it, there would be but little ever reach the company, and the poor man amongthe Johnnies had to feast like bears in winter--they had to suck theirpaws--but the rich Johnnies who had money could go to almost any ofthe gentlemen denominated commissaries (they ought to have been calledcormorants) and buy of them much nice fat beef and meal and flour andsugar and coffee and nice canvassed hams, etc. I have done it manytimes. They were keeping back the rations that had been issued to thearmy, and lining their own pockets. But when General Johnston tookcommand, this manipulating business played out. Rations would "spile"on their hands. Othello's occupation was gone. They received only onehundred and forty dollars a month then, and the high private got plentyto eat, and Mr. Cormorant quit making as much money as he had heretoforedone. Were you to go to them and make complaint, they would say, "I haveissued regular army rations to your company, and what is left over ismine, " and they were mighty exact about it. 

DALTON

We went into winter quarters at Dalton, and remained there during thecold, bad winter of 1863-64, about four months. The usual routine ofarmy life was carried on day by day, with not many incidents to vary themonotony of camp life. But occasionally the soldiers would engage ina snow ball battle, in which generals, colonels, captains and privatesall took part. They would usually divide off into two grand divisions, one line naturally becoming the attacking party, and the other thedefensive. The snow balls would begin to fly hither and thither, withan occasional knock down, and sometimes an ugly wound, where some meanfellow had enclosed a rock in his snow ball. It was fun while it lasted, but after it was over the soldiers were wet, cold and uncomfortable. I have seen charges and attacks and routes and stampedes, etc. , butbefore the thing was over, one side did not know one from the other. It was a general knock down and drag out affair. 

SHOOTING A DESERTER

One morning I went over to Deshler's brigade of Cleburne's division tosee my brother-in-law, Dr. J. E. Dixon. The snow was on the ground, and the boys were hard at it, "snow balling. " While I was standinglooking on, a file of soldiers marched by me with a poor fellow onhis way to be shot. He was blindfolded and set upon a stump, and thedetail formed. The command, "Ready, aim, fire!" was given, the volleydischarged, and the prisoner fell off the stump. He had not been killed. It was the sergeant's duty to give the _coup d'etat_, should not theprisoner be slain. The sergeant ran up and placed the muzzle of his gunat the head of the poor, pleading, and entreating wretch, his gun wasdischarged, and the wretched man only powder-burned, the gun being onethat had been loaded with powder only. The whole affair had to be goneover again. The soldiers had to reload and form and fire. The culpritwas killed stone dead this time. He had no sooner been taken up andcarried off to be buried, than the soldiers were throwing snow balls ashard as ever, as if nothing had happened. 

TEN MEN KILLED AT THE MOURNERS' BENCH

At this place (Dalton) a revival of religion sprang up, and there wasdivine service every day and night. Soldiers became serious on thesubject of their souls' salvation. In sweeping the streets and cleaningup, an old tree had been set on fire, and had been smoking and burningfor several days, and nobody seemed to notice it. That night there wasservice as usual, and the singing and sermon were excellent. The sermonwas preached by Rev. J. G. Bolton, chaplain of the Fiftieth TennesseeRegiment, assisted by Rev. C. D. Elliott, the services being held in theFourth Tennessee Regiment. As it was the custom to "call up mourners, "a long bench had been placed in proper position for them to kneel downat. Ten of them were kneeling at this mourners' bench, pouring out theirsouls in prayer to God, asking Him for the forgiveness of their sins, and for the salvation of their souls, for Jesus Christ their Redeemer'ssake, when the burning tree, without any warning, fell with a crash rightacross the ten mourners, crushing and killing them instantly. God hadheard their prayers. Their souls had been carried to heaven. Hereafter, henceforth, and forevermore, there was no more marching, battling, or camp duty for them. They had joined the army of the hosts of heaven. 

By order of the general, they were buried with great pomp and splendor, that is, for those times. Every one of them was buried in a coffin. Brass bands followed, playing the "Dead March, " and platoons fired overtheir graves. It was a soldier's funeral. The beautiful burial serviceof the Episcopal church was read by Rev. Allen Tribble. A hymn was sung, and prayer offered, and then their graves were filled as we marched sadlyback to camp. 

DR. C. T. QUINTARD

Dr. C. T. Quintard was our chaplain for the First Tennessee Regimentduring the whole war, and he stuck to us from the beginning even unto theend. During week days he ministered to us physically, and on Sundaysspiritually. He was one of the purest and best men I ever knew. Hewould march and carry his knapsack every day the same as any soldier. He had one text he preached from which I remember now. It was "theflying scroll. " He said there was a flying scroll continually passingover our heads, which was like the reflections in a looking-glass, and all of our deeds, both good and bad, were written upon it. He was agood doctor of medicine, as well as a good doctor of divinity, and aboveeither of these, he was a good man per se. Every old soldier of theFirst Tennessee Regiment will remember Dr. C. T. Quintard with thekindest and most sincere emotions of love and respect. He would go offinto the country and get up for our regiment clothing and provisions, and wrote a little prayer and song book, which he had published, and gaveit to the soldiers. I learned that little prayer and song book off byheart, and have a copy of it in my possession yet, which I would notpart with for any consideration. Dr. Quintard's nature was one of love. He loved the soldiers, and the soldiers loved him, and deep down inhis heart of hearts was a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ, theRedeemer of the world, implanted there by God the Father Himself. 

Y'S YOU GOT MY HOG?

One day, a party of "us privates" concluded we would go across theConasauga river on a raid. We crossed over in a canoe. After travelingfor some time, we saw a neat looking farm house, and sent one of theparty forward to reconnoiter. He returned in a few minutes and announcedthat he had found a fine fat sow in a pen near the house. Now, the planwe formed was for two of us to go into the house and keep the inmatesinterested and the other was to toll and drive off the hog. I was oneof the party which went into the house. There was no one there but anold lady and her sick and widowed daughter. They invited us in verypleasantly and kindly, and soon prepared us a very nice and good dinner. The old lady told us of all her troubles and trials. Her husband haddied before the war, and she had three sons in the army, two of whom hadbeen killed, and the youngest, who had been conscripted, was taken withthe camp fever and died in the hospital at Atlanta, and she had nothingto subsist upon, after eating up what they then had. I was muchinterested, and remained a little while after my comrade had left. I soon went out, having made up my mind to have nothing to do with thehog affair. I did not know how to act. I was in a bad fix. I had heardthe gun fire and knew its portent. I knew the hog was dead, and went onup the road, and soon overtook my two comrades with the hog, which hadbeen skinned and cut up, and was being carried on a pole between them. I did not know what to do. On looking back I saw the old lady coming andscreaming at the top of her voice, "You got my hog! You got my hog!"It was too late to back out now. We had the hog, and had to make themost of it, even if we did ruin a needy and destitute family. We went onuntil we came to the Conasauga river, when lo and behold! the canoe wason the other side of the river. It was dark then, and getting darker, and what was to be done we did not know. The weather was as cold asblue blazes, and spitting snow from the northwest. That river had to becrossed that night. I undressed and determined to swim it, and went in, but the little thin ice at the bank cut my feet. I waded in a littlefurther, but soon found I would cramp if I tried to swim it. I came outand put my clothes on, and thought of a gate about a mile back. We wentback and took the gate off its hinges and carried it to the river and putit in the water, but soon found out that all three of us could not rideon it; so one of the party got on it and started across. He did verywell until he came to the other bank, which was a high bluff, and ifhe got off the center of the gate it would capsize and he would get aducking. He could not get off the gate. I told him to pole the gate upto the bank, so that one side would rest on the bank, and then make aquick run for the bank. He thought he had got the gate about the rightplace, and then made a run, and the gate went under and so did he, in water ten feet deep. My comrade, Fount C. , who was with me on thebank, laughed, I thought, until he had hurt himself; but with me, Iassure you, it was a mighty sickly grin, and with the other one, BarkleyJ. , it was anything but a laughing matter. To me he seemed a hero. Barkley did about to liberate me from a very unpleasant position. He soon returned with the canoe, and we crossed the river with the hog. We worried and tugged with it, and got it to camp just before daylight. 

I had a guilty conscience, I assure you. The hog was cooked, but I didnot eat a piece of it. I felt that I had rather starve, and I believethat it would have choked me to death if I had attempted it. 

A short time afterward an old citizen from Maury county visited me. My father sent me, by him, a silver watch--which I am wearing today--and eight hundred dollars in old issue Confederate money. I took twohundred dollars of the money, and had it funded for new issue, 33 1/3cents discount. The other six hundred I sent to Vance Thompson, thenon duty at Montgomery, with instructions to send it to my brother, DaveWatkins, Uncle Asa Freeman, and J. E. Dixon, all of whom were inWheeler's cavalry, at some other point--I knew not where. After gettingmy money, I found that I had $133. 33 1/3. I could not rest. I took onehundred dollars, new issue, and going by my lone self back to the oldlady's house, I said, "Madam, some soldiers were here a short time ago, and took your hog. I was one of that party, and I wish to pay you forit. What was it worth?" "Well, sir, " says she, "money is of no value tome; I cannot get any article that I wish; I would much rather have thehog. " Says I, "Madam, that is an impossibility; your hog is dead and eatup, and I have come to pay you for it. " The old lady's eyes filled withtears. She said that she was perfectly willing to give the soldierseverything she had, and if she thought it had done us any good, she wouldnot charge anything for it. 

"Well, " says I, "Madam, here is a hundred dollar, new issue, Confederatebill. Will this pay you for your hog?" "Well, sir, " she says, drawingherself up to her full height, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing, "I do not want your money. I would feel that it was blood money. "I saw that there was no further use to offer it to her. I sat down bythe fire and the conversation turned upon other subjects. 

I helped the old lady catch a chicken (an old hen--about the last she had)for dinner, went with her in the garden and pulled a bunch of eschalots, brought two buckets of water, and cut and brought enough wood to lastseveral days. 

After awhile, she invited me to dinner, and after dinner I sat down byher side, took her old hand in mine, and told her the whole affair of thehog, from beginning to end; how sorry I was, and how I did not eat anyof that hog; and asked her as a special act of kindness and favor to me, to take the hundred dollars; that I felt bad about it, and if she wouldtake it, it would ease my conscience. I laid the money on the table andleft. I have never in my life made a raid upon anybody else. 

TARGET SHOOTING

By some hook, or crook, or blockade running, or smuggling, or Mason andSlidell, or Raphael Semmes, or something of the sort, the ConfederateStates government had come in possession of a small number of Whitworthguns, the finest long range guns in the world, and a monopoly by theEnglish government. They were to be given to the best shots in the army. One day Captain Joe P. Lee and Company H went out to shoot at a targetfor the gun. We all wanted the gun, because if we got it we would besharpshooters, and be relieved from camp duty, etc. 

All the generals and officers came out to see us shoot. The mark was putup about five hundred yards on a hill, and each of us had three shots. Every shot that was fired hit the board, but there was one man who camea little closer to the spot than any other one, and the Whitworth wasawarded him; and as we just turned round to go back to camp, a buckrabbit jumped up, and was streaking it as fast as he could make tracks, all the boys whooping and yelling as hard as they could, when JimmyWebster raised his gun and pulled down on him, and cut the rabbit's headentirely off with a minnie ball right back of his ears. He was abouttwo hundred and fifty yards off. It might have been an accidental shot, but General Leonidas Polk laughed very heartily at the incident, and Iheard him ask one of his staff if the Whitworth gun had been awarded. The staff officer responded that it had, and that a certain man inColonel Farquharson's regiment--the Fourth Tennessee--was the successfulcontestant, and I heard General Polk remark, "I wish I had another gun togive, I would give it to the young man that shot the rabbit's head off. "

None of our regiment got a Whitworth, but it has been subsequentlydeveloped that our regiment had some of the finest shots in it the worldever produced. For instance, George and Mack Campbell, of Maury county;Billy Watkins, of Nashville, and Colonel H. R. Field, and many others, who I cannot now recall to mind in this rapid sketch. 

UNCLE ZACK AND AUNT DAPHNE

While at this place, I went out one day to hunt someone to wash myclothes for me. I never was a good washerwoman. I could cook, bringwater and cut wood, but never was much on the wash. In fact, it was anuphill business for me to wash up "the things" after "grub time" in ourmess. 

I took my clothes and started out, and soon came to a little old negrohut. I went in and says to an old negress, "Aunty, I would like for youto do a little washing for me. " The old creature was glad to get it, as I agreed to pay her what it was worth. Her name was Aunt Daphne, and if she had been a politician, she would have been a success. I donot remember of a more fluent "conversationalist" in my life. Her tongueseemed to be on a balance, and both ends were trying to out-talk theother--but she was a good woman. Her husband was named Uncle Zack, and was the exact counterpart of Aunt Daphne. He always sat in thechimney corner, his feet in the ashes, and generally fast asleep. I am certain I never saw an uglier or more baboonish face in my life, but Uncle Zack was a good Christian, and I would sometimes wake him upto hear him talk Christian. 

He said that when he "fessed 'ligin, de debil come dare one nite, and say, 'Zack, come go wid me, ' and den de debil tek me to hell, and jes stretcha wire across hell, and hang me up jes same like a side of bacon, throughthe tongue. Well, dar I hang like de bacon, and de grease kept droppin'down, and would blaze up all 'round me. I jes stay dar and burn; andafter while de debil come 'round wid his gun, and say, 'Zack, I gwine toshoot you, ' and jes as he raise de gun, I jes jerk loose from dat wire, and I jes fly to heben. "

"Fly! did you have wings?"

"O, yes, sir, I had wings. "

"Well, after you got to heaven, what did you do then?"

"Well, I jes went to eatin' grass like all de balance of de lams. "

"What! were they eating grass?"

"O, yes, sir. "

"Well, what color were the lambs, Uncle Zack?"

"Well, sir, some of dem was white, and some black, and some spotted. "

"Were there no old rams or ewes among them?"

"No, sir; dey was all lams. "

"Well, Uncle Zack, what sort of a looking lamb were you?"

"Well, sir, I was sort of specklish and brown like. "

Old Zack begins to get sleepy. 

"Did you have horns, Uncle Zack?"

"Well, some of dem had little horns dat look like dey was jes sortersproutin' like. "

Zack begins to nod and doze a little. 

"Well, how often did they shear the lambs, Uncle Zack?"

"Well, w-e-l-l, w--e--l--l--, " and Uncle Zack was fast asleep and snoring, and dreaming no doubt of the beautiful pastures glimmering above theclouds of heaven. 

RED TAPE

While here I applied for a furlough. Now, reader, here commenced aseries of red tapeism that always had characterized the officers underBraggism. It had to go through every officer's hands, from corporal up, before it was forwarded to the next officer of higher grade, and so itpassed through every officer's hands. He felt it his sworn and boundduty to find some informality in it, and it was brought back forcorrection according to his notions, you see. Well, after getting thecorporal's consent and approval, it goes up to the sergeant. It ain'tright! Some informality, perhaps, in the wording and spelling. Thenthe lieutenants had to have a say in it, and when it got to the captain, it had to be read and re-read, to see that every "i" was dotted and "t"crossed, but returned because there was one word that he couldn't makeout. Then it was forwarded to the colonel. He would snatch it out ofyour hand, grit his teeth, and say, "D--n it;" feel in his vest pocketand take out a lead pencil, and simply write "app. " for approved. This would also be returned, with instructions that the colonel mustwrite "approved" in a plain hand, and with pen and ink. Then it went tothe brigadier-general. He would be engaged in a game of poker, and wouldtell you to call again, as he didn't have time to bother with those smallaffairs at present. "I'll see your five and raise you ten. " "I have astraight flush. " "Take the pot. " After setting him out, and when itwasn't his deal, I get up and walk around, always keeping the furloughin sight. After reading carefully the furlough, he says, "Well, sir, you have failed to get the adjutant's name to it. You ought to have thecolonel and adjutant, and you must go back and get their signatures. "After this, you go to the major-general. He is an old aristocraticfellow, who never smiles, and tries to look as sour as vinegar. He looksat the furlough, and looks down at the ground, holding the furlough inhis hand in a kind of dreamy way, and then says, "Well, sir, this isall informal. " You say, "Well, General, what is the matter with it?"He looks at you as if he hadn't heard you, and repeats very slowly, "Well, sir, this is informal, " and hands it back to you. You take it, feelingall the while that you wished you had not applied for a furlough, andby summoning all the fortitude that you possess, you say in a husky andchoking voice, "Well, general (you say the "general" in a sort of gulpand dry swallow), what's the matter with the furlough?" You look askance, and he very languidly re-takes the furlough and glances over it, ordershis negro boy to go and feed his horse, asks his cook how long it will bebefore dinner, hallooes at some fellow away down the hill that he wouldlike for him to call at 4 o'clock this evening, and tells his adjutant tosign the furlough. The adjutant tries to be smart and polite, smiles asmole both child-like and bland, rolls up his shirt-sleeves, and winksone eye at you, gets astraddle of a camp-stool, whistles a little stanzaof schottische, and with a big flourish of his pen, writes the major-general's name in small letters, and his own--the adjutant's--in verylarge letters, bringing the pen under it with tremendous flourishes, and writes approved and forwarded. You feel relieved. You feel that theanaconda's coil had been suddenly relaxed. Then you start out to thelieutenant-general; you find him. He is in a very learned and dignifiedconversation about the war in Chili. Well, you get very anxious for thewar in Chili to get to an end. The general pulls his side-whiskers, looks wise, and tells his adjutant to look over it, and, if correct, sign it. The adjutant does not deign to condescend to notice you. He seems to be full of gumbo or calf-tail soup, and does not wish hisequanimity disturbed. He takes hold of the document, and writes thelieutenant-general's name, and finishes his own name while looking inanother direction--approved and forwarded. Then you take it up to thegeneral; the guard stops you in a very formal way, and asks, "What do youwant?" You tell him. He calls for the orderly; the orderly gives it tothe adjutant, and you are informed that it will be sent to your coloneltonight, and given to you at roll-call in the morning. Now, reader, the above is a pretty true picture of how I got my furlough. 

I GET A FURLOUGH

After going through all the formality of red-tapeism, and being snubbedwith tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, I got my furlough. When it started out, it was on the cleanest piece of paper that could be found in BuckLanier's sutler's store. After it came back, it was pretty well used up, and looked as if it had gone through a very dark place, and been beatwith a soot-bag. But, anyhow, I know that I did not appreciate myfurlough half as much as I thought I would. I felt like returning it tothe gentlemen with my compliments, declining their kind favors. I feltthat it was unwillingly given, and, as like begets like, it was veryunwillingly received. Honestly, I felt as if I had made a bad bargain, and was keen to rue the trade. I did not know what to do with it; but, anyhow, I thought I would make the best of a bad bargain. I got on thecars at Dalton--now, here is a thing that I had long since forgottenabout--it was the first first-class passenger car that I had been insince I had been a soldier. The conductor passed around, and handed mea ticket with these words on it:

 "If you wish to travel with ease, Keep this ticket in sight, if you please; And if you wish to take a nap, Just stick this in your hat or cap. "

This was the poetry, reader, that was upon the ticket. The conductorcalled around every now and then, especially if you were asleep, to lookat your ticket, and every now and then a captain and a detail of threesoldiers would want to look at your furlough. I thought before I got toSelma, Alabama, that I wished the ticket and furlough both were in thebottom of the ocean, and myself back in camp. Everywhere I went someonewanted to see my furlough. Before I got my furlough, I thought itsounded big. Furlough was a war word, and I did not comprehend itsmeaning until I got one. The very word "furlough" made me sick then. I feel fainty now whenever I think of furlough. It has a sickening soundin the ring of it--"furlough!" "Furloch, " it ought to have been called. Every man I met had a furlough; in fact, it seemed to have the verydouble-extract of romance about it--"fur too, eh?" Men who I knew hadnever been in the army in their lives, all had furloughs. Where so manymen ever got furloughs from I never knew; but I know now. They were likethe old bachelor who married the widow with ten children--he married a"ready-made" family. They had ready-made furloughs. But I have saidenough on the furlough question; it enthralled me--let it pass; don'twant any more furloughs. But while on my furlough, I got with CaptainG. M. V. Kinzer, a fine-dressed and handsome cavalry captain, whom allthe ladies (as they do at the present day), fell in love with. Thecaptain and myself were great friends. The captain gave me his old coatto act captain in, but the old thing wouldn't act. I would keep thecollar turned down. One night we went to call on a couple of beautifuland interesting ladies near Selma. We chatted the girls until the "weesma' hours" of morning, and when the young ladies retired, remarked thatthey would send a servant to show us to our room. We waited; no servantcame. The captain and myself snoozed it out as best we could. Aboutdaylight the next morning the captain and myself thought that we wouldappear as if we had risen very early, and began to move about, andopening the door, there lay a big black negro on his knees and face. Now, reader, what do you suppose that negro was doing? You could notguess in a week. The black rascal! hideous! terrible to contemplate!vile! outrageous! Well, words cannot express it. What do you suppose hewas doing? He was fast asleep. He had come thus far, and could go nofurther, and fell asleep. There is where the captain and myself foundhim at daylight the next morning. We left for Selma immediately afterbreakfast, leaving the family in ignorance of the occurrence. Thecaptain and myself had several other adventures, but the captain alwayshad the advantage of me; he had the good clothes, and the good looks, and got all the good presents from the pretty young ladies--well, youmight say, "cut me out" on all occasions. "That's what makes me 'spisea furlough. " But then furlough sounds big, you know. 

CHAPTER XII

HUNDRED DAYS BATTLE

ROCKY FACE RIDGE

When I got back to Dalton, I found the Yankee army advancing; they wereat Rocky Face Ridge. Now, for old Joe's generalship. We have seen himin camp, now we will see him in action. We are marched to meet the enemy;we occupy Turner's Gap at Tunnel Hill. Now, come on, Mr. Yank--we arekeen for an engagement. It is like a picnic; the soldiers are ruddy andfat, and strong; whoop! whoop! hurrah! come on, Mr. Yank. We form lineof battle on top of Rocky Face Ridge, and here we are face to face withthe enemy. Why don't you unbottle your thunderbolts and dash us topieces? Ha! here it comes; the boom of cannon and the bursting of ashell in our midst. Ha! ha! give us another blizzard! Boom! boom!That's all right, you ain't hurting nothing. 

"Hold on, boys, " says a sharpshooter, armed with a Whitworth gun, "I'llstop that racket. Wait until I see her smoke again. " Boom, boom! thekeen crack of the Whitworth rings upon the frosty morning air; thecannoneers are seen to lie down; something is going on. "Yes, yonder isa fellow being carried off on a litter. " Bang! bang! goes the Whitworth, and the battery is seen to limber to the rear. What next? a yell!What does this yell mean? A charge right up the hill, and a littlesharp skirmish for a few moments. We can see the Yankee line. They areresting on their arms. The valley below is full of blue coats, but alittle too far off to do any execution. 

Old Joe walks along the line. He happens to see the blue coats in thevalley, in plain view. Company H is ordered to fire on them. We takedeliberate aim and fire a solid volley of minnie balls into their midst. We see a terrible consplutterment among them, and know that we havekilled and wounded several of Sherman's incendiaries. They seem to getmad at our audacity, and ten pieces of cannon are brought up, and pointedright toward us. We see the smoke boil up, and a moment afterwards theshell is roaring and bursting right among us. Ha! ha! ha! that's funny--we love the noise of battle. Captain Joe P. Lee orders us to load andfire at will upon these batteries. Our Enfields crack, keen and sharp;and ha, ha, ha, look yonder! The Yankees are running away from theircannon, leaving two pieces to take care of themselves. Yonder goes adash of our cavalry. They are charging right up in the midst of theYankee line. Three men are far in advance. Look out, boys! What doesthat mean? Our cavalry are falling back, and the three men are cut off. They will be captured, sure. They turn to get back to our lines. We can see the smoke boil up, and hear the discharge of musketry from theYankee lines. One man's horse is seen to blunder and fall, one man reelsin his saddle, and falls a corpse, and the other is seen to surrender. But, look yonder! the man's horse that blundered and fell is up again;he mounts his horse in fifty yards of the whole Yankee line, is seen tolie down on his neck, and is spurring him right on toward the solid lineof blue coats. Look how he rides, and the ranks of the blue coats open. Hurrah for the brave rebel boy! He has passed and is seen to regain hisregiment. I afterwards learned that that brave Rebel boy was my ownbrother, Dave, who at that time was not more than sixteen years old. The one who was killed was named Grimes, and the one captured was namedHouser, and the regiment was the First Tennessee Cavalry, then commandedby Colonel J. H. Lewis. You could have heard the cheers from both sides, it seemed, for miles. 

John Branch raised the tune, in which the whole First and Twenty-seventhRegiments joined in:

 "Cheer, boys, cheer, we are marching on to battle! Cheer, boys, cheer, for our sweethearts and our wives! Cheer, boys, cheer, we'll nobly do our duty, And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives. Old Lincoln, with his hireling hosts, Will never whip the South, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. "

All this is taking place while the Yankees are fully one thousand yardsoff. We can see every movement that is made, and we know that Sherman'sincendiaries are already hacked. Sherman himself is a coward, and daresnot try his strength with old Joe. Sherman never fights; all that heis after is marching to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders:"What a flank movement!" Yes, Sherman is afraid of minnie balls, andtries the flank movement. We are ordered to march somewhere. 

