It seemed to be
but a question of time with all of us as to when we too would be shot.
We were afraid to chirp. So far now as patriotism was concerned, we had
forgotten all about that, and did not now so much love our country as we
feared Bragg. Men were being led to the death stake every day. I heard
of many being shot, but did not see but two men shot myself. I do not
know to what regiment they belonged, but I remember that they were mere
beardless boys. I did not learn for what crime or the magnitude of their
offenses. They might have deserved death for all I know.
I saw an old man, about sixty years old, whose name was Dave Brewer,
and another man, about forty-five, by the name of Rube Franklin, whipped.
There was many a man whipped and branded that I never saw or heard tell
of. But the reason I remembered these two was that they belonged to
Company A of the 23rd Tennessee Regiment, and I knew many men in the
regiment.
These two men were hung up by the hands, after having their heads shaved,
to a tree, put there for the purpose, with the prongs left on them,
and one hand was stretched toward one prong and the other hand to another
prong, their feet, perhaps, just touching the ground. The man who did
the whipping had a thick piece of sole-leather, the end of which was cut
in three strips, and this tacked on to the end of a paddle.
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