I still did not want to kill him, and am sorry today that I did, for I believe I could have captured him, but I fired, and saw the blood spurt all over his face.

He was the prettiest youth I ever saw.

When I fired, the Yankees broke and run, and I went up to the boy I had killed, and the blood was gushing out of his mouth.

I was sorry.
ATLANTA FORSAKEN One morning about the break of day our artillery opened along our breastworks, scaring us almost to death, for it was the first guns that had been fired for more than a month.

We sprang to our feet and grabbed our muskets, and ran out and asked some one what did that mean.