as complete, but the word "halt" turned victory into defeat.

The soldiers had passed through the Yankee camps and saw all the good
things that they had to eat in their sutlers' stores and officers'
marquees, and it was but a short time before every soldier was rummaging
to see what he could find.

The harvest was great and the laborers were not few.

The negro boys, who were with their young masters as servants, got rich.
Greenbacks were plentiful, good clothes were plentiful, rations were not
in demand. The boys were in clover.

This was Sunday.

On Monday the tide was reversed.

Now, those Yankees were whipped, fairly whipped, and according to all the
rules of war they ought to have retreated. But they didn't. Flushed
with their victories at Fort Henry and Fort Donelson and the capture of
Nashville, and the whole State of Tennessee having fallen into their
hands, victory was again to perch upon their banners, for Buell's army,
by forced marches, had come to Grant's assistance at the eleventh hour.

Gunboats and transports were busily crossing Buell's army all of Sunday
night. We could hear their boats ringing their bells, and hear the puff
of smoke and steam from their boilers. Our regiment was the advance
outpost, and we saw the skirmish line of the Federals advancing and then
their main line and then their artillery. We made a good fight on Monday
morning, and I was taken by surprise when the order came for us to
retreat instead of advance. But as I said before, reader, a private
soldier is but an automaton, and knows nothing of what is going on among
the generals, and I am only giving the chronicles of little things and
events that came under my own observation as I saw them then and remember
them now. Should you desire to find out more about the battle, I refer
you to history.

One incident I recollect very well. A Yankee colonel, riding a fine gray
mare, was sitting on his horse looking at our advance as if we were on
review. W. H. rushed forward and grabbed his horse by the bridle,
telling him at the same time to surrender. The Yankee seized the reins,
set himself back in the saddle, put the muzzle of his pistol in W. H.'s
face and fired. About the time he pulled trigger, a stray ball from some
direction struck him in the side and he fell off dead, and his horse
becoming frightened, galloped off, dragging him through the Confederate
lines. His pistol had missed its aim.

I have heard hund