The army rapidly recovered its tone, and we heard that one corps of the three was to be sent to Tennessee. The choice fell upon Longstreet, who took with him Hood’s and McLaws’ Divisions of Infantry and Alexander’s Battalion of Artillery. Pickett’s Division was left in Virginia to recruit. There was much for me to do preparing for the change of base, and I was permitted to remain a day or two in Richmond on the way to the West. I stayed in Richmond at the house of Mr. John H. Tyler, the father of Henry Tyler, who was one of the Ordnance Sergeants with us, and a most excellent fellow. From the first time that I went to Richmond after I made his acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler made their house like a home to me; and until the end of the war, and long afterward, a chair was kept as regularly for me at their table as though I had been one of their sons. Their generous and unaffected kindness to me, year after year, was more than I could ever hope to repay. God bless them.

I was a day or two later than the corps in leaving Richmond; but the cars were crowded with our soldiers, and when we reached South Carolina we received attentions which had long ceased to be common in Virginia, where the passage of large bodies of troops was an every day occurrence. At Sumter, South Carolina, a number of ladies were waiting for us on the platform, armed with bouquets of flowers and with well filled baskets of cake, fruit and more substantial fare. There was an abundance, too, of lemonade for the dusty soldiers. But the good things were for the soldiers only. Some ladies in the car were evidently faint with long fasting, and a civilian who was with them asked a very pretty girl, who had a large dish of cake and sandwiches, to give him a piece of the cake for a lady in the car who really needed it. With the mercilessness which one woman usually shows to another, the fair young patriot told him jauntily that everything there was for the soldiers, and that ladies and civilians must look out for themselves. Our men were rather unaccustomed to so much kindness, in these days, but they enjoyed it thoroughly. At Augusta, and at Atlanta, also, we were most hospitably received.

I overtook the command and General Longstreet shortly after their arrival at Chickamauga Station, and we had the satisfaction of knowing that it was “the Virginia troops,” as they were called, to whom was mainly due the glory of the victory we won at Chickamauga. Our loss was severe, and Colonel Manning, my immediate superior, was slightly wounded and placed hors de combat. This left me in name, as in fact, in charge of the Ordnance Department of the corps.

I wish that I could remember precisely what took place the next day, when I went with Major Walton to find General McLaws, in the neighborhood of Chattanooga. We were exceedingly anxious that he should drive right on after the enemy, but he made the objection at once that the movement might not be successful, and would be sure to be attended with heavy loss. He said, however, that he would make the advance if we gave him an imperative order in General Longstreet’s name to do so. This order we declined to give, to my present regret, and General McLaws contented himself with asking General Longstreet to send him some more ambulances. When we reached General Longstreet late that night, and told him what General McLaws had said, his only remark was a wish that the ambulances were in a hotter place than Chattanooga. Longstreet did not love McLaws, and preferred charges against him afterwards for neglect of duty in the attack on Fort Sanders, at Knoxville.

The whole army came up, and the investment of Chattanooga began. Our head-quarters were in the low ground, which was always under water in winter, but we managed tolerably well as long as fine weather lasted. Soon the rain began to fall steadily, and it was a difficult matter so to arrange the ditches around our tents as to save ourselves from being washed away at night.

Frank Vizetelly, the artist and correspondent of the Illustrated London Times, joined us here; and with him was Captain Ross, of the Austrian service. Ross was of Scotch descent, but was born in Austria, and belonged to one of the crack light cavalry regiments. There was a good deal of merry-making, and it was no uncommon thing to see a half dozen officers, late at night, dancing the “The Perfect Cure,” which was one of the favorite songs of the day in the London music halls, and was introduced to our notice by Vizetelly.

There were sharp discussions occasionally as to what should take place when the war should be over and the independence of the Confederate States was assured. Major Walton I had always disliked heartily, and in one of our conversations he said that, when the Confederate States enjoyed their own government, they did not intend to have any “d—d foreigners” in the country. I asked him what he expected to become of men like myself, who had given up their own country in order to render aid to the Confederacy. He made a flippant reply, which I answered rather warmly, and he struck at me. I warded off the blow, and slapped his face. The next morning I sent him a challenge by Captain Ross. Walton, however, did not want a fight at this time, and offered to make an ample apology in writing. A day or two passed, and as no apology came I sent Ross to him again. Walton now took the position that he had been hasty in his action, and that if he had not promised to do it he would not make an apology at all. Ross told him very quietly, in his quaint way, that he must please consider everything blotted out that had taken place since he had borne the challenge, and that we would begin it again at that point and settle the affair in any way that Walton preferred. This brought Walton to terms, and he made the apology I required.