menu_book Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII. HOOD STRIKES General John B. Hood had the reputation of being a fighting man, and wishing to show Jeff Davis what a bully fighter he was, lights in on the Yankees on Peachtree Creek. For that was, I give a dare, affair.

General William B. Bates' division gained their works, but did not long hold them. Our division, now commanded by General John C. Brown, was supporting Bates' division, our regiment supporting the 154th Tennessee, which was pretty badly cut to pieces, and I remember how mad they seemed to be because they had to fall back. Hood thought that he would strike while the iron was hot, and while it could be hammered

into shape, and make the Yankees believe that it was the powerful 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 axe. After working for some time and failing, he concluded that he would make him a wedge,

and failing in this, he said, I'll make a skow. So he heats the iron red hot and drops it into the slack tub, and it went skow, bubble bubble, skow, bust. The Yankee Scout On the night of the 20th, the Yankees were on Peachtree Creek, advancing toward Atlanta.

I was a Vedette that night on the outpost of the Army. I could plainly hear the moving of their Army, even the talking and laughing 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 lazily passing over it while the stars seemed trying to wink and sparkle and make night beautiful. I thought of God, of heaven, of home.

And I thought of Jenny, her whom I had ever loved and who had given me her troth and all of her maiden purity, to be my darling bride as soon as the war was over. I thought of the scenes of my childhood, my schoolboy days. I thought of the time when I left peace and home for war and privations. I had Jenny's picture in my pocket Bible, alongside of a braid 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 hopes and struggles, my happiness as well as troubles, and who would be my darling bride, and happiness would ever be mine. An owl had lit on an old tree near me and began to hoot hoot hoot hoot hoot hoot hoot who are you?

And his mate would answer back from the lugubrious depths of the Chattahoochee swamps. A shivering owl also sat on the limb of the tree and kept up its dismal wailings. And ever now and then I could hear the tingle tingle tingle of a cowbell in the distance and the shrill cry of the whippoorwill. The shivering owl and whippoorwill seemed to be in a sort of talk and the jack-o-lantern

seemed to be playing spirits when hush! What is that? Listen! It might have been two o'clock and I saw or thought I saw the dim outlines of a Yankee soldier lying on the ground not more than ten steps from where I stood.

I tried to imagine it was a stump or hallucination of the imagination. I looked at it again. The more I looked the more it assumed the outlines of a man. Something glistens in his eyes. Am I mistaken?

Tut, tut! It's nothing but a stump. You are getting demoralized. What? It seems to be getting closer.

There are two tiny specks that shine like the eyes of a cat in the dark. Look here, thought I, you are getting nervous. While I can stand this doubt and agony no longer I am going to fire at that object anyhow, let come what will. I raised my gun, placed it to my shoulder, took deliberate aim and fired.

And wah, wow! The most unearthly scream I ever heard greeted my ears. I broke and ran to a tree nearby and had just squatted behind it when zip, zip! Two balls from our picket post struck the tree in two inches of my head. I hallowed to our picket not to fire that it was me, the Vedette.

I went back and says I, who fired those two shots? Two fellows spoke up and said that they did it. No sooner was it spoken than I was on them like a duck on a June bug, pugnis et calcibus. We felt and fit and gouged and bit right there in that picket post. I had the marks on my face and forehead where one of them struck me with the Yankee Zinc

Canteen filled with water. I do not know which whipped. My friends told me that I whipped both of them and I suppose 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 been cut

in the forehead and faced by the canteens. This all happened one dark night in the month of July 1864 in their rifle pit in front of Atlanta. When day broke the next morning I went forward to where I had shot at the Boogaboo of the night before and right there I found a dead Yankee soldier fully accoutered for any emergency,

his eyes wide open. I looked at him and I said, Old fellow, I am sorry for you. Didn't know it was you or I would have been worse scared than I was. You are dressed 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, North Carolina I had it on. But the other soldiers who were with me went through him and found twelve dollars in green back, 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 Yankee two days afterwards and he was as naked as the day he came into the world 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 being lifted off my head by my hair which

stood up like the quills of the fretful 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 and took my stand. When nearly day I saw the bright and beautiful star in the east rise above the treetops

and the gray fog from off the river began 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 leisurely long on horseback and singing a sort of humdrum tune. I took him to be some old citizen.

He rode on down the road toward me and when he had approached, Who goes there? He immediately answered, A friend. I thought that I recognized the voice in the darkness and said, 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 Murray County. 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 if ever in my life being more glad to see any person.

He had brought a letter from home from my father and some Confederate old issue bonds which I was mighty glad to get and also a letter from the gal I left behind me enclosing a rosebud and two apple blossoms resting on an arbor vita leaf and this on a little piece of white paper and on this was written a motto which I will have to tell for the young folks, Receive me such as I am, would that I were of more use for your sake.

Jenny. Now that was the 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 am married now and only right from memory and never in my life have I read it in a book or paper and only in that letter. I love you oh how dearly, words too faintly but express, this heart beats too sincerely ere 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 for yourself 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 a sincere prayer of Jenny. You may be sure that I felt good and happy indeed. My friends. Dear mine, in writing these rapid and imperfect recollections I find that should I attempt to write up all the details that I would not only weary you but that these memoirs would

soon become monotonous and uninteresting. I have written only of what I saw. Many little acts of kindness shown me by ladies and old citizens I have omitted. I remember going to an old citizens house and he and the old lady were making clay pipes. I recollect how they would mold the pipes and put them in a red hot oven to burn hard.

