occasion, because we acted as picket for the whole
three days' engagement without being relieved, and haven't been relieved
yet. But that battle has gone into history. We heard a Yankee call, "O,
Johnny, Johnny Reb!" I started out to meet him as formerly, when he
hallooed out, "Go back, Johnny, go back; we are ordered to fire on you."
"What is the matter? Is your army going to advance on us?" "I don't
know; we are ordered to fire." I jumped back into the picket post,
and a minnie ball ruined the only hat I had; another and another followed
in quick succession, and the dirt flew up in our faces off our little
breastworks. Before night the picket line was engaged from one end to
the other. If you had only heard it, dear reader. It went like ten
thousand wood-choppers, and an occasional boom of a cannon would remind
you of a tree falling. We could hear colonels giving commands to their
regiments, and could see very plainly the commotion and hubbub, but what
was up, we were unable to tell. The picket line kept moving to our
right. The second night found us near the tunnel, and right where two
railroads cross each other, or rather one runs over the other high enough
for the cars to pass under. We could see all over Chattanooga, and it
looked like myriads of blue coats swarming.

Day's and Mannigault's brigades got into a night attack at the foot of
Lookout Mountain. I could see the whole of it. It looked like lightning
bugs on a dark night. But about midnight everything quieted down.
Theodore Sloan, Hog Johnson and myself occupied an old log cabin as
vidette. We had not slept any for two nights, and were very drowsy,
I assure you, but we knew there was something up, and we had to keep
awake. The next morning, nearly day, I think I had dropped off into a
pleasant doze, and was dreaming of more pretty things than you ever saw
in your life, when Johnson touched me and whispered, "Look, look, there
are three Yankees; must I shoot?" I whispered back "Yes." A bang;
"a waugh" went a shriek. He had got one, sure. Everything got quiet
again, and we heard nothing more for an hour. Johnson touched me again
and whispered, "Yonder they come again; look, look!" I could not see
them; was too sleepy for that. Sloan could not see them, either.
Johnson pulled down, and another unearthly squall rended the night air.
The streaks of day had begun to glimmer over Missionary Ridge, and I
could see in the dim twilight the Ya