autumn breezes such
martial airs as are common in camps, with now and then a sentimental
strain, which awakens recollections of other days, when we were
younger--thought more of sweethearts than of war, when, in fact, we did
not think of war at all except as something of the past.

Sitting at my tent door, with a field glass, I can see away off to the
right, on the highest peak of Lookout mountain, a man waving a red flag
to and fro. He is a rebel officer, signaling to the Confederate generals
what he observes of importance in the valley. From his position he can
look down into our camp, see every rifle pit, and almost count the
pieces of artillery in our fortifications.

Captain Johnson, of General Negley's staff, has just been in, and tells
me the pickets of the two armies are growing quite intimate, sitting
about on logs together, talking over the great battle, and exchanging
views as to the results of a future engagement.

General Negley called a few minutes ago and invited me to dine with him
at five o'clock. The General looks demoralized, and, I think, regrets
somewhat the part he took, or rather the part he failed to take, in the
battle of Chickamauga. Remarks are made in reference to his conduct on
that occasion which are other than complimentary. The General doubtless
did what he thought was best, and probably had orders which will justify
his action. After a battle there is always more or less bad feeling,
regiments, brigades, and corps claiming that other regiments, brigades,
and corps failed to do their whole duty, and should therefore be held
responsible for this or that misfortune.

There was a rumor, for some days before the battle of Chickamauga, that
Burnside was on the way to join us, and we shouted Burnside to the boys,
on the day of the battle, until we became hoarse. Did the line stagger
and show a disposition to retire: "Stand up, boys, reinforcements are
coming; Burnside is near." Once, when Palmer's division was falling back
through a corn-field, our line was hotly pressed. Pointing to Palmer's
columns, which were coming from the left toward the right, the officers
shouted, "Give it to 'em, boys, Burnside is here," and the boys went in
with renewed confidence. But, alas, at nightfall Burnside had played
out, and the hearts of our brave fellows went down with the sun.
Burnside is now regarded as a myth, a fictitious warrior, who is said to
be coming to the rescue of men sorely pressed, but who