"FALLING BACK"

Old Joe knows what he is up to. Every night we change our position. The morrow's sun finds us face to face with the Yankee lines. The troopsare in excellent spirits. Yonder are our "big guns, " our cavalry--Forrest and Wheeler--our sharpshooters, and here is our wagon and supplytrain, right in our midst. The private's tread is light--his soul ishappy. 

Another flank movement. Tomorrow finds us face to face. Well, you havecome here to fight us; why don't you come on? We are ready; alwaysready. Everything is working like clockwork; machinery is all in order. Come, give us a tilt, and let us try our metal. You say old Joe has gotthe brains and you have got the men; you are going to flank us out of theSouthern Confederacy. That's your plan, is it? Well, look out; we aregoing to pick off and decimate your men every day. You will be a pickedchicken before you do that. 

What? The Yankees are at Resacca, and have captured the bridge acrossthe Oostanaula river. Well, now, that's business; that has the old ringin it. Tell it to us again; we're fond of hearing such things. 

The Yankees are tearing up the railroad track between the tank andResacca. Let's hear it again. The Yankees have opened the attack;we are going to have a battle; we are ordered to strip for the fight. (That is, to take off our knapsacks and blankets, and to detail Bev. White to guard them. ) Keep closed up, men. The skirmish line is firinglike popping fire-crackers on a Christmas morning. Every now and thenthe boom of a cannon and the screaming of a shell. Ha, ha, ha! that hasthe right ring. We will make Sherman's incendiaries tell another tale ina few moments, when--"Halt! about face. " Well, what's the matter now?Simply a flank movement. All right; we march back, retake our knapsacksand blankets, and commence to march toward Resacca. Tom Tucker's roostercrows, and John Branch raises the tune, "Just Twenty Years Ago, " andafter we sing that out, he winds up with, "There Was an AncientIndividual Whose Cognomen Was Uncle Edward, " and

 "The old woman who kept a peanut stand, And a big policeman stood by with a big stick in his hand, "

And Arthur Fulghum halloes out, "All right; go ahead! toot, toot, toot!puff, puff, puff! Tickets, gentlemen, tickets!" and the Maury Graysraise the yell, "All aboard for Culleoka, " while Walker Coleman commencesthe song, "I'se gwine to jine the rebel band, fightin' for my home. "Thus we go, marching back to Resacca. 

BATTLE OF RESACCA

Well, you want to hear about shooting and banging, now, gentle reader, don't you? I am sorry I cannot interest you on this subject--see history. 

The Yankees had got breeches hold on us. They were ten miles in our rear;had cut off our possibility of a retreat. The wire bridge was in theirhands, and they were on the railroad in our rear; but we were moving, there was no mistake in that. Our column was firm and strong. There wasno excitement, but we were moving along as if on review. We passed oldJoe and his staff. He has on a light or mole colored hat, with a blackfeather in it. He is listening to the firing going on at the front. One little cheer, and the very ground seems to shake with cheers. Old Joe smiles as blandly as a modest maid, raises his hat inacknowledgement, makes a polite bow, and rides toward the firing. Soon we are thrown into line of battle, in support of Polk's corps. We belong to Hardee's corps. Now Polk's corps advances to the attack, and Hardee's corps fifty or seventy-five yards in the rear. A thug, thug, thug; the balls are decimating our men; we can't fire; Polk's corps is infront of us; should it give way, then it will be our time. The air isfull of deadly missiles. We can see the two lines meet, and hear thedeadly crash of battle; can see the blaze of smoke and fire. The earthtrembles. Our little corps rush in to carry off our men as they are shotdown, killed and wounded. Lie down! thug, thug! General Hardee passesalong the line. "Steady, boys!" (The old general had on a white cravat;he had been married to a young wife not more than three weeks). "Go back, general, go back, go back, go back, " is cried all along the line. He passes through the missiles of death unscathed; stood all through thatstorm of bullets indifferent to their proximity (we were lying down, you know). The enemy is checked; yonder they fly, whipped and drivenfrom the field. "Attention! By the right flank, file left, march!Double quick!" and we were double quicking, we knew not whither, butthat always meant fight. We pass over the hill, and through the valley, and there is old Joe pointing toward the tank with his sword. (He lookedlike the pictures you see hung upon the walls). We cross the railroad. Halloo! here comes a cavalry charge from the Yankee line. Now for it;we will see how Yankee cavalry fight. We are not supported; what isthe matter? Are we going to be captured? They thunder down upon us. Their flat-footed dragoons shake and jar the earth. They are all aroundus--we are surrounded. "Form square! Platoons, right and left wheel!Kneel and fire!" There we were in a hollow square. The Yankees hadnever seen anything like that before. It was something new. Theycharged right upon us. Colonel Field, sitting on his gray mare, right inthe center of the hollow square, gives the command, "Front rank, kneeland present bayonet against cavalry. " The front rank knelt down, placingthe butts of their guns against their knees. "Rear rank, fire at will;commence firing. " Now, all this happened in less time than it has takenme to write it. They charged right upon us, no doubt expecting to rideright over us, and trample us to death with the hoofs of their horses. They tried to spur and whip their horses over us, but the horses had moresense than that. We were pouring a deadly fire right into their faces, and soon men and horses were writhing in the death agonies; officers wereyelling at the top of their voices, "Surrender! surrender!" but we werehaving too good a thing of it. We were killing them by scores, and theycould not fire at us; if they did they either overshot or missed theiraim. Their ranks soon began to break and get confused, and finally theywere routed, and broke and ran in all directions, as fast as their horsescould carry them. 

When we re-formed our regiment and marched back, we found that GeneralJohnston's army had all passed over the bridge at Resacca. Now, reader, this was one of our tight places. The First Tennessee Regiment wasalways ordered to hold tight places, which we always did. We were aboutthe last troops that passed over. 

Now, gentle reader, that is all I know of the battle of Resacca. Wehad repulsed every charge, had crossed the bridge with every wagon, andcannon, and everything, and had nothing lost or captured. It beatanything that has ever been recorded in history. I wondered why old Joedid not attack in their rear. The explanation was that Hood's line wasbeing enfiladed, his men decimated, and he could not hold his position. 

We are still fighting; battles innumerable. The Yankees had thrownpontoons across the river below Resacca, in hopes to intercept us on theother side. We were marching on the road; they seemed to be marchingparallel with us. It was fighting, fighting, every day. When we awokein the morning, the firing of guns was our reveille, and when the sunwent down it was our "retreat and our lights out. " Fighting, fighting, fighting, all day and all night long. Battles were fought every day, and in one respect we always had the advantage; they were the attackingparty, and we always had good breastworks thrown up during the night. 

Johnston's army was still intact. The soldiers drew their regularrations of biscuit and bacon, sugar and coffee, whisky and tobacco. When we went to sleep we felt that old Joe, the faithful old watch dog, had his eye on the enemy. No one was disposed to straggle and go back toCompany Q. (Company Q was the name for play-outs). They even felt saferin the regular line than in the rear with Company Q. 

Well as stated previously, it was battle, battle, battle, every day, for one hundred days. The boom of cannon, and the rattle of musketry wasour reveille and retreat, and Sherman knew that it was no child's play. 

Today, April 14, 1882, I say, and honestly say, that I sincerely believethe combined forces of the whole Yankee nation could never have brokenGeneral Joseph E. Johnston's line of battle, beginning at Rocky FaceRidge, and ending on the banks of the Chattahoochee. 

ADAIRSVILLE--OCTAGON HOUSE--THE FIRST TENNESSEE ALWAYS OCCUPIES TIGHTPLACES

We had stacked our arms and gone into camp, and had started to buildfires to cook supper. I saw our cavalry falling back, I thought, ratherhurriedly. I ran to the road and asked them what was the matter?They answered, "Matter enough; yonder are the Yankees, are you infantryfellows going to make a stand here?" I told Colonel Field what had beentold to me, and he hooted at the idea; but balls that had shucks tied totheir tails were passing over, and our regiment was in the rear of thewhole army. I could hardly draw anyone's attention to the fact that thecavalry had passed us, and that we were on the outpost of the whole army, when an order came for our regiment to go forward as rapidly as possibleand occupy an octagon house in our immediate front. The Yankees wereabout a hundred yards from the house on one side and we about a hundredyards on the other. The race commenced as to which side would get tothe house first. We reached it, and had barely gotten in, when they werebursting down the paling of the yard on the opposite side. The housewas a fine brick, octagon in shape, and as perfect a fort as could bedesired. We ran to the windows, upstairs, downstairs and in the cellar. The Yankees cheered and charged, and our boys got happy. Colonel Fieldtold us he had orders to hold it until every man was killed, and neverto surrender the house. It was a forlorn hope. We felt we were"gone fawn skins, " sure enough. At every discharge of our guns, we would hear a Yankee squall. The boys raised a tune--

 "I'se gwine to jine the Rebel band, A fighting for my home"--

as they loaded and shot their guns. Then the tune of--

 "Cheer, boys, cheer, we are marching on to battle! Cheer, boys, cheer, for our sweethearts and our wives! Cheer, boys, cheer, we'll nobly do our duty, And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives. "

Our cartridges were almost gone, and Lieutenant Joe Carney, Joe Sewell, and Billy Carr volunteered to go and bring a box of one thousandcartridges. They got out of the back window, and through that hail ofiron and lead, made their way back with the box of cartridges. Ourammunition being renewed, the fight raged on. Captain Joe P. Lee touchedme on the shoulder and said, "Sam, please let me have your gun for oneshot. " He raised it to his shoulder and pulled down on a fine-dressedcavalry officer, and I saw that Yankee tumble. He handed it back to meto reload. About twelve o'clock, midnight, the Hundred and Fifty-fourthTennessee, commanded by Colonel McGevney, came to our relief. 

The firing had ceased, and we abandoned the octagon house. Our dead andwounded--there were thirty of them--were in strange contrast with thefurniture of the house. Fine chairs, sofas, settees, pianos and Brusselscarpeting being made the death-bed of brave and noble boys, all saturatedwith blood. Fine lace and damask curtains, all blackened by the smokeof battle. Fine bureaus and looking-glasses and furniture being riddledby the rude missiles of war. Beautiful pictures in gilt frames, and alibrary of valuable books, all shot and torn by musket and cannon balls. Such is war. 

KENNESAW LINE

The battles of the Kennesaw line were fought for weeks. Cannonading andmusketry firing was one continual thing. It seemed that shooting was theorder of the day, and pickets on both sides kept up a continual firing, that sounded like ten thousand wood-choppers. Sometimes the wood-choppers would get lazy or tired and there was a lull. But you couldalways tell when the old guard had been relieved, by the acceleratedchops of the wood-choppers. 

AM DETAILED TO GO INTO THE ENEMY'S LINES

One day our orderly sergeant informed me that it was my regular time togo on duty, and to report to Captain Beasley, of the Twenty-seventh. I reported to the proper place, and we were taken to the headquarters ofGeneral Leonidas Polk. We had to go over into the enemy's lines, andmake such observations as we could, and report back by daylight in themorning. Our instructions were to leave everything in camp except ourguns and cartridge-boxes. These were to be carried, but, under nocircumstances, to be used, except in case of death itself. We wereinstructed to fall in in the rear of our relief guard, which would go outabout sunset; not to attract their attention, but to drop out one or twoat a time; to pass the Yankee picket as best we could, even if we had tocrawl on our bellies to do so; to go over in the Yankee lines, and tofind out all we could, without attracting attention, if possible. These were our instructions. You may be sure my heart beat like amuffled drum when I heard our orders. 

I felt like making my will. But, like the boy who was passing thegraveyard, I tried to whistle to keep my spirits up. We followed therelief guard, and one by one stepped off from the rear. I was with twoothers, Arnold Zellner and T. C. Dornin. We found ourselves between thepicket lines of the two armies. Fortune seemed to favor us. It was justgetting dusky twilight, and we saw the relief guard of the Yankees justputting on their picket. They seemed to be very mild, inoffensivefellows. They kept a looking over toward the Rebel lines, and woulddodge if a twig cracked under their feet. I walked on as if I was justrelieved, and had passed their lines, when I turned back, and says I, "Captain, what guard is this?" He answered, "Nien bocht, you bet, "is what I understood him to say. "What regiment are you from?" "Benbicht mir ein riefel fab bien. " "What regiment is your detail from?""Iet du mein got Donnermetter stefel switzer. " I had to give it up--I had run across the detail of a Dutch regiment. I passed on, and cameto the regular line of breastworks, and there was an old Irishman sittingon a stump grinding coffee. "General McCook's brigade, be jabbers, "he answered to my inquiry as to what regiment it was. Right in front ofme the line was full of Irish soldiers, and they were cooking supper. I finally got over their breastworks, and was fearful I would run intosome camp or headquarter guard, and the countersign would be demanded ofme. I did not know what to do in that case--but I thought of the waythat I had gotten in hundreds of times before in our army, when I wantedto slip the guard, and that was to get a gun, go to some cross street orconspicuous place, halt the officer, and get the countersign. And whilestanding near General Sherman's headquarters, I saw a courier come outof his tent, get on his horse, and ride toward where I stood. As heapproached, says I, "Halt! who goes there?" "A friend with thecountersign. " He advanced, and whispered in my ear the word "United. "He rode on. I had gotten their countersign, and felt I was no longer aprisoner. I went all over their camp, and saw no demonstration of anykind. Night had thrown her mantle over the encampment. I could plainlysee the sentinels on their weary vigils along the lines, but there wasnone in their rear. I met and talked with a great many soldiers, butcould get no information from them. 

About 2 o'clock at night, I saw a body of men approaching where I was. Something told me that I had better get out of their way, but I did not. The person in command said, "Say, there! you, sir; say, you, sir!"Says I, "Are you speaking to me?" "Yes, " very curtly and abruptly. "What regiment do you belong to?" Says I, "One hundred and twenty-seventh Illinois. " "Well, sir, fall in here; I am ordered to take up allstragglers. Fall in, fall in promptly!" Says I, "I am instructed byGeneral McCook to remain here and direct a courier to General Williams'headquarters. " He says, "It's a strange place for a courier to come to. "His command marched on. About an hour afterwards--about 3 o'clock--I heard the assembly sound. I knew then that it was about time for meto be getting out of the way. Soon their companies were forming, andthey were calling the roll everywhere. Everything had begun to stir. Artillery men were hitching up their horses. Men were dashing about inevery direction. I saw their army form and move off. I got back intoour lines, and reported to General Polk. 

He was killed that very day on the Kennesaw line. General Stephens waskilled the very next day. 

Every now and then a dead picket was brought in. Times had begun to lookbilious, indeed. Their cannon seemed to be getting the best of ours inevery fight. The cannons of both armies were belching and bellowing ateach other, and the pickets were going it like wood choppers, in earnest. We were entrenched behind strong fortifications. Our rations were cookedand brought to us regularly, and the spirits of the army were in goodcondition. 

We continued to change position, and build new breastworks every night. One-third of the army had to keep awake in the trenches, while the othertwo-thirds slept. But everything was so systematized, that we did notfeel the fatigue. 

PINE MOUNTAIN--DEATH OF GENERAL LEONIDAS POLK

General Leonidas Polk, our old leader, whom we had followed all throughthat long war, had gone forward with some of his staff to the top of PineMountain, to reconnoiter, as far as was practicable, the position of theenemy in our front. While looking at them with his field glass, a solidshot from the Federal guns struck him on his left breast, passing throughhis body and through his heart. I saw him while the infirmary corpswere bringing him off the field. He was as white as a piece of marble, and a most remarkable thing about him was, that not a drop of blood wasever seen to come out of the place through which the cannon ball hadpassed. My pen and ability is inadequate to the task of doing his memoryjustice. Every private soldier loved him. Second to Stonewall Jackson, his loss was the greatest the South ever sustained. When I saw him theredead, I felt that I had lost a friend whom I had ever loved and respected, and that the South had lost one of her best and greatest generals. 

His soldiers always loved and honored him. They called him "Bishop Polk. ""Bishop Polk" was ever a favorite with the army, and when any positionwas to be held, and it was known that "Bishop Polk" was there, we knewand felt that "all was well. "

GOLGOTHA CHURCH--GENERAL LUCIUS E. POLK WOUNDED

On this Kennesaw line, near Golgotha Church, one evening about 4 o'clock, our Confederate line of battle and the Yankee line came in closeproximity. If I mistake not, it was a dark, drizzly, rainy evening. The cannon balls were ripping and tearing through the bushes. The twolines were in plain view of each other. General Pat Cleburne was at thistime commanding Hardee's corps, and General Lucius E. Polk was in commandof Cleburne's division. General John C. Brown's division was supportingCleburne's division, or, rather, "in echelon. " Every few moments, a raking fire from the Yankee lines would be poured into our lines, tearing limbs off the trees, and throwing rocks and dirt in everydirection; but I never saw a soldier quail, or even dodge. We hadconfidence in old Joe, and were ready to march right into the midst ofbattle at a moment's notice. While in this position, a bomb, loadedwith shrapnel and grapeshot, came ripping and tearing through our ranks, wounding General Lucius E. Polk, and killing some of his staff. And, right here, I deem it not inappropriate to make a few remarks as to thecharacter and appearance of so brave and gallant an officer. At thistime he was about twenty-five years old, with long black hair, thatcurled, a gentle and attractive black eye that seemed to sparkle withlove rather than chivalry, and were it not for a young moustache andgoatee that he usually wore, he would have passed for a beautiful girl. In his manner he was as simple and guileless as a child, and generousalmost to a fault. Enlisting in the First Arkansas Regiment as a privatesoldier, and serving for twelve months as orderly sergeant; at thereorganization he was elected colonel of the regiment, and afterwards, on account of merit and ability, was commissioned brigadier-general;distinguishing himself for conspicuous bravery and gallantry on everybattlefield, and being "scalped" by a minnie ball at Richmond, Kentucky--which scar marks its furrow on top of his head today. In every battlehe was engaged in, he led his men to victory, or held the enemy at bay, while the surge of battle seemed against us; he always seemed thesuccessful general, who would snatch victory out of the very jaws ofdefeat. In every battle, Polk's brigade, of Cleburne's division, distinguished itself, almost making the name of Cleburne as the Stonewallof the West. Polk was to Cleburne what Murat or the old guard was toNapoleon. And, at the battle of Chickamauga, when it seemed that theSouthern army had nearly lost the battle, General Lucius E. Polk'sbrigade made the most gallant charge of the war, turning the tide ofaffairs, and routing the Yankee army. General Polk himself led thecharge in person, and was the first man on top of the Yankee breastworks(_vide_ General D. H. Hill's report of the battle of Chickamauga), and in every attack he had the advance guard, and in every retreat, the rear guard of the army. Why? Because General Lucius E. Polk andhis brave soldiers _never_ faltered, and with him as leader, the generalcommanding the army knew that "all was well. "

Well, this evening of which I now write, the litter corps ran up andplaced him on a litter, and were bringing him back through Company H, of our regiment, when one of the men was wounded, and I am not sure butanother one was killed, and they let him fall to the ground. At thattime, the Yankees seemed to know that they had killed or wounded ageneral, and tore loose their batteries upon this point. The dirt androcks were flying in every direction, when Captain Joe P. Lee, JimBrandon and myself, ran forward, grabbed up the litter, brought GeneralPolk off the crest of the hill, and assisted in carrying him to theheadquarters of General Cleburne. When we got to General Cleburne, he came forward and asked General Polk if he was badly wounded, andGeneral Polk remarked, laughingly: "Well, I think I will be able to get afurlough now. " This is a fact. General Polk's leg had been shot almostentirely off. I remember the foot part being twisted clear around, and lying by his side, while the blood was running through the litter ina perfect stream. I remember, also, that General Cleburne dashed a tearfrom his eye with his hand, and saying, "Poor fellow, " at once gallopedto the front, and ordered an immediate advance of our lines. Cleburne'sdivision was soon engaged. Night coming on, prevented a generalengagement, but we drove the Yankee line two miles. 

"DEAD ANGLE"

The First and Twenty-seventh Tennessee Regiments will ever remember thebattle of "Dead Angle, " which was fought June 27th, on the Kennesaw line, near Marietta, Georgia. It was one of the hottest and longest days ofthe year, and one of the most desperate and determinedly resisted battlesfought during the whole war. Our regiment was stationed on an angle, a little spur of the mountain, or rather promontory of a range of hills, extending far out beyond the main line of battle, and was subject to theenfilading fire of forty pieces of artillery of the Federal batteries. It seemed fun for the guns of the whole Yankee army to play upon thispoint. We would work hard every night to strengthen our breastworks, and the very next day they would be torn down smooth with the groundby solid shots and shells from the guns of the enemy. Even the littletrees and bushes which had been left for shade, were cut down as so muchstubble. For more than a week this constant firing had been kept upagainst this salient point. In the meantime, the skirmishing in thevalley below resembled the sounds made by ten thousand wood-choppers. 

Well, on the fatal morning of June 27th, the sun rose clear and cloudless, the heavens seemed made of brass, and the earth of iron, and as the sunbegan to mount toward the zenith, everything became quiet, and no soundwas heard save a peckerwood on a neighboring tree, tapping on its oldtrunk, trying to find a worm for his dinner. We all knew it was but thedead calm that precedes the storm. On the distant hills we could plainlysee officers dashing about hither and thither, and the Stars and Stripesmoving to and fro, and we knew the Federals were making preparations forthe mighty contest. We could hear but the rumbling sound of heavy guns, and the distant tread of a marching army, as a faint roar of the comingstorm, which was soon to break the ominous silence with the sound ofconflict, such as was scarcely ever before heard on this earth. Itseemed that the archangel of Death stood and looked on with outstretchedwings, while all the earth was silent, when all at once a hundred gunsfrom the Federal line opened upon us, and for more than an hour theypoured their solid and chain shot, grape and shrapnel right upon thissalient point, defended by our regiment alone, when, all of a sudden, our pickets jumped into our works and reported the Yankees advancing, and almost at the same time a solid line of blue coats came up the hill. I discharged my gun, and happening to look up, there was the beautifulflag of the Stars and Stripes flaunting right in my face, and I heardJohn Branch, of the Rock City Guards, commanded by Captain W. D. Kelly, who were next Company H, say, "Look at that Yankee flag; shoot thatfellow; snatch that flag out of his hand!" My pen is unable to describethe scene of carnage and death that ensued in the next two hours. Column after column of Federal soldiers were crowded upon that line, and by referring to the history of the war you will find they were massedin column forty columns deep; in fact, the whole force of the Yankee armywas hurled against this point, but no sooner would a regiment mount ourworks than they were shot down or surrendered, and soon we had every"gopher hole" full of Yankee prisoners. Yet still the Yankees came. It seemed impossible to check the onslaught, but every man was trueto his trust, and seemed to think that at that moment the wholeresponsibility of the Confederate government was rested upon hisshoulders. Talk about other battles, victories, shouts, cheers, andtriumphs, but in comparison with this day's fight, all others dwarfinto insignificance. The sun beaming down on our uncovered heads, thethermometer being one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, and a solidline of blazing fire right from the muzzles of the Yankee guns beingpoured right into our very faces, singeing our hair and clothes, the hotblood of our dead and wounded spurting on us, the blinding smoke andstifling atmosphere filling our eyes and mouths, and the awful concussioncausing the blood to gush out of our noses and ears, and above all, the roar of battle, made it a perfect pandemonium. Afterward I heard asoldier express himself by saying that he thought "Hell had broke loosein Georgia, sure enough. "

I have heard men say that if they ever killed a Yankee during the warthey were not aware of it. I am satisfied that on this memorable day, every man in our regiment killed from one score to four score, yea, five score men. I mean from twenty to one hundred each. All that wasnecessary was to load and shoot. In fact, I will ever think that thereason they did not capture our works was the impossibility of theirliving men passing over the bodies of their dead. The ground was piledup with one solid mass of dead and wounded Yankees. I learned afterwardsfrom the burying squad that in some places they were piled up like cordwood, twelve deep. 

After they were time and time again beaten back, they at last wereenabled to fortify a line under the crest of the hill, only thirty yardsfrom us, and they immediately commenced to excavate the earth with thepurpose of blowing up our line. 

We remained here three days after the battle. In the meantime the woodshad taken fire, and during the nights and days of all that time continuedto burn, and at all times, every hour of day and night, you could hearthe shrieks and screams of the poor fellows who were left on the field, and a stench, so sickening as to nauseate the whole of both armies, arose from the decaying bodies of the dead left lying on the field. 

On the third morning the Yankees raised a white flag, asked an armisticeto bury their dead, not for any respect either army had for the dead, but to get rid of the sickening stench. I get sick now when I happen tothink about it. Long and deep trenches were dug, and hooks made frombayonets crooked for the purpose, and all the dead were dragged andthrown pell mell into these trenches. Nothing was allowed to be takenoff the dead, and finely dressed officers, with gold watch chainsdangling over their vests, were thrown into the ditches. During thewhole day both armies were hard at work, burying the Federal dead. 

