I dropped to the ground, and at the
same moment heard the report, and my hat was knocked off in the bushes.
I remained perfectly still, and in a few minutes I saw a young Yankee
lieutenant peering through the bushes. I would rather not have killed
him, but I was afraid to fire and afraid to run, and yet I did not wish
to kill him. He was as pretty as a woman, and somehow I thought I had
met him before. Our eyes met. He stood like a statue. He gazed at me
with a kind of scared expression. I still did not want to kill him,
and am sorry today that I did, for I believe I could have captured him,
but I fired, and saw the blood spurt all over his face. He was the
prettiest youth I ever saw. When I fired, the Yankees broke and run,
and I went up to the boy I had killed, and the blood was gushing out of
his mouth. I was sorry.
ATLANTA FORSAKEN
One morning about the break of day our artillery opened along our
breastworks, scaring us almost to death, for it was the first guns that
had been fired for more than a month. We sprang to our feet and grabbed
our muskets, and ran out and asked some one what did that mean. We were
informed that they were "feeling" for the Yankees. The comment that was
made by the private soldier was simply two words, and those two words
were "O, shucks.
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