God had
heard their prayers. Their souls had been carried to heaven. Hereafter,
henceforth, and forevermore, there was no more marching, battling,
or camp duty for them. They had joined the army of the hosts of heaven.
By order of the general, they were buried with great pomp and splendor,
that is, for those times. Every one of them was buried in a coffin.
Brass bands followed, playing the "Dead March," and platoons fired over
their graves. It was a soldier's funeral. The beautiful burial service
of the Episcopal church was read by Rev. Allen Tribble. A hymn was sung,
and prayer offered, and then their graves were filled as we marched sadly
back to camp.
DR. C. T. QUINTARD
Dr. C. T. Quintard was our chaplain for the First Tennessee Regiment
during the whole war, and he stuck to us from the beginning even unto the
end. During week days he ministered to us physically, and on Sundays
spiritually. He was one of the purest and best men I ever knew. He
would march and carry his knapsack every day the same as any soldier.
He had one text he preached from which I remember now. It was "the
flying scroll." He said there was a flying scroll continually passing
over our heads, which was like the reflections in a looking-glass,
and all of our deeds, both good and bad, were written upon it.
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