Their kindness to me will never be forgotten. The first time that I went there they seemed very glad to see me 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 the old 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 son in the army. He went to Virginia the first year of the war and we have never heard of him since. These wars are terrible, sir. The last time that we heard of him he went with Stonewall Jackson away up in the mountains

of West Virginia toward Romney and I did hear that while standing picket at a little place called Hampshire Crossing on a little stream 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 and down the room, his hands crossed behind his back.

I buckled on my knapsack to go back to camp and I shook hands with the two good old people and they told me goodbye and both said, God bless you, God bless 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 found Cannon and Caissons moving and I knew and felt that General

Hood was going to strike the enemy again. Preparations were going on but everything 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 Forest cavalry had been sent to Mississippi.

The soldiers' cavalry had been sent to North Carolina and East Tennessee. Hood had sent off both of his arms, for cavalry was always called the most powerful arm of the service. The infantry were the feet and the artillery the body. The 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 was when Honorable Jefferson Davis placed General Hood in command of the Army of Tennessee. I saw I will say thousands of men cry like babies, regular old fashioned boo hoo, boo hoo, boo hoo. 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. Oh God, yee gods, I get sick at heart even at this late day when I think of it. I remember the morning that General Wheeler's cavalry filed by our brigade and of their telling us, good-bye boys, good-bye boys. The 1st Tennessee Cavalry and 9th Battalion were both made up in Murray County.

I saw John J. Stevenson, my friend and step-brother, and David F. Watkins, my own dear brother, and Arch Lipscomb, Joe Fusel, Captain Kinser, Jack Gordon, George Martin, Major Dobbins, Colonel Lewis, Captain Galloway, Aaron and Sims-Lotta, Major J. H. Aiken, S. H. Armstrong, Albert Dobbins, Alec 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 command and begging them to please not leave us, that if they did, Atlanta and perhaps Hood's whole army would surrender in a few days. But they told me, as near as I can now remember, we regret to leave you, but we have to obey

orders. The most ignorant private in the whole army saw everything that we had been fighting for, for four years, just scattered like chaff to the winds. All the generals resigned, and those who did not resign were promoted. Colonels were made brigadier generals, captains were made colonels, and the private soldier,

well he deserted, don't you see? The private soldiers of the Army of Tennessee looked upon Hood as an overrated general, but Jeff Davis did not. Battle of July 22, 1864 Cannonballs at long range were falling into the city of Atlanta.

Details of citizens put out the fires as they would occur from the burning shells. We could see the smoke rise and hear the shells pass away over our heads as they went on toward the doomed city. One morning Cheatham's Corps marched out and through the city. We do not whither, but we soon learned that we were going to make a flank movement.

After marching four or five miles, we about-faced and marched back to within two hundred yards of the place from whence we started. It was a flank movement, you see, and had to be counted that way anyhow. Well now as we had made the flank movement, we had to storm 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 part of the other Army to recognize the flank movement and to change his base. Why, sir, if you don't recognize a flank movement, you ain't a graduate of West Point. Hood was a graduate of West Point, and so was Sherman. But unfortunately there was Mein Heer Dutchman commanding.

MacPherson had gone to dinner, the corps that had been flanked, and he couldn't speak English worth a cent. He no doubt had on board Mein Lagerbier, so gut es wat der war was. I Schweizer mein Gott, you bet. Bang, bang, bang goes our skirmish line advancing to the attack.

Hans, wat vorst dat shooting mit mein reff wing? Is dat de repels, Hans? The attack. The plan of battle, as conceived and put into action by General Claiborne, was one of the boldest conceptions and at the same time one of the most hazardous that ever occurred

in our Army during the war. But it only required nerve and pluck to carry it out, and General Claiborne was equal to the occasion. The Yankees had fortified on two ranges of hills, leaving a gap in their breastworks in the valley entirely unfortified and unprotected.

They felt that they could inflate the valley between the two 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 while leading his men, charging their breastworks.

He was killed on the very top of their works. In the meantime, General Claiborne's division was marching by the right flank in solid column, the same as if they were marching along the road, right up this valley, and thus passing between the Yankee lines and cutting them in two, when the command by the left flank was given, which would throw them into line of battle.

By this maneuver Claiborne's men were right upon their flank and inflating their lines while they were expecting an attack in their front. It was the finest piece of generalship and the most successful of the war. General Meynher Dutchman says, Filly Colt mit standfeuer.

Hans says, Pap, being as how you have to ride her in the battle, you get on her and let me say boo. Well, General Meynher gets on the colt and Hans gets behind the house, and as the general comes galloping by, Hans has got an umbrella and on seeing his father approach, suddenly opens the umbrella and, hollowing at the top of his voice, boo, boo, boo, the filly makes

a sudden jump and kerflop comes down Meynher. He jumps up and says, Hans, I always know that you was a fool. You make too big a boo. Why, you says, boo loud enough to scare their old horse. Hans go bring out their old horse.

