But when my mind reverts to those scenes and times, I seem to live in another age and time and I sometime think that "after us comes the end of the universe." I am not trying to moralize, I am only trying to write a few scenes and incidents that came under the observation of a poor old Rebel webfoot private soldier in those stormy days and times.

Histories tell the great facts, while I only tell of the minor incidents.
But on this day of which I now write, we can see in plain view more than a thousand Yankee battle-flags waving on top the red earthworks, not more than four hundred yards off.

Every private soldier there knew that General Hood's army was scattered all the way from Jonesboro to Atlanta, a distance of twenty-five miles, without any order, discipline, or spirit to do anything.

We could hear General Stewart, away back yonder in Atlanta, still blowing up arsenals, and smashing things generally, while Stephen D.Lee was somewhere between Lovejoy Station and Macon, scattering.

And here was but a demoralized remnant of Cheatham's corps facing the whole Yankee army.