The campaign of Atlanta practically closed with the abandonment of the city by the rebels, September 2d, 1864. The confederate forces still occupied a position near Jonesborough, about thirty miles south of Atlanta. The campaign had ended by the federal forces arriving at a certain geographical point. The confederate forces, although somewhat shattered and reduced by the battles dating from Peach Tree creek forward, were still intact. The rebel forces were still in command of Hood; and with him were some able fighting officers, in the persons of Cleburne, Hill, Hardee, Adams and others.

On our arrival at Atlanta, General Sherman immediately commenced preparations for the grand march to the sea. It was at once evident that he intended to abandon his line of communications, for he commenced to build a fort large enough for the garrison he intended to leave at Atlanta. This fort he built substantially in the heart of the city, and destroyed the balance because in the way of the fort. So when General Sherman took up his world-renowned march for the seaboard, but very little of the "gate city of the south" remained standing. While these preparations were going forward the 124th regiment was in camp about three miles southeast of Atlanta, busy in cleaning up, drawing new clothing, and recuperating from the effects of the arduous campaign just closed. We had not been in camp many days before we were astonished by the news that the Sanitary Commission, a patriotic organization of the loyal citizens of the north (whose ramifications penetrated to every city, village, hamlet and farm of the loyal states), had sent us a train load of Irish potatoes. This may seem a small matter to take note of after so many years and read to you, who in all your lives have never know the want of anything to eat your appetites might crave, but what do you say of a lot of men that from January 1st, 1863, to September, 1864, had not feasted, even their eyes, on a potato? If you could, at your home, surrounded with all the delicacies of the culinary art, be deprived of the common potato for eighteen months, you could then appreciate our situation. The cheers and shouting that went up, mid-afternoon, when the commissary department sent word to the regiments it had potatoes to issue, were enough to make one think the news of some great victory had been communicated to us. And when the stream of potatoes began to be diverted and divided to the companies and messes, it was too comical for anything, those great bronzed and weather-beaten soldiers, running around with their hands full of potatoes, and to see the fires lighted at that time of day, and the little kettles, or pails rather, filled and put on brimming full of potatoes; then when cooled to see the feasting—potatoes served with salt. I suppose you would demand nice Jersey butter, but salt was good enough for us. And this is not all I have to say of that commission organized from the loyal citizens of the north. It brought us by the car load, pickled cabbage and onions; and how refreshing they were to us that had not tasted vegetable food for eighteen long months. I do not believe there is an old veteran alive to-day that does not bless from the bottom of his heart, that greatest and most magnificent of charities ever organized—the Sanitary Commission.

We had stayed in camp, as I said, while General Sherman was preparing for his march to the sea; busy each day with drilling, foraging for corn, and all the many things necessary to keep companies and regiments in good shape, as per the army regulations. We had hoped, as had each regiment of the Army of the Cumberland, that it would be our good fortune to go with Sherman on his march south, and it was with not a little chagrin and heartburning that we were not called, neither chosen, to go on that march, that has been the wonder and admiration of the military critics of all nations.

It had been determined by General Sherman that our corps (the 4th), commanded by General Stanley, and the 23d Corps, commanded by General Schofield—these two corps, and all other organizations of troops between Atlanta and Nashville, to be in command of General George H. Thomas. Howard was placed in command of the army of the Tennessee, whereby we lost the services of General Hooker. The remainder of the army (save the brigade of regulars, that were sent back to the top of Lookout mountain where they would be out of danger) was chosen by General Sherman to make the march to the sea. But you must not suppose that this choice was made by reason of any superiority of that portion of the army that went with him. It had turned out that Corporal Hood had made up his mind that if Sherman could cut away from his base of supplies, and march south into the enemy's country, he (Hood) ought to be able to march north, among his dearly beloved friends; and if Sherman struck a heavy blow south, he would get in his counter up north. And with the 23d and 4th Corps only, left by Sherman, Hood had two men to Thomas' one.