There Tom Rebel will be here before MacPherson gets packed from their dinner time. I schust believe that their rebel is flanking, and them tomful colonels of mine is not got sensitive enough to know when General Hood is flanking. Hans bring out their old horse. I want to find veteran MacPherson is got packed from their dinner time or not.

We were supporting General Claiborne's division. Our division, Cheathams, was commanded by General John C. Brown. Claiborne's division advanced to the attack. I was marching by the side of a soldier by the name of James Galbraith and a conscript from the Mount Pleasant country.

I never heard a man pray and go on so before in my life. It actually made me feel sorry for the poor fellow. Every time that our line would stop for a few minutes, he would get down on his knees and clasp his hands and commence praying. He kept saying, Oh, my poor wife and children.

God have mercy on my poor wife and children. God pity me and have mercy on my soul. Says I, Galbraith, why are you making a fool of yourself that way for? If you're going to be killed, why you're as ready now as you ever will be, and you're making everybody feel bad.

Quit that nonsense. He quit, but kept mumbling to himself. God have mercy. God have mercy. Claiborne had reached the Yankee breastworks.

The firing had been and was then terrific. The earth jarred and shook and trembled at the shock of battle as the two armies met. Charge, men! And I saw the Confederate flag side by side with the Federal flag. A courier dashed up and said, General Claiborne has captured their works.

Advance and attack upon his immediate left. Attention, forward! A discharge of cannon and a ball tore through our ranks. I heard Galbraith yell out, Oh, God have mercy on 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 Claiborne's immediate left. Claiborne himself was leading us in person so that we would not fire upon his men, who were 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 the Yankee guns wassoon on top of the enemy's works. We were on a bobtail Confederate coat which looked as if it had been cut out of a script pattern.

You see, I remember the little things. We were but a few paces behind, following close upon him, and soon had captured their line of works. We were firing at the flying foe, a straddle of their lines of battle. This would naturally throw us in front and Claiborne's corps supporting us.

The Yankee line seemed routed. We followed in hot pursuit. But from their main line of entrenchment, which was diagonal to those that we had just captured and also on which they had built forts and erected batteries, was their artillery, raking us fore and aft.

We passed over a hill and down into a valley, being under the muzzles of this rampart of death. We had been charging and running and had stopped to catch our breath right under their reserve and main line of battle, when General George Maney said, Soldiers, you are ordered to go forward and charge that battery.

When you start upon the charge, I want you to go as it were upon the wings of the wind. We went down and bayonet the canineers and take their guns at all hazards. Old Pat Claiborne thought he had better put in a word to his soldiers. He says, You hear what General Maney says, boys. If they don't take it, by the eternal God you've got to take it.

I heard the Irishmen of the Bloody Tenth in a darn good regiment bejabbers speak up and say, Faith, General, we'll take up a collection and buy you a bathery, bejaisus. About this time our regiment had reformed and had got their breath and the order was given to charge and take their guns even at the point of the bayonet. We rushed forward up the steep hillsides, the seething fires from ten thousand muskets

at small arms, and forty pieces of cannon purled right into our very faces, scorching and burning our clothes and hands and faces from their rapid discharges and piling the ground with our dead and wounded almost in heaps. It seemed that the hot flames of hell were turned loose in all their fury while the demons of damnation were laughing in their flames like seething serpents hissing out their rage.

We gave one long, loud cheer and commenced the charge as we approached their lines like a mighty inundation of the River Acheron and the infernal regions Confederate and Federal meet. Officers with drawn swords meet officers with drawn swords and man to man meets man to man with bayonets and loaded guns.

The continued roar of battle sounded like unbottled thunder. The road covered the ground and the dense smoke filled our eyes and ears and faces. The groans of the wounded and dying rose above the thunder of battle. But being heavily supported by Claiborne's division and by General L.E. Polk's brigade, headed and led by General Claiborne in person and followed by the 1st and 27th up the blazing

crest the Federal lines waver and break and fly, leaving us in possession of their breastworks and the battlefield and I do not know how many pieces of artillery, prisoners and small arms. Here is where Major Allen, Lt. Joe Carney, Captain Joe Carthel and many other good and brave spirits gave their lives for the cause of their country.

They lie today, weltering in their own life's blood. It was one of the bloody battles that characterized that stormy epic 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 the war acted with more gallantry and bravery during the whole war than did General George Maney on this

occasion. The victory was complete. Large quantities of provisions and army stores were captured. The Federals had abandoned their entire line of breastworks and had changed their base. They were fortifying upon our left about five miles off from their original position.

The battlefield was covered with their dead and wounded soldiers. I have never seen so many battle flags left indiscriminately upon any battlefield. I ran over 20 in the charge and could have picked them up everywhere, did pick up one and was promoted to 4th Corporal for gallantry in picking up a flag on the battlefield. On the final charge that was made I was shot in the ankle and heel of my foot.

I crawled into their abandoned ditch which then seemed full and running over with our wounded soldiers. I dodged behind the embankment to 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 I was sitting there a cannonball came tearing down the works, cutting a soldier's head off, splattering his brains all over my face and bosom and mangling and tearing four or five others to shreds.

As a wounded horse was being let off a cannonball struck him and he was literally ripped 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 galloped back toward the Yankee lines.

