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 Forepaugh's double-ringed circus. Every one was
dressed in citizen's 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 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 by
the 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 who
seemed to have just been taken out of a chimney that smoked very badly,
and whose diet was goobers and sweet potatoes, was placed beside the
three hundred-pounder, who was dressed up to kill, and whose looks seemed
to say, "I've got a substitute in the army, and twenty negroes at home
besides--h-a-a-m, h-a-a-m." 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 of secession, 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 Fourth 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 the corporal of the detail. We were ordered to take a
company of the Georgia militia on a scout. We went away 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 un