orward as rapidly as possible
and occupy an octagon house in our immediate front. The Yankees were
about a hundred yards from the house on one side and we about a hundred
yards on the other. The race commenced as to which side would get to
the house first. We reached it, and had barely gotten in, when they were
bursting down the paling of the yard on the opposite side. The house
was a fine brick, octagon in shape, and as perfect a fort as could be
desired. We ran to the windows, upstairs, downstairs and in the cellar.
The Yankees cheered and charged, and our boys got happy. Colonel Field
told us he had orders to hold it until every man was killed, and never
to 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 thousand
cartridges. They got out of the back window, and through that hail of
iron and lead, made their way back with the box of cartridges. Our
ammunition being renewed, the fight raged on. Captain Joe P. Lee touched
me on the shoulder and said, "Sam, please let me have your gun for one
shot." He raised it to his shoulder and pulled down on a fine-dressed
cavalry officer, and I saw that Yankee tumble. He handed it back to me
to reload. About twelve o'clock, midnight, the Hundred and Fifty-fourth
Tennessee, commanded by Colonel McGevney, came to our relief.

The firing had ceased, and we abandoned the octagon house. Our dead and
wounded--there were thirty of them--were in strange contrast with the
furniture of the house. Fine chairs, sofas, settees, pianos and Brussels
carpeting being made the death-bed of brave and noble boys, all saturated
with blood. Fine lace and damask curtains, all blackened by the smoke
of battle. Fine bureaus and looking-glasses and furniture being riddled
by the rude missiles of war. Beautiful pictures in gilt frames, and a
library of valuable books, all shot a