But before passing to the details of the campaign upon which we were about to enter, suffer me to remark that the same painstaking preparation by General Sherman that I referred to in the "Atlanta Campaign," was going forward. The most rigid surgical examination was had in every company of every man whose health was suspected, or where there could be anything found that incapacitated him from performing the supposed arduous duties to be imposed upon him. All that could not stand this rigid test were sent north. Would you not suppose that many would have taken advantage of this examination to have gotten rid of a campaign that seemed fraught with dangers, and so difficult of execution? On the contrary, I am informed by high authority that those that were rejected felt themselves grossly insulted and degraded as soldiers. Neither was this crucial examination confined to the men—the animals were carefully inspected, and all those not perfectly sound were sent to the rear, or disposed of in some other way. The same of arms and accouterments; so that when General Sherman turned his face toward the salt sea breezes of the Atlantic, he had under his command as hardy, as healthy, as determined, and as brave an army of veterans as ever caused the earth to tremble under their tread.

It now seemed that Hood wanted a little more of the smell of our powder before he took his little excursion to the mountains of Tennessee, for we heard he was in force north of Marietta, and was threatening one of our fortified positions at Altoona Pass, that Sherman had used as a sub-base of supplies during the Atlanta campaign. So October 3d, 1864, we broke up camp and marched to within five miles of Marietta, and camped in the rebel works that had been constructed by them, first, after leaving their position at Kennesaw mountain. This was good marching, having started from our camp, three miles east of Atlanta, at four o'clock p. m.

The fourth, we struck tents at noon and marched through Marietta to the front of Kennesaw, and again found the rebel works convenient. Plenty of rebels reported at Big Shanty, a short distance north. This two days' marching shows how much easier to retrograde than to advance, in the face of the enemy. It had taken us to go from Kennesaw mountain to Atlanta, from July 22d to September 2d, and we had returned in a part of two days. The fifth we moved out of our camp and marched north to Piny Knob, and formed in line of battle along the base of the mountain. Sherman had a signal corps or station on the top of this mountain. Some of us went up to the station, and we could distinctly see Altoona Pass, and see the smoke of the battle in progress there, as well as watch the advancing columns General Sherman was sending forward for the relief of General Corse, who was gallantly defending the works there, against overpowering numbers of the enemy. It was here, from this mountain top, that General Sherman signaled to General Corse "Hold the fort for I am coming," that some one has immortalized in sacred song. Several of the old 124th stood not twenty feet from the old general, when this famous dispatch was being signaled from the top of Piny Knob to the gallant Corse, who at that time was suffering from a dangerous wound he received while in the defense he was making. But Hood, evidently, did not care to fight on equal terms, and withdrew in the direction of Lost mountain, and afterwards moved in the direction of Rome, Ga.; and Sherman, leaving Old Pap Thomas to look after and care for Corporal Hood, turned his face toward the south, and that was the last day of the war we ever saw our beloved Uncle Billy. It was with a feeling of sadness that we saw him depart, for we had learned to love and trust in him as we had no other commander. We marched north through Altoona Pass, which still showed evidences of the sanguinary conflict that had taken place there. We marched all night after we went through the Pass, sleeping fifteen minutes each hour. It was perfectly surprising to see how quickly the regiment would go to sleep when the halt was sounded. When the assembly call came it was some trouble to wake the tired soldiers, but usually we were soon all in line, and marching on for another hour. The next day we marched all day long, after halting, making coffee, and taking breakfast near the Etowah river. On this march I first discovered the fact that it was possible for one to march and be sound asleep, for on waking up I discovered that no portion of the landscape had a familiar look, showing that one had been asleep long enough for the landscape to entirely change by our moving forward. This marching back on the railroad track was very hard, as the road was not in very good shape, and we were in danger of falling through trestles; and during the night, every now and then, some sleepy soldier would get off his guard, and his head would go down on the rail, making everything jingle. All the sympathy such unfortunates received would be the shouts and jeers of his comrades to which he often replied in language just bordering on the profane. This marching did not differ much from day to day, and on the fifteenth day of October we crossed the Rocky Face mountains. We went out over the Chickamauga battlefield and saw very many of the bones of our unknown comrades still unburied, that had fallen there more than a year before.

