iterally at the disposal of all who served the cause.
The silver-haired mother knitted and spun incessantly for the
soldiers. The father superintended the raising of vegetables, and sent
wagon-loads to the hospitals.

Miss Phemie, a lovely young girl, was a frequent visitor to the
hospitals, and often herself dispensed the golden butter and rich
buttermilk prepared under her own direction; she would even dispense
with the carriage and ride in town on the wagon, that she might bring
_plenty_ of vegetables, fruit, etc. Convalescents were entertained
royally at the old homestead; those who could not go so far were often
treated to pleasant and invigorating rides.

To me Miss Phemie's friendship and kindness brought many comforts, and
I remember gratefully the whole family.

Through the summer frequent skirmishes and fights were heard of, and
sick and wounded men came in every day, and every few days squads of
men who had "reported for duty" took their places at the front. At
last, about the first of September, 1863, appeared the never-failing
forerunner of a real battle near at hand,--a small brigade of "hospital
rats," distorted, drawn up, with useless crippled fingers, bent legs,
crooked arms, necks drawn awry, let us say by--_rheumatism_. A day or
two later was fought the sanguinary and fiercely-contested battle of
Chickamauga. I could not if I would describe this or any other battle,
nor is it necessary, for historians have well accomplished this duty.
The terrible results to the brave men engaged only appeared to me, and
these guided me to an opinion that among the horrible, bloody,
hard-fought battles of the war none could exceed that of Chickamauga,
and afterwards Franklin. From the lips of my boys, however, I often
gained knowledge of deeds of magnificent bravery which cannot be
surpassed by any which adorn the pages of history. These jewels have
lain undiscovered among the debris of the war. Would I could reclaim
them all. Seen in the aggregate, they would even outshine the glory
already known and visible. Finding memory a treacherous guide while
searching for these hidden treasures, I have called upon my comrades
to aid me in clearing away the dust and cobwebs,--the accumulation of
years,--but only in a few instances have they responded. I shall here
relate one incident of the battle of Chickamauga never before
published, but which is true in every particular.

Austin's Battalion of Sharpshooters, composed of