th that kind of chaff. We don't want any of that kind of pie.
What you got there wouldn't make a mouthful. Bring on your pudding and
pound-cake, and then we will talk to ye."

General Granberry, who, poor fellow, was killed in the butchery at
Franklin afterwards, goes up to the breastworks, and says, "Look here,
Yank, we're fighting, sure enough."

Meynheer Dutchman comes out; and says, "Ish dot so? Vel I ish peen von
leetle pit hungry dish morning, und I yust gobble you up for mein lunch
pefore tinner dime. Dot ish der kind of mans vot I bees!"

Now, reader, that is a fine description of this memorable battle.
That's it--no more, no less. I was in it all, and saw General Granberry
captured. We did our level best to get up a fight, but it was no go,
any way we could fix it up. I mean no disrespect to General Hood.
He was a noble, brave, and good man, and we loved him for his many
virtues and goodness of heart. I do not propose to criticize his
generalship or ability as a commander. I only write of the impression
and sentiment that were made upon the private's mind at the time, and
as I remember them now. But Atlanta had fallen into the hands of the
Yankees, and they were satisfied for the time.

DEATH OF LIEUTENANT JOHN WHITTAKER

At this place we built small breastworks, but for what purpose I never
knew. The Yankees seemed determined not to fight, no way we could fix
it. Every now and then they would send over a "feeler," to see how we
were getting along. Sometimes these "feelers" would do some damage.
I remember one morning we were away over a hill, and every now and then
here would come one of those lazy-looking "feelers," just bouncing along
as if he were in no hurry, called in military "ricochet." They were
very easy to dodge, if you could see them in time. Well, one morning as
before remarked, Lieutenant John Whittaker, then in command of Company H,
and myself were sitting down eating breakfast out of the same tin plate.
We were sopping gravy out with some cold corn bread, when Captain
W. C. Flournoy, of the Martin Guards, hallooed out, "Look out, Sam;
look! look!" I just turned my head, and in turning, the cannon ball
knocked my hat off, and striking Lieutenant Whittaker full in the side
of the head, carried away the whole of the skull part, leaving only the
face. His brains fell in the plate from which we were sopping, and
his head fell in my lap, deluging my face and clothes with his blo