It was indeed a sad sight to look at, the Old First Tennessee Regiment.
A mere squad of noble and brave men, gathered around the tattered flag
that they had followed in every battle through that long war. It was so
bullet-riddled and torn that it was but a few blue and red shreds that
hung drooping while it, too, was stacked with our guns forever.
Thermopylae had one messenger of defeat, but when General Joe E. Johnston
surrendered the Army of the South there were hundreds of regiments, yea,
I might safely say thousands, that had not a representative on the 26th
day of April, 1865.
Our cause was lost from the beginning. Our greatest victories--
Chickamauga and Franklin--were our greatest defeats. Our people were
divided upon the question of Union and secession. Our generals were
scrambling for "_Who ranked_." The private soldier fought and starved
and died for naught. Our hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded,
but half provided with food and clothing to sustain life. Our money was
depreciated to naught and our cause lost. We left our homes four years
previous. Amid the waving of flags and handkerchiefs and the smiles of
the ladies, while the fife and drum were playing Dixie and the Bonnie
Blue Flag, we bid farewell to home and friends.
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