Chapter II: Part 2

He found Lumsden's battery and they remained with the Kentuckians until Sherman's troops had approached within a short distance and were about to cut them off on the east of the railroad, when Gen. Breckinridge ordered them withdrawn to a ridge about one-half a mile to the east where Gen. Cleburne had drawn up his division. As we crossed the railroad, shells from Sherman's battery were falling around the depot. Several women were on the station platform when the first shells hurtled past. Some dropped to their knees in prayer. The balance followed the soldiers to a barn for cover. The kneeling ones were quickly snatched to their feet and hurried away. Despite the shelling, every passing confederate took time to fill his haversack with hard-tack, sugar or anything that came handy and to secure as big a slab of bacon as he could find transportation for. Our gun carriers were regularly festooned with "Old Ned," as the boys called bacon. On the first hill east of the station the battery went into position, and as soon as the enemy appeared, opened on them and so continued to fire on their advancing lines until ordered to leave the position, and away we went at a gallop to the next available point and into battery again. So we continued all that afternoon, assisting the infantry rearguard of the army on that road, contesting the enemy's advance as much as possible. When night came we continued in a slow retreat, the road being blocked with wagons and artillery and in terrible condition with mud and ruts. A mile or two per hour being the best we could do. About midnight we came to a point where another road joined ours, along which another Corps had retreated, with a high ridge ahead of us to cross, mud being in many places axle deep. We had gotton half way up the hill, when the Yanks attacked the rear squad of the other Corps below us. We could see the opposing rifle flashes near the foot of the hill and the minie balls were singing on all sides. It took all the power of the teams and all the men who could get hold of each wheel to get those wagons and artillery carriages over that hill, and out of reach of the enemy while the infantry rear squad held our pursuers in check with a midnight fight in which no man could see another twenty feet away. Everybody and everything was of course coated with mud, but the Yankees got nothing for their pains. When the pursuing forces of Osterhau's division, sustained by Hooker's Corps reached Ringgold gap, Cleburne had prepared an ambush for them and after holding them in check until night, repulsing successive charges and inflicting heavy loss on the enemy. Gen Hardie sent an order to Cleburne, who with Gen. Breckinridge and staff, were at the gap to withdraw the rear squad to Dalton, a former member of our company, by order of Gen. Breckinridge burned the two bridges across the Chickamauga and that night the army took position at Rocky face ridge where it remained until May 6, 1864. This ended the campaign for the year as far as the reserve artillery was concerned, for when we reached Dalton, we were assigned a camp ground and at once went to work preparing quarters for the winter the date being Nov. 26, 1863.

In close proximity to a running brook and nearby springs we built log huts. Each mess was composed of individuals who associated at their own wills, without any interference of military rules or company officers. The camp was located in a nice piece of woodland, composed of oak, hickory, pine etc., on the western side of the brook or branch, from which the ground rose at a gentle slope towards the east and west, the flow being towards the north. On the eastern slope, just opposite the center of the battalion park of artillery, Major Felix H. Robertson located his headquarters camp, with Sergeant Major James T. Searcy as his aide.

Ranged along the western slope, were the four batteries of four guns each, that composed the battalion, Lumsden's on the right, then Barrett's, Massingale's and Havis' batteries. Behind the guns of each battery were the huts of the men, about one half on each side of a wide street reaching back perhaps one hundred yards, at the head of which streets were located the quarters of the officers of the companies.

Each mess built its own hut or cabin on such plan as suited themselves and their number of individuals. The commissioned officers of each company with their negro servants built their own.

The general plan of each hut was about a 12 x 14 foot space, ground brought to a level. Two sides of 16 foot poles and back end of 14 feet were notched up at the corners to a height of about seven feet. The front end consisted of a fire place and rammed earth, with a stick and mud chimney and the doorway poles notched down on the side walls at top provided joists about 7 feet above the earthen floor, on outer ends of which joists, plates were laid to support the foot of the pole rafters. Boards of four feet in length split out from cuts of straight grained pine, made a water tight roof. Cracks between the logs were daubbed with mud which soon dried. The joists were thrown on top of them and gable ends of the same kind of boards that made the room. Bunks three or four feet wide made in two tiers were at rear end and sides bottomed with small poles, and broom-sedge and oak and pine leaves, with a blanket spread over. Four-legged slabs made good benches, but many split bottom chairs were obtained from country chair makers. With a good log fire three or four feet long in the fire place and an old blanket hung in the doorway, soldiers were fixed to defy the coldest days of winter and sleep in comfort on the coldest nights. A good fat bed-fellow was a luxury not to be despised and on coldest nights, "spooning" was the prevailing fashion with covering well tucked under. When one wanted to turn over, it was necessary for the other to do the same. Sometimes they would do so by word of command as if at drill with "one time and two motions."