I did not know the meaning of this maneuver until after the battle when I learned it was General MacPherson's dead body. We had lost many a good and noble soldier. The casualties on our side were 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 a real battlefield. Blood had gathered in pools and in some instances had made streams of blood. It was a picture of carnage and death.

Am Promoted Why, hello, corporal, where did you get those two yellow stripes from on your arm? Why sir, I have been promoted for gallantry on the battlefield by picking 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 I wanted 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. Read your mind the above dialogue is true in every particular. As long as I was in action fighting for my country there was no chance for promotion but as soon as I fell out of ranks and picked up a forsaken and deserted flag I was promoted

for it. I felt sort of cheap when complimented for gallantry and the high honor of fourth corporal was conferred upon me. I felt that those brave and noble fellows who had kept on in the charge were more entitled to the honor than I was for when 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 and that every flag picked up would raise me one notch higher I would have quit fighting and gone to picking up flags and by that means I would have soon been president of the Confederate States of America.

But honors now began to cluster around my brow. This is the Laurel and Ivy that is entwined around the noble brows of victorious and renowned generals. I honestly earned the exalted honor of fourth corporal by picking 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 Stuart's Corps on the 28th day of July. I was not in it, neither was our corps, but from what I afterwards learned the Yankees got the best of the engagement.

But our troops continued fortifying Atlanta. No other battles were ever fought at this place. I visit Montgomery. Our wounded were being sent back to Montgomery. My name was put on the wounded list.

We were placed in a boxcar and whirling down to West Point where we changed cars for Montgomery. The cars drew up at the depot in Montgomery and we were directed to go to the hospital. When we got off the cars little huckster stands were everywhere. Apples, oranges, peaches, watermelons, everything. I know that I never saw a greater display of eatables in my whole life.

I was particularly attracted toward 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 to a crisp, actually frying in my mouth, crackling and singing as I bit off a 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 a couple of dollars more and thought that maybe I could make it out till supper time.

As it turned around a smiling one-legged man asked me if I wouldn't like to have a drink. Now if there was anything that I wanted at 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 kept looking 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 old fellow was. I knew him well.

He told me that he belonged to Captain Ed O'Neill's company, 2nd Tennessee Regiment, General William B. Bates Corp., and that his leg had been shot off at the first battle of Manassas and at that time he was selling cheap whiskey and tobacco for a living at Montgomery, Alabama. I tossed off a capful and paid him a dollar.

It staggered me and I said, That is raw whiskey. Yes, said he. All my cooked whiskey is out. If this is not quite cooked, it is as hot as fire anyhow and burns like red hot lava and the whole dose seems to have gotten lodged in my windpipe.

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

I went to the hospital that evening, saw it, and was satisfied with hospital life. I did not wish to be called a hospital rat. I had no idea 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 light bread 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 wretch from strangling. It was only snoring. I heard rats filing away at night and thought that burglars were trying to get in. My dreams were not pleasant if I went to sleep at all.

I had not slept off the ground or in a house in three years. It was something new to me and I could not sleep, for the room was so dark that had I got up I could not have found my way out. I laid there, I do not know how long, but I heard a rooster crow and a dim twilight began to glimmer in the room and even footsteps were audible in the rooms below.

I got sleepy then and went off in a doze. I had a beautiful dream. Dream 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 came down from heaven to my room.

And two beautiful damsels kept peeping and laughing and making faces at me from the first platform of these steps. 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 school girls all dressed in shining garments. Two or three times the two beautiful girls would go up the stairs in return bringing fruits and vegetables that shined like pure gold. I knew that I never had seen two more beautiful beings on earth. The steps began to lengthen out and seemed to be all around me.

They seemed to shine a halo of glory all about. The two ladies came closer and closer, passing around, having a beautiful wreath of flowers in each hand and gracefully throwing them backward and forward as they laughed and danced around me. Finally one 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 felt my arm grabbed and Damn ye, I wish you would keep your damn arm off my wound, ye hurt me! came from the soldier in the next bunk. The sun was shining full in my face.

I got up and went down to breakfast. The bill 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 merchandise and other business was being carried on as if there

were no war. Hotels were doing a thriving business. Steamboats were at the wharf, whistling and playing their calliope's. I remember the one I heard was playing a way down on the Swanee River. To me it seemed that everyone was smiling and happy and prosperous.

The Capital I went to the capital and it is a fine building overlooking the city. When I got there I acted just like everybody that ever visited a fine building. They wanted to go on top and look at the landscape. That is what they all say.

Now I always wanted to go on top, but I never yet thought of landscape. What I always wanted to see was how far I could look, and that is about all that any of them wants. It is mighty nice to go up on a high place with your sweetheart and hear her say, LA, AIN'T IT BEAUTIFUL?

NOW, NOW, PLEASE DON'T GO THERE. And how you walk up pretty close to the edge and spit over to show what a brave man you are. It's bully, I tell you. Well I wanted to go to the top of the capital.

I went. I wanted to go up in the cupola. Now there was an iron ladder running up across an empty space, and you could see 200 feet below from this cupola or dome on top. The ladder was about 10 feet long spanning the dome.

It was very easy to go up because I 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 turning until it seemed no larger than a silver thread. Well I am very poor at describing and going into ecstasies over fancies.

