Jenkins' Brigade had been at Petersburg for some time after coming up from around Suffolk on the Blackwater and elsewhere down in that section, when we received orders to prepare to load and ship for the West with the balance of Longstreet's corps. Our brigade, however, was the last to be loaded and shipped, and we finally went to the depot and were loaded on freight boxes, inside and outside, the top being as much crowded as the inside. The trains those days did not make as good time as today, and, while I do not recollect how slowly we did run, I do recollect that when our regiment (the First South Carolina Volunteers) reached Bamberg and found the little town all lit up with bonfires and tables spread and the whole country—men, women and children—with baskets of cold chicken, rice pilau, biscuits, hams, boiled eggs, fried ham, salads and everything else that women can get up in a country of plenty, awaiting us and greeting us (the regiment) as if we were all their brothers; it made us feel good; and then Col. Kilpatrick, who was in charge of this train, held it for about an hour to give us time to do justice to what was tendered us.

Here it was that many an old fellow met his people for the first time since he had left them; even some here met their wives and children for the first time, and here I met one of my sisters who was visiting in the neighborhood. I had not seen any of them since I first went. You may talk of courage and a sense of duty, but when a man pulls up at a station at 1 o'clock at night, finds there his wife and children whom he has not seen for two years, and after about one hour to see them, to be caressed by them, to be allowed to talk with them, then to be hauled off on a freight car—perhaps the only place for him on top—that is manhood. But this occurred in Bamberg, not in one case only, but in many—they were men in those days.

We passed through Denmark (then Graham's Turn Out), Lees, Blackville, Elko, Williston and White Pond. At each place some member of the regiment had loving friends and families, but no stop-over was allowed, and these old soldiers passed by their homes, outwardly showing cheerfulness, but one could discover their eyes were dim. We stopped over a couple of hours in Augusta, where we were transferred to the Georgia Road. We arrived in Atlanta early next morning and thence direct on to Chattanooga. It was right cold riding in and on top of freight boxes, so after leaving Atlanta we gathered some sand while the train was stopped and put it on the floor of the car, and on top, too, and that evening between sundown and dark we passed through Marietta with fires in and on top, cooking supper. We even spread down our beds on top of these trains and went regularly to bed. We reached the nearest station to Chickamauga that was in our possession, and were immediately unloaded and ordered in a double quick for the battlefield. The fight had been going on since early the day before and Longstreet's corps had reached there to be in time, with the exception of our brigade. There was hard fighting at Chickamauga, and the battle was won when our brigade got in at a double quick. The enemy were already on the run, and we, being fresh, there was a regular stampede. Had Bragg let Longstreet alone we would have run the last one into the Tennessee River, but Bragg held us up and gave them time to "catch their breath" and stop at Chattanooga and at the base of Lookout Mountain. Here we remained for the most of the fall and here we had the hardest service of the entire war. The rainy season came on—cold, sleet and snow—and the creeks in our rear got so swollen that we were cut off from our supplies. We had a tough time getting something to eat. So scarce were rations that some men in our regiment tore down barns catching rats, which they would boil and put in "drop dumplings" and did have good stews. Finally Col. Kilpatrick had a detail of axmen to fell trees, out of which he had a large raft made, and sent a detail across the expanse of water and brought us in meal, bacon, salt and whatever there was. Ours was the only regiment so fortunate.

While here we one afternoon received orders to prepare for a recognizance. Our brigade was taken across the base of Lookout Mountain and about dark crossed Chattanooga Creek, into Wahatchie Valley, where a heavy supply train had been discovered earlier in the day. Our object was to capture this train and bring the supplies in. After crossing Chattanooga Creek on a bridge, the only way this creek could be crossed, we were thrown into line of battle. Hampton Legion, Col. Gary, on the extreme right, Sixth South Carolina next, Fifth next, First next, Second next, with Palmetto Sharpshooters on extreme left. Capt. James Hagood's company, Company K, of Orangeburg, was deployed as skirmishers in front of our regiment. I was orderly for the colonel. We commenced the advance through these woods—underbrush, hills, hollows and holes—and kept as quiet as we could. But then we made considerable fuss. After advancing this way for perhaps two or three miles, Hagood's skirmishers struck them in front of us. At the same time the Fifth and Sixth and the Legion struck them. It was so that the Legion got right into the train before being discovered, and they went to turning loose the mules and raising Cain in general. In front of the Fifth, First, Second and Sharpshooters there were no wagons. We had struck them but a few moments when they were ready to receive us, and lo and behold, we were in front of Hooker's army corps—one of the best corps of fighters in the entire Yankee army.