Every member of the First and Twenty-seventh Tennessee Regiments deservesa wreath of imperishable fame, and a warm place in the hearts of theircountrymen, for their gallant and heroic valor at the battle of DeadAngle. No man distinguished himself above another. All did their duty, and the glory of one is but the glory and just tribute of the others. 

After we had abandoned the line, and on coming to a little stream ofwater, I undressed for the purpose of bathing, and after undressingfound my arm all battered and bruised and bloodshot from my wrist to myshoulder, and as sore as a blister. I had shot one hundred and twentytimes that day. My gun became so hot that frequently the powder wouldflash before I could ram home the ball, and I had frequently to exchangemy gun for that of a dead comrade. 

Colonel H. R. Field was loading and shooting the same as any private inthe ranks when he fell off the skid from which he was shooting rightover my shoulder, shot through the head. I laid him down in the trench, and he said, "Well, they have got me at last, but I have killed fifteenof them; time about is fair play, I reckon. " But Colonel Field wasnot killed--only wounded, and one side paralyzed. Captain Joe P. Lee, Captain Mack Campbell, Lieutenant T. H. Maney, and other officers of theregiment, threw rocks and beat them in their faces with sticks. TheYankees did the same. The rocks came in upon us like a perfect hailstorm, and the Yankees seemed very obstinate, and in no hurry to get awayfrom our front, and we had to keep up the firing and shooting them downin self-defense. They seemed to walk up and take death as coolly as ifthey were automatic or wooden men, and our boys did not shoot for the funof the thing. It was, verily, a life and death grapple, and the leastflicker on our part, would have been sure death to all. We could not bereinforced on account of our position, and we had to stand up to the rack, fodder or no fodder. When the Yankees fell back, and the firing ceased, I never saw so many broken down and exhausted men in my life. I was assick as a horse, and as wet with blood and sweat as I could be, and manyof our men were vomiting with excessive fatigue, over-exhaustion, andsunstroke; our tongues were parched and cracked for water, and our facesblackened with powder and smoke, and our dead and wounded were piledindiscriminately in the trenches. There was not a single man in thecompany who was not wounded, or had holes shot through his hat andclothing. Captain Beasley was killed, and nearly all his company killedand wounded. The Rock City Guards were almost piled in heaps and so wasour company. Captain Joe P. Lee was badly wounded. Poor Walter Hood andJim Brandon were lying there among us, while their spirits were in heaven;also, William A. Hughes, my old mess-mate and friend, who had clerkedwith me for S. F. & J. M. Mayes, and who had slept with me for lo! thesemany years, and a boy who loved me more than any other person on earthhas ever done. I had just discharged the contents of my gun into thebosoms of two men, one right behind the other, killing them both, and wasre-loading, when a Yankee rushed upon me, having me at a disadvantage, and said, "You have killed my two brothers, and now I've got you. "Everything I had ever done rushed through my mind. I heard the roar, and felt the flash of fire, and saw my more than friend, WilliamA. Hughes, grab the muzzle of the gun, receiving the whole contents inhis hand and arm, and mortally wounding him. Reader, he died for me. In saving my life, he lost his own. When the infirmary corps carried himoff, all mutilated and bleeding he told them to give me "Florence Fleming"(that was the name of his gun, which he had put on it in silver letters), and to give me his blanket and clothing. He gave his life for me, and everything that he had. It was the last time that I ever saw him, but I know that away up yonder, beyond the clouds, blackness, tempestand night, and away above the blue vault of heaven, where the stars keeptheir ceaseless vigils, away up yonder in the golden city of the NewJerusalem, where God and Jesus Christ, our Savior, ever reign, we willsometime meet at the marriage supper of the Son of God, who gave His lifefor the redemption of the whole world. 

For several nights they made attacks upon our lines, but in every attempt, they were driven back with great slaughter. They would ignite the tapeof bomb shells, and throw them over in our lines, but, if the shell didnot immediately explode, they were thrown back. They had a little shellcalled _hand grenade_, but they would either stop short of us, or goover our heads, and were harmless. General Joseph E. Johnston sent us acouple of _chevaux-de-frise_. When they came, a detail of three men hadto roll them over the works. Those three men were heroes. Their nameswere Edmund Brandon, T. C. Dornin, and Arnold Zellner. Although it wasa solemn occasion, every one of us was convulsed with laughter at theridiculous appearance and actions of the detail. Every one of them madetheir wills and said their prayers truthfully and honestly, before theyundertook the task. I laugh now every time I think of the ridiculousappearance of the detail, but to them it was no laughing matter. Iwill say that they were men who feared not, nor faltered in their duty. They were men, and today deserve the thanks of the people of the South. That night about midnight, an alarm was given that the Yankees wereadvancing. They would only have to run about twenty yards before theywould be in our works. We were ordered to "shoot. " Every man washallooing at the top of his voice, "Shoot, shoot, tee, shoot, shootee. "On the alarm, both the Confederate and Federal lines opened, with bothsmall arms and artillery, and it seemed that the very heavens and earthwere in a grand conflagration, as they will be at the final judgment, after the resurrection. I have since learned that this was a false alarm, and that no attack had been meditated. 

Previous to the day of attack, the soldiers had cut down all the trees inour immediate front, throwing the tops down hill and sharpening the limbsof the same, thus making, as we thought, an impenetrable abattis of vinesand limbs locked together; but nothing stopped or could stop the advanceof the Yankee line, but the hot shot and cold steel that we poured intotheir faces from under our head-logs. 

One of the most shameful and cowardly acts of Yankee treachery wascommitted there that I ever remember to have seen. A wounded Yankee waslying right outside of our works, and begging most piteously for water, when a member of the railroad company (his name was Hog Johnson, andthe very man who stood videt with Theodore Sloan and I at the battle ofMissionary Ridge, and who killed the three Yankees, one night, from FortHorsley), got a canteen of water, and gave the dying Yankee a drink, and as he started back, he was killed dead in his tracks by a treacherousYankee hid behind a tree. It matters not, for somewhere in God's HolyWord, which cannot lie, He says that "He that giveth a cup of cold waterin my name, shall not lose his reward. " And I have no doubt, reader, in my own mind, that the poor fellow is reaping his reward in Emanuel'sland with the good and just. In every instance where we tried to assisttheir wounded, our men were killed or wounded. A poor wounded and dyingboy, not more than sixteen years of age, asked permission to crawl overour works, and when he had crawled to the top, and just as Blair Websterand I reached up to help the poor fellow, he, the Yankee, was killed byhis own men. In fact, I have ever thought that is why the slaughter wasso great in our front, that nearly, if not as many, Yankees were killedby their own men as by us. The brave ones, who tried to storm and carryour works, were simply between two fires. It is a singular fanaticism, and curious fact, that enters the mind of a soldier, that it is a grandand glorious death to die on a victorious battlefield. One morning theSixth and Ninth Regiments came to our assistance--not to relieve us--but only to assist us, and every member of our regiment--First andTwenty-seventh--got as mad as a "wet hen. " They felt almost insulted, and I believe we would soon have been in a free fight, had they not beenordered back. As soon as they came up every one of us began to say, "Go back! go back! we can hold this place, and by the eternal God weare not going to leave it. " General Johnston came there to look at theposition, and told us that a transverse line was about one hundred yardsin our rear, and should they come on us too heavy to fall back to thatline, when almost every one of us said, "You go back and look at otherlines, this place is safe, and can never be taken. " And then when theyhad dug a tunnel under us to blow us up, we laughed, yea, even rejoiced, at the fact of soon being blown sky high. Yet, not a single man waswilling to leave his post. When old Joe sent us the two _chevaux-de-frise_, and kept on sending us water, and rations, and whisky, andtobacco, and word to hold our line, we would invariably send word back torest easy, and that all is well at Dead Angle. I have ever thought thatis one reason why General Johnston fell back from this Kennesaw line, and I will say today, in 1882, that while we appreciated his sympathiesand kindness toward us, yet we did not think hard of old Joe for havingso little confidence in us at that time. A perfect hail of minnieballs was being continually poured into our head-logs the whole time weremained here. The Yankees would hold up small looking-glasses, so thatour strength and breastworks could be seen in the reflection in the glass;and they also had small mirrors on the butts of their guns, so arrangedthat they could hight up the barrels of their guns by looking throughthese glasses, while they themselves would not be exposed to our fire, and they kept up this continual firing day and night, whether they couldsee us or not. Sometimes a glancing shot from our head-logs would woundsome one. 

But I cannot describe it as I would wish. I would be pleased to mentionthe name of every soldier, not only of Company H alone, but every man inthe First and Twenty-seventh Tennessee Consolidated Regiments on thisoccasion, but I cannot now remember their names, and will not mentionany one in particular, fearing to do injustice to some whom I mightinadvertently omit. Every man and every company did their duty. CompanyG, commanded by Captain Mack Campbell, stood side by side with us on thisoccasion, as they ever had during the whole war. But soldiers of theFirst and Twenty-seventh Regiments, it is with a feeling of pride andsatisfaction to me, today, that I was associated with so many noble andbrave men, and who were subsequently complimented by Jeff Davis, thenPresident of the Confederate States of America, in person, who said, "That every member of our regiment was fit to be a captain"--his verywords. I mention Captain W. C. Flournoy, of Company K, the Martin Guards;Captain Ledbetter, of the Rutherford Rifles; Captains Kelly and Steele, of the Rock City Guards, and Captain Adkisson, of the Williamson Grays, and Captain Fulcher, and other names of brave and heroic men, some ofwhom live today, but many have crossed the dark river and are "restingunder the shade of the trees" on the other shore, waiting and watchingfor us, who are left to do justice to their memory and our cause, andwhen we old Rebels have accomplished God's purpose on earth, we, too, will be called to give an account of our battles, struggles, and triumphs. 

Reader mine, I fear that I have wearied you with too long a descriptionof the battle of "Dead Angle, " if so, please pardon me, as this isbut a sample of the others which will now follow each other in rapidsuccession. And, furthermore, in stating the above facts, the half hasnot been told, but it will give you a faint idea of the hard battles andprivations and hardships of the soldiers in that stormy epoch--who died, grandly, gloriously, nobly; dyeing the soil of old mother earth, andenriching the same with their crimson life's blood, while doing what?Only trying to protect their homes and families, their property, theirconstitution and their laws, that had been guaranteed to them as aheritage forever by their forefathers. They died for the faith thateach state was a separate sovereign government, as laid down by theDeclaration of Independence and the Constitution of our fathers. 

BATTLE OF NEW HOPE CHURCH

We were on a forced march along a dusty road. I never in my whole lifesaw more dust. The dust fairly popped under our feet, like tramping ina snow-drift, and our eyes, and noses, and mouths, were filled with thedust that arose from our footsteps, and to make matters worse, the boysall tried to kick up a "bigger dust. " Cavalry and artillery could not beseen at ten paces, being perfectly enveloped in dust. It was a perfectfog of dust. We were marching along, it then being nearly dark, when weheard the hoarse boom of a cannon in our rear. It sounded as if it hada bad attack of croup. It went, "Croup, croup, croup. " The order wasgiven to "about face, double quick, march. " We double quicked back tothe old church on the road side, when the First Tennessee Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Lewis, and the Ninth Battalion, commanded by MajorJames H. Akin, passed us, and charged the advance of the Federal forces. We were supporting the cavalry. We heard them open. Deadly missileswere flying in every direction. The peculiar thud of spent balls andballs with shucks tied to their tails were passing over our heads. We were expecting that the cavalry would soon break, and that we would beordered into action. But the news came from the front, that the cavalrywere not only holding their position, but were driving the enemy. The earth jarred and trembled; the fire fiend seemed unchained; woundedmen were coming from the front. I asked the litter corps, "Who have youthere?" And one answered, "Captain Asa G. Freeman. " I asked if he wasdangerously wounded, and he simply said, "Shot through both thighs, "and passed on. About this time we heard the whoops and cheers of thecavalry, and knew that the Yankees were whipped and falling back. We marched forward and occupied the place held by the cavalry. The treeslooked as if they had been cut down for new ground, being mutilated andshivered by musket and cannon balls. Horses were writhing in their deathagony, and the sickening odor of battle filled the air. Well, well, those who go to battle may expect to die. An halo ever surrounds thesoldier's life, because he is ever willing to die for his country. 

BATTLE OF DALLAS--BRECKINRIDGE CHARGES THE HEIGHTS

We are ordered to march to Dallas. 

Reader, somehow the name and character of General John C. Breckinridgecharms me. That morning he looked grand and glorious. His infantry, artillery, and cavalry were drawn up in line of battle in our immediatefront. He passed along the line, and stopping about the center of thecolumn, said, "Soldiers, we have been selected to go forward and captureyon heights. Do you think we can take them? I will lead the attack. "The men whooped, and the cry, "We can, we can, " was heard from one end ofthe line to the other. Then, "Forward, guide center, march!" were wordsre-repeated by colonels and captains. They debouched through the woods, and passed out of sight in a little ravine, when we saw them emerge in anopen field and advance right upon the Federal breastworks. It was thegrandest spectacle I ever witnessed. We could see the smoke and dustof battle, and hear the shout of the charge, and the roar and rattle ofcannon and musketry. But Breckinridge's division continued to pressforward, without wavering or hesitating. We can see the line of deadand wounded along the track over which he passed, and finally we see ourbattle flag planted upon the Federal breastworks. I cannot describe thescene. If you, reader, are an old soldier, you can appreciate my failureto give a pen picture of battle. But Breckinridge could not long holdhis position. Why we were not ordered forward to follow up his success, I do not know; but remember, reader, I am not writing history. I tryonly to describe events as I witnessed them. 

We marched back to the old church on the roadside, called New Hope church, and fortified, occupying the battlefield of the day before. The stenchand sickening odor of dead men and horses were terrible. We had tobreathe the putrid atmosphere. 

The next day, Colonel W. M. Voorhies' Forty-eighth Tennessee Regimenttook position on our right. Now, here were all the Maury county boys gottogether at New Hope church. I ate dinner with Captain Joe Love, andFrank Frierson filled my haversack with hardtack and bacon. 

BATTLE OF ZION CHURCH, JULY 4TH, 1864

The 4th day of July, twelve months before, Pemberton had surrenderedtwenty-five thousand soldiers, two hundred pieces of artillery, and othermunitions of war in proportion, at Vicksburg. The Yankees wanted tocelebrate the day. They thought it was their lucky day; but old Joethought he had as much right to celebrate the Sabbath day of AmericanIndependence as the Yankees had, and we celebrated it. About dawn, continued boom of cannon reverberated over the hills as if firing aFourth of July salute. I was standing on top of our works, leveling themoff with a spade. A sharpshooter fired at me, but the ball missed meand shot William A. Graham through the heart. He was as noble and bravea soldier as ever drew the breath of life, and lacked but a few votesof being elected captain of Company H, at the reorganization. He wassmoking his pipe when he was shot. We started to carry him to the rear, but he remarked, "Boys, it is useless; please lay me down and let me die. "I have never in my life seen any one meet death more philosophically. He was dead in a moment. General A. J. Vaughan, commanding GeneralPreston Smith's brigade, had his foot shot off by a cannon ball a fewminutes afterwards. 

It seemed that both Confederate and Federal armies were celebrating theFourth of July. I cannot now remember a more severe artillery duel. Two hundred cannon were roaring and belching like blue blazes. It wasbut a battle of cannonade all day long. It seemed as though theConfederate and Federal cannons were talking to each other. Sometimes aball passing over would seem to be mad, then again some would seem to belaughing, some would be mild, some sad, some gay, some sorrowful, somerollicking and jolly; and then again some would scream like the ghosts ofthe dead. In fact, they gave forth every kind of sound that you couldimagine. It reminded one of when two storms meet in mid-ocean--themountain billows of waters coming from two directions, lash against thevessel's side, while the elements are filled with roaring, thundering andlightning. You could almost feel the earth roll and rock like a drunkenman, or a ship, when she rides the billows in an awful storm. It seemedthat the earth was frequently moved from its foundations, and you couldhear it grate as it moved. But all through that storm of battle, everysoldier stood firm, for we knew that old Joe was at the helm. 

KINGSTON

Here General Johnston issued his first battle order, that thus far hehad gone and intended to go no further. His line of battle was formed;his skirmish line was engaged; the artillery was booming from the Rebellines. Both sides were now face to face. There were no earthworks oneither side. It was to be an open field and a fair fight, when--"Fallback!" What's the matter? I do not know how we got the news, but hereis what is told us--and so it was, every position we ever took. When wefell back the news would be, "Hood's line is being enfiladed, and theyare decimating his men, and he can't hold his position. " But we fellback and took a position at

CASSVILLE

Our line of battle was formed at Cassville. I never saw our troopshappier or more certain of success. A sort of grand halo illumined everysoldier's face. You could see self-confidence in the features of everyprivate soldier. We were confident of victory and success. It was likegoing to a frolic or a wedding. Joy was welling up in every heart. We were going to whip and rout the Yankees. It seemed to be anythingelse than a fight. The soldiers were jubilant. Gladness was depicted onevery countenance. I honestly believe that had a battle been fought atthis place, every soldier would have distinguished himself. I believea sort of fanaticism had entered their souls, that whoever was killedwould at once be carried to the seventh heaven. I am sure of one thing, that every soldier had faith enough in old Joe to have charged Sherman'swhole army. When "Halt!" "Retreat!" What is the matter? General Hoodsays they are enfilading his line, and are decimating his men, and hecan't hold his position. 

The same old story repeats itself. Old Joe's army is ever face to facewith Sherman's incendiaries. We have faith in old Joe's ability to meetSherman whenever he dares to attack. The soldiers draw their regularrations. Every time a blue coat comes in sight, there is a dead Yankeeto bury. Sherman is getting cautious, his army hacked. Thus we continueto fall back for four months, day by day, for one hundred and ten days, fighting every day and night. 

ON THE BANKS OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE

Our army had crossed the Chattahoochee. The Federal army was on theother side; our pickets on the south side, the Yankees on the north side. By a tacit agreement, as had ever been the custom, there was no firingacross the stream. That was considered the boundary. It mattered nothow large or small the stream, pickets rarely fired at each other. We would stand on each bank, and laugh and talk and brag across thestream. 

One day, while standing on the banks of the Chattahoochee, a Yankeecalled out:

"Johnny, O, Johnny, O, Johnny Reb. "

Johnny answered, "What do you want?"

"You are whipped, aren't you?"

"No. The man who says that is a liar, a scoundrel, and a coward. "

"Well, anyhow, Joe Johnston is relieved of the command. "

"What?"

"General Joseph E. Johnston is relieved. "

"What is that you say?"

"General Joseph E. Johnston is relieved, and Hood appointed in his place. "

"You are a liar, and if you will come out and show yourself I will shootyou down in your tracks, you lying Yankee galloot. "

"That's more than I will stand. If the others will hands off, I willfight a duel with you. Now, show your manhood. "

Well, reader, every word of this is true, as is everything in this book. Both men loaded their guns and stepped out to their plates. They wereboth to load and fire at will, until one or both were killed. They tooktheir positions without either trying to get the advantage of the other. Then some one gave the command to "Fire at will; commence firing. "They fired seven shots each; at the seventh shot, poor Johnny Reb fell acorpse, pierced through the heart. 

REMOVAL OF GENERAL JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON

Such was the fact. General Joseph E. Johnston had been removed andGeneral J. B. Hood appointed to take command. Generals Hardee andKirby Smith, two old veterans, who had been identified with the Army ofTennessee from the beginning, resigned. We had received the intelligencefrom the Yankees. 

The relief guard confirmed the report. 

All the way from Rocky Face Ridge to Atlanta was a battle of a hundreddays, yet Hood's line was all the time enfiladed and his men decimated, and he could not hold his position. Old Joe Johnston had taken commandof the Army of Tennessee when it was crushed and broken, at a time whenno other man on earth could have united it. He found it in rags andtatters, hungry and heart-broken, the morale of the men gone, theirmanhood vanished to the winds, their pride a thing of the past. Throughhis instrumentality and skillful manipulation, all these had beenrestored. We had been under his command nearly twelve months. He wasmore popular with his troops day by day. We had made a long and arduouscampaign, lasting four months; there was not a single day in that fourmonths that did not find us engaged in battle with the enemy. Historydoes not record a single instance of where one of his lines was everbroken--not a single rout. He had not lost a single piece of artillery;he had dealt the enemy heavy blows; he was whipping them day by day, yet keeping his own men intact; his men were in as good spirits and assure of victory at the end of four months as they were at the beginning;instead of the army being depleted, it had grown in strength. 'Tis true, he had fallen back, but it was to give his enemy the heavier blows. He brought all the powers of his army into play; ever on the defensive, 'tis true, yet ever striking his enemy in his most vulnerable part. His face was always to the foe. They could make no movement in whichthey were not anticipated. Such a man was Joseph E. Johnston, and suchhis record. Farewell, old fellow! We privates loved you because youmade us love ourselves. Hardee, our old corps commander, whom we hadfollowed for nearly four years, and whom we had loved and respected fromthe beginning, has left us. Kirby Smith has resigned and gone home. The spirit of our good and honored Leonidas Polk is in heaven, and hisbody lies yonder on the Kennesaw line. General Breckinridge and othergenerals resigned. I lay down my pen; I can write no more; my heart istoo full. Reader, this is the saddest chapter I ever wrote. 

But now, after twenty years, I can see where General Joseph E. Johnstonmade many blunders in not attacking Sherman's line at some point. He was better on the defensive than the aggressive, and hence, _bispeccare in bello non licet_. 

GENERAL HOOD TAKES COMMAND

It came like a flash of lightning, staggering and blinding every one. It was like applying a lighted match to an immense magazine. It was likethe successful gambler, flushed with continual winnings, who staked hisall and lost. It was like the end of the Southern Confederacy. Thingsthat were, were not. It was the end. The soldier of the relief guardwho brought us the news while picketing on the banks of the Chattahoochee, remarked, by way of imparting gently the information--

"Boys, we've fought all the war for nothing. There is nothing for us instore now. "

"What's the matter now?"

"General Joe Johnston is relieved, Generals Hardee and Kirby Smith hasresigned, and General Hood is appointed to take command of the Army ofTennessee. "

"My God! is that so?"

"It is certainly a fact. "

"Then I'll never fire another gun. Any news or letters that youwish carried home? I've quit, and am going home. Please tender myresignation to Jeff Davis as a private soldier in the C. S. Army. "

Five men of that picket--there were just five--as rapidly as they could, took off their cartridge-boxes, after throwing down their guns, andthen their canteens and haversacks, taking out of their pockets theirgun-wipers, wrench and gun-stoppers, and saying they would have no moreuse for "them things. " They marched off, and it was the last we ever sawof them. In ten minutes they were across the river, and no doubt hadtaken the oath of allegiance to the United States government. Such wasthe sentiment of the Army of Tennessee at that time. 

CHAPTER XIII

ATLANTA

HOOD STRIKES

General John B. Hood had the reputation of being a fighting man, andwishing to show Jeff Davis what a "bully" fighter he was, lights in onthe Yankees on Peachtree creek. But that was "I give a dare" affair. General William B. Bate's division gained their works, but did not longhold them. 

Our division, now commanded by General John C. Brown, was supportingBate's division; our regiment supporting the Hundred and Fifty-fourthTennessee, which was pretty badly cut to pieces, and I remember how madthey seemed to be, because they had to fall back. 

Hood thought he would strike while the iron was hot, and while it couldbe hammered into shape, and make the Yankees believe that it was thepowerful arm of old Joe that was wielding the sledge. 

But he was like the fellow who took a piece of iron to the shop, intending to make him an ax. After working for some time and failing, he concluded he would make him a wedge, and, failing in this, said, "I'll make a skeow. " So he heats the iron red-hot and drops it into theslack-tub, and it went s-k-e-o-w, bubble, bubble, s-k-e-o-w, bust. 