I want some abler pen to describe the scene. I was not thinking about the scene or the landscape. I was thinking about 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 I would have to fall.

The more I thought about going down that ladder, the more I didn't feel like going down. Well I felt that I had rather die than go down that ladder. I'm honest in this. I felt like jumping off and committing suicide rather than go down that ladder. I crossed right over the frightful chasm but when forbearance ceased to be a virtue, I

tremblingly put my foot on the first rung then grabbed the top of the two projections. There I remained. I don't know how long but after a while 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, way down, down, down below me and my head got giddy. The world seemed to be turning round and round. A fellow at the bottom halued, Look up, look up, mister, look up. I was not afoot from the upper floor.

As soon as I looked at the floor, everything got steady. I kept my eyes fixed on the 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 upstairs in the house. I went to the capital at Nashville last winter and McAndrews wanted me to go up in the cupola

with him. He went and paid a quarter for the privilege. I stayed and, well, if I could estimate its value by dollars, I would say two hundred and fifty million dollars is what I made by staying down. I'm arrested.

The next day while the ferry boat was crossing the river I asked the ferryman 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 Provost Marshal. 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, 1st Tennessee Regiment.

I am a wounded 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 a name is registered on their books. I told him that I knew it was not. The Sergeant returns and reports no such name, when he remarks, You have to go to the guardhouse.

Says I, Colonel, I knew his rank was that of captain. If you send me to the guardhouse you will do me a great wrong. Here is where I was wounded. I pulled off my shoe and began to unbandage. Well, sir, I don't want to look at your foot and I have no patience with you.

Take him to the guardhouse. Turning back I said, Sir, aye, aye, you are clothed with a little brief authority 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 the arm and said, Come, come, sir, I have my orders.

As I was going up the street I met Captain Dave Buckner and told him all 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 hands. Their faces were burning and I could see their jugular veins go thump, thump, thump.

I do not know what Captain Buckner 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 me over the ferry.

I was in no particular hurry and limped along at my leisure until about nightfall when I came to a nice cozy-looking farmhouse and asked to stay there all night. I was made very welcome indeed. There were two very pretty girls there and I could have loved either to her tethered dear charmer away.

But I fell in love with both of them and thereby overdid the thing. This was by a dim firelight. The next day was Sunday and we all went to church in the country. We won in an old rockaway carriage. I remember that the preacher used the words, Oh God!

19 times in his prayer. I had made up my mind which one of the girls I would marry. Now don't get mad, fair reader mine. I was all gallantry and smiles and when we arrived at home I jumped out and took hold the hand of my fair charmer to help her out.

She put her foot out and while I came very near telling she tramp'd on a cat. The cat squalled. The Talisman But then you know, reader, that I was engaged to Jenny. And I had a talisman in my pocket Bible in the way of a love letter against the charms

of other beautiful and interesting young ladies. Uncle Jimmy Reeves had been to Murray County and on returning to Atlanta found out that I was wounded and in the hospital at Montgomery and brought the letter to me. And as I am married now I don't mind telling you what was in the letter if you won't laugh at me.

You see, Jenny was my sweetheart 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 for your safe return home again. My greatest grief is that we heard you were wounded and in the hospital and I cannot be

with you to nurse you. We heard of the death of many noble and brave men in Atlanta and the death of Captain Carthel, cousin Mary's husband. It was sent by Captain January. He belonged to the 12th Tennessee of which Colonel Watkins was Lieutenant Colonel.

The weather is very beautiful here and the flowers and the gardener in full bloom and the apples are getting ripe. I have gathered a small bouquet which I will put in the letter. I also send by Uncle Jimmy a tobacco bag and a watch guard made out of horsehair 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 forward to 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 the foremost man in the attack. Sam, please take care of yourself for my sake 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 your loving and sincere Jenny.

The Brave Captain When I got back to the Alabama River opposite Montgomery the ferry boat was on the other shore. A steamboat had just pulled out of its moorings and crossed over to where I was and began to take on Wood.

I went on board and told the captain who was a clever and good man that I would like to take a trip with him to Mobile and back and that I was a wounded soldier from the hospital. He told me, all right, come along and I will foot expenses. It was about sunset but along the line of the distant horizon we could see the dark and heavy clouds begin to boil up and thick and ominous columns.

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 and his chariot in the clouds rumbling as he came but a dead lull was seen and felt in the air and in nature. Everything was in a holy hush except the hoarse belchings of the engines, the sizzling and

frying of the boilers and the work of the machinery on the lower deck. At last the storm burst upon us in all its fury. It was a tornado and the women and children began to scream and pray, the mate to curse and swear. I was standing by the captain on the main upper deck as he was trying to direct the

pilot how to steer the boat through that awful storm when we heard the alarm bell ring out and the horse cry of, fire, fire, fire. Men were running toward the fire with buckets and the hose began throwing water on the flames. Men, women and children were jumping in the water and the captain used every effort to quiet the panic and to land his boat with its passengers but the storm and fire were

too much and down the 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 was the noble and brave captain still ringing the bell as the vessel went down. He went down amid the flames to fill a watery grave.

The water was full of struggling and dying people for miles. I did not go to Mobile. How I Get Back to Atlanta When I got to Montgomery the car said toot toot and raised the hue and cry and followed in pursuit.

