We were jubilant; we were triumphant.

Officers could not curb the men to keep in line.

Discharge after discharge was poured into the retreating line.

The Federal dead and wounded covered the ground.
When in the very midst of our victory, here comes an order to halt.
What! halt after today's victory?
Sidney Johnson killed, General Gladden killed, and a host of generals and other brave men killed, and the whole Yankee army in full retreat.
These four letters, h-a-l-t, O, how harsh they did break upon our ears.
The victory was complete, but the word "halt" turned victory into defeat.
The soldiers had passed through the Yankee camps and saw all the good things that they had to eat in their sutlers' stores and officers' marquees, and it was but a short time before every soldier was rummaging to see what he could find.
The harvest was great and the laborers were not few.
The negro boys, who were with their young masters as servants, got rich.
Greenbacks were plentiful, good clothes were plentiful, rations were not in demand.

The boys were in clover.
This was Sunday.
On Monday the tide was reversed.
Now, those Yankees were whipped, fairly whipped, and according to all the rules of war they ought to have retreated.