scendents of
the crop-eared Puritans and witch burners, who came over in the Mayflower,
and settled at Plymouth Rock. He was warm on this subject, and waked up
the echoes of the forest. He said that he and his brethren would fight
the Yankees in this world, and if God permit, chase their frightened
ghosts in the next, through fire and brimstone.

About this time we heard the awfullest racket, produced by some wild
animal tearing through the woods toward us, and the cry, "Look out! look
out! hooie! hooie! hooie! look out!" and there came running right through
our midst a wild bull, mad with terror and fright, running right over and
knocking down the divine, and scattering Bibles and hymn books in every
direction. The services were brought to a close without the doxology.

This same brave chaplain rode along with our brigade, on an old
string-haltered horse, as we advanced to the attack at Chickamauga,
exhorting the boys to be brave, to aim low, and to kill the Yankees as if
they were wild beasts. He was eloquent and patriotic. He stated that if
he only had a gun he too would go along as a private soldier. You could
hear his voice echo and re-echo over the hills. He had worked up his
patriotism to a pitch of genuine bravery and daring that I had never
seen exhibited, when fliff, fluff, fluff, _fluff_, FLUFF, FLUFF--a whir,
a BOOM! and a shell screams through the air. The reverend LL. D. stops
to listen, like an old sow when she hears the wind, and says, "Remember,
boys, that he who is killed will sup tonight in Paradise." Some soldier
hallooed at the top of his voice, "Well, parson, you come along and take
supper with us." Boom! whir! a bomb burst, and the parson at that moment
put spurs to his horse and was seen to limber to the rear, and almost
every soldier yelled out, "The parson isn't hungry, and never eats
supper." I remember this incident, and so does every member of the First
Tennessee Regiment.

PRESENTMENT, OR THE WING OF THE ANGEL OF DEATH

Presentment is always a mystery. The soldier may at one moment be in
good spirits, laughing and talking. The wing of the death angel touches
him. He knows that his time has come. It is but a question of time with
him then. He knows that his days are numbered. I cannot explain it.
God has numbered the hairs of our heads, and not a sparrow falls without
His knowledge. How much more valuable are we than many sparrows?

We had stopped at Lee & Gordon's mi