Kind friends, I fear that I have wearied 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 again unfurled. I, you remember, was without a pass and did not wish to be carried a second time before that good, brave and just Provost Marshall and something told me not to go to the hospital.

I found out when the cars would leave and thought that I would get on them and go back without any trouble. I got on the cars but was hustled off mighty quick because I 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 one and putting my feet on the other and rode this way until I got to West Point. The conductor discovered me and had put me off several times before I got to West Point but I would jump on again as soon as the car started. When I got to West Point a train of cars started off and I ran, trying to get on, when Captain

Peebles reached out his hand and pulled me in and I arrived safe and sound at Atlanta. On my way back to Atlanta I got with Dow Aiken and Billy March. Billy March had been shot through the under-jaw by a mini-ball at the Octagon house but by proper attention and nursing he had recovered. Connor Aiken was killed at the Octagon house and Dow wounded.

When we got back to the regiment then stationed near a fine concrete house where Shepherd and I would sleep every night, nearly right on our works, we found two 30 pound parrot guns stationed in our immediate front and throwing shells away over our heads into the city of Atlanta. We had just begun to tell all the boys howdy when I saw Dow Aiken fall.

A fragment of shell had struck him on his backbone and he was carried back wounded and bleeding. We could see the smoke boil up and it would be nearly a minute before we could hear the report of the cannon and then a few moments after we would hear the scream of the shell as it went on to Atlanta.

We used to count from the time we would see the smoke boil up until we would hear the noise and some fellow would call out, Look out boys, the United States is sending iron over into the Southern Confederacy. Let's send a little lead back to the United States. And we would blaze away with our Enfield and Whitworth guns and every time we would fire

we would silence those parrot guns. This kind of fun was carried on for 46 days. Death of Tom Tuck's Rooster Atlanta was a great place to fight chickens. I had heard much said about cockpits and cock fights, but had never seen such a thing.

Away over the hill, outside of the range of Thomas' 30 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 were arranged 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 was trimmed and gaffed.

A gaff is a long keen piece of steel as sharp as a needle that is fitted over the spurs. Well I looked on at the fun. Tom Tuck's rooster was named Southern Confederacy, but this was abbreviated to Confed and as the pet name they called him Fed. Well Fed was a trained rooster and would clean up a big foot rooster as soon 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 he wanted 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 until both were sufficiently mad to fight when they were turned loose and each struck at the same time. I looked and poor Fed was dead. The other rooster 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 and said, Poor Fed, I loved you. You used to crow every morning at daylight to wake me up.

I have carried you a long time, but alas. Yes, 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 evils that roosters do live after them, but the good is oft interred with their bones. So let it not be with Confed. Fed 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, regretting that I have not another to place on my stomach, and whisper, softly whisper, in the most doleful

accents, Goodbye, farewell, a long farewell. 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 cockpit 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 were short with 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 will 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 wreck if they'll 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.

And here comes a dash of Yankee cavalry right in the midst of camp under whip and spur, yelling like a band of wild Comanches and bearing right down on the few mourners around the dead body of Confed. After making this bold dash they about-faced and were soon out of sight. There was no harm done, but alas, that cooked 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, you have sunk so low as to become food for Federals. Requisat 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 of Georgia, sent in his militia. It was the richest picture of an army I ever saw. It beat Four Paws' double-ring circus. Everyone was dressed in citizens' clothes and the very best they had at that time.

A few had double-barreled shotguns, but the majority had umbrellas and walking-sticks, and nearly everyone had on a duster, a flat-bosomed, wild shirt and a plug hat. To make the thing more ridiculous, the dwarf and the giant were marching side by side. The knock-kneed by the side of the bow-legged, the driven-in by the side of the drawn-out, the pale and sallowed dyspeptic who looked like Alex Stevens and who seemed to have been

taken out of a chimney that smoked very badly, and whose diet was goobers and sweet potatoes, Displaced beside the 300-pounder who was dressed up to kill, and whose looks seemed to say, I've got a substitute in the army and 20 negroes at home besides. Home, home. Now that is the sort of army that Old Joe Brown had when he seceded from the Southern

Confederacy, declaring that each state was a separate sovereign government of itself, and as Old Joe Brown was an original secessionist, he wanted to exemplify the grand principles that had been advocated by Patrick Henry, John Randolph of Roanoke, and John C. Calhoun, in all of whom he was a firm believer. I will say, however, in all due deference to the Georgia militia and Old Joe Brown's

pets, that there was many a gallant and noble fellow among them. I remember on one occasion that I was detailed to report to a captain of the 4th Tennessee Regiment, Colonel Farquharson, called Guidepost. I have forgotten that captain's name. He was a small-sized man with a large, long set of black whiskers.

He was the captain, and I was the corporal of the detail. We were ordered to take a company of the Georgia militia on a scout. We went around to our extreme right wing, passing through Terry's Mill Pond and over the old battlefield 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 to another and saying, This pine tree, that pine tree, this pine tree, that pine tree. In answer to our inquiry, they informed us that the young woman's husband was killed on the 22nd and had been buried under a pine tree, and she was nearly crazy because she could not find his dead body.

