sick, always on duty, a thorough gentleman, kindly in impulses and acts, but—­well, yes, there was one spot upon this sun,—­he was a confirmed bachelor.  He could face the hottest fire upon the battle-field, but a party of ladies—­never with his own consent.  Upon the day in question, however, I was not only an invited guest, but the wife of his messmate and friend.  So, overcoming his diffidence, he made himself very agreeable, and meeting several times afterward during the war, under circumstances which made pleasant intercourse just as imperative, we became fast friends, and have remained so to this day.  John Sharkey, Miles Sharkey, and one more, whose name I have forgotten, comprised, with those mentioned above, the entire mess.  The dinner was excellent, better than many a more elegant and plentiful repast of which I have partaken since the war.  All the rations of beef and pork were combined to make a fricassee a la camp, the very small rations of flour being mixed with the cornmeal to make a large, round loaf of “stuff.”  These delectable dishes were both cooked in bake-ovens outside the cabin.  From cross-sticks, arranged gypsy-fashion, swung an iron pot, in which was prepared the cornmeal coffee, which, with “long sweetening” (molasses) and without milk, composed the meal.  In this well-arranged mess the work was so divided that each man had his day to cut all the wood, bring all the water, cook, wash dishes, and keep the cabin in order.  So, on this occasion there was no confusion.  All was accomplished with precision.  In due time a piece of board was placed before me with my rations arranged upon it in a bright tin plate, my coffee being served in a gorgeous mug, which, I strongly suspect, had been borrowed for the occasion, having once been a shaving-mug.  Dinner over, Lieutenant Cluverius called to escort me through the camp, and at the officers’ quarters I met many old acquaintances.  Upon inquiry, I found the boys in camp contented and entirely unwilling to receive any benefit from the fund placed in my hands.  They had taken the chances of a soldier’s life, and were quite willing to abide by them.

The terrible bumping which I had experienced while riding to camp, in the ambulance drawn by the “gaily mule,” disinclined me for another ride.  So, just at sunset, my husband and I, with our boy and one or two friends, walked through the piny woods to the hotel, whence I returned next day to Newnan.  This was during the winter.  Later, I made a second trip, this time to Macon, having been called upon to supply money to the family of an old soldier (deceased) who wanted to reach home.  Wishing to investigate in person, I went to Macon.  On the morning of my return, while passing through one of the hospitals, I met at the bedside of a Louisiana soldier a member of Fenner’s Battery, John Augustin, of New Orleans.  At the depot we met again, and the gentleman very kindly took charge of me.  I was going to Newnan,