What strange feelings come over one as he passes over the field where he fought, and his loved comrades fell. It seems as though they were with him again in all of their manly beauty; he can see their stern looks of defiance; can hear the rattle of the musketry, the thunder of the artillery, the shouts of victory, the thud of the fatal minie, the dying groan, the last good-bye; and the specter battle seems as real as when engaged in the deadly conflict of the year before. The timber was badly torn down by the shot and shells on that portion of the field over which we passed. I remember the last day our Colonel Payne was with us. The regiment was marching left in front that day, and of course that brought my company next to the colonel and his staff. We made a halt near Rossville, and laid down on the grass to rest. It was a beautiful Indian summer evening; and while in conversation with the colonel he informed me he intended to leave the regiment at Chattanooga; "thought he had done his part," which was true, having nearly lost his life from a wound he received at Chickamauga. I was surprised to learn of his intention to leave us, as this was the first intimation that I had of his intention to resign; but what surprised me most was the despairing view he seemed to take of the war. He said to me, "We never can conquer the south, and if we do children yet unborn will fight in this war." I replied: "They would have to muster them in pretty young, if they did, and I expect to see the end of the rebellion the next year." I think it must have been the depressing effect of our retrograde movement that had taken such a hold on our brave young colonel, for it did seem to many that all our arduous campaign to Atlanta had been for naught.

Many thought it presumptuous in General Sherman to leave a large rebel army to be opposed by an army of about half its numbers. But General Sherman knew him that was in command of the rebel army, and knew very well the grand old Virginian he had intrusted with the taking care of him. We went into camp around Chattanooga, the place that had been the scene of so much of sorrow and rejoicing the year before. We soon heard that Hood was marching for the Tennessee river about Decatur, and we were put into and on freight cars, and started in the night for that point.

A large part of my company was on the top of the cars, and many of them went to sleep in that dangerous situation and caused me very much anxiety. Many a time during that night of peril I found a comrade just on the edge of the car, liable to fall off with any little jolt. I never remember passing a more perilous night. The next day we "came off the roof" of the cars, and soon commenced the march northward for Pulaski.

When we came to the Duck river, that we had crossed the year before at Manchester, there a mere mountain stream, we found a considerable river, and so swollen with rains that it gave us considerable difficulty in crossing. We soon arrived at Pulaski, a beautiful little village in middle Tennessee. This is the best portion of the state, and so much has nature done for it, that had it not been for the blighting influence of slavery, might have truthfully been denominated the garden spot of the United States. We had not been in Pulaski many days before Forrest's cavalry appeared on our flanks, and we heard that Hood had crossed the Tennessee river. We now took the pike again and moved up as far as the village of Columbia, the home of several distinguished officers of the confederate army. Here we went into camp, and did considerable intrenching, our flanks resting on the Elk river. We arrived at Columbia the twenty-fourth of October, and remained there until the night of the twenty-ninth. During the day of the twenty-ninth our regiment was sent up the river to watch a ford, and we watched it nicely, seeing the rebel infantry crossing all day; but we had no orders to do anything but watch. That afternoon we heard heavy firing in the direction of Spring Hill, and we afterwards learned that our first division had been sharply engaged with Cheatham's division, and had most handsomely checked the rebel advance. At dark we were called in, and commenced the march northward again. I should say it was about midnight when Adjutant Hammer came riding back directing the company commandants to have the men so adjust their canteens and bayonet scabbards that as little noise be made as possible, that we were in the immediate presence of the enemy. This we could hardly believe. Were it possible that the rebels had gotten a position cutting our army in twain? We believed nothing of the kind, but, nevertheless, obeyed the order like the true veteran soldiers that we were. Soon we saw two lines of fires running away to the northeast, and the left end of the line nearest us was so near the pike one could have cast a stone into it without much effort. Were it possible these two lines of bivouac fires represented the two lines of blue and gray that had been fighting there the afternoon before? It was true. Such were the facts. And yet our division, the 3d, and a wagon train twelve miles long, passed along that pike, with all the noise incident to the moving of a wagon train and artillery attached to our division, without hindrance or molestation from the enemy.

Not a shot was fired, not a rebel picket nor skirmish line encountered, as we passed the left flank of the enemy's line. Yet, they knew we were there, for several of our men wandered from the column and went over to the fires to warm, and were captured. Was there treason to the confederacy? The fighting the next day fully answers that question in the negative. Hood claims, I am told, that his officers were drunk and failed to attack as he had ordered, and thereby let our division pass him at Spring Hill. This may be true, for middle Tennessee makes a kind of whiskey that will take the W. C. T. U. a long time to eradicate. A single skirmish line across the pike that night would have so delayed us, incumbered with the train, as we were (the train could not have been moved off the pike), that it hardly seems possible that General Stanley could have reunited the divisions of his corps. Thus was the golden opportunity of Hood lost. We soon left the rebel fires behind us, and with our train well ahead, and our divisions united, we had little to fear from an army commanded by such a general as Hood. I have read somewhere a confederate account of this transaction, and the writer, though claiming to have been on the spot, fails to give anything like a rational reason for the confederate forces letting us pass them October 30th, at Spring Hill.

