A good deal of nonsense used to be talked about the heroism of General Garfield, who, caught in the rout of the right, nevertheless went back and joined the undefeated left under General Thomas.  There was no great heroism in it; that is what every man should have done, including the commander of the army.  We could hear Thomas’s guns going—­those of us who had ears for them—­and all that was needful was to make a sufficiently wide detour and then move toward the sound.  I did so myself, and have never felt that it ought to make me President.  Moreover, on my way I met General Negley, and my duties as topographical engineer having given me some knowledge of the lay of the land offered to pilot him back to glory or the grave.  I am sorry to say my good offices were rejected a little uncivilly, which I charitably attributed to the general’s obvious absence of mind.  His mind, I think, was in Nashville, behind a breastwork.

Unable to find my brigade, I reported to General Thomas, who directed me to remain with him.  He had assumed command of all the forces still intact and was pretty closely beset.  The battle was fierce and continuous, the enemy extending his lines farther and farther around our right, toward our line of retreat.  We could not meet the extension otherwise than by “refusing” our right flank and letting him inclose us; which but for gallant Gordon Granger he would inevitably have done.

This was the way of it.  Looking across the fields in our rear (rather longingly) I had the happy distinction of a discoverer.  What I saw was the shimmer of sunlight on metal:  lines of troops were coming in behind us!  The distance was too great, the atmosphere too hazy to distinguish the color of their uniform, even with a glass.  Reporting my momentous “find” I was directed by the general to go and see who they were.  Galloping toward them until near enough to see that they were of our kidney I hastened back with the glad tidings and was sent again, to guide them to the general’s position.

It was General Granger with two strong brigades of the reserve, moving soldier-like toward the sound of heavy firing.  Meeting him and his staff I directed him to Thomas, and unable to think of anything better to do decided to go visiting.  I knew I had a brother in that gang—­an officer of an Ohio battery.  I soon found him near the head of a column, and as we moved forward we had a comfortable chat amongst such of the enemy’s bullets as had inconsiderately been fired too high.  The incident was a trifle marred by one of them unhorsing another officer of the battery, whom we propped against a tree and left.  A few moments later Granger’s force was put in on the right and the fighting was terrific!

By accident I now found Hazen’s brigade—­or what remained of it—­which had made a half-mile march to add itself to the unrouted at the memorable Snodgrass Hill.  Hazen’s first remark to me was an inquiry about that artillery ammunition that he had sent me for.