KILLING A YANKEE SCOUT

On the night of the 20th, the Yankees were on Peachtree creek, advancingtoward Atlanta. I was a videt that night, on the outpost of the army. I could plainly hear the moving of their army, even the talking andlaughing of the Federal soldiers. I was standing in an old sedge field. About midnight everything quieted down. I was alone in the darkness, left to watch while the army slept. The pale moon was on the wane, a little yellow arc, emitting but a dim light, and the clouds were lazilypassing over it, while the stars seemed trying to wink and sparkle andmake night beautiful. I thought of God, of heaven, of home, and Ithought of Jennie--her whom I had ever loved, and who had given me hertroth in all of her maiden purity, to be my darling bride so soon as thewar was over. I thought of the scenes of my childhood, my school-boydays. I thought of the time when I left peace and home, for war andprivations. I had Jennie's picture in my pocket Bible, alongside of abraid of her beautiful hair. And I thought of how good, how pure, and how beautiful was the woman, who, if I lived, would share my hopesand struggles, my happiness as well as troubles, and who would be mydarling bride, and happiness would ever be mine. An owl had lit on anold tree near me and began to "hoo, hoo, hoo are you, " and his mate wouldanswer back from the lugubrious depths of the Chattahoochee swamps. A shivering owl also sat on the limb of a tree and kept up its dismalwailings. And ever now and then I could hear the tingle, tingle, tingleof a cow bell in the distance, and the shrill cry of the whip-poor-will. The shivering owl and whip-poor-will seemed to be in a sort of talk, and the jack-o'-lanterns seemed to be playing spirits--when, hush! whatis that? listen! It might have been two o'clock, and I saw, or thought Isaw, the dim outlines of a Yankee soldier, lying on the ground not morethan ten steps from where I stood. I tried to imagine it was a stumpor hallucination of the imagination. I looked at it again. The more Ilooked the more it assumed the outlines of a man. Something glistens inhis eyes. Am I mistaken? Tut, tut, it's nothing but a stump; you aregetting demoralized. What! it seems to be getting closer. There are twotiny specks that shine like the eyes of a cat in the dark. Look here, thought I, you are getting nervous. Well, I can stand this doubt andagony no longer; I am going to fire at that object anyhow, let come whatwill. I raised my gun, placed it to my shoulder, took deliberate aim, and fired, and waugh-weouw, the most unearthly scream I ever heard, greeted my ears. I broke and run to a tree nearby, and had just squattedbehind it, when zip, zip, two balls from our picket post struck the treein two inches of my head. I hallooed to our picket not to fire thatit was "me, " the videt. I went back, and says I, "Who fired those twoshots?" Two fellows spoke up and said that they did it. No sooner wasit spoken, than I was on them like a duck on a june-bug, _pugnis etcalcibus_. We "fout and fit, and gouged and bit, " right there in thatpicket post. I have the marks on my face and forehead where one of themstruck me with a Yankee zinc canteen, filled with water. I do not knowwhich whipped. My friends told me that I whipped both of them, and Isuppose their friends told them that they had whipped me. All I know is, they both run, and I was bloody from head to foot, from where I had beencut in the forehead and face by the canteens. This all happened one darknight in the month of July, 1864, in the rifle pit in front of Atlanta. When day broke the next morning, I went forward to where I had shot atthe "boogaboo" of the night before, and right there I found a dead Yankeesoldier, fully accoutered for any emergency, his eyes wide open. Ilooked at him, and I said, "Old fellow, I am sorry for you; didn't knowit was you, or I would have been worse scared than I was. You aredressed mighty fine, old fellow, but I don't want anything you have got, but your haversack. " It was a nice haversack, made of chamois skin. I kept it until the end of the war, and when we surrendered at Greensboro, N. C. , I had it on. But the other soldiers who were with me, wentthrough him and found twelve dollars in greenback, a piece of tobacco, a gun-wiper and gun-stopper and wrench, a looking-glass and pocket-comb, and various and sundry other articles. I came across that dead Yankeetwo days afterwards, and he was as naked as the day he came into theworld, and was as black as a negro, and was as big as a skinned horse. He had mortified. I recollect of saying, "Ugh, ugh, " and of my hat beinglifted off my head, by my hair, which stood up like the quills of thefretful porcupine. He scared me worse when dead than when living. 

AN OLD CITIZEN

But after the little unpleasant episode in the rifle pit, I went back andtook my stand. When nearly day, I saw the bright and beautiful star inthe east rise above the tree tops, and the gray fog from off the riverbegun to rise, and every now and then could hear a far off chicken crow. 

While I was looking toward the Yankee line, I saw a man riding leisurelyalong on horseback, and singing a sort of humdrum tune. I took him to besome old citizen. He rode on down the road toward me, and when he hadapproached, "Who goes there?" He immediately answered, "A friend. "I thought that I recognized the voice in the darkness--and said I, "Who are you?" He spoke up, and gave me his name. Then, said I, "Advance, friend, but you are my prisoner. " He rode on toward me, and I soon saw that it was Mr. Mumford Smith, the old sheriff of Maurycounty. I was very glad to see him, and as soon as the relief guard came, I went back to camp with him. I do not remember of ever in my life beingmore glad to see any person. He had brought a letter from home, from myfather, and some Confederate old issue bonds, which I was mighty gladto get, and also a letter from "the gal I left behind me, " enclosing arosebud and two apple blossoms, resting on an arbor vita leaf, and thison a little piece of white paper, and on this was written a motto (whichI will have to tell for the young folks), "Receive me, such as I am;would that I were of more use for your sake. Jennie. " Now, that wasthe bouquet part. I would not like to tell you what was in that letter, but I read that letter over five hundred times, and remember it today. I think I can repeat the poetry _verbatim et literatim_, and will do so, gentle reader, if you don't laugh at me. I'm married now, and onlywrite from memory, and never in my life have I read it in book or paper, and only in that letter--

 "I love you, O, how dearly, Words too faintly but express; This heart beats too sincerely, E'er in life to love you less; No, my fancy never ranges, Hopes like mine, can never soar; If the love I cherish, changes, 'Twill only be to love you more. "

Now, fair and gentle reader, this was the poetry, and you see foryourself that there was no "shenanigan" in that letter; and if a fellow"went back" on that sort of a letter, he would strike his "mammy. "And then the letter wound up with "May God shield and protect you, and prepare you for whatever is in store for you, is the sincere prayerof Jennie. " You may be sure that I felt good and happy, indeed. 

MY FRIENDS

Reader mine, in writing these rapid and imperfect recollections, I findthat should I attempt to write up all the details that I would not onlyweary you, but that these memoirs would soon become monotonous anduninteresting. I have written only of what I saw. Many little acts ofkindness shown me by ladies and old citizens, I have omitted. I remembergoing to an old citizen's house, and he and the old lady were makingclay pipes. I recollect how they would mold the pipes and put themin a red-hot stove to burn hard. Their kindness to me will never beforgotten. The first time that I went there they seemed very glad to seeme, and told me that I looked exactly like their son who was in the army. I asked them what regiment he belonged to. After a moment's silence theold lady, her voice trembling as she spoke, said the Fourteenth Georgia, and then she began to cry. Then the old man said, "Yes, we have a sonin the army. He went to Virginia the first year of the war, and we havenever heard of him since. These wars are terrible, sir. The last timethat we heard of him, he went with Stonewall Jackson away up in themountains of West Virginia, toward Romney, and I did hear that whilestanding picket at a little place called Hampshire Crossing, on a littlestream called St. John's Run, he and eleven others froze to death. We have never heard of him since. " He got up and began walking up anddown the room, his hands crossed behind his back. I buckled on myknapsack to go back to camp, and I shook hands with the two good oldpeople, and they told me good-bye, and both said, "God bless you, Godbless you. " I said the same to them, and said, "I pray God to reward you, and bring your son safe home again. " When I got back to camp I foundcannon and caissons moving, and I knew and felt that General Hood wasgoing to strike the enemy again. Preparations were going on, buteverything seemed to be out of order and system. Men were cursing, and seemed to be dissatisfied and unhappy, but the army was moving. 

A BODY WITHOUT LIMBS--AN ARMY WITHOUT CAVALRY

Forrest's cavalry had been sent to Mississippi; Wheeler's cavalry hadbeen sent to North Carolina and East Tennessee. Hood had sent off bothof his "arms"--for cavalry was always called the most powerful "arm"of the service. The infantry were the feet, and the artillery the body. Now, Hood himself had no legs, and but one arm, and that one in a sling. The most terrible and disastrous blow that the South ever received waswhen Hon. Jefferson Davis placed General Hood in command of the Army ofTennessee. I saw, I will say, thousands of men cry like babies--regular, old-fashioned boohoo, boohoo, boohoo. 

Now, Hood sent off all his cavalry right in the face of a powerful army, by order and at the suggestion of Jeff Davis, and was using his cannon as"feelers. " O, God! Ye gods! I get sick at heart even at this late daywhen I think of it. 

I remember the morning that General Wheeler's cavalry filed by ourbrigade, and of their telling us, "Good-bye, boys, good-bye, boys. "The First Tennessee Cavalry and Ninth Battalion were both made up inMaury county. I saw John J. Stephenson, my friend and step-brother, and David F. Watkins my own dear brother, and Arch Lipscomb, Joe Fussell, Captain Kinzer, Jack Gordon, George Martin, Major Dobbins, Colonel Lewis, Captain Galloway, Aaron and Sims Latta, Major J. H. Akin, S. H. Armstrong, Albert Dobbins, Alex Dobbins, Jim Cochran, Rafe Grisham, Captain Jim Polk, and many others with whom I was acquainted. They all said, "Good-bye, Sam, good-bye, Sam. " I cried. I remember stopping the whole commandand begging them to please not leave us; that if they did, Atlanta, andperhaps Hood's whole army, would surrender in a few days; but they toldme, as near as I can now remember, "We regret to leave you, but wehave to obey orders. " The most ignorant private in the whole army saweverything that we had been fighting for for four years just scatteredlike chaff to the winds. All the Generals resigned, and those who didnot resign were promoted; colonels were made brigadier-generals, captainswere made colonels, and the private soldier, well, he deserted, don't yousee? The private soldiers of the Army of Tennessee looked upon Hood asan over-rated general, but Jeff Davis did not. 

BATTLE OF JULY 22, 1864

Cannon balls, at long range, were falling into the city of Atlanta. Details of citizens put out the fires as they would occur from theburning shells. We could see the smoke rise and hear the shells passaway over our heads as they went on toward the doomed city. 

One morning Cheatham's corps marched out and through the city, we knewnot whither, but we soon learned that we were going to make a flankmovement. After marching four or five miles, we "about faced" andmarched back again to within two hundred yards of the place from whencewe started. It was a "flank movement, " you see, and had to be countedthat way anyhow. Well, now as we had made the flank movement, we had tostorm and take the Federal lines, because we had made a flank movement, you see. When one army makes a flank movement it is courtesy on the partof the other army to recognize the flank movement, and to change hisbase. Why, sir, if you don't recognize a flank movement, you ain't agraduate of West Point. Hood was a graduate of West Point, and sowas Sherman. But unfortunately there was Mynheer Dutchman commanding(McPherson had gone to dinner) the corps that had been flanked, and hecouldn't speak English worth a cent. He, no doubt, had on board meinlager beer, so goot as vat never vas. I sweitzer, mein Got, you bet. Bang, bang, bang, goes our skirmish line advancing to the attack. Hans, vat fer ish dot shooting mit mein left wing? Ish dot der Repels, Hans?

THE ATTACK

The plan of battle, as conceived and put into action by General Cleburne, was one of the boldest conceptions, and, at the same time, one of themost hazardous that ever occurred in our army during the war, but it onlyrequired nerve and pluck to carry it out, and General Cleburne was equalto the occasion. The Yankees had fortified on two ranges of hills, leaving a gap in their breastworks in the valley entirely unfortified andunprotected. They felt that they could enfilade the valley between thetwo lines so that no troop would or could attack at this weak point. This valley was covered with a dense undergrowth of trees and bushes. General Walker, of Georgia, was ordered to attack on the extreme right, which he did nobly and gallantly, giving his life for his country whileleading his men, charging their breastworks. He was killed on the verytop of their works. In the meantime General Cleburne's division wasmarching by the right flank in solid column, the same as if they weremarching along the road, right up this valley, and thus passing betweenthe Yankee lines and cutting them in two, when the command by the leftflank was given, which would throw them into line of battle. By thismaneuver, Cleburne's men were right upon their flank, and enfiladingtheir lines, while they were expecting an attack in their front. It wasthe finest piece of generalship and the most successful of the war. 

Shineral Mynheer Dutchman says, "Hans, mein Got! mein Got! vare ishShineral Mackferson, eh? Mein Got, mein Got! I shust pelieve dot derRepel ish cooming. Hans, go cotch der filly colt. Now, Hans, I vantsto see vedder der filly colt mid stand fire. You get on der filly colt, und I vill get pehind der house, und ven you shust coome galloping py, I vill say 'B-o-o-h, ' und if der filly colt don't shump, den I vill knowdot der filly colt mid stand fire. " Hans says, "Pap, being as you haveto ride her in the battle, you get on her, and let me say booh. " Well, Shineral Mynheer gets on the colt, and Hans gets behind the house, and as the general comes galloping by, Hans had got an umbrella, and onseeing his father approach, suddenly opens the umbrella, and hallowingat the top of his voice b-o-o-h! _b-o-o-h!_ B-O-O-H! The filly makes asudden jump and ker-flop comes down Mynheer. He jumps up and says, "Hans, I alvays knowed dot you vas a vool. You make too pig a booh; vy, yousaid booh loud enuff to scare der ole horse. Hans, go pring out der olehorse. Der tam Repel vill be here pefore Mackferson gits pack from derdinner time. I shust peleve dot der Repel ish flanking, und dem tam foolcurnells of mein ish not got sense enuff to know ven Sheneral Hood isflanking. Hans, bring out der old horse, I vant to find out vedderMackferson ish got pack from der dinner time or not. "

We were supporting General Cleburne's division. Our division (Cheatham's)was commanded by General John C. Brown. Cleburne's division advanced tothe attack. I was marching by the side of a soldier by the name of JamesGalbreath, and a conscript from the Mt. Pleasant country. I never hearda man pray and "go on" so before in my life. It actually made me feelsorry for the poor fellow. Every time that our line would stop for a fewminutes, he would get down on his knees and clasp his hands and commencepraying. He kept saying, "O, my poor wife and children! God have mercyon my poor wife and children! God pity me and have mercy on my soul!"Says I, "Galbreath, what are you making a fool of yourself that way for?If you are going to be killed, why you are as ready now as you ever willbe, and you are making everybody feel bad; quit that nonsense. " He quit, but kept mumbling to himself, "God have mercy! God have mercy!"Cleburne had reached the Yankee breastworks; the firing had been and wasthen terrific. The earth jarred, and shook, and trembled, at the shockof battle as the two armies met. Charge men! And I saw the Confederateflag side by side with the Federal flag. A courier dashed up and said, "General Cleburne has captured their works--advance and attack upon hisimmediate left. Attention, forward!" A discharge of cannon, and a balltore through our ranks. I heard Galbreath yell out, "O, God, have mercyon my poor soul. " The ball had cut his body nearly in two. Poor fellow, he had gone to his reward. 

We advanced to the attack on Cleburne's immediate left. Cleburne himselfwas leading us in person, so that we would not fire upon his men, whowere then inside the Yankee line. His sword was drawn. I heard him say, "Follow me, boys. " He ran forward, and amid the blazing fires of theYankee guns was soon on top of the enemy's works. He had on a bob-tailConfederate coat, which looked as if it had been cut out of a scrimppattern. (You see I remember the little things). We were but a fewpaces behind, following close upon him, and soon had captured their lineof works. We were firing at the flying foe--astraddle of their lines ofbattle. This would naturally throw us in front, and Cleburne's corpssupporting us. The Yankee lines seemed routed. We followed in hotpursuit; but from their main line of entrenchment--which was diagonal tothose that we had just captured, and also on which they had built fortsand erected batteries--was their artillery, raking us fore and aft. We passed over a hill and down into a valley being under the muzzles ofthis rampart of death. We had been charging and running, and had stoppedto catch our breath right under their reserve and main line of battle. When General George Maney said, "Soldiers, you are ordered to go forwardand charge that battery. When you start upon the charge I want you to go, as it were, upon the wings of the wind. Shoot down and bayonet thecannoneers, and take their guns at all hazards. " Old Pat Cleburnethought he had better put in a word to his soldiers. He says, "You hearwhat General Maney says, boys. If they don't take it, by the eternal God, you have got to take it!" I heard an Irishman of the "bloody Tinth, "and a "darn good regiment, be jabbers, " speak up, and say, "Faith, gineral, we'll take up a collection and buy you a batthery, be Jasus. "About this time our regiment had re-formed, and had got their breath, and the order was given to charge, and take their guns even at the pointof the bayonet. We rushed forward up the steep hill sides, the seethingfires from ten thousand muskets and small arms, and forty pieces ofcannon hurled right into our very faces, scorching and burning ourclothes, and hands, and faces from their rapid discharges, and piling theground with our dead and wounded almost in heaps. It seemed that the hotflames of hell were turned loose in all their fury, while the demons ofdamnation were laughing in the flames, like seething serpents hissingout their rage. We gave one long, loud cheer, and commenced the charge. As we approached their lines, like a mighty inundation of the riverAcheron in the infernal regions, Confederate and Federal meet. Officerswith drawn swords meet officers with drawn swords, and man to man meetsman to man with bayonets and loaded guns. The continued roar of battlesounded like unbottled thunder. Blood covered the ground, and the densesmoke filled our eyes, and ears, and faces. The groans of the woundedand dying rose above the thunder of battle. But being heavily supportedby Cleburne's division, and by General L. E. Polk's brigade, headedand led by General Cleburne in person, and followed by the First andTwenty-seventh up the blazing crest, the Federal lines waver, andbreak and fly, leaving us in possession of their breastworks, and thebattlefield, and I do not know how many pieces of artillery, prisonersand small arms. 

Here is where Major Allen, Lieutenant Joe Carney, Captain Joe Carthell, and many other good and brave spirits gave their lives for the cause oftheir country. They lie today, weltering in their own life's blood. It was one of the bloody battles that characterized that stormy epoch, and it was the 22nd of July, and one of the hottest days I ever felt. 

General George Maney led us in the heat of battle, and no general of thewar acted with more gallantry and bravery during the whole war than didGeneral George Maney on this occasion. 

The victory was complete. Large quantities of provisions and armystores were captured. The Federals had abandoned their entire line ofbreastworks, and had changed their base. They were fortifying upon ourleft, about five miles off from their original position. The battlefieldwas covered with their dead and wounded soldiers. I have never seen somany battle-flags left indiscriminately upon any battlefield. I ran overtwenty in the charge, and could have picked them up everywhere; did pickup one, and was promoted to fourth corporal for gallantry in picking upa flag on the battlefield. 

On the final charge that was made, I was shot in the ankle and heel of myfoot. I crawled into their abandoned ditch, which then seemed full andrunning over with our wounded soldiers. I dodged behind the embankmentto get out of the raking fire that was ripping through the bushes, and tearing up the ground. Here I felt safe. The firing raged in front;we could hear the shout of the charge and the clash of battle. While Iwas sitting here, a cannon ball came tearing down the works, cutting asoldier's head off, spattering his brains all over my face and bosom, and mangling and tearing four or five others to shreds. As a woundedhorse was being led off, a cannon ball struck him, and he was literallyripped open, falling in the very place I had just moved from. 

I saw an ambulance coming from toward the Yankee line, at full gallop, saw them stop at a certain place, hastily put a dead man in the ambulance, and gallop back toward the Yankee lines. I did not know the meaning ofthis maneuver until after the battle, when I learned that it was GeneralMcPherson's dead body. 

We had lost many a good and noble soldier. The casualties on our sidewere frightful. Generals, colonels, captains, lieutenants, sergeants, corporals and privates were piled indiscriminately everywhere. Cannon, caissons, and dead horses were piled pell-mell. It was the picture of areal battlefield. Blood had gathered in pools, and in some instances hadmade streams of blood. 'Twas a picture of carnage and death. 

AM PROMOTED

"Why, hello, corporal, where did you get those two yellow stripes from onyour arm?"

"Why, sir, I have been promoted for gallantry on the battlefield, bypicking up an orphan flag, that had been run over by a thousand fellows, and when I picked it up I did so because I thought it was pretty, and Iwanted to have me a shirt made out of it. "

"I could have picked up forty, had I known that, " said Sloan. 

"So could I, but I knew that the stragglers would pick them up. "

Reader mine, the above dialogue is true in every particular. As longas I was in action, fighting for my country, there was no chance forpromotion, but as soon as I fell out of ranks and picked up a forsakenand deserted flag, I was promoted for it. I felt "sorter" cheap whencomplimented for gallantry, and the high honor of fourth corporal wasconferred upon me. I felt that those brave and noble fellows who hadkept on in the charge were more entitled to the honor than I was, forwhen the ball struck me on the ankle and heel, I did not go any further. And had I only known that picking up flags entitled me to promotion andthat every flag picked up would raise me one notch higher, I would havequit fighting and gone to picking up flags, and by that means I wouldhave soon been President of the Confederate States of America. Buthonors now begin to cluster around my brow. This is the laurel andivy that is entwined around the noble brows of victorious and renownedgenerals. I honestly earned the exalted honor of fourth corporal bypicking up a Yankee battle-flag on the 22nd day of July, at Atlanta. 

28TH OF JULY AT ATLANTA

Another battle was fought by Generals Stephen D. Lee and Stewart's corps, on the 28th day of July. I was not in it, neither was our corps, butfrom what I afterwards learned, the Yankees got the best of theengagement. But our troops continued fortifying Atlanta. No otherbattles were ever fought at this place. 

I VISIT MONTGOMERY

Our wounded were being sent back to Montgomery. My name was put on thewounded list. We were placed in a box-car, and whirling down to WestPoint, where we changed cars for Montgomery. The cars drew up at thedepot at Montgomery, and we were directed to go to the hospital. When wegot off the cars, little huckster stands were everywhere--apples, oranges, peaches, watermelons, everything. I know that I never saw a greaterdisplay of eatables in my whole life. I was particularly attractedtoward an old lady's stand; she had bread, fish, and hard boiled eggs. The eggs were what I was hungry for. Says I:

"Madam, how do you sell your eggs?"

"Two for a dollar, " she said. 

"How much is your fish worth?"

"A piece of bread and a piece of fish for a dollar. "

"Well, madam, put out your fish and eggs. " The fish were hot and done toa crisp--actually frying in my mouth, crackling and singing as I bit offa bite. It was good, I tell you. The eggs were a little over half done. I soon demolished both, and it was only an appetizer. I invested acouple of dollars more, and thought that maybe I could make out tillsupper time. As I turned around, a smiling, one-legged man asked me if Iwouldn't like to have a drink. Now, if there was anything that I wantedat that time, it was a drink. 

"How do you sell it?" says I. 

"A dollar a drink, " said he. 

"Pour me out a drink. "

It was a tin cap-box. I thought that I knew the old fellow, and he keptlooking at me as if he knew me. Finally, he said to me:

"It seems that I ought to know you. "

I told him that I reckon he did, as I had been there. 

"Ain't your name Sam?" said he. 

"That is what my mother called me. "

Well, after shaking hands, it suddenly flashed upon me who the oldfellow was. I knew him well. He told me that he belonged to CaptainEd. O'Neil's company, Second Tennessee Regiment, General WilliamB. Bate's corps, and that his leg had been shot off at the first battleof Manassas, and at that time he was selling cheap whisky and tobacco fora living at Montgomery, Alabama. I tossed off a cap-box full and paidhim a dollar. It staggered me, and I said:

"That is raw whisky. "

"Yes, " said he, "all my cooked whisky is out. "

"If this is not quite cooked, it is as hot as fire anyhow, and burns likered-hot lava, and the whole dose seems to have got lodged in my windpipe. "

I might have tasted it, but don't think that I did. All I can remembernow, is a dim recollection of a nasty, greasy, burning something goingdown my throat and chest, and smelling, as I remember at this day, like a decoction of red-pepper tea, flavored with coal oil, turpentineand tobacco juice. 

THE HOSPITAL

I went to the hospital that evening, saw it, and was satisfied withhospital life. I did not wish to be called a hospital rat. I had noidea of taking stock and making my headquarters at this place. Everything seemed clean and nice enough, but the smell! Ye gods!I stayed there for supper. The bill of fare was a thin slice of lightbread and a plate of soup, already dished out and placed at every plate. I ate it, but it only made me hungry. At nine o'clock I had to go to bed, and all the lights were put out. Every man had a little bunk to himself. I do not know whether I slept or not, but I have a dim recollection of"sawing gourds, " and jumping up several times to keep some poor wretchfrom strangling. He was only snoring. I heard rats filing away at night, and thought that burglars were trying to get in; my dreams were notpleasant, if I went to sleep at all. I had not slept off of the groundor in a house in three years. It was something new to me, and I couldnot sleep, for the room was so dark that had I got up I could not havefound my way out. I laid there, I do not know how long, but I heard arooster crow, and a dim twilight began to glimmer in the room, and evenfootsteps were audible in the rooms below. I got sleepy then, and wentoff in a doze. I had a beautiful dream--dreamed that I was in heaven, or rather, that a pair of stairs with richly carved balusters and wings, and golden steps overlaid with silk and golden-colored carpeting camedown from heaven to my room; and two beautiful damsels kept peeping, and laughing, and making faces at me from the first platform of thesesteps; and every now and then they would bring out their golden harps, and sing me a sweet and happy song. Others were constantly passing, but always going the same way. They looked like so many schoolgirls, all dressed in shining garments. Two or three times the two beautifulgirls would go up the stairs and return, bringing fruits and vegetablesthat shined like pure gold. I knew that I never had seen two morebeautiful beings on earth. The steps began to lengthen out, and seemedto be all around me; they seemed to shine a halo of glory all about. The two ladies came closer, and closer, passing around, having abeautiful wreath of flowers in each hand, and gracefully throwing thembackward and forward as they laughed and danced around me. Finallyone stopped and knelt down over me and whispered something in my ear. I threw up my arms to clasp the beautiful vision to my bosom, when I feltmy arm grabbed, and "D--n ye, I wish you would keep your d--n arm offmy wound, ye hurt me, " came from the soldier in the next bunk. The sunwas shining full in my face. I got up and went down to breakfast. Thebill of fare was much better for breakfast than it had been for supper;in fact it was what is called a "jarvis" breakfast. After breakfast, I took a ramble around the city. It was a nice place, and merchandiseand other business was being carried on as if there was no war. Hotelswere doing a thriving business; steamboats were at the wharf, whistlingand playing their calliopes. I remember the one I heard was playing"Away Down on the Sewanee River. " To me it seemed that everybody wassmiling, and happy, and prosperous. 