The next morning we halted and made coffee beside the pike. While breakfasting, a squad of rebel cavalry dashed up to the train, fired a few shots, and were away like the wind. As we neared Franklin we came up with some new regiments that General Thomas had hurried on from Nashville, to meet and assist us in case we were forced to a battle before we reached Nashville. These poor fellows that had been as far south as Spring Hill, and were returning that morning, were mostly completely played out, and filled the fence corners all along the pike. I am sorry to say the hardy veterans that swung along after marching all night treated them to expressions of which the following are samples: "Fresh fish." "Fresh fish." "There lies $1000 and a cow." "How much did you get?" "Say Jimmy, who owns you?" "Millions in it." These poor fellows, with knapsacks larger than a mule should be required to carry, received these taunts and jeers with silent disgust; and quite likely the most of them at this time are drawing pensions for disabilities received in the service and in the line of duty, while the old veteran of scores of battles and skirmishes, of hundreds of miles of marches, though broken in health, and prematurely old by reason of his hard service, has no hospital record, and suffers great difficulties in establishing his claim for a pension. Something wrong, somewhere, sure.

We arrived at Franklin about noon, and found the 23d Corps in position and throwing up works from the Harpeth river above the village to the river below. With this place we were very familiar. We first came here in February, 1863. This was our camp of instruction. We assisted in building the fort, with its large magazine on the north side of the river and to the left of the village facing south. We that had worked out many a weary detail asking, "What is all this worth?" "What is this for, miles—miles from the enemy and the front," had the opportunity, this thirtieth day of October, 1864, of seeing our labor richly rewarded. We use to do picket duty north of the river and town, and knew every foot of that country; and our Lieutenant Colonel Pickands and Adjutant Hammer enjoyed the reputation of knowing some of the rebel girls, with which the village swarmed. I remembered one Sally Atkinson, who lived near our picket line, in fact the line ran through her father's dooryard, who was a fine player on the piano, and something of a singer. She, like all the southern women, was a bitter rebel, and used to entertain the boys with "The bonny blue flag," and other rebel songs. She often boasted of having two brothers in the rebel service. But more of this anon.

Our wagon train was on the north side of the river, pulling out for Nashville to the full extent of its mule power. Those not familiar may be interested in a brief description of the field where the battle of Franklin was fought. The Harpeth river makes quite a sharp bend to the north, and the formerly very rich village, built very compactly, occupies the most of the room in the bend. Here, before the war, was the home of many rich cotton planters, for as you all will remember, this is the heart of the cotton growing belt of Tennessee. The turnpike running from the southern part of the state, through Pulaski, Columbia, and on to Nashville, ran through about the center of Franklin. The Harpeth river is a small stream, made largely of springs, but running through a limestone region, lay in deep pools much of its way, that only rendered it fordable above and below the town. To the left of the pike going south from town there was a large cotton field, stretching to the left, nearly to the river, and extending to the south, I should say, from half to three-quarters of a mile to a line of hills, that rise quite abruptly and constitute a picturesque landscape. Across this cotton field, from east to west, ran our works, as I have said, from river above to river below. At and near the pike, and to the left of the same, was planted all of the field artillery that we possessed. It was the fortune of our regiment to be detailed to cross the river, go down below the pike bridge, intrench the south bank and guard the ford; and while we witnessed the battle we were not called into it, and did not have occasion to fire a shot at the point where we were stationed. Our line, as you will understand from this brief description, was of necessity short, and in some places was supported by a reserve line. General Hood came up with his forces and formed his charging columns under the cover of the hills at the south. He visited each division and brigade, to which he stated that all the confederate soldiers had to do was to take the rude works in front of Franklin, Thomas' army would be captured, and Nashville with all of its vast military stores of clothing, provisions and ammunition would fall into their hands. That Hood was a good man to fight, about a division, I think is conceded; but I take it, if Thomas had been consulted, and could have had the directing of Hood, he would not have had him done any different from what he did. Hood had in all arms, about forty-five thousand men when he came before Franklin. He had about six thousand cavalry, under General Forrest, that instead of using on our flanks and rear, he sent off to Murfreesborough to take the fort that was garrisoned by a few regiments of recent enlistment. The fort was easily defended against Forrest and would have been had his force been double what it was. Forrest was a raider, but in no sense a fighter. Schofield had not more than twenty thousand men, all told, some of which were on duty with the train. But twenty thousand old veterans, as my old soldier friends will bear me witness here to-day, are hard to go out and get, especially, if you come straight up to the front door, and this Corporal Hood, in a very gentlemanly manner, did.

