TEN MEN KILLED AT THE MOURNERS' BENCH

At this place (Dalton) a revival of religion sprang up, and there was
divine service every day and night. Soldiers became serious on the
subject of their souls' salvation. In sweeping the streets and cleaning
up, an old tree had been set on fire, and had been smoking and burning
for several days, and nobody seemed to notice it. That night there was
service as usual, and the singing and sermon were excellent. The sermon
was preached by Rev. J. G. Bolton, chaplain of the Fiftieth Tennessee
Regiment, assisted by Rev. C. D. Elliott, the services being held in the
Fourth Tennessee Regiment. As it was the custom to "call up mourners,"
a long bench had been placed in proper position for them to kneel down
at. Ten of them were kneeling at this mourners' bench, pouring out their
souls in prayer to God, asking Him for the forgiveness of their sins,
and for the salvation of their souls, for Jesus Christ their Redeemer's
sake, when the burning tree, without any warning, fell with a crash right
across the ten mourners, crushing and killing them instantly. God had
heard 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 over
their graves. It was a soldier's funeral. The beautiful burial service
of 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 sadly
back to camp.

DR. C. T. QUINTARD

Dr. C. T. Quintard was our chaplain for the First Tennessee Regiment
during the whole war, and he stuck to us from the beginning even unto the
end. During week days he ministered to us physically, and on Sundays
spiritually. He was one of the purest and best men I ever knew. He
would 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 "the
flying scroll." He said there was a flying scroll continually passing
over 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 a
good doctor of medicine,