The daily military routine was "Reveille" at daybreak, stable call, breakfast, guard mounting, police of park and camp a citizen would call it, clearing up details to go out for forage and provisions. A few were allowed each day permits to go out into the country on private foraging expeditions, seeking to purchase chickens, eggs, milk, butter, buttermilk, vegetables, etc., gun squad drills, dinner, and in fine weather and good condition of the ground in afternoon often, field drill of which battery, with guns, caissons, teams, cannoneers, drivers and all stable call, supper, camp amusements of all kinds, tattoo and finally taps. There were two buglers in the company, Charles M. Donoho was at the company headquarters. He acted as messenger also. The other, Rufus Menander Rosser was in the same mess as the writer. One of his duties was to blow the Reveille call at a certain hour each morning. His habit was to hang his bugle on the end of house plate that extended at the door. One freezing night some of the boys emptied a gourd of water into the open mouth of the bugle, thus filling the coils of same with water. Next morning, at break of day, our friend Rosser essayed to blow "Reveille." His cheeks expand nearly to bursting, but not a note comes from the bugle, not even a part of a breath will pass through. Rosser uncovers the glowing coals amongst the ashes, pushes together the fire chunks and with his breath blows up a blaze and starts to holding bugle in same. Footsteps of boots are heard outside. They stop at our door and in pops the head of Lt. A. C. Hargrove with the question, "Rosser! why have you not blown Reveille?" But his eyes take in the situation, while he asks the question, and Rosser's answer, "Lieut., some rascal has filled my bugle and it's full of ice," is really not needed. Off stalks the Lieut. to find Donoho, and his bugle soon sings out the familiar notes. At the end of which, each man is in ranks, front faced by the Orderly Sergeant who calls the company roll and then a new day's duties are begun.

Thereafter Rosser's bugle forms part of his pillow, for allowing such a mishap to occur again would mean extra work at some drudgery. The officers daily report would show up the excuses, but the boys got some little fun out of such tricks. We were all afraid of Major Robertson. His reputation was that of a harsh disciplinarian and our company was largely composed of young men of the highest social ranks. The fear was general that for some little disobedience of orders, or some infraction of military red-tape, some punishment might be ordered by him, that the culprit would rather die than submit to something degrading. We had some object lessons. The Major's hostler came to camp one night drunk. At some order of the Major, the fellow let in and gave the officer a vile cursing, with opprobrious epithets, called him a half "Injin", etc., and worse still, common rumors had it that the Major did have Indian blood in him and he was called generally "Comanche Robertson", but its only foundation was his unusually dark complexion and eyes.

The sergeant of the guard was sent for and the obstreperous fellow forced off to the guard house. Next morning the sergeant was ordered to bring the poor devil to the Major's quarters, and hang him up by strings tied to his thumbs, with hands behind his back, till only his toes could touch the ground. So he was kept until he was almost frozen stiff. The whole command recognized the fact that the culprit deserved the severest kind of punishment. He was of a class that could not appreciate leniency and yet the men were inexpressibly shocked to see such torture. To see a confederate soldier subjected to brutal punishment under the very eyes of the insulted officer did not seem to be the proper thing. Had he been courtmarshalled and shot, it would not have shocked us half so much, but to see a white man, a volunteer serving the Confederacy subjected to a punishment that public opinion of the South would have considered brutal on even a negro slave, notwithstanding the recognized heinousness of the officer, went to our hearts.

The effect on the men in the ranks was not good, the utter helplessness of a private was brought home to us. It was hurtful to pride as Confederate soldiers serving our country for duty's sake, and fear of officers replaces badly a soldier's pride in his work. Each soldier from that time feared Robertson. Had this soldier watched his chance and murdered the officer, and then deserted to the enemy, the general opinion would have been that such action was to have been expected.

That such did not happen, showed that the disgrace was not keenly felt, by reason of the social state from which the soldier sprung, something on the New Orleans "wharf rat", order. One morning between midnight and day, one of my mess-mates was on guard at the stable lot, a mild spring morning, and the moon shining. He got tired "walking his post" so he climbed on top of the fence, under shadow of a tree and there took his seat overlooking the lot. He expected to be able easily to see or hear any inspecting officer first and to be able quietly to slide down and resume "walking his post" from under the shadow without being caught, "sitting down on a post," a disobedience of military orders always.

All at once a voice just behind him, outside the fence calls out, "Where's the sentinel here?" and there stood the Major. "Here I am, Sir!" "Get down and walk your post, Sir!" "All right, Sir!" But very shortly after, the Corporal came from the guardhouse, with a Supernumerary of the guard and relieved our friend, who was marched off to guard quarters under arrest.

Next morning he was turned over a prisoner to the charge of the succeeding guard, with a feeling of wonder hanging over him as to what sort of punishment he might expect. But he did not have to wonder long. The officer of the day came to guard quarters with instructions to give this prisoner an axe and a pick and to set him to grubbing a big pine stump in the battery park, i.e., the ground occupied by the gun carriages and caissons in regulation order. My recollection is, that the stump lasted our friend several days and that it took some little help of his body servant, Rube, in the small hours of the night to get that stump out of the ground.