THE CAPITOL

I went to the capitol, and it is a fine building, overlooking the city. When I got there, I acted just like everybody that ever visited a finebuilding--they wanted to go on top and look at the landscape. That iswhat they all say. Now, I always wanted to go on top, but I never yetthought of landscape. What I always wanted to see, was how far I couldlook, and that is about all that any of them wants. It's mighty niceto go up on a high place with your sweetheart, and hear her say, "La!ain't it b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l, " "Now, now, please don't go there, " and howyou walk up pretty close to the edge and spit over, to show what a braveman you are. It's "bully, " I tell you. Well, I wanted to go to the topof the capitol--I went; wanted to go up in the cupola. Now, there wasan iron ladder running up across an empty space, and you could see twohundred feet below from this cupola or dome on top. The ladder was aboutten feet long, spanning the dome. It was very easy to go up, becauseI was looking up all the time, and I was soon on top of the building. I saw how far I could see, and saw the Alabama river, winding and turninguntil it seemed no larger than a silver thread. Well, I am very poorat describing and going into ecstacies over fancies. I want some ablerpen to describe the scene. I was not thinking about the scene or thelandscape--I was thinking how I was going to get down that ladder again. I would come to that iron ladder and peep over, and think if I fell, how far would I have to fall. The more I thought about going down thatladder, the more I didn't feel like going down. Well, I felt that I hadrather die than go down that ladder. I'm honest in this. I felt likejumping off and committing suicide rather than go down that ladder. I crossed right over the frightful chasm, but when forbearance ceased tobe a virtue, I tremblingly put my foot on the first rung, then grabbedthe top of the two projections. There I remained, I don't know how long, but after awhile I reached down with one foot and touched the next rung. After getting that foot firmly placed, I ventured to risk the other foot. It was thus for several backward steps, until I come to see down--awaydown, down, down below me--and my head got giddy. The world seemed to beturning round and round. A fellow at the bottom hallooed, "Look up! lookup, mister! look up!" I was not a foot from the upper floor. As soon asI looked at the floor, everything got steady. I kept my eyes fixed onthe top of the building, and soon made the landing on _terra firma_. 

I have never liked high places since. I never could bear to go upstairsin a house. I went to the capitol at Nashville, last winter, andMcAndrews wanted me to go up in the cupola with him. He went, and paid aquarter for the privilege. I stayed, and--well, if I could estimate itsvalue by dollars--I would say two hundred and fifty million dollars iswhat I made by staying down. 

AM ARRESTED

The next day, while the ferryboat was crossing the river, I asked theferryman to let me ride over. I was halted by a soldier who "knowed"his business. 

"Your pass, sir!"

"Well, I have no pass!"

"Well, sir, I will have to arrest you, and take you before the provostmarshal. "

"Very well, sir; I will go with you to the provost or anywhere else. "

I appear before the provost marshal. 

"What command do you belong to, sir?"

"Well, sir, I belong to Company H, First Tennessee Regiment. I am awounded man sent to the hospital. "

"Well, sir, that's too thin; why did you not get a pass?"

"I did not think one was required. "

"Give me your name, sir. "

I gave my name. 

"Sergeant, take this name to the hospital and ask if such name isregistered on their books. "

I told him that I knew it was not. The sergeant returns and reports nosuch name, when he remarks:

"You have to go to the guard-house. "

Says I, "Colonel (I knew his rank was that of captain), if you send meto the guard-house, you will do me a great wrong. Here is where I waswounded. " I pulled off my shoe and began to unbandage. 

"Well, sir, I don't want to look at your foot, and I have no patiencewith you. Take him to the guard-house. "

Turning back I said, "Sir, aye, aye, you are clothed with a little briefauthority, and appear to be presuming pretty heavy on that authority; but, sir"--well I have forgotten what I did say. The sergeant took me by thearm, and said, "Come, come, sir, I have my orders. "

As I was going up the street, I met Captain Dave Buckner, and told himall the circumstances of my arrest as briefly as I could. He said, "Sergeant, bring him back with me to the provost marshal's office. "They were as mad as wet hens. Their faces were burning, and I could seetheir jugular veins go thump, thump, thump. I do not know what CaptainBuckner said to them, all I heard were the words "otherwise insulted me. "But I was liberated, and was glad of it. 

THOSE GIRLS

I then went back to the river, and gave a fellow two dollars to "row meover the ferry. " I was in no particular hurry, and limped along at myleisure until about nightfall, when I came to a nice, cosy-looking farmhouse, and asked to stay all night. I was made very welcome, indeed. There were two very pretty girls here, and I could have "loved eitherwere 'tother dear charmer away. " But I fell in love with both of them, and thereby overdid the thing. This was by a dim fire-light. The nextday was Sunday, and we all went to church in the country. We went in anold rockaway carriage. I remember that the preacher used the words, "O, God, " nineteen times in his prayer. I had made up my mind which one ofthe girls I would marry. Now, don't get mad, fair reader mine. I wasall gallantry and smiles, and when we arrived at home, I jumped out andtook hold the hand of my fair charmer to help her out. She put her footout, and--well, I came very near telling--she tramped on a cat. The catsqualled. 

THE TALISMAN

But then, you know, reader, that I was engaged to Jennie and I had atalisman in my pocket Bible, in the way of a love letter, against thecharms of other beautiful and interesting young ladies. Uncle JimmieRieves had been to Maury county, and, on returning to Atlanta, found outthat I was wounded and in the hospital at Montgomery, and brought theletter to me; and, as I am married now, I don't mind telling you whatwas in the letter, if you won't laugh at me. You see, Jennie was mysweetheart, and here is my sweetheart's letter:

My Dear Sam. :--I write to tell you that I love you yet, and you alone;and day by day I love you more, and pray, every night and morning foryour safe return home again. My greatest grief is that we heard you werewounded and in the hospital, and I cannot be with you to nurse you. 

We heard of the death of many noble and brave men at Atlanta; and thedeath of Captain Carthell, Cousin Mary's husband. It was sent by CaptainJanuary; he belonged to the Twelfth Tennessee, of which Colonel Watkinswas lieutenant-colonel. 

The weather is very beautiful here, and the flowers in the garden are infull bloom, and the apples are getting ripe. I have gathered a smallbouquet, which I will put in the letter; I also send by Uncle Jimmie atobacco bag, and a watch-guard, made out of horse hair, and a woolen hood, knit with my own hands, with love and best respects. 

We heard that you had captured a flag at Atlanta, and was promoted for itto corporal. Is that some high office? I know you will be a general yet, because I always hear of your being in every battle, and always theforemost man in the attack. Sam, please take care of yourself for mysake, and don't let the Yankees kill you. Well, good-bye, darling, I will ever pray for God's richest and choicest blessings upon you. Be sure and write a long, long letter--I don't care how long, to yourloving and sincere JENNIE. 

THE BRAVE CAPTAIN

When I got back to the Alabama river, opposite Montgomery, the ferryboatwas on the other shore. A steamboat had just pulled out of its mooringsand crossed over to where I was, and began to take on wood. I went onboard, and told the captain, who was a clever and good man, that I wouldlike to take a trip with him to Mobile and back, and that I was a woundedsoldier from the hospital. He told me, "All right, come along, and Iwill foot expenses. "

It was about sunset, but along the line of the distant horizon we couldsee the dark and heavy clouds begin to boil up in thick and ominouscolumns. The lightning was darting to and fro like lurid sheets of fire, and the storm seemed to be gathering; we could hear the storm king in hischariot in the clouds, rumbling as he came, but a dead lull was seen andfelt in the air and in nature; everything was in a holy hush, except thehoarse belchings of the engines, the sizzing and frying of the boilers, and the work of the machinery on the lower deck. At last the storm burstupon us in all its fury; it was a tornado and the women and childrenbegan to scream and pray--the mate to curse and swear. I was standing bythe captain on the main upper deck, as he was trying to direct the pilothow to steer the boat through that awful storm, when we heard the alarmbell ring out, and the hoarse cry of "Fire! fire! fire!" Men wererunning toward the fire with buckets, and the hose began throwing wateron the flames. Men, women, and children were jumping in the water, and the captain used every effort to quiet the panic, and to land hisboat with its passengers, but the storm and fire were too much, and downthe vessel sank to rise no more. Many had been saved in the lifeboat, and many were drowned. I jumped overboard, and the last thing I saw wasthe noble and brave captain still ringing the bell, as the vessel wentdown. He went down amid the flames to fill a watery grave. The waterwas full of struggling and dying people for miles. I did not go toMobile. 

HOW I GET BACK TO ATLANTA

When I got to Montgomery, the cars said toot, toot, and I raised thehue and cry and followed in pursuit. Kind friends, I fear that I havewearied you with my visit to Montgomery, but I am going back to camp now, and will not leave it again until our banner is furled never to be againunfurled. 

I, you remember, was without a pass, and did not wish to be carried asecond time before that good, brave, and just provost marshal; andsomething told me not to go to the hospital. I found out when the carswould leave, and thought that I would get on them and go back without anytrouble. I got on the cars, but was hustled off mighty quick, becauseI had no pass. A train of box-cars was about leaving for West Point, and I took a seat on top of one of them, and was again hustled off;but I had determined to go, and as the engine began to puff, and tug, and pull, I slipped in between two box-cars, sitting on one part of oneand putting my feet on the other, and rode this way until I got to WestPoint. The conductor discovered me, and had put me off several timesbefore I got to West Point, but I would jump on again as soon as the carsstarted. When I got to West Point, a train of cars started off, and Iran, trying to get on, when Captain Peebles reached out his hand andpulled me in, and I arrived safe and sound at Atlanta. 

On my way back to Atlanta, I got with Dow Akin and Billy March. BillyMarch had been shot through the under jaw by a minnie ball at the octagonhouse, but by proper attention and nursing, he had recovered. ConnerAkin was killed at the octagon house, and Dow wounded. When we got backto the regiment, then stationed near a fine concrete house (where Shepardand I would sleep every night), nearly right on our works, we foundtwo thirty-two-pound parrot guns stationed in our immediate front, andthrowing shells away over our heads into the city of Atlanta. We hadjust begun to tell all the boys howdy, when I saw Dow Akin fall. Afragment of shell had struck him on his backbone, and he was carried backwounded and bleeding. We could see the smoke boil up, and it would benearly a minute before we would hear the report of the cannon, and then afew moments after we would hear the scream of the shell as it went on toAtlanta. We used to count from the time we would see the smoke boil upuntil we would hear the noise, and some fellow would call out, "Lookout boys, the United States is sending iron over into the SouthernConfederacy; let's send a little lead back to the United States. "And we would blaze away with our Enfield and Whitworth guns, and everytime we would fire, we would silence those parrot guns. This kind of funwas carried on for forty-six days. 

DEATH OF TOM TUCK'S ROOSTER

Atlanta was a great place to fight chickens. I had heard much said aboutcock pits and cock fights, but had never seen such a thing. Away overthe hill, outside of the range of Thomas' thirty-pound parrot guns, with which he was trying to burn up Atlanta, the boys had fixed up a cockpit. It was fixed exactly like a circus ring, and seats and benches werearranged for the spectators. Well, I went to the cock fight one day. A great many roosters were to be pitted that day, and each one wastrimmed and gaffed. A gaff is a long keen piece of steel, as sharp asa needle, that is fitted over the spurs. Well, I looked on at the fun. Tom Tuck's rooster was named Southern Confederacy; but this wasabbreviated to Confed. , and as a pet name, they called him Fed. Well, Fed was a trained rooster, and would "clean up" a big-foot rooster assoon as he was put in the pit. But Tom always gave Fed every advantage. One day a green-looking country hunk came in with a rooster that hewanted to pit against Fed. He looked like a common rail-splitter. The money was soon made up, and the stakes placed in proper hands. The gaffs were fitted, the roosters were placed in the pit and held untilboth were sufficiently mad to fight, when they were turned loose, andeach struck at the same time. I looked and poor Fed was dead. The otherrooster had popped both gaffs through his head. He was a dead rooster;yea, a dead cock in the pit. Tom went and picked up his rooster, andsaid, "Poor Fed, I loved you; you used to crow every morning at daylightto wake me up. I have carried you a long time, but, alas! alas! poor Fed, your days are numbered, and those who fight will sometimes be slain. Now, friends, conscripts, countrymen, if you have any tears to shed, prepare to shed them now. I will not bury Fed. The evil that roostersdo live after them, but the good is oft interred with their bones. So let it not be with Confed. Confed left no will, but I will pick him, and fry him, and dip my biscuit in his gravy. Poor Fed, Confed, Confederacy, I place one hand on my heart and one on my head, regrettingthat I have not another to place on my stomach, and whisper, softlywhisper, in the most doleful accents, Good-bye, farewell, a longfarewell. "

 "Not a laugh was heard--not even a joke-- As the dead rooster in the camp-kettle they hurried; For Tom had lost ten dollars, and was broke, In the cock-pit where Confed was buried. 

 "They cooked him slowly in the middle of the day, As the frying-pan they were solemnly turning; The hungry fellows looking at him as he lay, With one side raw, the other burning. 

 "Some surplus feathers covered his breast, Not in a shroud, but in a tiara they soused him; He lay like a 'picked chicken' taking his rest, While the Rebel boys danced and cursed around him. 

 "Not a few or short were the cuss words they said, Yet, they spoke many words of sorrow; As they steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And thought 'what'll we do for chicken tomorrow?'

 "Lightly they'll talk of the Southern Confed. That's gone, And o'er his empty carcass upbraid him; But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the place where they have laid him. 

 "Sadly and slowly they laid him down, From the field of fame fresh and gory; They ate off his flesh, and threw away his bones, And then left them alone in their glory. "

When, cut, slash, bang, debang, and here comes a dash of Yankee cavalry, right in the midst of the camp, under whip and spur, yelling like a bandof wild Comanches, and bearing right down on the few mourners around thedead body of Confed. After making this bold dash, they about faced, and were soon out of sight. There was no harm done, but, alas! thatcooked chicken was gone. Poor Confed! To what a sad end you have come. Just to think, that but a few short hours ago, you was a proud rooster--was "cock of the walk, " and was considered invincible. But, alas! youhave sunk so low as to become food for Federals! _Requiescat in pace_you can crow no more. 

OLD JOE BROWN'S PETS

By way of grim jest, and a fitting burlesque to tragic scenes, or, rather, to the thing called "glorious war, " old Joe Brown, then Governor ofGeorgia, sent in his militia. It was the richest picture of an army Iever saw. It beat Forepaugh's double-ringed circus. Every one wasdressed in citizen's clothes, and the very best they had at that time. A few had double-barreled shotguns, but the majority had umbrellas andwalking-sticks, and nearly every one had on a duster, a flat-bosomed"biled" shirt, and a plug hat; and, to make the thing more ridiculous, the dwarf and the giant were marching side by side; the knock-kneed bythe side of the bow-legged; the driven-in by the side of the drawn-out;the pale and sallow dyspeptic, who looked like Alex. Stephens, and whoseemed to have just been taken out of a chimney that smoked very badly, and whose diet was goobers and sweet potatoes, was placed beside thethree hundred-pounder, who was dressed up to kill, and whose looks seemedto say, "I've got a substitute in the army, and twenty negroes at homebesides--h-a-a-m, h-a-a-m. " Now, that is the sort of army that old JoeBrown had when he seceded from the Southern Confederacy, declaring thateach state was a separate sovereign government of itself; and, as oldJoe Brown was an original secessionist, he wanted to exemplify the grandprinciples of secession, that had been advocated by Patrick Henry, John Randolph, of Roanoke, and John C. Calhoun, in all of whom he was afirm believer. I will say, however, in all due deference to the Georgiamilitia and old Joe Brown's pets, that there was many a gallant and noblefellow among them. I remember on one occasion that I was detailed toreport to a captain of the Fourth Tennessee Regiment (Colonel Farquharson, called "Guidepost"); I have forgotten that captain's name. He was asmall-sized man, with a large, long set of black whiskers. He was thecaptain, and I the corporal of the detail. We were ordered to take acompany of the Georgia militia on a scout. We went away around to ourextreme right wing, passing through Terry's mill pond, and over the oldbattlefield of the 22nd, and past the place where General Walker fell, when we came across two ladies. One of them kept going from one tree toanother, and saying: "This pine tree, that pine tree; this pine tree, that pine tree. " In answer to our inquiry, they informed us that theyoung woman's husband was killed on the 22nd, and had been buried under apine tree, and she was nearly crazy because she could not find his deadbody. We passed on, and as soon as we came in sight of the old line ofYankee breastworks, an unexpected volley of minnie balls was fired intoour ranks, killing this captain of the Fourth Tennessee Regiment andkilling and wounding seven or eight of the Georgia militia. I hallooedto lay down, as soon as possible, and a perfect whizz of minnie ballspassed over, when I immediately gave the command of attention, forward, charge and capture that squad. That Georgia militia, every man of them, charged forward, and in a few moments we ran into a small squad ofYankees, and captured the whole "lay out. " We then carried back to campthe dead captain and the killed and wounded militia. I had seen a greatmany men killed and wounded, but some how or other these dead and woundedmen, of that day, made a more serious impression on my mind than in anyprevious or subsequent battles. They were buried with all the honors ofwar and I never will forget the incidents and scenes of this day as longas I live. 

WE GO AFTER STONEMAN

One morning our regiment was ordered to march, double-quick, to the depotto take the cars for somewhere. The engine was under steam, and readyto start for that mysterious somewhere. The whistle blew long and loud, and away we went at break-neck speed for an hour, and drew up at a littleplace by the name of Jonesboro. The Yankees had captured the town, and were tearing up the railroad track. A regiment of Rebel infantryand a brigade of cavalry were already in line of battle in their rear. We jumped out of the cars and advanced to attack them in front. Our linehad just begun to open a pretty brisk fire on the Yankee cavalry, whenthey broke, running right through and over the lines of the regiment ofinfantry and brigade of cavalry in their rear, the men opening ranksto get out of the way of the hoofs of their horses. It was Stoneman'scavalry, upon its celebrated raid toward Macon and Andersonville toliberate the Federal prisoners. We went to work like beavers, and in afew hours the railroad track had been repaired so that we could pass. Every few miles we would find the track torn up, but we would get outof the cars, fix up the track, and light out again. We were charging abrigade of cavalry with a train of cars, as it were. They would try tostop our progress by tearing up the track, but we were crowding them alittle too strong. At last they thought it was time to quit thatfoolishness, and then commenced a race between cavalry and cars for Macon, Georgia. The cars had to run exceedingly slow and careful, fearing atear up or ambuscade, but at last Macon came in sight. Twenty-five orthirty thousand Federal prisoners were confined at this place, and it waspoorly guarded and protected. We feared that Stoneman would only marchin, overpower the guards, and liberate the prisoners, and we wouldhave some tall fighting to do, but on arriving at Macon, we found thatStoneman and all of his command had just surrendered to a brigade ofcavalry and the Georgia militia, and we helped march the gentlemen insidethe prison walls at Macon. They had furnished their own transportation, paying their own way and bearing their own expenses, and instead ofliberating any prisoners, were themselves imprisoned. An extra detailwas made as guard from our regiment to take them on to Andersonville, but I was not on this detail, so I remained until the detail returned. 

Macon is a beautiful place. Business was flourishing like a green baytree. The people were good, kind, and clever to us. Everywhere thehospitality of their homes was proffered us. We were regarded as theirliberators. They gave us all the good things they had--eating, drinking, etc. We felt our consequence, I assure you, reader. We felt we wereheroes, indeed; but the benzine and other fluids became a littlepromiscuous and the libations of the boys a little too heavy. Theybegan to get boisterous--I might say, riotous. Some of the boys got tobehaving badly, and would go into stores and places, and did many thingsthey ought not to have done. In fact, the whole caboodle of them oughtto have been carried to the guard-house. They were whooping, and yelling, and firing off their guns, just for the fun of the thing. I remember ofgoing into a very nice family's house, and the old lady told the dog togo out, go out, sir! and remarked rather to herself, "Go out, go out!I wish you were killed, anyhow. " John says, "Madam, do you want that dogkilled, sure enough?" She says, "Yes, I do. I do wish that he was dead. "Before I could even think or catch my breath, bang went John's gun, and the dog was weltering in his blood right on the good lady's floor, the top of his head entirely torn off. I confess, reader, that I camevery near jumping out of my skin, as it were, at the unexpected dischargeof the gun. And other such scenes, I reckon, were being enactedelsewhere, but at last a detail was sent around to arrest all stragglers, and we were soon rolling back to Atlanta. 

"BELLUM LETHALE"

Well, after "jugging" Stoneman, we go back to Atlanta and occupy our sameold place near the concrete house. We found everything exactly as we hadleft it, with the exception of the increased number of graybacks, whichseemed to have propagated a thousand-fold since we left, and they werecrawling about like ants, making little paths and tracks in the dirtas they wiggled and waddled about, hunting for ye old Rebel soldier. Sherman's two thirty-pound parrot guns were in the same position, andevery now and then a lazy-looking shell would pass over, speeding its wayon to Atlanta. 

The old citizens had dug little cellars, which the soldiers called"gopher holes, " and the women and children were crowded together in thesecellars, while Sherman was trying to burn the city over their heads. But, as I am not writing history, I refer you to any history of the warfor Sherman's war record in and around Atlanta. 

As John and I started to go back, we thought we would visit the hospital. Great God! I get sick today when I think of the agony, and suffering, and sickening stench and odor of dead and dying; of wounds and sloughingsores, caused by the deadly gangrene; of the groaning and wailing. I cannot describe it. I remember, I went in the rear of the building, and there I saw a pile of arms and legs, rotting and decomposing; and, although I saw thousands of horrifying scenes during the war, yet todayI have no recollection in my whole life, of ever seeing anything that Iremember with more horror than that pile of legs and arms that had beencut off our soldiers. As John and I went through the hospital, and werelooking at the poor suffering fellows, I heard a weak voice calling, "Sam, O, Sam. " I went to the poor fellow, but did not recognize him at first, but soon found out that it was James Galbreath, the poor fellow who hadbeen shot nearly in two on the 22nd of July. I tried to be cheerful, and said, "Hello, Galbreath, old fellow, I thought you were in heavenlong before this. " He laughed a sort of dry, cracking laugh, and askedme to hand him a drink of water. I handed it to him. He then began tomumble and tell me something in a rambling and incoherent way, but allI could catch was for me to write to his family, who were living nearMt. Pleasant. I asked him if he was badly wounded. He only pulled downthe blanket, that was all. I get sick when I think of it. The lowerpart of his body was hanging to the upper part by a shred, and all of hisentrails were lying on the cot with him, the bile and other excrementsexuding from them, and they full of maggots. I replaced the blanket astenderly as I could, and then said, "Galbreath, good-bye. " I then kissedhim on his lips and forehead, and left. As I passed on, he kept tryingto tell me something, but I could not make out what he said, and fearingI would cause him to exert himself too much, I left. 

It was the only field hospital that I saw during the whole war, and Ihave no desire to see another. Those hollow-eyed and sunken-cheekedsufferers, shot in every conceivable part of the body; some shrieking, and calling upon their mothers; some laughing the hard, cackling laughof the sufferer without hope, and some cursing like troopers, and somewrithing and groaning as their wounds were being bandaged and dressed. I saw a man of the Twenty-seventh, who had lost his right hand, anotherhis leg, then another whose head was laid open, and I could see his brainthump, and another with his under jaw shot off; in fact, wounded in everymanner possible. 

Ah! reader, there is no glory for the private soldier, much less aconscript. James Galbreath was a conscript, as was also Fain King. Mr. King was killed at Chickamauga. He and Galbreath were conscriptedand joined Company H at the same time. Both were old men, and very poor, with large families at home; and they were forced to go to war againsttheir wishes, while their wives and little children were at home withoutthe necessaries of life. The officers have all the glory. Glory is notfor the private soldier, such as die in the hospitals, being eat up withthe deadly gangrene, and being imperfectly waited on. Glory is forgenerals, colonels, majors, captains, and lieutenants. They have allthe glory, and when the poor private wins battles by dint of sweat, hardmarches, camp and picket duty, fasting and broken bones, the officers getthe glory. The private's pay was eleven dollars per month, if he got it;the general's pay was three hundred dollars per month, and he always gothis. I am not complaining. These things happened sixteen to twentyyears ago. Men who never fired a gun, nor killed a Yankee during thewhole war, are today the heroes of the war. Now, I tell you what Ithink about it: I think that those of us who fought as private soldiers, fought as much for glory as the general did, and those of us who stuckit out to the last, deserve more praise than the general who resignedbecause some other general was placed in command over him. A generalcould resign. That was honorable. A private could not resign, norchoose his branch of service, and if he deserted, it was death. 