We passed on, and as soon as we came inside of the old line of Yankee breast-borks, an unexpected volley of miniballs was fired into our ranks, killing this captain of the 4th Tennessee Regiment and killing and wounding seven or eight of the Georgia militia. I halued to lay down as soon as possible, and a perfect whiz of miniballs passed 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 of Yankees and captured the whole layout. We then carried back to camp the dead captain and the killed and wounded militia. I had seen a great many men, killed and wounded, but somehow or other those dead and wounded men of that day made a more serious impression on my mind than in any previous or subsequent

battles. They were buried with all the honors of war, and I never will forget the incidents and scenes of this day as long as I live. We go after stonemen. One morning our regiment was ordered to march double quick to the depot to take the cars

for somewhere. The engine was under steam and ready to start for that mysterious somewhere. The whistle blew long and loud and away we went at breakneck speed for an hour and drew up at a little place by the name of Jonesboro. The Yankees had captured the town and were tearing up the railroad track.

A regiment of rebel infantry and 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 line had just begun to open a pretty brisk fire on the Yankee cavalry when they broke, running right through and over the lines of the regiment of infantry and brigade

of cavalry in their rear, the men opening ranks to get out of the way of the hoofs of their horses. It was Stoneman's cavalry, upon its celebrated raid toward Macon and Andersonville to liberate the federal prisoners. We went to work like beavers and in a few 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 out of the cars, fix up the track and light out again. We were charging a brigade of cavalry with a train of cars as it were. They would try to stop our progress by tearing up the track, but we were crowding them a

little too strong. At last they thought it was time to quit that foolishness and then commenced a race between cavalry and cars for Macon, Georgia. The cars had to run exceedingly slow and careful, fearing a tear up or ambuscade, but at last Macon came in sight.

25 or 30,000 federal prisoners were confined at this place and it was poorly guarded and protected. We feared that Stoneman would only march in, overpower the guards and liberate the prisoners, and we would have some tall fighting to do. But on arriving at Macon we found that Stoneman and all of his command had just surrendered

to a brigade of cavalry and the Georgia militia and we helped march the gentlemen inside the prison walls at Macon. They had furnished their own transportation, paying their own way and bearing their own expenses and instead of liberating any prisoners were themselves imprisoned. An extra detail was 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 bay tree. The people were good, kind and clever to us. The prosperity of their homes was prosperous.

We were regarded as their liberators. They gave us all the good things they had, eating, drinking, etc. We felt our consequence, I assure you, Reader. We felt we were heroes indeed. But the benzene and other fluids became a little promiscuous and the libations of the

boys a little too heavy. They began to get boisterous, I might say, riotous. Some of the boys got to behaving badly and would go into stores and places and did many things they ought not to have done. In fact, the whole caboodle of them ought to have been carried to the guardhouse.

They were whooping and yelling and firing off their guns just for the fun of the thing. I remember going into a very nice family's house and the old lady told the dog to go 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 dog killed, 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 came very near jumping out of my skin, as it were, at the unexpected discharge of the gun.

And other such scenes, I reckon, were being enacted elsewhere. But at last a detail was sent around to arrest all stragglers and we were soon rolling back to Atlanta. BELLUM LA TALLE Well after jugging stonemen, we go back to Atlanta and occupy our same old place near

the concrete house. We found everything exactly as we had left it, with the exception of the increased number of graybacks, which seemed to have propagated a thousandfold since we left, and they were crawling about like ants, making little paths and tracks in the dirt as they wiggled and waddled about, hunting for ye old rebel soldier.

Sherman's two thirty-pound parrot guns were in the same position, and every now and then a lazy-looking shell would pass over speeding its way on to Atlanta. The old citizens had dug little cellars, which the soldiers called gopher-holes, and the women and children were crowded together in these cellars, 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 war for 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 sloughing sores 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 today I have no recollection in my whole life of ever seeing anything that I remember with

more horror than that pile of legs and arms that had been cut off our soldiers. As John and I went through the hospital and were looking at the poor suffering fellows, I heard a weak voice calling, Sam, oh Sam. I went to the poor fellow but did not recognize him at first, but soon found out that it was James Galbraith, the poor fellow who had been shot nearly in two on the 22nd of July.

I tried to be cheerful and say, Hello Galbraith, old fellow, I thought you were in heaven long before this. He laughed a sort of dry, cracking laugh and asked me to hand him a drink of water. I handed it to him. He then began to mumble and tell me something in a rambling and incoherent way, but all

I could catch was for me to write to his family who were living near Mount Pleasant. I asked him if he was badly wounded. He only pulled down the blanket, that was all. I get sick when I think of it. The lower part of his body was hanging to the upper part by a shred, and all of his

entrails were lying on the cot with him, the bile and other excrements exuding from them, and they full of maggots. I replaced the blanket as tenderly as I could and then said, Galbraith, good-bye. I then kissed him on his lips and forward and left. As I passed on he kept trying to tell me something, but I could not make out what he said, and

fearing I would cause him to exert himself too much, I left. It was the only field hospital that I saw during the whole war, and I have no desire to see another. Those hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked sufferers shot in every conceivable part of their body, some shrieking and calling upon their mothers, some laughing the hard, cackling laugh of

the sufferer without hope, and some cursing like troopers, and some writhing and groaning as their wounds were being bandaged and dressed. I saw a man of the 27th who had lost his right hand, another his leg, and another whose head was laid open, and I could see his brain thump, and another with his under-jaw shot off, in fact wounded in every manner possible.