Here we were in a mess. Jenkins' Brigade, composed of not more than one thousand men, confronting and attacking the strongest and best army corps in the Yankee service. In our advance we were so placed that the left of the First Regiment was resting on the railroad, the right of the Second resting on the same, the railroad between us. We advanced till our regiment got out of the woods and into a field. Fighting along the entire line was intense and heavy; we had advanced as far as we could and had lain down, continuing the heavy fighting. After being here under one of the heaviest firing I ever saw for perhaps an hour, men being killed and wounded every second, I was lying down alongside Col. Kilpatrick, who was on his knees making observations—a minnie ball struck the colonel, killing him instantly, passing through his heart. At the very moment this occurred I heard someone call Lieut. Clowney, and he, leaving me, responded to the call. Then I saw Col. Bratton, who was that night commanding the brigade (Gen. Jenkins acting major-general) sitting on his old gray horse, smoking his old meerschaum pipe. He said, "Clowney, where is Kilpatrick?" Clowney informed him that he was just then killed. Col. Bratton said, "Get him off the field. We are going to fall back," and then said, "I want a man to carry some orders for me." Lieut. Clowney called out, "Come here, Mixson." I went up to Col. Bratton and took hold of his horse's mane; he looked down at me and said, "My little man, all the staff are either killed or wounded. I want some orders extended. Can you do it?" I replied, "I can try, colonel." He answered, "That is all that any of us can do. You are very small, but I can trust you. You must run across the railroad and tell Col. Bowen, of the Second, that we are falling back. The Legion, Sixth and Fifth are now moving; your regiment will fall in behind the Fifth, and the Second will fall in behind the First; and you hear that heavy firing away over yonder? That is the Sharpshooters. Find Col. Walker and tell him we are all gone—to pull off and get back on our trail and save himself the best he can. Go, my little man."

I went up on the side of the railroad embankment; stopping a moment or two until a shell had passed—they were making the railroad every half minute—between shells I ran across and down the embankment and right into the arms of Col. Bowen. Just then one of those shells bursted and knocked sand over us and knocked us both down. I delivered my orders to him and started across the open field to find Col. Walker with the Sharpshooters. (You must not forget that all this was under a galling fire of musketry from 10,000 guns). I got up pretty close and stopped behind a persimmon tree; it being dark and raining, I could not see whom I was approaching—it might be Yankees—but I stopped and called out.

"What regiment is that?" and was told Palmetto Sharpshooters. Still, to make safe, I inquired, "Who is your colonel?" and was told Col. Walker. Then I ventured up and found Col. Walker, to whom I delivered the message. He made me tell him why I was carrying orders for Col. Bratton, and he was then satisfied that the orders were straight. On delivering these orders, and not realizing the length of time I had been at it, I ran back from whence I had come. I missed the Second Regiment, but took no notice of that; ran up and across the railroad embankment and down the other side. I ran into a spring about waist deep. On pulling out of this I discovered that the regiment had gone. There being no more shelling on the railroad I took down it in the direction I knew was right. I had not gone more than two hundred yards when I ran up with two men. I asked who they were, and upon their giving me the number of a Yankee regiment I ordered them to surrender, which they did, throwing down their guns. I had none. I then relieved them of their haversacks, knives and whatever else they had, and then it was found out that the Yankees had advanced and we were in their rear. But with my two prisoners I continued down the railroad. We had not gone far when we were hailed from the side of the road, "Who's there?" I answered, "First South Carolina Volunteers," when a volley was fired into us. I rolled down the embankment on the opposite side and made tracks, then turned across toward where I had been to hunt the Sharpshooters. What became of my prisoners I never knew.

I finally got on the trail of the Sharpshooters, and when I struck Chattanooga Creek I found the brigade had recrossed and there were some of Company E at the bridge. They had cut the bridge away from the bank and had it on fire; this to prevent the Yankees from following us, as the creek was impassable except at the bridge. I was here again in a quandary. About ten or twelve feet of the bridge gone, the balance on fire. Darling Sprawls, of Williston, came to the end on fire and told me to take a running jump and he would try to catch me. I did so, and, as luck would have it, he caught me and pulled me in. This got me back within our lines and saved me from becoming a prisoner.