knife; exiled Kentuckians, Arkansians, Georgians, Louisianians, Missourians, Marylanders, sternly resentful, and impatient of the wounds that kept them from the battle-field, because ever hoping to strike some blow that should sever a link in the chains which bound the homes they so loved; Alabamians, the number of whose regiments, as well as their frequent consolidation, spoke volumes for their splendid service; Georgians, who, having fought with desperate valor, now lay suffering and dying within the confines of their own State, yet unable to reach the loved ones who, unknowing what their fate might be, awaited with trembling hearts accounts of the battle, so slow in reaching them; Mississippians, of whom I have often heard it said, “their fighting and staying qualities were magnificent,” I then knew hundreds of instances of individual valor, of which my remembrance is now so dim that I dare not give names or dates.  I am proud, however, to record the names of four soldiers belonging to the Seventeenth Mississippi Regiment:  J. Wm. Flynn,[1] then a mere lad, but whose record will compare with the brightest; Samuel Frank, quartermaster; Maurice Bernhiem, quartermaster-sergeant, and Auerbach, the drummer of the regiment.  I was proudly told by a member of Company G, Seventeenth Mississippi, that Sam Prank, although excelling in every duty of his position, was exceeding brave, often earnestly asking permission to lead the skirmishers, and would shoulder a musket sooner than stay out of the fight.  Maurice Bernhiem, quartermaster-sergeant, was also brave as the bravest.  Whenever it was possible he also would join the ranks and fight as desperately as any soldier.  Both men were exempt from field-service.  Auerbach, the drummer of the Seventeenth, was also a model soldier, always at his post.  On the longest marches, in the fiercest battles, whatever signal the commanding officer wished to have transmitted by means of the drum, night or day, amid the smoke of battle or the dust of the march, Auerbach was always on hand.  The members of the Seventeenth declared that they could never forget the figure of the small Jewish drummer, his little cap shining out here and there amid the thick smoke and under a rattling fire.  Before taking leave of this splendid regiment, I will give an incident of the battle of Knoxville, also related to me by one of its members.

    [1] Mr. Flynn is now pastor in charge of a Presbyterian Church
    in New Orleans, and is as faithful a soldier of the cross as
    once of the lost cause.

By some mismanagement, Longstreet’s corps had no scaling-ladders, and had to cut their way up the wall of the entrenchment by bayonets, digging out step after step under a shower of hot water, stones, shot, axes, etc.  Some of the men actually got to the top, and, reaching over, dragged the enemy over the walls.  General Humphrey’s brigade had practically taken the fort.  Their flag was