Hood formed his charging column in three lines, extending across the old cotton field from east to west; his right reaching the river, his left resting on the pike. About three o'clock he made his first assault. His lines came on in fine style. The heavy guns in the fort commenced shelling unmercifully as soon as the assaulting column emerged from behind the hills, and when it reached a point near enough the field artillery opened with shrapnel and canister, making fearful havoc in the ranks of gray. But nothing daunted those charging lines, led by that best of fighting generals, Pat Cleburne, came on until they reached a point within two hundred yards of our works, when our infantry opened such a murderous fire over that level field that no valor could stand before its destructive torrent. The assaulting column broke, and the personal presence of Hood and his daring lieutenant could not rally them until they were behind the sheltering protection of the hills where they were first formed. The assault was repeated time after time, until nine o'clock that night. In one of these assaults the rebels charged to our works and drove our first line out of them for a short distance; but Colonel Opdyke's brigade, lying close in the rear, at once charged, restoring the line and capturing over a thousand prisoners. The rebels were taken entirely unawares by the charge made by Opdyke's brigade. When they captured that portion of the line they seemed to think our forces had left, for Opdyke found them sitting down on the top of the works; some of them, having laid their guns aside and lighted their pipes, were enjoying the solace of the soldier.

Our field artillery did most magnificent work, but suffered heavily. One battery of the Ohio regiment of artillery lost all the men it had at one gun, save a sergeant, and he loaded and gave the charging column one dose of canister after his left arm had been blown off.

This battle of Franklin was one of the most sanguinary, and to the rebel army one of the most disastrous, of the war. Hood lost four general officers, among them was the celebrated Pat Cleburne, that our division had been opposed to so many times on the Atlanta campaign. He fell in one of the many charges that afternoon, his horse's fore legs resting on our works. As soon as it was certain that the enemy did not intend to renew the conflict that night, our troops began to retire to the south side of the river. The bridge across the stream was covered with blankets to a depth of six or eight inches, and the artillery was moved across without noise; and by two o'clock a. m. of the thirty-first of October the last regiment was on the south side of the river and on the march for Nashville. Our wounded were left in the village, those that could not be moved, and surgeons to take care of them.

About two o'clock that morning Colonel Pickands came to our company and said "he had orders to leave one company in the position our regiment had occupied during the battle, and concluded that company B must be the one." The order was, "that we stay at the ford until orders were received to abandon it;" said, "he would send back an orderly to notify us when we could leave;" said, "we might all be captured," and he bade me an affectionate farewell when he rode away. If any one doubts that this was an anxious hour for us, he does not duly appreciate the situation. It would have been nothing for mounted men, but we were footmen and expected the enemy would send out a squadron of cavalry at daybreak to ascertain what had become of those that had punished them so the day before. We listened to the last footfall until it died away up the stone pike toward Nashville, then all was still. I then went along the line and told each one of the boys that when we were relieved, or if attacked before the order came, we would about-face and move back in our present order, deployed as skirmishers. About three-fourths of a mile to the south on a gentle elevation was a poplar grove, and I insisted to the boys that if we could maintain our line, in case of an attack, either before or after the order of relief came, we could make a splendid fight even against cavalry in those woods. I knew I could rely upon the boys. I knew any 124th man could be relied upon during the war—and since. Then we had nothing to do but wait. Not a sound was heard across the river in Franklin, in the direction of the enemy. Sodom and Gomorrah were not stiller after they received the sulphurous shower, than was that intensely rebel village and their friends near the hills beyond. The day-god began to streak the east with his golden rays, and still no order came. No cheerful cockcrowing was heard as a harbinger of the dawning day. The last rooster in the confederacy had been eliminated long years before. Day began to break, and we strained our eyes up and down the river and in the direction of Franklin, to see the approaching foe, but all was still as death. Had we been forgotten? Had something happened to the orderly? What good could we do by staying? But the order was imperative, "stay until ordered away," and orders must be obeyed, even if the brave men on this severe duty were relegated to captivity. It was now broad daylight, and no orderly in sight. But no rebel cavalry in sight either. The situation was strangely interesting in the extreme. All at once we heard the ringing clatter of a horse's hoofs, and looking up the pike—coming down the hill at breakneck pace—came the orderly at last. Talk about sweet strains of music—not Theodore Thomas' orchestra, rendering one of Beethoven's symphonies, could ever sound as sweetly as the ringing of those hoof-beats on that limestone pike that October morning. Riding up to me he said: "Captain, remove your men," and turning his steed toward Nashville was soon out of sight over the hill. We immediately began to remove. The order was obeyed, not only with willingness, but with wonderous alacrity. We double-quicked in line until we came to the poplar grove, when we, seeing no signs of pursuit, came into column on the pike, and with a long step toward the front, and a sharp lookout toward the rear, we rapidly measured off the miles in the direction of Nashville. About eight o'clock that morning we came up with the rear guard, and soon the balance of the regiment, making coffee and breakfasting by the road side. We were greeted by the colonel and the regiment with exclamations of joy. I told the colonel I was afraid he had forgotten us, but he insisted we had not been out of his mind a minute since he left us, which I have no doubt was true. But when the facts came to be known, we were not in the least danger. Had we known at that time that old Corporal Hood had so kindly sent all of his cavalry away to Murfreesborough, where they could do him no good, and us no possible harm, we would have stayed, made coffee, and eaten breakfast before starting. In fact, I have no doubt some of the boys would have been over in the village looking for "Robinson County," where they used to find it while on picket months before. But, all in all, a portion of the old 124th were the last union soldiers to leave Franklin, after the bloody battle of the thirtieth of October, 1864.