THE SCOUT AND DEATH OF A YANKEE LIEUTENANT

General Hood had sent off all his cavalry, and a detail was made each dayof so many men for a scout, to find out all we could about the movementsof the Yankees. Colonel George Porter, of the Sixth Tennessee, was incommand of the detail. We passed through Atlanta, and went down therailroad for several miles, and then made a flank movement toward wherewe expected to come in contact with the Yankees. When we came to a skirtof woods, we were deployed as skirmishers. Colonel Porter ordered usto re-prime our guns and to advance at twenty-five paces apart, beingdeployed as skirmishers, and to keep under cover as much as possible. He need not have told us this, because we had not learned war fornothing. We would run from one tree to another, and then make a carefulreconnoiter before proceeding to another. We had begun to get a littlecareless, when bang! bang! bang! It seemed that we had got into a Yankeeambush. The firing seemed to be from all sides, and was rattling amongthe leaves and bushes. It appeared as if some supernatural, infernalbattle was going on and the air was full of smoke. We had not seen theYankees. I ran to a tree to my right, and just as I got to it, I sawmy comrade sink to the ground, clutching at the air as he fell dead. I kept trying to see the Yankees, so that I might shoot. I had beenlooking a hundred yards ahead, when happening to look not more than tenpaces from me, I saw a big six-foot Yankee with a black feather in hishat, aiming deliberately at me. I dropped to the ground, and at thesame moment heard the report, and my hat was knocked off in the bushes. I remained perfectly still, and in a few minutes I saw a young Yankeelieutenant peering through the bushes. I would rather not have killedhim, but I was afraid to fire and afraid to run, and yet I did not wishto kill him. He was as pretty as a woman, and somehow I thought I hadmet him before. Our eyes met. He stood like a statue. He gazed at mewith a kind of scared expression. I still did not want to kill him, and am sorry today that I did, for I believe I could have captured him, but I fired, and saw the blood spurt all over his face. He was theprettiest youth I ever saw. When I fired, the Yankees broke and run, and I went up to the boy I had killed, and the blood was gushing out ofhis mouth. I was sorry. 

ATLANTA FORSAKEN

One morning about the break of day our artillery opened along ourbreastworks, scaring us almost to death, for it was the first guns thathad been fired for more than a month. We sprang to our feet and grabbedour muskets, and ran out and asked some one what did that mean. We wereinformed that they were "feeling" for the Yankees. The comment that wasmade by the private soldier was simply two words, and those two wordswere "O, shucks. " The Yankees had gone--no one knew whither--and ourbatteries were shelling the woods, feeling for them. "O, shucks. "

"Hello, " says Hood, "Whar in the Dickens and Tom Walker are them Yanks, hey? Feel for them with long-range 'feelers'. " A boom, boom. "Cananybody tell me whar them Yanks are? Send out a few more 'feelers. 'The feelers in the shape of cannon balls will bring them to taw. "Boom, boom, boom. 

 "For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost, For the want of a shoe the horse was lost, For the want of a horse the general was lost, For the want of a general the battle was lost. "

Forrest's cavalry had been sent off somewhere. Wheeler's cavalry hadbeen sent away yonder in the rear of the enemy to tear up the railroadand cut off their supplies, etc. , and we had to find out the movementsof the enemy by "feeling for them" by shelling the vacant woods. TheYankees were at that time twenty-five miles in our rear, "a hundredthousand strong, " at a place called Jonesboro. I do not know how it wasfound out that they were at Jonesboro, but anyhow, the news had come andCheatham's corps had to go and see about it. 

Stewart's corps must hold Atlanta, and Stephen D. Lee's corps must bestretched at proper distance, so that the word could be passed backwardand forward as to how they were getting along. As yet it is impossibleto tell of the movements of the enemy, because our cannon balls had notcome back and reported any movements to us. We had always heard thatcannon balls were blind, and we did not suppose they could see to findtheir way back. Well, our corps made a forced march for a day and anight, and passed the word back that we had seen some signs of theYankees being in that vicinity, and thought perhaps, a small portion--about a hundred thousand--were nigh about there somewhere. Says he, "It's a strange thing you don't know; send out your feelers. " We sentout a few feelers and they report back very promptly that the Yankees arehere sure enough, or that is what our feelers say. Pass the word up theline. The word is passed from mouth to mouth of Lee's skirmish linetwenty-five miles back to Atlanta. Well, if that be the case, we willset fire to all of our army stores, spike all our cannon, and play "smash"generally, and forsake Atlanta. 

In the meantime, just hold on where you are till Stewart gets through hisjob of blowing up arsenals, burning up the army stores, and spiking thecannon, and we will send our negro boy Caesar down to the horse lot tosee if he can't catch old Nance, but she is such a fool with that youngsuckling colt of hers, that it takes him almost all day to catch her, and if the draw-bars happen to be down, she'll get in the clover patch, and I don't think he will catch her today. But if he don't catch her, I'll ride Balaam anyhow. He's got a mighty sore back, and needs a shoeput on his left hind foot, and he cut his ankle with a broken shoe onhis fore foot, and has not been fed today. However, I will be alongby-and-by. Stewart, do you think you will be able to get through withyour job of blowing up by day after tomorrow, or by Saturday at twelveo'clock? Lee, pass the word down to Cheatham, and ask him what he thinksthe Yankees are doing. Now, Kinlock, get my duster and umbrella, andbring out Balaam. 

Now, reader, that was the impression made on the private's mind at thattime. 

CHAPTER XIV

JONESBORO

THE BATTLE OF JONESBORO

Stewart's corps was at Atlanta, Lee's corps was between Atlanta andJonesboro, and Cheatham's corps, then numbering not more than fivethousand men--because the woods and roads were full of stragglingsoldiers, who were not in the fight--was face to face with the wholeYankee army, and he was compelled to flee, fight, or surrender. Thiswas the position and condition of the grand Army of Tennessee on thismemorable occasion. 

If I am not mistaken, General Cleburne was commanding Cheatham's corps atthat time. We expected to be ordered into action every moment, and keptsee-sawing backward and forward, until I did not know which way theYankees were, or which way the Rebels. We would form line of battle, charge bayonets, and would raise a whoop and yell, expecting to be dashedright against the Yankee lines, and then the order would be given toretreat. Then we would immediately re-form and be ordered to chargeagain a mile off at another place. Then we would march and counter marchbackward and forward over the same ground, passing through Jonesboro awayover the hill, and then back through the town, first four forward andback; your right hand to your left hand lady, swing half round andbalance all. This sort of a movement is called a "feint. " A feint iswhat is called in poker a "bluff, " or what is called in a bully a "brag. "A feint means anything but a fight. If a lady faints she is eitherscared or in love, and wants to fall in her lover's arms. If an armymakes a feint movement, it is trying to hide some other movement. 

"Hello, Lee, what does Cleburne say the Yankees are doing at Jonesboro?"

"They are fanning themselves. "

"Well keep up that feint movement until all the boys faint from sheerexhaustion. "

"Hello, Stewart, do you think you will be able to burn up those tenlocomotives, and destroy those hundred car loads of provisions by dayafter tomorrow?"

"Lee, ask Cleburne if he feels feinty? Ask him how a fellow feels whenhe feints?"

Cleburne says: "I have feinted, feinted, and feinted, until I can't feintany longer. "

"Well, " says Hood, "if you can't feint any longer, you had better flee, fight, or faint; Balaam gets along mighty slow, but I'll be thar afterawhile. "

At one o'clock we were ordered to the attack. We had to pass throughan osage orange hedge that was worse than the enemy's fire. Theirbreastworks were before us. We yelled, and charged, and hurrahed, and said booh! booh! we're coming, coming, look out, don't you see uscoming? Why don't you let us hear the cannon's opening roar? Why don'tyou rattle a few old muskets over there at us? Booh! booh! we arecoming. Tag. We have done got to your breastworks. Now, we taggedfirst, why don't you tag back? A Yankee seems to be lying on the otherside of the breastworks sunning himself, and raising himself on his elbow, says, "Fool who with your fatty bread? W-e are too o-l-d a-birds to becaught with that kind of chaff. We don't want any of that kind of pie. What you got there wouldn't make a mouthful. Bring on your pudding andpound-cake, and then we will talk to ye. "

General Granberry, who, poor fellow, was killed in the butchery atFranklin afterwards, goes up to the breastworks, and says, "Look here, Yank, we're fighting, sure enough. "

Meynheer Dutchman comes out; and says, "Ish dot so? Vel I ish peen vonleetle pit hungry dish morning, und I yust gobble you up for mein lunchpefore tinner dime. Dot ish der kind of mans vot I bees!"

Now, reader, that is a fine description of this memorable battle. That's it--no more, no less. I was in it all, and saw General Granberrycaptured. We did our level best to get up a fight, but it was no go, any way we could fix it up. I mean no disrespect to General Hood. He was a noble, brave, and good man, and we loved him for his manyvirtues and goodness of heart. I do not propose to criticize hisgeneralship or ability as a commander. I only write of the impressionand sentiment that were made upon the private's mind at the time, andas I remember them now. But Atlanta had fallen into the hands of theYankees, and they were satisfied for the time. 

DEATH OF LIEUTENANT JOHN WHITTAKER

At this place we built small breastworks, but for what purpose I neverknew. The Yankees seemed determined not to fight, no way we could fixit. Every now and then they would send over a "feeler, " to see how wewere getting along. Sometimes these "feelers" would do some damage. I remember one morning we were away over a hill, and every now and thenhere would come one of those lazy-looking "feelers, " just bouncing alongas if he were in no hurry, called in military "ricochet. " They werevery easy to dodge, if you could see them in time. Well, one morning asbefore remarked, Lieutenant John Whittaker, then in command of Company H, and myself were sitting down eating breakfast out of the same tin plate. We were sopping gravy out with some cold corn bread, when CaptainW. C. Flournoy, of the Martin Guards, hallooed out, "Look out, Sam;look! look!" I just turned my head, and in turning, the cannon ballknocked my hat off, and striking Lieutenant Whittaker full in the sideof the head, carried away the whole of the skull part, leaving only theface. His brains fell in the plate from which we were sopping, andhis head fell in my lap, deluging my face and clothes with his blood. Poor fellow, he never knew what hurt him. His spirit went to its Godthat morning. Green Rieves carried the poor boy off on his shoulder, and, after wrapping him up in a blanket, buried him. His bones are atJonesboro today. The cannon ball did not go twenty yards afteraccomplishing its work of death. Captain Flournoy laughed at me, andsaid, "Sam, that came very near getting you. One-tenth of an inch morewould have cooked your goose. " I saw another man try to stop one ofthose balls that was just rolling along on the ground. He put his footout to stop the ball but the ball did not stop, but, instead, carried theman's leg off with it. He no doubt today walks on a cork-leg, and istax collector of the county in which he lives. I saw a thoughtless boytrying to catch one in his hands as it bounced along. He caught it, but the next moment his spirit had gone to meet its God. But, poor John, we all loved him. He died for his country. His soul is with his God. He gave his all for the country he loved, and may he rest in peace underthe shade of the tree where he is buried, and may the birds sing theirsweetest songs, the flowers put forth their most beautiful blooms, while the gentle breezes play about the brave boy's grave. Green Rieveswas the only person at the funeral; no tears of a loving mother or gentlesister were there. Green interred his body, and there it will remaintill the resurrection. John Whittaker deserves more than a passingnotice. He was noble and brave, and when he was killed, Company H waswithout an officer then commanding. Every single officer had been killed, wounded, or captured. John served as a private soldier the first yearof the war, and at the reorganization at Corinth, Mississippi, he, W. J. Whitthorne and myself all ran for orderly sergeant of Company H, and John was elected, and the first vacancy occurring after the deathof Captain Webster, he was commissioned brevet second lieutenant. Whenthe war broke out, John was clerking for John L. & T. S. Brandon, inColumbia. He had been in every march, skirmish, and battle that hadbeen fought during the war. Along the dusty road, on the march, in thebivouac and on the battlefield, he was the same noble, generous boy;always, kind, ever gentle, a smile ever lighting up his countenance. He was one of the most even tempered men I ever knew. I never knew himto speak an unkind word to anyone, or use a profane or vulgar word inmy life. 

One of those ricochet cannon balls struck my old friend, N. B. Shepard. Shep was one of the bravest and best soldiers who ever shouldered amusket. It is true, he was but a private soldier, but he was the bestfriend I had during the whole war. In intellect he was far ahead of mostof the generals, and would have honored and adorned the name of generalin the C. S. A. He was ever brave and true. He followed our cause tothe end, yet all the time an invalid. Today he is languishing on a bedof pain and sickness, caused by that ball at Jonesboro. The ball struckhim on his knapsack, knocking him twenty feet, and breaking one or tworibs and dislocating his shoulder. He was one of God's noblemen, indeed--none braver, none more generous. God alone controls our destinies, and surely He who watched over us and took care of us in those dark andbloody days, will not forsake us now. God alone fits and prepares for usthe things that are in store for us. There is none so wise as to foreseethe future or foretell the end. God sometimes seems afar off, but Hewill never leave or forsake anyone who puts his trust in Him. The daywill come when the good as well as evil will all meet on one broadplatform, to be rewarded for the deeds done in the body, when time shallend, with the gates of eternity closed, and the key fastened to thegirdle of God forever. Pardon me, reader, I have wandered. But when mymind reverts to those scenes and times, I seem to live in another age andtime and I sometime think that "after us comes the end of the universe. "

I am not trying to moralize, I am only trying to write a few scenes andincidents that came under the observation of a poor old Rebel webfootprivate soldier in those stormy days and times. Histories tell the greatfacts, while I only tell of the minor incidents. 

But on this day of which I now write, we can see in plain view more thana thousand Yankee battle-flags waving on top the red earthworks, notmore than four hundred yards off. Every private soldier there knew thatGeneral Hood's army was scattered all the way from Jonesboro to Atlanta, a distance of twenty-five miles, without any order, discipline, or spiritto do anything. We could hear General Stewart, away back yonder inAtlanta, still blowing up arsenals, and smashing things generally, while Stephen D. Lee was somewhere between Lovejoy Station and Macon, scattering. And here was but a demoralized remnant of Cheatham's corpsfacing the whole Yankee army. I have ever thought that Sherman was apoor general, not to have captured Hood and his whole army at that time. But it matters not what I thought, as I am not trying to tell the ifs andands, but only of what I saw. In a word, we had everything against us. The soldiers distrusted everything. They were broken down with theirlong days' hard marching--were almost dead with hunger and fatigue. Every one was taking his own course, and wishing and praying to becaptured. Hard and senseless marching, with little sleep, half rations, and lice, had made their lives a misery. Each one prayed that all thisfoolishness might end one way or the other. It was too much for humanendurance. Every private soldier knew that such things as this could notlast. They were willing to ring down the curtain, put out the footlightsand go home. There was no hope in the future for them. 

THEN COMES THE FARCE

From this time forward until the close of the war, everything was a farceas to generalship. The tragedy had been played, the glory of war haddeparted. We all loved Hood; he was such a clever fellow, and a good man. 

Well, Yank, why don't you come on and take us? We are ready to playquits now. We have not anything to let you have, you know; but you canparole us, you know; and we'll go home and be good boys, you know;--good Union boys, you know; and we'll be sorry for the war, you know;and we wouldn't have the negroes in any way, shape, form, or fashion, you know; and the American continent has no north, no south, no east, no west--boohoo, boohoo, boohoo. 

Tut, tut, Johnny; all that sounds tolerable nice, but then you mightwant some favor from Uncle Sam, and the teat is too full of milk at thepresent time for us to turn loose. It's a sugar teat, Johnny, and justbegins to taste sweet; and, besides, Johnny, once or twice you have putus to a little trouble; we haven't forgot that; and we've got you downnow--our foot is on your neck, and you must feel our boot heel. We wantto stamp you a little--"that's what's the matter with Hannah. " And, Johnny, you've fought us hard. You are a brave boy; you are proud andaristocratic, Johnny, and we are going to crush your cursed pride andspirit. And now, Johnny, come here; I've something to whisper in yourear. Hold your ear close down here, so that no one can hear: "We wantbig fat offices when the war is over. Some of us want to be presidents, some governors, some go to congress, and be big ministers to 'Urup, ' andall those kind of things, Johnny, you know. Just go back to your camp, Johnny, chase round, put on a bold front, flourish your trumpets, blowyour horns. And, Johnny, we don't want to be hard on you, and we'll tellyou what we'll do for you. Away back in your territory, between Columbiaand Nashville, is the most beautiful country, and the most fertile, and we have lots of rations up there, too. Now, you just go up there, Johnny, and stay until we want you. We ain't done with you yet, my boy--O, no, Johnny. And, another thing, Johnny; you will find there betweenMt. Pleasant and Columbia, the most beautiful country that the sun ofheaven ever shone upon; and half way between the two places is St. John'sChurch. Its tower is all covered over with a beautiful vine of ivy; and, Johnny, you know that in olden times it was the custom to entwine awreath of ivy around the brows of victorious generals. We have no doubtthat many of your brave generals will express a wish, when they pass by, to be buried beneath the ivy vine that shades so gracefully andbeautifully the wall of this grand old church. And, Johnny, you willfind a land of beauty and plenty, and when you get there, just put on asmuch style as you like; just pretend, for our sake, you know, that youare a bully boy with a glass eye, and that you are the victorious armythat has returned to free an oppressed people. We will allow you this, Johnny, so that we will be the greater when we want you, Johnny. And now, Johnny, we did not want to tell you what we are going to say to you now, but will, so that you'll feel bad. Sherman wants to 'march to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders. ' He wants to desolate the landand burn up your towns, to show what a coward he is, and how dastardly, and one of our boys wants to write a piece of poetry about it. But thatain't all, Johnny. You know that you fellows have got a great deal ofcotton at Augusta, Savannah, Charleston, Mobile, and other places, and cotton is worth two dollars a pound in gold, and as Christmas iscoming, we want to go down there for some of that cotton to make aChristmas gift to old Abe and old Clo, don't you see? O, no, Johnny, we don't want to end the war just yet awhile. The sugar is mighty sweetin the teat, and we want to suck a while longer. Why, sir, we want torob and then burn every house in Georgia and South Carolina. We will getmillions of dollars by robbery alone, don't you see?"

PALMETTO

 "Hark from the tomb that doleful sound, My ears attend the cry. "

General J. B. Hood established his headquarters at Palmetto, Georgia, and here is where we were visited by his honor, the Honorable JeffersonDavis, President of the Confederate States of America, and the RightHonorable Robert Toombs, secretary of state under the said Davis. Now, kind reader, don't ask me to write history. I know nothing ofhistory. See the histories for grand movements and military maneuvers. I can only tell of what I saw and how I felt. I can remember now GeneralRobert Toombs' and Hon. Jeff Davis' speeches. I remember how funnyToombs' speech was. He kept us all laughing, by telling us how quick wewere going to whip the Yankees, and how they would skedaddle back acrossthe Ohio river like a dog with a tin oyster can tied to his tail. Captain Joe P. Lee and I laughed until our sides hurt us. I can remembertoday how I felt. I felt that Davis and Toombs had come there to bringus glad tidings of great joy, and to proclaim to us that the ratificationof a treaty of peace had been declared between the Confederate States ofAmerica and the United States. I remember how good and happy I felt whenthese two leading statesmen told of when grim visaged war would smoothher wrinkled front, and when the dark clouds that had so long loweredo'er our own loved South would be in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. I do not know how others felt, but I can say never before or since did Ifeel so grand. (I came very near saying gloomy and peculiar). I feltthat I and every other soldier who had stood the storms of battle fornearly four long years, were now about to be discharged from hard marches, and scant rations, and ragged clothes, and standing guard, etc. In fact, the black cloud of war had indeed drifted away, and the beautiful starsthat gemmed the blue ether above, smiling, said, "Peace, peace, peace. "I felt bully, I tell you. I remember what I thought--that the emblem ofour cause was the Palmetto and the Texas Star, and the town of Palmetto, were symbolical of our ultimate triumph, and that we had unconsciously, nay, I should say, prophetically, fallen upon Palmetto as the mostappropriate place to declare peace between the two sections. I was sureJeff Davis and Bob Toombs had come there for the purpose of receiving thecapitulation of and to make terms with our conquered foes. I knew thatin every battle we had fought, except Missionary Ridge, we had whippedthe Yankees, and I knew that we had no cavalry, and but little artillery, and only two corps of infantry at Missionary Ridge, and from the way Jeffand Bob talked, it was enough to make us old private soldiers feel thatswelling of the heart we ne'er should feel again. I remember that otherhigh dignitaries and big bugs, then the controlling spirits of thegovernment at Richmond, visited us, and most all of these highdignitaries shook hands with the boys. It was all hands round, swing thecorner, and balance your partner. I shook hands with Hon. Jeff Davis, and he said howdy, captain; I shook hands with Toombs, and he said howdy, major; and every big bug that I shook hands with put another star on mycollar and chicken guts on my sleeve. My pen is inadequate to describethe ecstasy and patriotic feeling that permeated every vein and fiber ofmy animated being. It was Paradise regained. All the long struggles wehad followed the Palmetto flag through victory and defeat, through stormsand rains, and snows and tempest, along the dusty roads, and on the wearymarches, we had been true to our country, our cause, and our people;and there was a conscious pride within us that when we would return toour homes, we would go back as conquerors, and that we would receive theplaudits of our people--well done, good and faithful servants; you havebeen true and faithful even to the end. 

JEFF DAVIS MAKES A SPEECH

 "Sinner come view the ground Where you shall shortly lie. "

I remember that Hon. Jeff Davis visited the army at this place, and ourregiment, the First Tennessee, serenaded him. After playing several airs, he came out of General Hood's marquee, and spoke substantially as follows, as near as I can remember:

"SOLDIERS OF THE FIRST TENNESSEE REGIMENT:--I should have said captains, for every man among you is fit to be a captain. I have heard of youracts of bravery on every battlefield during the whole war, and'captains, ' so far as my wishes are concerned, I today make every manof you a captain, and I say honestly today, were I a private soldier, I would have no higher ambition on earth than to belong to the FirstTennessee Regiment. You have been loyal and brave; your ranks have neveryet, in the whole history of the war, been broken, even though the armywas routed; yet, my brave soldiers, Tennesseans all, you have everremained in your places in the ranks of the regiment, ever subject to thecommand of your gallant Colonel Field in every battle, march, skirmish, in an advance or a retreat. There are on the books of the war departmentat Richmond, the names of a quarter of a million deserters, yet, you, my brave soldiers, captains all, have remained true and steadfast. I have heard that some have been dissatisfied with the removal of GeneralJoe E. Johnston and the appointment of General Hood; but, my brave andgallant heroes, I say, I have done what I thought best for your good. Soon we commence our march to Kentucky and Tennessee. Be of good cheer, for within a short while your faces will be turned homeward, and yourfeet will press Tennessee soil, and you will tread your native heath, amid the blue-grass regions and pastures green of your native homes. We will flank General Sherman out of Atlanta, tear up the railroad andcut off his supplies, and make Atlanta a perfect Moscow of defeat tothe Federal army. Situated as he is in an enemy's country, with hiscommunications all cut off, and our army in the rear, he will bepowerless, and being fully posted and cognizant of our position, and ofthe Federal army, this movement will be the _ultima thule_, the grandcrowning stroke for our independence, and the conclusion of the war. "

ARMISTICE IN NAME ONLY

About this time the Yankees sent us a flag of truce, asking an armisticeto move every citizen of Atlanta south of their lines. It was granted. They wanted to live in fine houses awhile, and then rob and burn them, and issued orders for all the citizens of Atlanta to immediately abandonthe city. They wanted Atlanta for themselves, you see. 

For weeks and months the roads were filled with loaded wagons of old anddecrepit people, who had been hunted and hounded from their homes with arelentless cruelty worse, yea, much worse, than ever blackened the pagesof barbaric or savage history. I remember assisting in unloading ourwagons that General Hood, poor fellow, had kindly sent in to bring outthe citizens of Atlanta to a little place called Rough-and-Ready abouthalf way between Palmetto and Atlanta. Every day I would look on at thesuffering of delicate ladies, old men, and mothers with little childrenclinging to them, crying, "O, mamma, mamma, " and old women, and totteringold men, whose gray hairs should have protected them from the savage actsof Yankee hate and Puritan barbarity; and I wondered how on earth ourgenerals, including those who had resigned--that is where the shoepinches--could quietly look on at this dark, black, and damning insultto our people, and not use at least one effort to rescue them from suchterrible and unmitigated cruelty, barbarity, and outrage. GeneralHood remonstrated with Sherman against the insult, stating that it"transcended in studied and ingenious cruelty, all acts ever beforebrought to my attention in the dark history of war. "

In the great crisis of the war, Hardee, Kirby Smith, Breckinridge, and many brigadiers, resigned, thus throwing all the responsibility uponpoor Hood. 