Ah, reader, there is no glory for the private soldier, much less a conscript. James Galbraith was a conscript, as was also Fane King. Mr. King was killed at Chickamauga. Me and Galbraith were conscripted and 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 against their wishes, while their wives and little children were at home without the necessities of life. The officers have all the glory. Glory is not for the private soldier, such as die in the hospital, being eaten up with a deadly gangrene, and being imperfectly weighted on.

Glory is for generals, colonels, majors, captains, and lieutenants. They have all the glory. And when the poor private wins battles by dint of sweat, hard marches, camp, and picket duty, fasting, and broken bones, the officers get the glory. The private's pay was $11 per month, if he got it.

The general's pay was $300 per month, and he always got his. I am not complaining. These things happened 16 to 20 years ago. Men who never fired a gun, nor killed a Yankee during the whole war, are today the heroes of the war.

Now I tell you what I think 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 stuck it out to the last deserve more praise than the general who resigned because some other general was placed in command over him. A general could resign.

That was honorable. A private could not resign, nor choose 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 day of so many

men for a scout to find out all we could about the movements of the Yankees. Colonel George Porter of the 6th Tennessee was in command of the detail. We passed through Atlanta and went down the railroad for several miles, and then made a flank movement toward where we expected to come in contact with the Yankees. When we came to a skirt of woods we were deployed as skirmishers.

Colonel Porter ordered us to reprime our guns and to advance at 25 paces apart being deployed as skirmishers, and to keep under cover as much as possible. He need not have told us this because we had not learned war for nothing. We would run from one tree to another and then make a careful reconnoiter before proceeding to another.

We had begun to get a little careless when bang, bang, bang, it seemed that we had gotten into a Yankee ambush. The firing seemed to be from all sides and was rattling among the leaves and bushes. It appeared as if some supernatural infernal battle was going on and the air was full of smoke.

We had not seen the Yankees. I ran to a tree to my right and just as I got to it I saw my 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 been looking a hundred yards ahead when, happening to look not more than ten paces

from me, I saw a big six foot Yankee with a black feather in his hat aiming deliberately at me. I dropped to the ground and at the same 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 Yankee lieutenant peering through

the bushes. I would rather not have killed him but I was afraid to fire and afraid to run and yet I did not wish to kill him. He was as pretty as a woman and somehow I thought I had bet him before. Our eyes met.

He stood like a statue. He gazed at me with a kind of scared expression. I still did not want to kill him and I 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 the prettiest 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 of his mouth. I was sorry. Atlanta Forsaken One morning about the break of day our artillery opened along our breastwork, scaring us almost

to death for it was the first guns that had been fired for more than a month. We sprang to our feet and grabbed our muskets and ran out and asked someone what did that mean. We were informed that they were feeling for the Yankees. The comment that was made by the private soldier was simply two words and those two words were

Oh Shucks! The Yankees had gone, no one knew whither and our batteries were shelling the woods, feeling for them. Oh 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! Can anybody tell me where them Yanks are?

Send out a few more feelers. The feelers in the shape of cannon-balls will bring them to Tah. 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. Forest cavalry had been sent off somewhere.

The forest cavalry had been sent away yonder in the rear of the enemy to tear up the railroad and cut off their supplies, etc. And we had to find out the movements of the enemy by feeling for them, by shelling the vacant woods. The Yankees were at that time 25 miles in our rear, a hundred thousand strong, at a

place called Jonesboro. I don't know how it was found out that they were at Jonesboro, but anyhow the news had come and Cheatham's Corps had to go and see about it. Stuart's Corps must hold Atlanta and Stephen D. Lee's Corps must be stretched at proper distance so that the word could be passed backward and forward as to how they were getting

along. As yet it is impossible to tell of the movements of the enemy because our cannon-balls had not come back and reported any movements to us. We had always heard that the cannon-balls were blind and we did not suppose that they could see to find their way back.

Well, our corps made a forced march for a day and a night and passed the word back that we had seen some signs of the Yankees 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 sent out a few feelers and they report back very promptly that the Yankees are here sure enough or that is what our feelers say. Pass the word up the line. The word is passed from mouth to mouth of Lee's skirmish line, 25 miles back to Atlanta. Well, if that be the case, we will set 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 Stuart gets through his job of blowing up arsenals, burning up the army stores and spiking the cannon and we will send our Negro boy Caesar down to the horse lot to see if he can't catch old ants. Because she is such a fool with that young suckling cult of hers that it takes him almost

all day to catch her. And if the drawbars 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 bollum anyhow. He's got a mighty sore back and needs a shoe put on his left hind foot and he cut his ankle

with a broken shoe on his forefoot and has not been fed today. However, I will be along by and by. Stuart, do you think you will be able to get through with your job of blowing up by day after tomorrow or by Saturday at twelve o'clock? Lee, pass the word down to Cheatham and ask him what he thinks the Yankees are doing.

Now Kinlock, get my duster and umbrella and bring out bollum. Now Reader, that was the impression made on the Private's mind at that time.