The grubber was busy about it during the day, and slept around the guard house fire of a night, until the stump got out of the ground. Then he was sent for to Battalion Headquarters and our Major gave him quite a gentlemanly admonition, as to such "lapse from duty," etc., which was thankfully received and duly noted. Now this offense against military rules must needs have some punishment, and this punishment was received in good part, and there was no degradation in it. Our friend took the chances, got caught and cheerfully took his medicine without a shadow of ill will against the officer ordering it. Rather he was much obliged to him for the leniency of it. It was on a par with a quite common punishment imposed on soldiers, "straggling" on a march. One of his superior officers coming upon him a way behind his command on the road would say: "Well, what is the matter, Mr. Smith or Jones?" Oh! I just dropped out to get some water from a spring." "Were you detailed? Where's your canteens?" "No Sir! I just dropped out!" "All right, you take a rail off that fence and bring it along, and we'll go on together." There was no help for it. He'd have to "carry that rail." At least as long as the officer chose to stay along with him. When he wanted to ride ahead and leave the rail carrier, it would be, "Well Smith, I'll ride on, catch up soon, or I'll have to report you for straggling." Away the officer would go, down would go the rail, and Smith would probably catch up at the next resting place. Soldiers never minded such punishments inflicted in the line of military discipline. The more intelligent the private, the more he was cognizant of the necessity of discipline to an army, to prevent its disintegrating into a mob. The officer and the private might be close personal friends individually, but as soldiers, one commanded, the other obeyed.

During the winter quarters, an election was held for the Junior Second Lieutenant, as commonly called. The two principal candidates were Orderly Sergeant John A. Caldwell, and private Robert W. Foster, both planters sons, both equally educated, and both from Tuscaloosa County. My impression is that Foster received the most votes, and he was of a most popular disposition. It is probable that Caldwell's being Orderly Sergeant, had lost him some votes, as no man in authority, could always please everybody, and be of any account.

Then each candidate had to stand an examination by a Board of Officers in some way, Caldwell got the commission. Foster felt much that he had been treated unfairly and wrote out an application to be transferred to the Confederate Navy. This he sent to Bragg's headquarters direct, not up through the hands of company Battalion Officials. Bragg ordered him court martialled for this breach of military etiquette. The result was a verdict of guilty and a sentence to solitary confinement on bread and water diet for a certain number of days. A small log hut was built close to guard quarters 10x6 feet inside, 7 feet deep, without any door, the ceiling of heavy logs and roofed over, with the ordinary split boards. Foster had to climb over the wall and into the hut through a hole left in the ceiling for the purpose, logs were replaced, and roof also. His blankets of course were put in with him. His mess carried him, his big thick bread, and it was not all dough between the crusts. We do not think that water alone quenched his thirst. He had the sympathy of the whole command, who believed that his sentence was out of all reason, for a violation of military "red tape," and perhaps, treading on some one's corns. But Lumsden saw the ill effects, threats were being made to tear the hut down, and release him; and the finest kind of soldiers were beginning to get sulky. So he mounted his horse and went to Bragg's headquarters. What transpired there none of us ever knew, but Lumsden rode back with orders for Foster's release and restoration to duty. The whole thing was a mistake, first on Bragg's part, and lastly in the sentence placed by the officers who constituted the military court. A mere reprimand would have been ample, and not caused any sulkiness among spirited men. Forcible release of the prisoner would surely have resulted in serious consequences to many, and the possible ruining of a good command. We relate the incident as illustrating the traits of character of the two officers.

Bragg's want of tact, and Lumsden's possession of that same quality in the handling of volunteer citizen soldiers. Foster had probably more friends than ever in the whole battalion.

When not on duty, the men in camp followed their own inclinations. Books and letters and games, of all kinds. Furloughed men went home and returned for others to go. Boxes of provisions and clothing came first to one and then to another from home. Some had good musical talents, and impromptu concerts were of almost nightly occurrence. H. Calib Peterson, and others of like talents, contributed largely to the amusements of the camp, with ministrel shows and songs with banjos, bones, reed, and other accompaniments. One of the books that went the rounds was "St. Twelmo," a traversity on Miss Augusta Evans, (Mrs. Wilson), St. Elmo, the heroine of St. Twelmo being described as being such a "plenary pulchritude" with attainments to suit.

At company headquarters, when the full quota of officers was on hand, were Capt. C. L. Lumsden, Lieuts. Eb H. Hargrove, A. C. Hargrove, John A. Caldwell, and Cadet Lieut. Sykes. Also Chas. M. Donoho, bugler and messenger, and Henry Donoho, his cousin, headquarter's clerk. But it sometimes happened that every commissioned officer was away with Cadet Sykes, left in the command. Caldwell, being promoted to Lieut., J. Mack Shivers, was appointed Orderly Sergeant. The other Sergeants were John Little, James Jones, (from Autauga County,) James Cordwell and Wilds, with John Snow, quartermaster and commissary Sergeant.

