n, 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 Sixth 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 re-prime our guns and to advance at twenty-five 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 got 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 some