[Author's note: In the Southern army the question was, who ranked?Not who was the best general, or colonel, or captain--but "who ranked?"The article of rank finally got down to corporals; and rank finallybursted the government. ]

I desire to state that they left the army on account of rank. O, thisthing of rank!

Many other generals resigned, and left us privates in the lurch. But thegallant Cheatham, Cleburne, Granberry, Gist, Strahl, Adams, John C. Brown, William B. Bate, Stewart, Lowery, and others, stuck to us to the last. 

The sinews of war were strained to their utmost tension. 

A SCOUT

At this place I was detailed as a regular scout, which position Icontinued to hold during our stay at Palmetto. It was a good thing. It beat camp guard all hollow. I had answered "hear" at roll-call tenthousand times in these nearly four years. But I had sorter got usedto the darn thing. 

Now, reader, I will give you a few chapters on the kind of fun I had forawhile. Our instructions were simply to try and find out all we couldabout the Yankees, and report all movements. 

One dark, rainy evening, while out as a scout, and, after travelingall day, I was returning from the Yankee outposts at Atlanta, and hadcaptured a Yankee prisoner, who I then had under my charge, and whom Iafterwards carried and delivered to General Hood. He was a considerablemuggins, and a great coward, in fact, a Yankee deserter. I soon foundout that there was no harm in him, as he was tired of war anyhow, and wasanxious to go to prison. We went into an old log cabin near the roaduntil the rain would be over. I was standing in the cabin door lookingat the rain drops fall off the house and make little bubbles in the drip, and listening to the pattering on the clapboard roof, when happening tolook up, not fifty yards off, I discovered a regiment of Yankee cavalryapproaching. I knew it would be utterly impossible for me to get awayunseen, and I did not know what to do. The Yankee prisoner was scaredalmost to death. I said, "Look, look!" I turned in the room, and foundthe planks of the floor were loose. I raised two of them, and Yank and Islipped through. I replaced the planks, and could peep out beneath thesill of the house, and see the legs of the horses. They passed on anddid not come to the old house. They were at least a half hour inpassing. At last the main regiment had all passed, and I saw the rearguard about to pass, when I heard the captain say, "Go and look in thatold house. " Three fellows detached themselves from the command and camedashing up to the old house. I thought, "Gone up, sure, " as I was afraidthe Yankee prisoner would make his presence known. When the three mencame up, they pushed open the door and looked around, and one fellow said"Booh!" They then rode off. But that "Booh!" I was sure I was caught, but I was not. 

"WHAT IS THIS REBEL DOING HERE?"

I would go up to the Yankee outpost, and if some popinjay of a tackyofficer didn't come along, we would have a good time. One morning I wassitting down to eat a good breakfast with the Yankee outpost. They werecavalry, and they were mighty clever and pleasant fellows. I looked downthe road toward Atlanta, and not fifty yards from the outpost, I saw abody of infantry approaching. I don't know why I didn't run. I oughtto have done so, but didn't. I stayed there until this body of infantrycame up. They had come to relieve the cavalry. It was a detail of negrosoldiers, headed by the meanest looking white man as their captain, I ever saw. 

In very abrupt words he told the cavalry that he had come to take theirplace, and they were ordered to report back to their command. Happeningto catch sight of me, he asked, "What is this Rebel doing here?" One ofthe men spoke up and tried to say something in my favor, but the more hesaid the more the captain of the blacks would get mad. He started towardme two or three times. He was starting, I could see by the flush ofhis face, to take hold of me, anyhow. The cavalrymen tried to protest, and said a few cuss words. The captain of the blacks looks back verymad at the cavalry. Here was my opportunity, now or never. Uncle negrolooked on, not seeming to care for the cavalry, captain, or for me. I took up my gun very gently and cocked it. I had the gentleman. I had made up my mind if he advanced one step further, that he was a deadman. When he turned to look again, it was a look of surprise. His facewas as red as a scalded beet, but in a moment was as white as a sheet. He was afraid to turn his head to give a command. The cavalry motionedtheir hands at me, as much as to say, "Run, Johnny, run. " The captain ofthe blacks fell upon his face, and I broke and ran like a quarter-horse. I never saw or heard any more of the captain of the blacks or his guardafterward. 

"LOOK OUT, BOYS. "

One night, five of us scouts, I thought all strangers to me, put up at anold gentleman's house. I took him for a Catholic priest. His head wasshaved and he had on a loose gown like a lady's dress, and a large cordand tassel tied around his waist, from which dangled a large bunch ofkeys. He treated us very kindly and hospitably, so far as words andpoliteness went, but we had to eat our own rations and sleep on our ownblankets. 

At bedtime, he invited us to sleep in a shed in front of his double logcabin. We all went in, lay down, and slept. A little while before day, the old priest came in and woke us up, and said he thought he saw in themoonlight a detachment of cavalry coming down the road from toward theRebel lines. One of our party jumped up and said there was a company ofcavalry coming that way, and then all four broke toward the old priest'sroom. I jumped up, put on one boot, and holding the other in my hand, I stepped out in the yard, with my hat and coat off--both being left inthe room. A Yankee captain stepped up to me and said, "Are you No. 200?"I answered very huskily, "No, sir, I am not. " He then went on in thehouse, and on looking at the fence, I saw there was at least two hundredYankee cavalry right at me. I did not know what to do. My hat, coat, gun, cartridge-box, and knapsack were all in the room. I was afraid tostay there, and I was afraid to give the alarm. I soon saw almost everyone of the Yankees dismount, and then I determined to give the alarm andrun. I hallooed out as loud as I could, "Look out, boys, " and broke andrun. I had to jump over a garden picket fence, and as I lit on the otherside, bang! bang! bang! was fired right after me. They stayed there buta short time, and I went back and got my gun and other accouterments. 

AM CAPTURED

When I left the old priest's house, it was then good day--nearly sun up--and I had started back toward our lines, and had walked on about half amile, not thinking of danger, when four Yankees jumped out in the middleof the road and said, "Halt, there! O, yes, we've got you at last. "I was in for it. What could I do? Their guns were cocked and leveledat me, and if I started to run, I would be shot, so I surrendered. Ina very short time the regiment of Yankee cavalry came up, and the firstgreeting I had was, "Hello, you ain't No. 200, are you?" I was takenprisoner. They, I thought, seemed to be very gleeful about it, and I hadto march right back by the old priest's house, and they carried me to theheadquarters of General Stephen Williams. As soon as he saw me, he said, "Who have you there--a prisoner, or a deserter?" They said a prisoner. From what command? No one answered. Finally he asked me what commandI belonged to. I told him the Confederate States army. Then, said he, "What is your name?" Said I, "General, if that would be any information, I would have no hesitancy in giving it. But I claim your protection as aprisoner of war. I am a private soldier in the Confederate States army, and I don't feel authorized to answer any question you may ask. " Helooked at me with a kind of quizical look, and said, "That is the waywith you Rebels. I have never yet seen one of you, but thought whatlittle information he might possess to be of value to the Union forces. "Then one of the men spoke up and said, "I think he is a spy or a scout, and does not belong to the regular army. " He then gave me a close look, and said, "Ah, ah, a guerrilla, " and ordered me to be taken to theprovost marshal's office. They carried me to a large, fine house, upstairs, and I was politely requested to take a seat. I sat there somemoments, when a dandy-looking clerk of a fellow came up with a book inhis hand, and said, "The name. " I appeared not to understand, and hesaid, "The name. " I still looked at him, and he said, "The name. "I did not know what he meant by "The name. " Finally, he closed the bookwith a slam and started off, and said I, "Did you want to find out myname?" He said, "I asked you three times. " I said, "When? If you everasked me my name, I have never heard it. " But he was too mad to listento anything else. I was carried to another room in the same building, and locked up. I remained there until about dark, when a man brought mea tolerably good supper, and then left me alone to my own meditations. I could hear the sentinels at all times of the night calling out thehours. I did not sleep a wink, nor even lay down. I had made up mymind to escape, if there was any possible chance. About three o'clockeverything got perfectly still. I went to the window, and it had a heavybolt across it, and I could not open it. I thought I would try the door, but I knew that a guard was stationed in the hall, for I could see a dimlight glimmer through the key-hole. I took my knife and unscrewed thecatch in which the lock was fastened, and soon found out that I couldopen the door; but then there was the guard, standing at the mainentrance down stairs. I peeped down, and he was quietly walking to andfro on his beat, every time looking to the hall. I made up my mind byhis measured tread as to how often he would pass the door, and one time, after he had just passed, I came out in the hall, and started to run downthe steps. About midway down the steps, one of them cracked very loud, but I ran on down in the lower hall and ran into a room, the door ofwhich was open. The sentinel came back to the entrance of the hall, and listened a few minutes, and then moved on again. I went to thewindow and raised the sash, but the blind was fastened with a kind ofpatent catch. I gave one or two hard pushes, and felt it move. Afterthat I made one big lunge, and it flew wide open, but it made a noisethat woke up every sentinel. I jumped out in the yard, and gained thestreet, and, on looking back, I heard the alarm given, and lights beganto glimmer everywhere, but, seeing no one directly after me, I madetracks toward Peachtree creek, and went on until I came to the oldbattlefield of July 22nd, and made my way back to our lines. 

CHAPTER XV

ADVANCE INTO TENNESSEE

GENERAL HOOD MAKES A FLANK MOVEMENT

After remaining a good long time at Jonesboro, the news came that we weregoing to flank Atlanta. We flanked it. A flank means "a go around. "

Yank says, "What you doing, Johnny?"

Johnny says, "We are flanking. "

Yank says, "Bully for you!"

We passed around Atlanta, crossed the Chattahoochee, and traveled backover the same route on which we had made the arduous campaign under JoeJohnston. It took us four months in the first instance, and but littlelonger than as many days in the second, to get back to Dalton, ourstarting point. On our way up there, the Yankee cavalry followed usto see how we were getting along with the flanking business. We hadpontoons made for the purpose of crossing streams. When we would getto a stream, the pontoons would be thrown across, and Hood's army wouldcross. Yank would halloo over and say, "Well, Johnny, have you goteverything across?" "Yes, " would be the answer. "Well, we want theseold pontoons, as you will not need them again. " And they would take them. 

We passed all those glorious battlefields, that have been made classic inhistory, frequently coming across the skull of some poor fellow sittingon top of a stump, grinning a ghastly smile; also the bones of horsesalong the road, and fences burned and destroyed, and occasionally thecharred remains of a once fine dwelling house. Outside of theseoccasional reminders we could see no evidence of the desolation of thetrack of an invading army. The country looked like it did at first. Citizens came out, and seemed glad to see us, and would divide theironions, garlic, and leek with us. The soldiers were in good spirits, but it was the spirit of innocence and peace, not war and victory. 

Where the railroads would cross a river, a block-house had been erected, and the bridge was guarded by a company of Federals. But we alwaysflanked these little affairs. We wanted bigger and better meat. 

WE CAPTURE DALTON

When we arrived at Dalton, we had a desire to see how the old placelooked; not that we cared anything about it, but we just wanted to takea last farewell look at the old place. We saw the United States flagflying from the ramparts, and thought that Yank would probably be asleepor catching lice, or maybe engaged in a game of seven-up. So we sentforward a physician with some white bandages tied to the end of a longpole. He walked up and says, "Hello, boys!" "What is it, boss?""Well, boys, we've come for you. " "Hyah, ha; hyah, ha; hyah, ha; a hee, he, he, he; if it ain't old master, sho. " The place was guarded by negrotroops. We marched the black rascals out. They were mighty glad to seeus, and we were kindly disposed to them. We said, "Now, boys, we don'twant the Yankees to get mad at you, and to blame you; so, just let's getout here on the railroad track, and tear it up, and pile up the crossties, and then pile the iron on top of them, and we'll set the thing a-fire, and when the Yankees come back they will say, 'What a bully fight _themnagers_ did make. '" (A Yankee always says "nager"). Reader, you shouldhave seen how that old railroad did flop over, and how the darkies didsweat, and how the perfume did fill the atmosphere. 

But there were some Yankee soldiers in a block-house at Ringgold Gap, who thought they would act big. They said that Sherman had told them notto come out of that block-house, any how. But General William B. Batebegun to persuade the gentlemen, by sending a few four-pound parrot"feelers. " Ah! those _feelers_!

They persuaded eloquently. They persuaded effectually--those feelersdid. The Yanks soon surrendered. The old place looked natural like, only it seemed to have a sort of graveyard loneliness about it. 

A MAN IN THE WELL

On leaving Dalton, after a day's march, we had stopped for the night. Our guns were stacked, and I started off with a comrade to get some woodto cook supper with. We were walking along, he a little in the rear, when he suddenly disappeared. I could not imagine what had become ofhim. I looked everywhere. The earth seemed to have opened and swallowedhim. I called, and called, but could get no answer. Presently I hearda groan that seemed to come out of the bowels of the earth; but, as yet, I could not make out where he was. Going back to camp, I procured alight, and after whooping and hallooing for a long time, I heard anothergroan, this time much louder than before. The voice appeared to beoverhead. There was no tree or house to be seen; and then again thevoice seemed to answer from under the ground, in a hollow, sepulchraltone, but I could not tell where he was. But I was determined to findhim, so I kept on hallooing and he answering. I went to the place wherethe voice appeared to come out of the earth. I was walking along ratherthoughtlessly and carelessly, when one inch more and I would havedisappeared also. Right before me I saw the long dry grass all bendingtoward a common center, and I knew that it was an old well, and thatmy comrade had fallen in it. But how to get him out was the unsolvedproblem. I ran back to camp to get assistance, and everybody had a greatcuriosity to see "the man in the well. " They would get chunks of fireand shake over the well, and, peeping down, would say, "Well, he's inthere, " and go off, and others would come and talk about his "being inthere. " The poor fellow stayed in that well all night. The next morningwe got a long rope from a battery and let it down in the well, and soonhad him on _terra firma_. He was worse scared than hurt. 

TUSCUMBIA

We arrived and remained at Tuscumbia several days, awaiting the laying ofthe pontoons across the Tennessee river at Florence, Alabama, and then weall crossed over. While at Tuscumbia, John Branch and I saw a nice sweetpotato patch, that looked very tempting to a hungry Rebel. We looked allaround, and thought that the coast was clear. We jumped over the fence, and commenced grabbling for the sweet potatoes. I had got my haversackfull, and had started off, when we heard, "Halt, there. " I looked around, and there was a soldier guard. We broke and run like quarter-horses, and the guard pulled down on us just as we jumped the fence. I don'tthink his gun was loaded, though, because we did not hear the ballwhistle. 

We marched from Decatur to Florence. Here the pontoon bridges werenicely and beautifully stretched across the river. We walked over thisfloating bridge, and soon found ourselves on the Tennessee side ofTennessee river. 

In driving a great herd of cattle across the pontoon, the front one gotstubborn, and the others, crowding up all in one bulk, broke the linethat held the pontoon, and drowned many of the drove. We had beef forsupper that night. 

EN ROUTE FOR COLUMBIA

 "And nightly we pitch our moving tent A day's march nearer home. "

How every pulse did beat and leap, and how every heart did throb withemotions of joy, which seemed nearly akin to heaven, when we received theglad intelligence of our onward march toward the land of promise, and ofour loved ones. The cold November winds coming off the mountains of thenorthwest were blowing right in our faces, and nearly cutting us in two. 

We were inured to privations and hardships; had been upon every march, in every battle, in every skirmish, in every advance, in every retreat, in every victory, in every defeat. We had laid under the burning heat ofa tropical sun; had made the cold, frozen earth our bed, with no coveringsave the blue canopy of heaven; had braved dangers, had breasted floods;had seen our comrades slain upon our right and our left hand; had heardguns that carried death in their missiles; had heard the shouts of thecharge; had seen the enemy in full retreat and flying in every direction;had heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying; had seen theblood of our countrymen dyeing the earth and enriching the soil; hadbeen hungry when there was nothing to eat; had been in rags and tatters. We had marked the frozen earth with bloody and unshod feet; had beenelated with victory and crushed by defeat; had seen and felt the pleasureof the life of a soldier, and had drank the cup to its dregs. Yes, we had seen it all, and had shared in its hopes and its fears; its loveand its hate; its good and its bad; its virtue and its vice; its gloriesand its shame. We had followed the successes and reverses of the flag ofthe Lost Cause through all these years of blood and strife. 

I was simply one of hundreds of thousands in the same fix. The tale isthe same that every soldier would tell, except Jim Whitler. Jim haddodged about, and had escaped being conscripted until "Hood's raid, "he called it. Hood's army was taking up every able-bodied man andconscripting him into the army. Jim Whitler had got a position asover-seer on a large plantation, and had about a hundred negroes underhis surveillance. The army had been passing a given point, and Jim wassitting quietly on the fence looking at the soldiers. The conscriptingsquad nabbed him. Jim tried to beg off, but all entreaty was in vain. He wanted to go by home and tell his wife and children good-bye, and toget his clothes. It was no go. But, after awhile, Jim says, "Gentlemen, ay, Ganny, the law!" You see, Jim "knowed" the law. He didn't knowB from a bull's foot in the spelling-book. But he said, _the law_. Now, when anyone says anything about the "law, " every one stops tolisten. Jim says, "Ah, Ganny, _the law_" (laying great stress upon thelaw)--"allows every man who has twenty negroes to stay at home. Ah, Ganny!" Those old soldiers had long, long ago, forgotten about that old"law" of the long gone past; but Jim had treasured it up in his memory, lo! these many years, and he thought it would serve him now, as it had, no doubt, frequently done in the past. The conscript officer said, "Law or no law--you fall into line, take this gun and cartridge-box, and _march_!" Jim's spirits sank; his hopes vanished into air. Jim wassoon in line, and was tramping to the music of the march. He stayed withthe company two days. The third day it was reported that the Yankeeshad taken position on the Murfreesboro pike. A regiment was sent tothe attack. It was Jim's regiment. He advanced bravely into battle. The minnie balls began to whistle around his ears. The regiment wasordered to fire. He hadn't seen anything to shoot at, but he blazedaway. He loaded and fired the second time, when they were ordered toretreat. He didn't see anything to run from, but the other soldiersbegan to run, and Jim run, too. Jim had not learned the word "halt!"and just kept on running. He run, and he run, and he run, and he kepton running until he got home, when he jumped in his door and shouted, "Whoopee, Rhoda! Aye, Ganny, _I've served four years in the Rebel army_. "

CHAPTER XVI

BATTLES IN TENNESSEE

COLUMBIA

 "This is my own, my native land. "

Once more the Maury Grays are permitted to put their feet upon theirnative heath, and to revisit their homes and friends, after havingfollowed their tattered, and torn, and battle-riddled flag, which theyhad borne aloft for four long years, on every march, and in every battlethat had been fought by the Army of Tennessee. We were a mere handful ofdevoted braves, who had stood by our colors when sometimes it seemed thatGod himself had forsaken us. But, parents, here are your noble and bravesons; and, ladies, four years ago you gave us this flag, and we promisedyou "That we would come back with the flag as victors, or we would comenot at all. " We have been true to our promise and our trust. On everybattlefield the flag that you entrusted to our hands has been borne aloftby brave and heroic men, amid shot and shell, bloody battle, and death. We have never forsaken our colors. Are we worthy to be called the sonsof old Maury county? Or have we fought in vain? Have our efforts beenappreciated, or have four years of our lives been wasted, while we werebattling for constitutional government, the supremacy of our laws overcentralization, and our rights, as guaranteed to us by the blood of ourforefathers on the battlefields of the Revolution? It is for you to makeup your verdict. If our lives as soldiers have been a _failure_, we canbut bow our heads on our bosoms, and say, "Surely, four years of ourlives have been given for naught, and our efforts to please you have beenin vain. "

Yet, the invader's foot is still on our soil, but there beats in ourbosoms the blood of brave and patriotic men, and we will continue tofollow our old and war-worn and battle-riddled flag until it goes downforever. 

The Maury Grays, commanded by Captain A. M. Looney, left Columbia, four years ago, with 120 men. How many of those 120 original membersare with the company today? Just twelve. Company H has twenty members, but some of this number had subsequently enlisted. But we twelve willstick to our colors till she goes down forever, and until five more ofthis number fall dead and bleeding on the battlefield. 

A FIASCO

When we arrived in sight of Columbia, we found the Yankees still inpossession of the town, fortified and determined to resist our advance. We send forward a "feeler, " and the "feeler" reports back very promptly, "Yes, the Yankees are there. " Well, if that be the case, we'll just makea flank movement. We turn off the main turnpike at J. E. R. Carpenter's, and march through the cedars, and cross Duck river at Davis' ferry, on pontoon bridges, near Lowell's mill. We pass on, and cross Rutherfordcreek, near Burick's mill, about three o'clock in the afternoon. We hadmarched through fields in the heavy mud, and the men, weary and worn out, were just dragging themselves along, passing by the old Union Seminary, and then by Mr. Fred Thompson's, until we came to the Rally Hill turnpike--it being then nearly dark--we heard some skirmishing, but, exhausted aswe were, we went into bivouac. The Yankees, it seems to me, might havecaptured the whole of us. But that is a matter of history. But I desireto state that no blunder was made by either Generals Cheatham or Stewart, neither of whom ever failed to come to time. Jeff Davis is aloneresponsible for the blunder. About two hours after sun up the nextmorning we received the order to "Fall in, fall in, quick, make haste, hurrah, promptly, men; each rank count two; by the right flank, quicktime, march; keep promptly closed up. " Everything indicated an immediateattack. When we got to the turnpike near Spring Hill, lo! and behold;wonder of wonders! the whole Yankee army had passed during the night. The bird had flown. We made a quick and rapid march down the turnpike, finding Yankee guns and knapsacks, and now and then a broken downstraggler, also two pieces of howitzer cannon, and at least twenty brokenwagons along the road. Everything betokened a rout and a stampede ofthe Yankee army. Double quick! Forrest is in the rear. Now for fun. All that we want to do now is to catch the blue-coated rascals, ha! ha!We all want to see the surrender, ha! ha! Double quick! A rip, rip, rip;wheuf; pant, pant, pant. First one man drops out, and then another. The Yankees are routed and running, and Forrest has crossed Harpeth riverin the rear of Franklin. Hurrah, men! keep closed up; we are going tocapture Schofield. Forrest is in the rear; never mind the straggler andcannon. Kerflop we come against the breastworks at Franklin. 

FRANKLIN

 "The death-angel gathers its last harvest. "

Kind reader, right here my pen, and courage, and ability fail me. I shrink from butchery. Would to God I could tear the page from thesememoirs and from my own memory. It is the blackest page in the historyof the war of the Lost Cause. It was the bloodiest battle of moderntimes in any war. It was the finishing stroke to the independence ofthe Southern Confederacy. I was there. I saw it. My flesh trembles, and creeps, and crawls when I think of it today. My heart almost ceasesto beat at the horrid recollection. Would to God that I had neverwitnessed such a scene!

I cannot describe it. It beggars description. I will not attempt todescribe it. I could not. The death-angel was there to gather its lastharvest. It was the grand coronation of death. Would that I could turnthe page. But I feel, though I did so, that page would still be there, teeming with its scenes of horror and blood. I can only tell of what Isaw. 

Our regiment was resting in the gap of a range of hills in plain view ofthe city of Franklin. We could see the battle-flags of the enemy wavingin the breeze. Our army had been depleted of its strength by a forcedmarch from Spring Hill, and stragglers lined the road. Our artillery hadnot yet come up, and could not be brought into action. Our cavalry wasacross Harpeth river, and our army was but in poor condition to make anassault. While resting on this hillside, I saw a courier dash up to ourcommanding general, B. F. Cheatham, and the word, "Attention!" was given. I knew then that we would soon be in action. Forward, march. We passedover the hill and through a little skirt of woods. 

The enemy were fortified right across the Franklin pike, in the suburbsof the town. Right here in these woods a detail of skirmishers wascalled for. Our regiment was detailed. We deployed as skirmishers, firing as we advanced on the left of the turnpike road. If I had notbeen a skirmisher on that day, I would not have been writing this today, in the year of our Lord 1882. 

It was four o'clock on that dark and dismal December day when the line ofbattle was formed, and those devoted heroes were ordered forward, to

 "Strike for their altars and their fires, For the green graves of their sires, For God and their native land. "

As they marched on down through an open field toward the rampart of bloodand death, the Federal batteries began to open and mow down and gatherinto the garner of death, as brave, and good, and pure spirits as theworld ever saw. The twilight of evening had begun to gather as aprecursor of the coming blackness of midnight darkness that was toenvelop a scene so sickening and horrible that it is impossible for me todescribe it. "Forward, men, " is repeated all along the line. A sheet offire was poured into our very faces, and for a moment we halted as if indespair, as the terrible avalanche of shot and shell laid low those braveand gallant heroes, whose bleeding wounds attested that the strugglewould be desperate. Forward, men! The air loaded with death-dealingmissiles. Never on this earth did men fight against such terrible odds. It seemed that the very elements of heaven and earth were in one mightyuproar. Forward, men! And the blood spurts in a perfect jet from thedead and wounded. The earth is red with blood. It runs in streams, making little rivulets as it flows. Occasionally there was a little lullin the storm of battle, as the men were loading their guns, and for a fewmoments it seemed as if night tried to cover the scene with her mantle. The death-angel shrieks and laughs and old Father Time is busy with hissickle, as he gathers in the last harvest of death, crying, More, more, more! while his rapacious maw is glutted with the slain. 