But war has its sad features, even for an enemy as dishonorable and as thoroughly hated as were the rebels. The beautiful village of Franklin was riddled with shot and shell. The great cotton field to the south was thickly covered with the graves of the confederate soldiers. The two brothers of the sweet singer of rebel songs were both killed within a few rods of their dear old home. But on the other hand, Miss Sally Atkinson, after the war, became the kind and loving wife of an officer on General Thomas' staff, emblematical of the restored Union.

The thirty-first we marched to Nashville, and the first of December took our position on the line extending around the city, from the Tennessee above to the river below. The line was a long one and necessarily thin. Everything was in a bustle of excitement in the city. Hood was expected to arrive and invest the city every hour. The gunboats were busy puffing up and down the river looking after the flanks of our lines and the various fords above and below. Every soldier in the hospitals that could possibly perform duty was sent to the front. All the laborers that were enlisted as such, and everyone that could use a pick and shovel, was pressed into the service and set at work on the intrenchments. Every private horse in the city was taken for the cavalry or artillery. The right of ownership of private property, as applied to horseflesh, was in no sense respected. Dan Castello's circus was performing at Nashville at the time, and every horse was confiscated. Mrs. Lake's celebrated trick horse, Czar, was the only one left, and that was undoubtedly owing to the feeling of chivalry every true soldier has for a lady. We had been in Nashville two days, I think, when Hood came up very leisurely and formed his lines well out from ours. He did not act like business, and evidently had not recovered from the terrible drubbing he had received at Franklin. It was now midwinter in the climate of Tennessee, the mud was deep, and it rained and sleeted almost every day. Hood did not even ask for a skirmish, and his was the saddest army of investment that ever encompassed a city. General Thomas was busy issuing clothing to his army, and especially shoes, as our foot gear had been sadly demoralized by the long march over stony roads and railway tracks back from Atlanta. Our portion of the line ran in front of the Acklin Place, a charming villa residence, built at an expense of a million and a half of dollars. The owner was a Mr. Acklin, a wealthy Englishman, who, at his own expense, fully armed and equipped a regiment of confederate infantry, named for him "The Acklin Rifles." This Mr. Acklin was not at home, so General Thomas took his spacious mansion for corps and division headquarters. I am satisfied that never before was army headquarters so ornamented with such paintings and marbles. We, on the outside, were equally well off, for the spacious grounds were surrounded by nicely built stone walls that were worked into chimneys noiselessly as was the building of Solomon's Temple, and though not quite as ornamental, were quite as useful, as that fabled temple of the olden time. The ornamental trees did not make first-rate firewood on account of being green, but we had not time for them to dry, and had to get along with them as best we could. Here we had plenty of rations; and vegetables of all kinds were issued to us in great abundance. The greatest evil we were compelled to suffer, while here, was the sale of intoxicating liquor to the soldiers in the city. The large majority of our regiment were reasonably temperate men; but, I am sorry to be compelled to say that there was a large amount of drunkenness in the army that made the men difficult to control, and caused very many to lose their lives. Drunken officers in command was a terrible evil.

