As soon as I could, I picked up my
gun, and as the Yankee turned I sent a minnie ball crushing through his
head, and broke and run. But I am certain that I killed the Yankee who
killed Billy Carr, but it was too late to save the poor boy's life.
As I started to run, a fallen dogwood tree tripped me up, and I fell over
the log. It was all that saved me. The log was riddled with balls,
and thousands, it seemed to me, passed over it. As I got up to run again,
I was shot through the middle finger of the very hand that is now penning
these lines, and the thigh. But I had just killed a Yankee, and was
determined to get away from there as soon as I could. How I did get back
I hardly know, for I was wounded and surrounded by Yankees. One rushed
forward, and placing the muzzle of his gun in two feet of me, discharged
it, but it missed its aim, when I ran at him, grabbed him by the collar,
and brought him off a prisoner. Captain Joe P. Lee and Colonel
H. R. Field remember this, as would Lieutenant-Colonel John L. House,
were he alive; and all the balance of Company H, who were there at the
time. I had eight bullet holes in my coat, and two in my hand, beside
the one in my thigh and finger. It was a hail storm of bullets.
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