ke hands and forget the past. And while my
imagination is like the weaver's shuttle, playing backward and forward
through these two decades of time, I ask myself, Are these things real?
did they happen? are they being enacted today? or are they the fancies of
the imagination in forgetful reverie? Is it true that I have seen all
these things? that they are real incidents in my life's history? Did
I see those brave and noble countrymen of mine laid low in death and
weltering in their blood? Did I see our country laid waste and in ruins?
Did I see soldiers marching, the earth trembling and jarring beneath
their measured tread? Did I see the ruins of smouldering cities and
deserted homes? Did I see my comrades buried and see the violet and
wild flowers bloom over their graves? Did I see the flag of my country,
that I had followed so long, furled to be no more unfurled forever?
Surely they are but the vagaries of mine own imagination. Surely my
fancies are running wild tonight. But, hush! I now hear the approach of
battle. That low, rumbling sound in the west is the roar of cannon in
the distance. That rushing sound is the tread of soldiers. That quick,
lurid glare is the flash that precedes the cannon's roar. And listen!
that loud report that makes the earth tremble and jar and sway, is but
the bursting of a shell, as it screams through the dark, tempestuous
night. That black, ebon cloud, where the lurid lightning flickers and
flares, that is rolling through the heavens, is the smoke of battle;
beneath is being enacted a carnage of blood and death. Listen! the
soldiers are charging now. The flashes and roaring now are blended with
the shouts of soldiers and confusion of battle.

But, reader, time has brought his changes since I, a young ardent and
impetuous youth, burning with a lofty patriotism first shouldered my
musket to defend the rights of my country.

Lifting the veil of the past, I see many manly forms, bright in youth and
hope, standing in view by my side in Company H, First Tennessee Regiment.
Again I look and half those forms are gone. Again, and gray locks and
wrinkled faces and clouded brows stand before me.

Before me, too, I see, not in imagination, but in reality, my own loved
Jennie, the partner of my joys and the sharer of my sorrows, sustaining,
comforting, and cheering my pathway by her benignant smile; pouring the
sunshine of domestic comfort and happiness upon our humble home; making