I suppose no city in the United States ever had so bad a population as the city of Nashville during the winter of 1864-5. The thieves, gamblers and disreputable of both sexes, swarmed in from all over the country, and at one time the demimonde became such a plague that General Thomas loaded a steamboat with them and sent them to Louisville, but the authorities there refused to let them land, and what became of them I never knew; it may be they were destroyed for the good of the service. It was no uncommon thing to find two or more dead soldiers, murdered in an unsavory locality known as Smoky Row, every morning, and the original inhabitants of the city were none too good to murder a union soldier if they found him in a condition not to be able to take care of himself. If there ever was a city that should have been disposed of as Atlanta and Columbia were, that city was Nashville. But things were getting ripe for action. Every day troops in squads, detachments and regiments, were coming in by river and by rail. The 17th Army Corps, commanded by that gray-headed old hero (noted for his choice (?) English), General A. J. Smith, came up and took position at the right of our corps. General Stedman, that did such good work with the reserve corps at Chickamauga, commanded a division of colored troops on the extreme left, while more artillery than was ever before made ready for battle, was being put into position. There were grave apprehensions that Hood would cross the river and move into Kentucky, as Bragg had done in 1862. The government at Washington became alarmed, and sent General John A. Logan to relieve General Thomas. It did seem that the General was terribly slow, but he was preparing to give the rebel army such a crushing blow that when he did strike no second blow would be necessary. General Logan came as far as Louisville, and learning how General Thomas was situated and what he was doing, refused to supersede him though he had the orders in his pocket to that effect. Was there a regular officer in the union service that would have been that magnanimous?

The morning of the fifteenth of December opened with everything about our lines and camps veiled in an impenetrable fog. One could not see a man ten feet away. Under the cover of this fog General Thomas opened a demonstration on the enemy's right that caused Hood to weaken his left to support his right. About ten o'clock a. m., as soon as the fog had lifted a little, Thomas sent the dashing Kilpatrick in on Hood's extreme left, followed by a charge from General A. J. Smith's entire corps. General Smith's men simply ran over the rebels. When the rebel left had been badly shattered by the charge made by Smith, and when the firing showed the rebel line was crumbling, the 4th Corps in the center was ordered in, and away we all went across an open field toward the rebel works. The rebels in our front occupied a strong position behind a stone wall that they had materially strengthened, but seemed to be dazed by the impetuosity of the charge on the left and center, and hardly fired a shot. I think in this charge our brigade captured more of the enemy than we had men in line. When we passed the stone wall there was not an armed rebel in front of us that we could discover. The firing was over along the entire length of the line, and some of us thought that we had taken all the rebels there were out there. I am of the opinion of all the artillery firing we ever experienced, that of the battle of Nashville was the most intense. When the cavalry commenced the charge on the right, every gun in Fort Negley commenced firing, as well as all the other forts and all the field and reserve artillery about Nashville. Of all the pandemonian scenes we ever witnessed, this was the climax. The firing was so intense and ceaseless that not an individual gun could be distinguished, but there was one dreadful roar of shot and shell, and all along the rebel lines and beyond, the bursting missiles filled the air with clouds of smoke. I do not believe its equal was ever before witnessed on the American continent, if in the world.

