od.
Poor fellow, he never knew what hurt him. His spirit went to its God
that morning. Green Rieves carried the poor boy off on his shoulder, and,
after wrapping him up in a blanket, buried him. His bones are at
Jonesboro today. The cannon ball did not go twenty yards after
accomplishing its work of death. Captain Flournoy laughed at me, and
said, "Sam, that came very near getting you. One-tenth of an inch more
would have cooked your goose." I saw another man try to stop one of
those balls that was just rolling along on the ground. He put his foot
out to stop the ball but the ball did not stop, but, instead, carried the
man's leg off with it. He no doubt today walks on a cork-leg, and is
tax collector of the county in which he lives. I saw a thoughtless boy
trying to catch one in his hands as it bounced along. He caught it,
but the next moment his spirit had gone to meet its God. But, poor John,
we all loved him. He died for his country. His soul is with his God.
He gave his all for the country he loved, and may he rest in peace under
the shade of the tree where he is buried, and may the birds sing their
sweetest songs, the flowers put forth their most beautiful blooms,
while the gentle breezes play about the brave boy's grave. Green Rieves
was the only person at the funeral; no tears of a loving mother or gentle
sister were there. Green interred his body, and there it will remain
till the resurrection. John Whittaker deserves more than a passing
notice. He was noble and brave, and when he was killed, Company H was
without an officer then commanding. Every single officer had been killed,
wounded, or captured. John served as a private soldier the first year
of the war, and at the reorganization at Corinth, Mississippi, he,
W. J. Whitthorne and myself all ran for orderly sergeant of Company H,
and John was elected, and the first vacancy occurring after the death
of Captain Webster, he was commissioned brevet second lieutenant. When
the war broke out, John was clerking for John L. & T. S. Brandon, in
Columbia. He had been in every march, skirmish, and battle that had
been fought during the war. Along the dusty road, on the march, in the
bivouac and on the battlefield, he was the same noble, generous boy;
always, kind, ever gentle, a smile ever lighting up his countenance.
He was one of the most even tempered men I ever knew. I never knew him
to speak an unkind word to anyone, or use a profane or vulga