I could see the blue coats fairly lining Missionary Ridge in my head.

The Yankees were swarming everywhere.

They were passing me all day with their dead and wounded, going back to Chattanooga.

No one seemed to notice me; they were passing to and fro, cannon, artillery, and everything.

I was willing to be taken prisoner, but no one seemed disposed to do it.
I was afraid to look at them, and I was afraid to hide, for fear some one's attention would be attracted toward me.