The Corporals were: Thomas Owen, T. Alex Dearing, Wade Brook, and J. R. Maxwell, gunners, J. Wick Brown, John Watson, W. B. Appling, and ----, chiefs of caissons. About May 1st, 1864, Sherman moved out from Chattanooga, and Lumsden's Battery left winter quarters for good, never again to be in a permanent camp for any length of time.

It was placed on the left of railroad north of Dalton, on Mill creek gap at east end of Rocky face ridge.

Gen. Joseph E. Johnston was now in command. The whole army had lost all confidence in Bragg's ability to secure the fruits of victory, gained by the hard fighting alone, of his troops. Perryville, Murfreesboro and Chickamauga had also ended.

On May 8th, the enemy attacked Stevenson's Division, along Buzzard Roost Ridge, east of railroad, and Mill creek gap with Geary's Division. They were easily repulsed. Lumsden's battery assisting by placing a few shells in the gap on the right of the attacking Division. Geary reported a loss of 200 to 300 men, and that it was impossible to take the position by assault. As Sherman's army forged to the South west on its flanking movement, the battery was withdrawn, and on May 15th, next faced the enemy in a field of green wheat on the Oastenaula river, below the railroad bridge at Resaca, 18 miles south of Dalton, on the day of McPherson's attack at that point, but did not get to fire a shot.

The position was on the west of a gentle rise, that inclined slightly to our rear. Had infantry charged our front, a few steps forward, would have enabled us to sweep the field. A Federal rifle battery, fired at us for a while, where we lay on the ground barely covered from their fire, when one of the shells skimmed the crest of the hill, it would miss our back a foot or two and pass on with no damage to us. The ground was hot under us, and the sun shining hot down on us, but we avoided stopping any of the shots, and we could not reach them with our smooth bores. We lay there, with our guns loaded with canister, ready to stop an infantry charge, but it was all delivered farther to our right. Our monotony was released by chatting and munching the contents of our haversacks. We surely had a hot time there in the hot sun and shell combination, but we had no causalities. We had protection from Yankee projectiles, but none from those of Old Sol. It was McPherson's corps in our forest and south westward to success the Oastenaula. His rifle batteries commanded the railroad bridge, with pontoon and common bridge below. That night Johnston's army withdrew across the Oastenaula.

At Cassville thirty miles south of Resaca, on night of May 19th, Johnston had contemplated giving Sherman a general battle.

Orders were read to all commands announcing the battle for next day. Our men were ready, believing Johnston had Sherman's army where he could whip first one portion, then the other, but for reasons about which there is controversy, the attack of our right wing on the enemy the next morning was delayed, the opportunity was lost and the retreat continued. When we crossed the Etowah below Cartersville, the railroad bridge was burned and the battery went into position facing the crossing on a low, rocky ridge, in the afternoon.

The writer remembers, sitting down at the roots of a tree, and immediately springing up, brushing the seat of his pants vigorously. Examination showed that he had set down on a nest of little brown scorpions. Something like a crawfish in shape, with tails turned up over their backs, with a sting like a wasp's in the end of the tail. The laugh of the boys was on him.

Some Federal cavalry rode down to the river, on the other side, but a few shells scattered them, and at dark we again moved southward toward New Hope church and Dallas.

On the afternoon of May 25th, traveling the sparsely settled country road, about 2:00 p.m. a courier brought our Captain orders to rush his guns forward, infantry and wagons giving space and away we went, the cannoneers mounting on our gun carriages and caissons. Private James Hogan, of Tuscaloosa, in attempting to mount a gun, limber in motion, fell, one wheel of the gun passing over his body. A man was ordered to stay with him and see that an ambulance carried him to a hospital. He was so injured, as to prevent him serving further during the war. As we drew near to New Hope church, we found infantry of Stewart's, corps, hastily building log breastworks, along the right of the road, with the rattle of heavy skirmishing in the thick forest in the front. Our battery was ordered to turn aside to the left and go into battery and wait. This threw us into position with our infantry line perhaps fifty yards in our front. The Federals attacked with Hooper's corps in force, and the battle of New Hope church was fought and won, by our infantry line, we never getting a chance to fire a shot. Our cannoneers lying on the ground at their posts ready to fire, should the infantry give back. At dark we were placed in position on the infantry line and ordered to intrench and by morning of 26th, we had a pretty fair earthwork in our front facing a Federal battery. The woods were very dense, and it was only a couple of hundred yards across the hollow to the Federal entrenchments. Between the two lines the earth was strewn with the Federal dead.

Both sides had skirmishers in rifle pits in front of them, and any exposure of a portion of the body brought the "ping" of a bullet in close proximity. One struck about an inch above the head of Lieut. A. C. Hargrove, into the body of an oak against which he was sitting, a little in rear of embankment. His head showed a little too high above the breastworks. Two inches lower, it would have finished him. Both sides had to lie close in daylight. A little to the rear and left was the old church.

