As a general I have spoken of
him in these memoirs, not personally. I try to state facts, so that you
may see, reader, why our cause was lost. I have no doubt that Bragg ever
did what he thought was best. He was but a man, under the authority of
another.
But now, allow me to introduce you to old Joe. Fancy, if you please,
a man about fifty years old, rather small of stature, but firmly and
compactly built, an open and honest countenance, and a keen but restless
black eye, that seemed to read your very inmost thoughts. In his dress
he was a perfect dandy. He ever wore the very finest clothes that could
be obtained, carrying out in every point the dress and paraphernalia of
the soldier, as adopted by the war department at Richmond, never omitting
anything, even to the trappings of his horse, bridle and saddle. His
hat was decorated with a star and feather, his coat with every star and
embellishment, and he wore a bright new sash, big gauntlets, and silver
spurs. He was the very picture of a general.
But he found the army depleted by battles; and worse, yea, much worse,
by desertion. The men were deserting by tens and hundreds, and I might
say by thousands. The morale of the army was gone. The spirit of the
soldiers was crushed, their hope gone.
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