Their bodies and bones are mangled and torn by the rude
missiles of war. They sleep the sleep of the brave. They have given
their all to their country. We miss them from our ranks. There are no
more hard marches and scant rations for them. They have accomplished all
that could be required of them. They are no more; their names are soon
forgotten. They are put down in the roll-book as killed. They are
forgotten. We will see them no more until the last reveille on the last
morning of the final resurrection. Soldiers, comrades, friends, noble
boys, farewell we will meet no more on earth, but up yonder some day we
will have a grand reunion.
KNOXVILLE
The first night after crossing Cumberland Gap--I have forgotten the date,
but I know it was very early in the fall of the year; we had had no
frost or cold weather, and our marches all through Kentucky had been
characterized by very dry weather, it not having rained a drop on us
during the whole time--about four o'clock in the morning it began to snow,
and the next morning the ground was covered with a deep snow; the trees
and grass and everything of the vegetable kingdom still green.
When we got back to Knoxville we were the lousiest, dirtiest, raggedest
looking Rebels you ever saw.
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