Capt. Lumsden sent a man to Gen. Quarles, who had his Brigade headquarters just in rear of the church, to borrow a field glass. The General and his staff wanted to know all about the situation, which was described as well as possible. One of the aides handed over his glasses, and requested the messenger to let them know whatever was discovered in our front. It was suggested that he come along, "Oh no! We don't think it necessary! You can tell us all about it when you return back." The others laughed and said: "Go ahead, young man." Capt. Lumsden thought he could make out a battery opposite, but it was difficult to be sure as their lines were partly hidden by brush, like our own. Our old Orderly Sergeant, now Capt. Geo. Little, on Gen. Bate's staff, had letters and socks from home for his two brothers, John and James, in our company, and rode up to the church where Gen. Stewart was sitting on the steps and asked him where Lumsden's battery was. He said they are just over there about 100 yards, but you can't ride there, come behind the church with your horse, a man was killed where you are sitting, just now. All was quiet then as could be. There was a country graveyard between the church and our line. He left his horse behind the church, and started to the battery, but in a moment there were a hundred bullets pattering like hail on the clap boards which covered the graves. He ran for cover in the trenches, and for ten minutes the firing was kept up and then quieted down, when he slipped back from the cover of one tree to another to the church, mounted his horse and made his way back to his own quarters.

About June 4th, the Federals disappeared from our front at New Hope church, and we moved back and toward Lost mountain and the railroad which we crossed the next day, and on June 8th, went into position on a ridge overlooking Big Shanty Station, being on the east side of railroad. This new line came to be known as the Pine Mountain line. Here we entrenched. On June 11th, we saw a rifle battery near Big Shanty firing on our lines to the left. We fired on them. They replied. Our trenches were a little below the top of the hill, with the limber chests exposed, being higher than the works. Lumsden ordered them to be run down close behind the works, which was done. But one Federal shell exploded one of the chests while it was being moved. Sergt. J. Mack Shivers was shoving it at the time but escaped much injury. The Yankee battery withdrew from the open, and we shortly after, heard of Gen Polk's death. We always believed that we were firing on the battery that killed him. During all this time we were having heavy rains every day. We have an idea that the whole army was wet to the skin every day in June. One great trouble was to keep our corn bread dry until we could eat it. But wet bread could be turned into "hot cush," whenever we stopped long enough to have a fire and the weather being warm, our clothing would get moderately dry between showers. The men had by this time gotton pretty tough, and looked tough, and like a set of toughs.

Falling back on June 15th, from the Pine mountain line, to the Kennesaw mountain line, to face Sherman, who was flanking to our left, the battery first took position close to the top of the main spur of the mountain, a little to the right and north of the top and entrenched along with a lot of infantry. The only Federals who got within our range at this position were a lot that crowded around a railroad water tank, at the foot of the mountain. We put a few shells through the tank scattering both Yanks and water. But the Yanks put a rifle battery off in the valley, out of our reach and went to work on us scientifically. They figured out our range and the very first shell burst about three feet exactly over our breastworks, and the next one or so killed one of our men, named Blackstock, a Georgian. A splinter clipped Horace Martin's ear--marked him. Lt. Hargrove was on the bare top of the mountain to see what he could see. They fired at him and the shell struck the ground in his front, and ricochetted over his head, end over end. It was certainly fine shooting and sport for those rifle gunners, and doubtless they enjoyed it. We certainly did not, but each got to a safe place and kept it, as soon as we found what those fellows could do at over a mile distance. This was on June 19th. As this position was a worthless one for our guns, we were ordered down and moved to the south edge of Little Rinnew, relieving another battery. The change was made during the night, and Lumsden was told that it was a hot place. So we worked on the entrenchments from about midnight when we had arrived until daylight. We made good embrasures, thickened the works in our front and dug trenches for our caisson wheels close behind works, so that axles lay on the ground. The limber chests were taken from gun carriages and placed on ground close up to the works. That afternoon, Col. Alexander, in command of the artillery along this line, came along and Capt. Lumsden told him that he'd like to find out what the enemy had over there. Col. Alexander told Lumsden, "Well, open on them and I'll order the rifle battery further up little Kennesaw to your right to support you." Lumsden gave him time to get up to the rifle battery, and then came his command: "Cannoneers to your posts!" Each gunner was told where to aim, and the estimated distance. Then: "Load! Battery ready! Fire!" Those Yankees opened on our four-gun battery, with twenty-four guns and the dirt was soon flying over and around us. We fired rapidly and so did the rifle battery, but directly a shell came through number 3 embrasure, killed Gurley, standing erect with thumb on vent, plunged into caisson just behind and exploded all three chests thereon. The flame exploded a cartridge lying on limber chest next to the breastwork and our own shell went rolling around promiscuously. Lt. Hargrove grabbed a slush bucket and proceeded to pour water into the limber chest with the smashed top, where fuses were fizzling and friction primers crackling in the tray above the loaded cartridges thereon. Some of the boys yelled at him to let that thing go, but he poured that water on, and put out those fuses. Every fellow was dodging our own shells for a few minutes.

