South Carolina, and even kept in mind the alternative of
Pensacola.

The first night out we camped by the road-side near Lithonia.
Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view, cut out in
clear outline against the blue sky; the whole horizon was lurid
with the bonfires of rail-ties, and groups of men all night were
carrying the heated rails to the nearest trees, and bending them
around the trunks. Colonel Poe had provided tools for ripping up
the rails and twisting them when hot; but the best and easiest way
is the one I have described, of heating the middle of the
iron-rails on bonfires made of the cross-ties, and then winding
them around a telegraph-pole or the trunk of some convenient
sapling. I attached much importance to this destruction of the
railroad, gave it my own personal attention, and made reiterated
orders to others on the subject.

The next day we passed through the handsome town of Covington, the
soldiers closing up their ranks, the color-bearers unfurling their
flags, and the bands striking up patriotic airs. The white people
came out of their houses to behold the sight, spite of their deep
hatred of the invaders, and the negroes were simply frantic with
joy. Whenever they heard my name, they clustered about my horse,
shouted and prayed in their peculiar style, which had a natural
eloquence that would have moved a stone. I have witnessed
hundreds, if not thousands, of such scenes; and can now see a poor
girl, in the very ecstasy of the Methodist "shout," hugging the
banner of one of the regiments, and jumping up to the "feet of
Jesus."

I remember, when riding around by a by-street in Covington, to
avoid the crowd that followed the marching column, that some one
brought me an invitation to dine with a sister of Sam. Anderson,
who was a cadet at West Point with me; but the messenger reached me
after we had passed the main part of the town. I asked to be
excused, and rode on to a place designated for camp, at the
crossing of the Ulcofauhachee River, about four miles to the east
of the town. Here we made our bivouac, and I walked up to a
plantation-house close by, where were assembled many negroes, among
them an old, gray-haired man, of as fine a head as I ever saw. I
asked him if he understood about the war and its progress. He said
he did; that he had been looking for the "angel of the Lord" ever
since he was knee-high, and, though we professed to be fighting for
the Union, he sup