We pushed on to the front and found no enemy, and for some unexplained reason did nothing more that day. If we had advanced in line of battle immediately after the charge in the morning, I am firmly in the belief that there would have been no second day's battle. On the second day we moved to the front early in the morning, and found that the enemy had gathered his scattered ranks, and had taken and fortified a position, his line running across the Franklin pike. Our regiment was at the left of the pike in an open wood. Our regiment was also at the left of the brigade, and joined the right of Stedman's division of colored troops. Colonel Post, by reason of seniority of rank, had command of our brigade, and had been in command since the 89th Ill. had been added to us at Atlanta. It seemed the same tactics were resorted to the second day as the first, and at four o'clock p. m. we could distinctly hear Smith's infantry hammering away directly in the rear of the rebel line. All the afternoon Colonel Post had been soliciting General Wood to order our brigade to charge the rebel position on the Franklin pike, but could not obtain the consent of the old general, as he (Wood) said the charge would result in driving the rebels away, while by waiting we could get all of them without any trouble or loss. This was great big sense, and there was not an officer or man in the brigade, save Colonel Post, that did not realize the fact. But our brigade commander was anxious for a star, and as old Tommy became more spiritually-minded, he consented to let the old second brigade charge. The rebels had good rifle pits, but nothing so strong as on the Atlanta campaign; but near the pike they had a battery of field artillery, some of the guns of which had been disabled early in the day. At the order to charge we moved on in fine form until we came near the works, when the rebels opened on us with canister that momentarily checked our advance. The colored infantry on our left seemed to receive the most of the rebel fire, as Stedman's division was in such a position that as soon as they came in range they were enfiladed for more than three hundred yards of their line, and consequently they suffered much more severely than our brigade. I never saw more heroic conduct shown on the field of battle than was exhibited by this body of men so recently slaves. I saw a color-bearer of one of these regiments stand on the top of the rebel parapet and shake the flag he bore in the faces of the confederate infantry until he fell, riddled with bullets. Soon after this, owing to a slight accident of war, your humble servant was compelled to go to the rear. But I remember (while lying on a stretcher) I heard the shout of the old regiment (that I could tell as I could my mother's voice), as they carried the rebel works.

What I know about the remainder of the battle of Nashville, and the pursuit of Hood, you of the old regiment and brigade know better than I. The rebel infantry ran away, just as old Tommy had said they would. This charge was a terribly severe and useless mistake. We had two brave young officers, Payne^[4] and Dempsey, killed, and many noble men killed and wounded. And all for what? To gratify the ambition of an officer that desired promotion. "What is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat."

Colonel Post was badly punished for this foolish and needless charge he had gotten us into. He received a canister shot through his right thigh that nearly cost him his life, and in addition to that suffering he was elected to Congress from one of the districts of Illinois.

Hood's army was completely destroyed. When the second day of the battle of Nashville was over, Hood had not a single infantry regiment in organization. Forrest's cavalry was all the soldiers on which he could rely. He lost every piece of artillery, every wagon. Many of his men were recruited in Tennessee and Kentucky, and after the battle was over they threw away their arms and accouterments and went to their homes, never to enter the service again. The war in the west was substantially over. Our regiment never fired another shot after the charge on Overton Heights. They did some marching and quite a considerable traveling, going as far on one occasion as Warm Springs, N. Car. But their fighting service was over, and I believe we never lost a man after Nashville. Corporal Hood, of the confederate army, was never heard from again, and between Nashville and Atlanta there were not troops enough wearing the gray to hinder General Thomas' army for one hour.

While the campaign from Atlanta to Nashville closed with the battle, before ending this very imperfect sketch suffer me to refer to the last scene at Nashville. The spring of 1865 had come. The long bloody, cruel war was over. The wounds had healed. We were in camp in the vicinity of Nashville, knowing we would soon be discharged and go to our own loved Ohio. A grand review of all the troops about Nashville was ordered. It was to be the last good-bye of "Old Pap Thomas" to the brave men he had led so long. Never before was such preparation made for a review. Every piece of leather, every piece of brass and steel, was burnished as bright as time could make it. Never saw I the old regiment turn out in such fine shape. All the remnants of the old bands we had were revived, as far as possible. New sheepskin was in great demand. I cannot now tell whether the wheezy old band that General Hazen had at Manchester was in existence at that time, or whether it had been sacrificed for the good of the service and given harps, as it should have been, long before. The column for review was formed in divisions of regiments, that is, two companies to the division. General Thomas and staff were stationed on a gentle eminence, the bands playing, the old tattered colors flying, and as each regiment came opposite the "Rock of Chickamauga," every hat came off, and such cheers went up as had not greeted the old general since the storming of Missionary Ridge. Just a little drawing about the mouth was all the expression one could discover in the iron face of the grand old Virginian.

A few years afterward I stood by the last resting place of General George H. Thomas in the beautiful cemetery at Troy, N. Y., and while standing there I thought, "here lies the remains of a proud southerner, that 'faithful among the faithless stood,' that loved his native state as well as any, but loved his country better, and few, if any, in life did more to keep the flag of our Union waiving over a free and united country."