A tin strap from one of the sabots struck Corporal John Watson on the tight seat of his pants, and he dropped flat, with his hands clapped on the place where he had felt the blow, yelling: "Oh, I'm wounded, I'm wounded." The laugh was on him, when it was found that his pants were not even split.

Gracious! How those Yanks did yell, when the column of smoke went high in the air from our exploded caisson. Well, all the satisfaction we got out of the affair, was that "We found out, what the enemy had over there," and we did not stir up that hornet's nest again. Occasionally, they would plug at us, but we would lie low and not reply. One of their 24-lb. rifled parrot shells ricochetted over from the front one day with out exploding. Some of the men got it unscrewed the percussion fuse from its point and poured out a lot of powder, then dug out some more with a sharp stick, until they thought it was about empty. Then private Dan Kelly, got hold of it, stooped down to a flat rock and jolted the point down on the rock. It struck fire, exploded and tore Kelly's arm and hand all to pieces. He was sent to hospital, then home, and I think died from the wound.

We more than evened up on the Yanks, a few days after, on June 27th, when Thomas's and McPherson's corps swarmed over their works and started for our lines in a determined assault. We filled the skirt of woods in front, full of shells until their lines appeared in the open, and then we swept the earth with canister and over their line of infantry made every bullet count, so that in our immediate front, they did not get nearer than 150 yards, and had to rush back to cover of their own entrenchments. Our command had no causalities that day, but many Federals were buried in trenches in our front, their total loss officially reported in the assault was 2,500.

Here is what is recorded in Federal official records:

"He (Sherman) Resolved: To attack the left center of Johnston's
position, and orders were given on the 24th, that on the 27th,
McPherson should assault near Little Kennesaw mountain (our
position,) and that Thomas should assault about a mile further
south, (to our left). Kennesaw was strongly entrenched, and held by
Loring's and Hardee's corps, Loring on the right, opposite
McPherson and Hardee on the left opposite Thomas. About 9:00 a.m.
of the 27th, the troops moved to the assault and all along the line
for ten miles a furious fire of artillery and musketry was kept up.
A part of Logan's 15th corps, formed in two lines, fought its way
up to the slope of Little Kennesaw, carried the confederate
skirmish pits and tried to go further, but was checked by the rough
nature of the ground, and the fire of artillery and musketry at
short range from behind breastworks. Logan's assault failed with a
loss of 600 men, and his troops were withdrawn to the captured
skirmish pits * * * The assault was over by 11:30 a.m., and was a
failure.

It was the most serious reverse sustained by Sherman during the campaign. The entire Union loss was nearly 2,500.

Johnston admits a Confederate loss of 808 killed and wounded. That ended Sherman's attempt to force our lines, and started his flanking operations again. Soon we were ordered back southwest of the Chattahoochee river, where we occupied a fort, overlooking the Western & Atlantic railroad bridge, and were soon faced by the enemy with infantry and artillery again entrenched, with a rifle battery on opposite side of river three-quarters of a mile away. They would occasionally try a little target practice at our fort. Our orders were to refrain from firing unless an attempt was made to cross the river. On our side there was merely infantry enough to picket the river.

The fort was an enclosed one, i.e., had parapet all around, and embrassures in all directions, as if built to stand a siege even if entirely surrounded by the enemy. Our four guns were its whole armament however, fronting the river and its destroyed bridge below us.

We here bivouaced at ease. The slope in rear of fort had some shade bushes and formed a comparatively safe camping grounds, but we lost one man here who was in rear of, and outside of the fort. A rifle shell just missed the front parapet, cut a furrow in the rear parapet, and took off the head of a private, named Maner, another Georgian. Some of us who were inside the fort saw his straw hat rise ten feet in the air and knew that another comrade had gone.

Here, on July 17th, at evening roll call, technically named the "Retreat" call, the memorable order was read to our command, relieving Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, and placing Gen. J. B. Hood, in command of the army. It was received in dead silence, and figuratively speaking "our hearts went down into our boots," or whatever happened to be covering our heel.

The army had still the fullest confidence in Johnston. They knew that for more than two months he had baffled Sherman in spite of his overpowering force of two to one, and had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, with small loss to his own army either in men or material. They idolized Johnston and were ready to fight, whenever Johnston was ready. They believed "Old Joe" knew his business, and did not believe that Sherman could hold on to his line of supplies, and still surround the city. They believed that President Davis had made a terrible mistake, and that belief remains to the officers and men of the army of Tennessee to this day. They admired Hood, his personal character and gallantry, but they believed in Johnston as second only to Robert E. Lee, and that the Confederacy did not hold another man who could so well serve her.