But the skirmish line being deployed out, extending a little wider thanthe battle did--passing through a thicket of small locusts, where Brown, orderly sergeant of Company B, was killed--we advanced on toward thebreastworks, on and on. I had made up my mind to die--felt glorious. We pressed forward until I heard the terrific roar of battle open on ourright. Cleburne's division was charging their works. I passed on untilI got to their works, and got over on their (the Yankees') side. But infifty yards of where I was the scene was lit up by fires that seemed likehell itself. It appeared to be but one line of streaming fire. Ourtroops were upon one side of the breastworks, and the Federals on theother. I ran up on the line of works, where our men were engaged. Dead soldiers filled the entrenchments. The firing was kept up untilafter midnight, and gradually died out. We passed the night where wewere. But when the morrow's sun began to light up the eastern sky withits rosy hues, and we looked over the battlefield, O, my God! what did wesee! It was a grand holocaust of death. Death had held high carnivalthere that night. The dead were piled the one on the other all overthe ground. I never was so horrified and appalled in my life. Horses, like men, had died game on the gory breastworks. General Adams' horsehad his fore feet on one side of the works and his hind feet on the other, dead. The general seems to have been caught so that he was held to thehorse's back, sitting almost as if living, riddled, and mangled, and tornwith balls. General Cleburne's mare had her fore feet on top of theworks, dead in that position. General Cleburne's body was pierced withforty-nine bullets, through and through. General Strahl's horse lay bythe roadside and the general by his side, both dead, and all his staff. General Gist, a noble and brave cavalier from South Carolina, was lyingwith his sword reaching across the breastworks still grasped in his hand. He was lying there dead. All dead! They sleep in the graveyard yonderat Ashwood, almost in sight of my home, where I am writing today. They sleep the sleep of the brave. We love and cherish their memory. They sleep beneath the ivy-mantled walls of St. John's church, where theyexpressed a wish to be buried. The private soldier sleeps where he fell, piled in one mighty heap. Four thousand five hundred privates! alllying side by side in death! Thirteen generals were killed and wounded. Four thousand five hundred men slain, all piled and heaped together atone place. I cannot tell the number of others killed and wounded. God alone knows that. We'll all find out on the morning of the finalresurrection. 

Kind friends, I have attempted in my poor and feeble way to tell you ofthis (I can hardly call it) battle. It should be called by some othername. But, like all other battles, it, too, has gone into history. I leave it with you. I do not know who was to blame. It lives in thememory of the poor old Rebel soldier who went through that trying andterrible ordeal. We shed a tear for the dead. They are buried andforgotten. We meet no more on earth. But up yonder, beyond the sunsetand the night, away beyond the clouds and tempest, away beyond the starsthat ever twinkle and shine in the blue vault above us, away yonder bythe great white throne, and by the river of life, where the Almightyand Eternal God sits, surrounded by the angels and archangels and theredeemed of earth, we will meet again and see those noble and bravespirits who gave up their lives for their country's cause that nightat Franklin, Tennessee. A life given for one's country is never lost. It blooms again beyond the grave in a land of beauty and of love. Hanging around the throne of sapphire and gold, a rich garland awaits thecoming of him who died for his country, and when the horologe of time hasstruck its last note upon his dying brow, Justice hands the record oflife to Mercy, and Mercy pleads with Jesus, and God, for his sake, receives him in his eternal home beyond the skies at last and forever. 

NASHVILLE

A few more scenes, my dear friends, and we close these memoirs. We marchtoward the city of Nashville. We camp the first night at Brentwood. The next day we can see the fine old building of solid granite, loomingup on Capitol Hill--the capitol of Tennessee. We can see the Stars andStripes flying from the dome. Our pulse leaps with pride when we see thegrand old architecture. We can hear the bugle call, and the playing ofthe bands of the different regiments in the Federal lines. Now and thena shell is thrown into our midst from Fort Negley, but no attack ordemonstrations on either side. We bivouac on the cold and hard-frozenground, and when we walk about, the echo of our footsteps sound like theecho of a tombstone. The earth is crusted with snow, and the wind fromthe northwest is piercing our very bones. We can see our ragged soldiers, with sunken cheeks and famine-glistening eyes. Where were our generals?Alas! there were none. Not one single general out of Cheatham's divisionwas left--not one. General B. F. Cheatham himself was the only survivinggeneral of his old division. Nearly all our captains and colonels weregone. Companies mingled with companies, regiments with regiments, and brigades with brigades. A few raw-boned horses stood shivering underthe ice-covered trees, nibbling the short, scanty grass. Being in rangeof the Federal guns from Fort Negley, we were not allowed to have firesat night, and our thin and ragged blankets were but poor protectionagainst the cold, raw blasts of December weather--the coldest ever known. The cold stars seem to twinkle with unusual brilliancy, and the pale moonseems to be but one vast heap of frozen snow, which glimmers in the coldgray sky, and the air gets colder by its coming; our breath, formingin little rays, seems to make a thousand little coruscations thatscintillate in the cold frosty air. I can tell you nothing of what wasgoing on among the generals. But there we were, and that is all thatI can tell you. One morning about daylight our army began to move. Our division was then on the extreme right wing, and then we weretransferred to the left wing. The battle had begun. We were continuallymoving to our left. We would build little temporary breastworks, thenwe would be moved to another place. Our lines kept on widening out, andstretching further and further apart, until it was not more than askeleton of a skirmish line from one end to the other. We started at arun. We cared for nothing. Not more than a thousand yards off, we couldsee the Yankee cavalry, artillery, and infantry, marching apparentlystill further to our left. We could see regiments advancing atdouble-quick across the fields, while, with our army, everything seemedconfused. The private soldier could not see into things. It seemed tobe somewhat like a flock of wild geese when they have lost their leader. We were willing to go anywhere, or to follow anyone who would lead us. We were anxious to flee, fight, or fortify. I have never seen an armyso confused and demoralized. The whole thing seemed to be tottering andtrembling. When, _Halt! Front! Right dress!_ and Adjutant McKinney readsus the following order:

"SOLDIERS:--The commanding general takes pleasure in announcing to histroops that victory and success are now within their grasp; and thecommanding general feels proud and gratified that in every attack andassault the enemy have been repulsed; and the commanding general willfurther say to his noble and gallant troops, 'Be of good cheer--all iswell. ' "GENERAL JOHN B. HOOD, "General Commanding. 

"KINLOCK FALCONER, "Acting Adjutant-General. "

I remember how this order was received. Every soldier said, "O, shucks;that is all shenanigan, " for we knew that we had never met the enemy orfired a gun outside of a little skirmishing. And I will further statethat that battle order, announcing success and victory, was the cause ofa greater demoralization than if our troops had been actually engaged inbattle. They at once mistrusted General Hood's judgment as a commander. And every private soldier in the whole army knew the situation ofaffairs. I remember when passing by Hood, how feeble and decrepit helooked, with an arm in a sling, and a crutch in the other hand, andtrying to guide and control his horse. And, reader, I was not aChristian then, and am but little better today; but, as God sees my hearttonight, I prayed in my heart that day for General Hood. Poor fellow, I loved him, not as a General, but as a good man. I knew when that armyorder was read, that General Hood had been deceived, and that the poorfellow was only trying to encourage his men. Every impulse of his naturewas but to do good, and to serve his country as best he could. Ah!reader, some day all will be well. 

We continued marching toward our left, our battle-line getting thinnerand thinner. We could see the Federals advancing, their blue coats andbanners flying, and could see their movements and hear them giving theircommands. Our regiment was ordered to double quick to the extreme leftwing of the army, and we had to pass up a steep hill, and the dead grasswas wet and as slick as glass, and it was with the greatest difficultythat we could get up the steep hill side. When we got to the top, we, as skirmishers, were ordered to deploy still further to the left. Billy Carr and J. E. Jones, two as brave soldiers as ever breathed thebreath of life--in fact, it was given up that they were the bravest andmost daring men in the Army of Tennessee--and myself, were on the veryextreme left wing of our army. While we were deployed as skirmishers, I heard, "Surrender, surrender, " and on looking around us, I saw thatwe were right in the midst of a Yankee line of battle. They were lyingdown in the bushes, and we were not looking for them so close to us. Weimmediately threw down our guns and surrendered. J. E. Jones was killedat the first discharge of their guns, when another Yankee raised up andtook deliberate aim at Billy Carr, and fired, the ball striking him belowthe eye and passing through his head. As soon as I could, I picked up mygun, and as the Yankee turned I sent a minnie ball crushing through hishead, and broke and run. But I am certain that I killed the Yankee whokilled Billy Carr, but it was too late to save the poor boy's life. As I started to run, a fallen dogwood tree tripped me up, and I fell overthe log. It was all that saved me. The log was riddled with balls, and thousands, it seemed to me, passed over it. As I got up to run again, I was shot through the middle finger of the very hand that is now penningthese lines, and the thigh. But I had just killed a Yankee, and wasdetermined to get away from there as soon as I could. How I did get backI hardly know, for I was wounded and surrounded by Yankees. One rushedforward, and placing the muzzle of his gun in two feet of me, dischargedit, but it missed its aim, when I ran at him, grabbed him by the collar, and brought him off a prisoner. Captain Joe P. Lee and ColonelH. R. Field remember this, as would Lieutenant-Colonel John L. House, were he alive; and all the balance of Company H, who were there at thetime. I had eight bullet holes in my coat, and two in my hand, besidethe one in my thigh and finger. It was a hail storm of bullets. Theabove is true in every particular, and is but one incident of the war, which happened to hundreds of others. But, alas! all our valor andvictories were in vain, when God and the whole world were against us. 

Billy Carr was one of the bravest and best men I ever knew. He neverknew what fear was, and in consequence of his reckless bravery, had beenbadly wounded at Perryville, Murfreesboro, Chickamauga, the octagon house, Dead Angle, and the 22nd of July at Atlanta. In every battle he waswounded, and finally, in the very last battle of the war, surrendered uphis life for his country's cause. No father and mother of such a braveand gallant boy, should ever sorrow or regret having born to them such ason. He was the flower and chivalry of his company. He was as good ashe was brave. His bones rest yonder on the Overton hills today, while Ihave no doubt in my own mind that his spirit is with the Redeemer of thehosts of heaven. He was my friend. Poor boy, farewell!

When I got back to where I could see our lines, it was one scene ofconfusion and rout. Finney's Florida brigade had broken before a mereskirmish line, and soon the whole army had caught the infection, hadbroken, and were running in every direction. Such a scene I never saw. The army was panic-stricken. The woods everywhere were full of runningsoldiers. Our officers were crying, "Halt! halt!" and trying to rallyand re-form their broken ranks. The Federals would dash their cavalryin amongst us, and even their cannon joined in the charge. One piece ofYankee artillery galloped past me, right on the road, unlimbered theirgun, fired a few shots, and galloped ahead again. 

Hood's whole army was routed and in full retreat. Nearly every man inthe entire army had thrown away his gun and accouterments. More than tenthousand had stopped and allowed themselves to be captured, while many, dreading the horrors of a Northern prison, kept on, and I saw many, yea, even thousands, broken down from sheer exhaustion, with despair and pitywritten on their features. Wagon trains, cannon, artillery, cavalry, and infantry were all blended in inextricable confusion. Broken downand jaded horses and mules refused to pull, and the badly-scared driverslooked like their eyes would pop out of their heads from fright. Wagonwheels, interlocking each other, soon clogged the road, and wagons, horses and provisions were left indiscriminately. The officers soonbecame effected with the demoralization of their troops, and rode on indogged indifference. General Frank Cheatham and General Loring tried toform a line at Brentwood, but the line they formed was like trying tostop the current of Duck river with a fish net. I believe the armywould have rallied, had there been any colors to rally to. And as thestraggling army moves on down the road, every now and then we can hearthe sullen roar of the Federal artillery booming in the distance. I saw a wagon and team abandoned, and I unhitched one of the horses androde on horseback to Franklin, where a surgeon tied up my broken finger, and bandaged up my bleeding thigh. My boot was full of blood, and myclothing saturated with it. I was at General Hood's headquarters. He was much agitated and affected, pulling his hair with his one hand(he had but one), and crying like his heart would break. I pitied him, poor fellow. I asked him for a wounded furlough, and he gave it to me. I never saw him afterward. I always loved and honored him, and will everrevere and cherish his memory. He gave his life in the service of hiscountry, and I know today he wears a garland of glory beyond the grave, where Justice says "well done, " and Mercy has erased all his errors andfaults. 

I only write of the under _strata_ of history; in other words, the_privates' history_--as I saw things then, and remember them now. 

The winter of 1864-5 was the coldest that had been known for many years. The ground was frozen and rough, and our soldiers were poorly clad, while many, yes, very many, were entirely barefooted. Our wagon trainshad either gone on, we knew not whither, or had been left behind. Everything and nature, too, seemed to be working against us. Even thekeen, cutting air that whistled through our tattered clothes and overour poorly covered heads, seemed to lash us in its fury. The floods ofwaters that had overflowed their banks, seemed to laugh at our calamity, and to mock us in our misfortunes. 

All along the route were weary and footsore soldiers. The citizensseemed to shrink and hide from us as we approached them. And, to cap theclimax, Tennessee river was overflowing its banks, and several Federalgunboats were anchored just below Mussel Shoals, firing at us whilecrossing. 

The once proud Army of Tennessee had degenerated to a mob. We werepinched by hunger and cold. The rains, and sleet, and snow never ceasedfalling from the winter sky, while the winds pierced the old, ragged, grayback Rebel soldier to his very marrow. The clothing of many werehanging around them in shreds of rags and tatters, while an old slouchedhat covered their frozen ears. Some were on old, raw-boned horses, without saddles. 

Hon. Jefferson Davis perhaps made blunders and mistakes, but I honestlybelieve that he ever did what he thought best for the good of hiscountry. And there never lived on this earth from the days of Hampden toGeorge Washington, a purer patriot or a nobler man than Jefferson Davis;and, like Marius, grand even in ruins. 

Hood was a good man, a kind man, a philanthropic man, but he is bothharmless and defenseless now. He was a poor general in the capacityof commander-in-chief. Had he been mentally qualified, his physicalcondition would have disqualified him. His legs and one of his arms hadbeen shot off in the defense of his country. As a soldier, he was brave, good, noble, and gallant, and fought with the ferociousness of thewounded tiger, and with the everlasting grit of the bull-dog; but as ageneral he was a failure in every particular. 

Our country is gone, our cause is lost. "_Actum est de Republica_. "

CHAPTER XVII

THE SURRENDER

THE LAST ACT OF THE DRAMA

On the 10th day of May, 1861, our regiment, the First Tennessee, leftNashville for the camp of instruction, with twelve hundred and fifty men, officers and line. Other recruits continually coming in swelled thisnumber to fourteen hundred. In addition to this Major Fulcher'sbattalion of four companies, with four hundred men (originally), wasafterwards attached to the regiment; and the Twenty-seventh TennesseeRegiment was afterwards consolidated with the First. And besides this, there were about two hundred conscripts added to the regiment from timeto time. To recapitulate: The First Tennessee, numbering originally, 1, 250; recruited from time to time, 150; Fulcher's battalion, 400;the Twenty-seventh Tennessee, 1, 200; number of conscripts (at the lowestestimate), 200--making the sum total 3, 200 men that belonged to ourregiment during the war. The above I think a low estimate. Well, on the 26th day of April, 1865, General Joe E. Johnston surrendered hisarmy at Greensboro, North Carolina. The day that we surrendered ourregiment it was a pitiful sight to behold. If I remember correctly, there were just sixty-five men in all, including officers, that wereparoled on that day. Now, what became of the original 3, 200? A grandarmy, you may say. Three thousand two hundred men! Only sixty-fiveleft! Now, reader, you may draw your own conclusions. It lacked justfour days of four years from the day we were sworn in to the day of thesurrender, and it was just four years and twenty four days from thetime that we left home for the army to the time that we got back again. It was indeed a sad sight to look at, the Old First Tennessee Regiment. A mere squad of noble and brave men, gathered around the tattered flagthat they had followed in every battle through that long war. It was sobullet-riddled and torn that it was but a few blue and red shreds thathung drooping while it, too, was stacked with our guns forever. 

Thermopylae had one messenger of defeat, but when General Joe E. Johnstonsurrendered the Army of the South there were hundreds of regiments, yea, I might safely say thousands, that had not a representative on the 26thday of April, 1865. 

Our cause was lost from the beginning. Our greatest victories--Chickamauga and Franklin--were our greatest defeats. Our people weredivided upon the question of Union and secession. Our generals werescrambling for "_Who ranked_. " The private soldier fought and starvedand died for naught. Our hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded, but half provided with food and clothing to sustain life. Our money wasdepreciated to naught and our cause lost. We left our homes four yearsprevious. Amid the waving of flags and handkerchiefs and the smiles ofthe ladies, while the fife and drum were playing Dixie and the BonnieBlue Flag, we bid farewell to home and friends. The bones of our braveSouthern boys lie scattered over our loved South. They fought for their"_country_, " and gave their lives freely for that country's cause:and now they who survive sit, like Marius amid the wreck of Carthage, sublime even in ruins. Other pens abler than mine will have to chronicletheir glorious deeds of valor and devotion. In these sketches I havenamed but a few persons who fought side by side with me during that longand unholy war. In looking back over these pages, I ask, Where now aremany whose names have appeared in these sketches? They are up yonder, and are no doubt waiting and watching for those of us who are leftbehind. And, my kind reader, the time is coming when we, too, will becalled, while the archangel of death is beating the long roll of eternity, and with us it will be the last reveille. God Himself will sound the"assembly" on yonder beautiful and happy shore, where we will again havea grand "reconfederation. " We shed a tear over their flower-strewngraves. We live after them. We love their memory yet. But onegeneration passes away and another generation follows. We know our lovedand brave soldiers. We love them yet. 

But when we pass away, the impartial historian will render a true verdict, and a history will then be written in justification and vindication ofthose brave and noble boys who gave their all in fighting the battles oftheir homes, their country, and their God. 

"The United States has no North, no South, no East, no West. " "_We areone and undivided_. "

ADIEU

My kind friends--soldiers, comrades, brothers, all: The curtain is rungdown, the footlights are put out, the audience has all left and gonehome, the seats are vacant, and the cold walls are silent. The gaudytinsel that appears before the footlights is exchanged for the dress ofthe citizen. Coming generations and historians will be the critics asto how we have acted our parts. The past is buried in oblivion. Theblood-red flag, with its crescent and cross, that we followed for fourlong, bloody, and disastrous years, has been folded never again to beunfurled. We have no regrets for what we did, but we mourn the loss ofso many brave and gallant men who perished on the field of battle andhonor. I now bid you an affectionate adieu. 

But in closing these memoirs, the scenes of my life pass in rapid reviewbefore me. In imagination, I am young again tonight. I feel the flushand vigor of my manhood--am just twenty-one years of age. I hear thefife and drum playing Dixie and Bonnie Blue Flag. I see and hear ourfire-eating stump-orators tell of the right of secession and disunion. I see our fair and beautiful women waving their handkerchiefs andencouraging their sweethearts to go to the war. I see the marshaling ofthe hosts for "glorious war. " I see the fine banners waving and hearthe cry everywhere, "_To arms! to arms!_" And I also see our country atpeace and prosperous, our fine cities look grand and gay, our fields richin abundant harvests, our people happy and contented. All these passin imagination before me. Then I look and see glorious war in all itssplendor. I hear the shout and charge, the boom of artillery and therattle of small arms. I see gaily-dressed officers charging backwardsand forwards upon their mettled war horses, clothed in the panoply ofwar. I see victory and conquest upon flying banners. I see our armstriumph in every battle. And, O, my friends, I see another scene. I see broken homes and broken hearts. I see war in all of itsdesolation. I see a country ruined and impoverished. I see a nationdisfranchised and maltreated. I see a commonwealth forced to paydishonest and fraudulent bonds that were issued to crush that people. I see sycophants licking the boots of the country's oppressor. I seeother and many wrongs perpetrated upon a conquered people. But maybeit is but the ghosts and phantoms of a dreamy mind, or the wind as itwhistles around our lonely cabin-home. The past is buried in oblivion. The mantle of charity has long ago fallen upon those who thinkdifferently from us. We remember no longer wrongs and injustice done usby anyone on earth. We are willing to forget and forgive those who havewronged and falsified us. We look up above and beyond all these pettygroveling things and shake hands and forget the past. And while myimagination is like the weaver's shuttle, playing backward and forwardthrough these two decades of time, I ask myself, Are these things real?did they happen? are they being enacted today? or are they the fancies ofthe imagination in forgetful reverie? Is it true that I have seen allthese things? that they are real incidents in my life's history? DidI see those brave and noble countrymen of mine laid low in death andweltering in their blood? Did I see our country laid waste and in ruins?Did I see soldiers marching, the earth trembling and jarring beneaththeir measured tread? Did I see the ruins of smouldering cities anddeserted homes? Did I see my comrades buried and see the violet andwild flowers bloom over their graves? Did I see the flag of my country, that I had followed so long, furled to be no more unfurled forever?Surely they are but the vagaries of mine own imagination. Surely myfancies are running wild tonight. But, hush! I now hear the approach ofbattle. That low, rumbling sound in the west is the roar of cannon inthe distance. That rushing sound is the tread of soldiers. That quick, lurid glare is the flash that precedes the cannon's roar. And listen!that loud report that makes the earth tremble and jar and sway, is butthe bursting of a shell, as it screams through the dark, tempestuousnight. That black, ebon cloud, where the lurid lightning flickers andflares, that is rolling through the heavens, is the smoke of battle;beneath is being enacted a carnage of blood and death. Listen! thesoldiers are charging now. The flashes and roaring now are blended withthe shouts of soldiers and confusion of battle. 

But, reader, time has brought his changes since I, a young ardent andimpetuous youth, burning with a lofty patriotism first shouldered mymusket to defend the rights of my country. 

Lifting the veil of the past, I see many manly forms, bright in youth andhope, standing in view by my side in Company H, First Tennessee Regiment. Again I look and half those forms are gone. Again, and gray locks andwrinkled faces and clouded brows stand before me. 

Before me, too, I see, not in imagination, but in reality, my own lovedJennie, the partner of my joys and the sharer of my sorrows, sustaining, comforting, and cheering my pathway by her benignant smile; pouring thesunshine of domestic comfort and happiness upon our humble home; makinglife more worth the living as we toil on up the hill of time together, with the bright pledges of our early and constant love by our side whilethe sunlight of hope ever brightens our pathway, dispelling darkness andsorrow as we hand in hand approach the valley of the great shadow. 

The tale is told. The world moves on, the sun shines as brightly asbefore, the flowers bloom as beautifully, the birds sing their carols assweetly, the trees nod and bow their leafy tops as if slumbering in thebreeze, the gentle winds fan our brow and kiss our cheek as they pass by, the pale moon sheds her silvery sheen, the blue dome of the sky sparkleswith the trembling stars that twinkle and shine and make night beautiful, and the scene melts and gradually disappears forever. 

 THE END. 

Appendix: Transcription notes:

About "Company Aytch":

 "Company Aytch" was printed as a series of newspaper articles in 1881-1882. 

 First printed in book form, 2000 copies, in 1882. 

 Second printing of 2000 copies in 1900. 

 Reprinted in 1952 with an introduction and commentary by Bell Irvin Wiley. 

 10 or more printings by Collier Books starting in 1962, with an introduction by Roy P. Basler. 

The following modifications were applied while transcribing theprinted book to etext:

 Quite a few of the sub-headings in the book were printed with a trailing period, while the majority were not. For example, in chapter 11: SHOOTING A DESERTER. Versus TARGET SHOOTING DR. C. T. QUINTARD. Versus GENERAL JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON For the sake of consistency, I have removed these trailing periods. 

 Chapter 10 Page 123, para 3, fix typo "minne ball"

 Chapter 12 Page 168, para 1, fix typo "Breckenridge"

 The following words were sometimes printed hyphenated, sometimes not. In this etext, they are not hyphenated: arch-angel battle-fields foot-lights grave-yard hill-side horse-back re-organization shot-gun up-stairs/down-stairs

 The following words were sometimes printed hyphenated, sometimes not. In this etext, they are hyphenated: battle-flags

 The following words were printed using the "ae" or "oe" ligature: Caesar diarrhoea Thermopylae

I did not change the following: Some words in this book appear to be mis-spelled, at least by current usage: descendents geneology

 The author, intentionally or not, consistently mis-spelled several names, including those of Capt. /Col. Hume R. Feild and Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston