Our brigade, or the remnant of it, reached our quarters some time after sunrise, and then it was that we commenced to realize the loss that we had sustained during the night in the Wahatchie Valley. We had lost in killed, wounded and missing over one-half of our number, and when we got back to quarters we looked "mighty scarce" and few. I don't recollect who among the officers of our regiment were killed besides Col. Kilpatrick, but it seemed as if all the regiment were gone. Only a few left to tell the tale.

One of my nephews, G. D. Mixson, was missing. We did not know whether killed, wounded or captured, and many other poor fellows left behind. Col. Bratton, having no one left on his staff, sent for Jim Diamond, of Company E, and took him on as orderly for several days. Capt. Grimes, of Company G, Bamberg, being the senior officer, took command of the regiment, which left Lieut. Sweat in command of Company G. We did nothing after this escapade for some time but rest up and recruit. The winter was coming on now in earnest and cold weather and rains were upon us. One cold night I was short of cover, and I had to have some more somehow, so I went out during the dark hours. It was not long before I ran upon a nest of four old "Rebs" sleeping soundly, warm and snug. I cautiously crept up and found that the top blanket was a heavy army blanket, large and thick; I determined to have that blanket. So, waiting a little time, quietly took the corners of the blanket at the feet, made a good strong pull, and darted into the dark, off and away, before they could realize their loss. And the blanket was mine. Many a night after that did that same blanket keep me warm.

Another of my nephews, B. F. Nelson, was lost to us here. He was taken sick and sent off to Newnan, Ga., to the hospital, where he died.

One night after dark our regiment was ordered to fall in, and we were carried across Peavine Creek to feel the enemy. We had to cross this creek on a fallen tree which reached from bank to bank. The banks being some eight feet above the water, and the water being deep, we literally "cooned" it over. We did not go far before we ran on the Yanks and met a warm reception. We certainly felt them. We remained "feeling" them for over an hour and then retired, recrossing the creek at the same place in the same manner we had crossed. In this fight we had several killed and quite a number wounded. Among the killed was Lieut. Sweat, commanding Company G, of Bamberg, a good man and a brave officer. How they ever got him back across that creek I have never known, but he was brought back. This was the last of any happenings with and around Chattanooga. It was not long after this before we got orders to move, and we felt that we were to make our way back to Virginia. It seemed to us that we were going back home and it brought a good feeling over every man in the corps. The evening before we broke camp the band played "Take Me Back to Old Virginia," and Longstreet's Corps bade farewell to Bragg's Army and the West in prolonged cheers.

On leaving our camps next morning we marched a distance of eight miles to Tyner's Station, where we were loaded in freight boxes. Upon reaching the Valley of the Sweetwater we stopped about a week and got a plenty to eat, when we crossed the Tennessee River at Loudon. The weather had gotten cold, and we had a time crossing this river. This was done on a bridge made as follows:

We had a lot of boats made and these boats were secured to a chain stretched across the river and planks laid from boat to boat. It was not a very safe passage way, but we passed over without any mishaps. Capt. Foster, of the Palmetto Sharpshooters, was in command of the detail to put in this bridge. It was so cold that the ice would cover the chain from end to end and the men suffered much from cold while at this work.

Capt. Foster was from Union, S. C., and is still alive and quite wealthy, and is one of the best business men today in Union. For the next few days we had running fights with the enemy, they doing the running. Just before reaching Campbell Station we captured a train of eighty wagons well loaded with supplies, which they had left in their hurry. This came in mighty well, but there was not any clothing or shoes, the things we most needed just then, for we were both naked and barefooted. We expected a big fight around Campbell Station, but somehow they got away after some heavy skirmishing. While following the enemy very closely and keeping them in the continued "go-along" here we caught them one morning while they were cooking breakfast and rushed into them. They took to their heels and we got the breakfast. As we dashed into them I ran upon a fine mare tied to an oak limb with a halter. I captured her, and, taking her by the halter, continued the charge, she trotting along making the charge with me.

In a very short while Dr. J. S. Stoney, of Allendale, our assistant surgeon, dashed up to me and asked me for the mare. I had no use for her and made him a present of her, and he sent her home by Tom, his negro boy. She is the mother and grandmother of the famous four-mile racers which had such a reputation for speed and distance, owned by Dr. Stoney.

Our next place to hold up was around Knoxville, where we had some hard service and hard fighting. We invested Knoxville on all sides and had two days' fighting, driving the enemy back into their entrenchments, and on the morning of the third day we made the attack on Fort Sanders. The attack was made about sunrise, one of the coldest mornings I think I ever felt. We were in tatters, so far as clothing went, and a great many barefooted, but with the accustomed endurance of the men who had suffered from the same cause on previous occasions, we did not falter.

In making the charge on Fort Sanders we went through frozen bogs and over felled trees, trimmed up with the limbs sharpened and pointing towards us. Picking our way the best we could through this barricade, we slowly and gradually drew closer to the fort, but we struck an obstacle which we found hard to overcome. Among these felled trees there were barbed wires interlined about six inches apart, and some five feet high. Having nothing to cut the wires and no way to get through we were ordered to give up the attempt. Our loss was considerable, but not so great as might be supposed, taking into consideration the very slow advance we had made. We retired in good order, not beaten, but just failed, because there was no earthly way to do more. We were then taken hurriedly to Rodgersville, a distance of some fifty miles, where we expected to go into winter quarters, but remained here only a few days. While here Capt. Jim Hagood, of Company K, was made colonel; Capt. B. B. Kirkland, Company C, of Buford's Bridge, lieutenant-colonel, and Capt. Grimes, of Company G, of Bamberg, major. You see from this that Jim Hagood, who had joined Capt. Kirkland's Company, had risen from private—over his captain and the other senior officers of the regiment. Col. Hagood was only nineteen years old when he was appointed colonel. After being at Rodgersville only a few days we were carried on a forced march to McBean Station, where the enemy had nearly succeeded in getting in our rear. We again put them on the run and the army then headed for Morristown, where they went into winter quarters. Our brigade, however, was sent out at Rodgersville on a foraging expedition to report to the army at Morristown. We were on this expedition for nearly two weeks, having all the wagons of Longstreet's Corps to fill up. We had quite a good time while on this detached service, so far as eating was concerned. While the officers were doing their work in a big way, we fellows were doing ours in a much smaller way; and many a chicken, turkey, goose, pig, went into our private haversacks.

Jim Diamond, of Barnwell, was at that time a wagon driver. One night he told me to come with him next morning, that we could take a mule apiece and put in a good day; that he had seen some nice geese about four miles off and we would try for them. I went next morning and we jumped on a mule apiece, I bareback. Jim headed the way to where he knew the geese were. He was prepared himself, and before reaching the place he instructed me to follow and ask no questions. On riding up to the farm house, the old lady of the house came out to talk to us. We tried to get something to eat from her, but she wanted money. This country was nearly all Unionist and bushwhackers. Having no money, we failed to outtalk her, and, as the geese were out on the front, we decided to start. Jim had a fishing line, and as we rode by the geese he baited his hook with a grain of corn and threw it down near an old gander, who immediately gobbled it up. Jim tightened on his line and found he had him hooked. We started off then in a slow trot, and as Jim commenced to pull the gander commenced to pull too. Jim held his hold and the old fellow came flopping behind with his wings outstretched, looking as if he was showing fight. The balance of the drove fell in behind the old gander, and away we went. The old woman looked on in utter amazement and cried out to us, "Don't run; he can't hurt you," but running right then was our idea, and, after getting them all down the road in a kind of a bottom, I held the line and Jim jumped down and with a stick killed six of as fine, fat geese as were ever raised. After visiting a place or two where we did manage to get some meal and flour and salt, talking the people out of it, we concluded to get back—had enough for one day. We were right good with our supply, giving the men in the company four of the geese. The other two we cooked and invited Col. Hagood, Col. Kirkland, Dr. Bellinger and Capt. Wood to take supper with us. We had a big supper about 1 o'clock at night, but the lateness of the hour did not interfere with any one's appetite.

As soon as we got our wagon train all loaded we headed out for Morristown to take things into the then hungry army, and right glad were they to see us and our train all laden down. This was just before Christmas, and we had enough to put us up a good Christmas dinner, after adding to it in private foraging parties. On Christmas Eve a couple of our company went out and on returning some time during the night they brought in a bee hive wrapped up in a blanket. Next morning they knocked off the head and took out the honey. At that time the bees were cold and not much trouble, but towards the middle of the day, the sun shining brightly, they warmed up, and there was a mess. The bees took the camp and many a fellow got a good stinging.

It was announced here at our winter quarters that all those who had not been home should have a chance for a furlough—so many men to one furlough. Our regiment was entitled to only one, and there were but three who had not been home; there were myself, who had no family at home; Hughes, from Bamberg, who had a wife and children whom he had not seen since he left them in May, 1861, and one other in the same fix as Hughes. I never saw people so excited over the drawing as the other two. As for myself, I did not care much. Hughes was the most anxious man I ever saw. The papers were put in a hat, one marked "furlough," the other two blank. Hughes drew first—got a blank. The other fellow drew; he, too, got a blank, leaving the paper marked "furlough" in the hat for me. These two good old soldiers actually cried. They could fight, march naked and barefoot, do without something to eat—all without a murmur. But being so near to getting a furlough and then to miss, it was too much. I could not stand it. So I told them to put two papers in the hat, one blank and one "furlough;" I would give my privilege away. This was done and these two prepared to draw. By this time everybody was excited over the event and a big crowd had gathered to see the result. As Hughes had drawn first before, it was decided that the other fellow should do so this time. He put his hand forward to go into the hat. His hand was shaking and he was excited to death. Hughes, poor fellow, stood looking on. He was a pitiful sight. He could hardly stand up—his legs were shaking. Despair was depicted on his face. The hand already forward went down into the hat and slowly out it came. I believe both men had their eyes shut. Some one read, "furlough." Hughes had again lost. It was pitiful to see him, but the other fellow was happy. It was strange that Hughes never did get home till after the surrender.