Sherman moving the main portion of his army towards the northeast, covered by the Chattahoochee, but still holding the W. & A. railroad with his right wing, our battery was ordered to report to Gen. Wheeler, who with his cavalry was on the extreme right of our army. We were placed in position on the bank of the Chattahoochee, where a ravine entered the river at a very acute angle, forming a narrow ridge between river and ravine, so that by cutting down into the ground and throwing the dirt out toward the ravine, we made level places for our guns with a solid wall of earth as high as the muzzle of our guns, overlooking the slope toward the river, the hills opposite, and the Federal entrenchments along the upper edge of the fields with an embrasured battery in view. Our entrenchment, as described, made no show. We were there simply to guard against an easy crossing at this point.

Lt. A. C. Hargrove, next day was standing at the parapet near muzzle of 3rd piece talking to Corporal Maxwell, who was gunner to that piece. A puff of smoke came from a Federal embrasure across the river and both squatted below the protecting bank. The shell struck the body of an oak tree standing just in front, and some twenty feet above the ground, tearing off a heavy fragment, slightly larger than a man's forearm, which came down with force, the end cutting through Hargroves' hat on his forehead and to the skull, a gash two inches long. Maxwell said: "Lieut., they are cutting at us close," still looking to the front. Hargrove said: "Well, they got me." Maxwell turned around and there stooped Hargrove, hat on ground, and his hands to his head, with blood gushing through his fingers all down over him. He was much stunned with the blow, but when Maxwell spread the lips of the wound, and the blood ran out, the solid skull of his forehead showed uncrutched. Nevertheless the blow threatened concussion of the brain, and he was sent home for several weeks. Dr. N. P. Marlowe, then surgeon with Wheeler's corps taking him in his own ambulance to the Hospital, after dressing his wound.

The enemy crossing in force, lower down the river, our battery was retired from this position and placed on the main line of defense northeast of Atlanta, and was soon faced by the enemy again, after the battle of Peachtree Creek, with his entrenchments forming quite an angle in our front, some 800 yards away, but his lines stretched from that angle almost perpendicularly away from us toward his left.

On July 22nd, Hardee's corps of Confederates attacked Sherman's left and drove it for a long distance back toward his center. The right of this fleeing corps came into our range making for the protection of their works at this angle and Lumsden's guns shelled them just in front of their own works as they reached them, we firing over the heads of the Georgia militia, who were pushed forward across the valley as if to join in an assault, but were soon returned to their works after considerable loss.

Seeing these old citizens wounded and dying struck us with sympathy, with somewhat of the same feelings we might have experienced at seeing a lot of women sacrificed. They started in the charge, had withdrawn to the trenches again. We were accustomed to that with regular soldiers, but the sacrifice of these old citizens affected us to an unusual degree.

Being relieved from this position, by a battery attached to an infantry brigade that now occupied these trenches, we were sent to the rear and parked near a stream south of Atlanta to wash up clothing and rest a bit. But before our washing was dry, orders came to rush the battery to a position some five miles southwest of Atlanta. We went at a gallop, or trot, or walk as fast as we could rush the guns and caissons. With the cannoneers hanging on as best they could. Reaching the position just in time, meeting our infantry slowly falling back, before the enemy, fighting as they retreated. We rushed "into battery," on a hill at edge of open field, with the Federal infantry already past the way across the field and opened on them with our usual rapid fire. In ten minutes not a Federal could be seen except the few wounded or dead left behind.

It was a terribly hot July afternoon and the men with jackets, blankets, haversacks and all else possible strewn on the ground were panting like dogs, and so wet with sweat as if just out of a river, when they threw themselves down in the shade of the trees on the edge of the field after the firing ceased with the disappearance of the enemy. We had not lost a man. Our arrival and work was so quick that the enemy rushed to the rear at once to the cover of the forest. Our guns used some 33 or 34 rounds each in the short time in action.

All night infantry and artillery men worked with every available tool, down to the bayonet to loosen up the earth, and half of a split canteen to throw up the dirt and next morning found us entrenched in our new line. But on the other edge of the field, the Yankee trenches showed up some 800 yards away.

In this position Lumsden's battery remained nearly all the month of August. Every few days we would have an artillery duel with the rifle battery opposite. Sherman was now extending his right wing, which finally led to the assault of Love Joy station, on the road south of Atlanta. He had also brought down siege guns, that fired shells about the size of nail keg, and was shelling the city. One Sunday we had a particularly fierce duel with our opponents. It happened that the embrasure of the 3rd piece flared a little more squarely to the front of the others. Three whole shells struck the 3rd gun during the action, each coming through the embrasure only about one foot in width. One struck on top between trunnions and vent, gouging out the brass like a half round chisel would have gouged a piece of wood, and glanced on to the rear. The second struck gun carriage on left cheek, just in front of left trunnion and went into small fragments in every direction. The third struck the edge of the muzzle, and crushed it so that we could get no more shells into the gun. It was ruined temporarily, and had to be sent to the arsenal at Macon.

