rer, Mitchell, both of
whom were killed, inscribed on two of the pieces. I have forgotten the
names inscribed on the other two pieces. I saw these very four guns
surrendered at Missionary Ridge. But of this another time.

The battle of Perryville presented a strange scene. The dead, dying,
and wounded of both armies, Confederate and Federal, were blended in
inextricable confusion. Now and then a cluster of dead Yankees and close
by a cluster of dead Rebels. It was like the Englishman's grog--'alf and
'alf. Now, if you wish, kind reader, to find out how many were killed
and wounded, I refer you to the histories.

I remember one little incident that I laughed at while in the very midst
of battle. We were charging through an old citizen's yard, when a big
yellow cur dog ran out and commenced snapping at the soldiers' legs--
they kicking at him to keep him off. The next morning he was lying near
the same place, but he was a dead dog.

I helped bring off our wounded that night. We worked the whole night.
The next morning about daylight a wounded comrade, Sam Campbell,
complained of being cold, and asked me to lie down beside him. I did so,
and was soon asleep; when I awoke the poor fellow was stiff and cold in
death. His spirit had flown to its home beyond the skies.

After the battle was over, John T. Tucker, Scott Stephens, A. S. Horsley
and I were detailed to bring off our wounded that night, and we helped
to bring off many a poor dying comrade--Joe Thompson, Billy Bond, Byron
Richardson, the two Allen boys--brothers, killed side by side--and
Colonel Patterson, who was killed standing right by my side. He was
first shot through the hand, and was wrapping his handkerchief around it,
when another ball struck and killed him. I saw W. J. Whittorne, then a
strippling boy of fifteen years of age, fall, shot through the neck and
collar-bone. He fell apparently dead, when I saw him all at once jump up,
grab his gun and commence loading and firing, and I heard him say,
"D--n 'em, I'll fight 'em as long as I live." Whit thought he was killed,
but he is living yet. We helped bring off a man by the name of Hodge,
with his under jaw shot off, and his tongue lolling out. We brought off
Captain Lute B. Irvine. Lute was shot through the lungs and was vomiting
blood all the while, and begging us to lay him down and let him die.
But Lute is living yet. Also, Lieutenant Woldridge, with both eyes shot
out. I found him