Company H went out to shoot at a target
for the gun. We all wanted the gun, because if we got it we would be
sharpshooters, and be relieved from camp duty, etc.

All the generals and officers came out to see us shoot. The mark was put
up 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 came
a little closer to the spot than any other one, and the Whitworth was
awarded him; and as we just turned round to go back to camp, a buck
rabbit 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 Jimmy
Webster raised his gun and pulled down on him, and cut the rabbit's head
entirely off with a minnie ball right back of his ears. He was about
two hundred and fifty yards off. It might have been an accidental shot,
but General Leonidas Polk laughed very heartily at the incident, and I
heard 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 in
Colonel Farquharson's regiment--the Fourth Tennessee--was the successful
contestant, and I heard General Polk remark, "I wish I had another gun to
give, 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 subsequently
developed that our regiment had some of the finest shots in it the world
ever 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 my
clothes for me. I never was a good washerwoman. I could cook, bring
water and cut wood, but never was much on the wash. In fact, it was an
uphill business for me to wash up "the things" after "grub time" in our
mess.

I took my clothes and started out, and soon came to a little old negro
hut. I went in and says to an old negress, "Aunty, I would like for you
to 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 do
not remember of a more fluent "conversationalist" in my life. Her tongue
seemed to be on a balance, and both ends were trying to out-talk the
o