About this time, Gen. Hardee and staff rode up. He inquired: "What's the matter here?" "Nothing," said Lumsden, "but those fellows opened on us and I make it a point to give as good as they send." "Well, cease firing its doing no good, and we must husband our ammunition." Old man Lane had the front end of one foot cut off by a piece of shell. He was bringing up an armfull of cartridges from the caissons under the hill at the time, but did not throw down his load until he brought it to the gun, loudly proclaiming, that he hoped these shells would pay them back for his wound. But that was the end of his service in our army. He was over conscript age, but came as a substitute for some one who could pay for a man to take his place.

I believe that he was the only man struck that day in our company, but in rear of the 3rd gun that had been put out of action, a bunch of canteens, hanging on a forked post were all rendered useless by pieces of shell or bullets coming through the embrasure. The Yankee three-inch rifle was a dead shot at any distance under a mile. They could hit the head of a flour barrel more often than miss, unless the gunner got rattled. The shell consisted of three parts, a conical head with smaller cylinderical base, a cap to fit, that base loosely and a ring of lead that connected the head and base. When fired the cap at butt was thrown forward on the cylinderical base of the cone, expanding the lead ring into the grooves of the rifle, the cone exploding by percussion cap on striking. It was the most accurate field piece of that date. Our smooth bore 12 pounders were always at a disadvantage in artillery duels, but with time fuses and at masses of men, or at a battery in open field, 800 to 1,000 yards, they did good service, and with canisters they could sweep the earth.

After Lovejoy's station, we were moved up to the city, and put into a casemated fort for a short time in the outskirts of the city, whilst evacuation was going on, and were among the last of the commands to leave the doomed town, whence we retreated with a portion of the infantry toward Macon, Ga. Burning stores of all kinds were located by the soldiers, mail cars sacked, and letters and packages of all kinds gone through at road side fires in search of money, the useless letters feeding the fire. This was on the night of September 2, 1864. Rations on the retreat got very short and for once our men were forced to live off the country. When bivouac was made for the night above Macon, for the success of our own particular mess, all scattered after "retreat" roll call in different directions. About midnight they had all come in, and pots, kettles, ovens, and hot coals were in demand. Henry Donoho had shelled out about a peck of cornfield beans from the nearly ripe pods in the fields.

Walter Guild turned up with a long stick across his shoulder, with two large pumpkins stuck on each end. Ed King and Jim Maxwell each had a sack of sweet potatoes, grabbled in a field a mile and a half away.

The Rosser boys had corn too hard for roasting, but all right to grate on an old half canteen grater.

Rube, Aleck Dearing's servant had half a shoat and Jim Bobbett, my own servant, had two ducks.

Some one owned a big brass kettle, that would hold about half a barrel, which the wagons hauled, and it was soon on the fire, filled with the sliced pumpkins, to be stewed down. Some did one thing, and some another, and by an hour before day, that feast was ready, and several more along the same lines in the camp. We ate our fill, filled haversacks, distributed the balance to whoever wanted it and were ready to move at daylight. I believe that it was the only meal I remember during the war, where everything was the proceeds of plunder.

We had been pretty close to a famine for a day or two, but this was surely a feast.

It was all contrary to military law, but soldiers were not going to sit still and starve, when something to eat could be had out of the fields for the taking, and the officers could not be expected to sit up nights to come around and inspect our pots and kettles, and if they did, they could prove nothing, and so, for the occasion and the recognizing necessity, nothing was ever said about it. The men were on hand ready and able to do duty, and the tangle of the crisis was soon straightened out and our rations coming through the regular channels. From Macon, by way of Griffin, where a few days were spent in camp and thence to West Point on the Georgia-Alabama line, where preparations were made to cut loose from the railroad, and traverse northeast Alabama with Hood's army to strike for middle Tennessee by way of Decatur and Florence, west of the mountains. This was now ----, so that we had been months and days in reaching in a roundabout manner since the fall of Atlanta, on Sept. 2. Hood's infantry and cavalry had been somewhere south, and southwest of Atlanta. Sherman was fixing to destroy, and strike out southeast across Georgia, and Hood was preparing to strike out for middle Tennessee and Nashville.

With our guns and wagons, we joined the army wagon train, making its way northwestward, during a very rainy spell of weather. Traveling through the flat piney woods was awful. The white loblolly mud was often axle deep in the road, and turning out in these flats did not seem to better the matter much.

The writer had now been appointed a Sergeant, and been given a pie bald pony to ride at the head of his 4th Detachment of gun caisson. One day his pony got both feet on same side into a deep rut under the loblolly and down flat broadside he went and the writer disappeared. When he emerged he was greeted with the well known yell, "Come out of that, I see your ears sticking out." When the mud dried, it flaked off and I was not much worse off temporarily than the balance of the crowd and they were welcome to the fun.