In another ward were several renegade Kentuckians, who constantly excited my ire by noting and ridiculing deficiencies, calling my own dear boys “Old Jeff’s ragamuffins,” etc.  One day Dr. Gore happened to be visiting this ward when these men began their usual teasing.  Something caused me to eulogize Dr. Gore and all the Kentuckians who had sacrificed so much for “The Cause.”  One of these fellows then said, “Well, I’m a Kentuckian too, what have you got to say about me?” I replied, “I think you hold about the same relation to the true sons of Kentucky that Judas Iscariot bore to the beloved disciple who lay upon the bosom of our Saviour.”  Then walked out of the ward.

It was rather a spiteful repartee, I must confess, but was provoked by many ill-natured remarks previously made by this renegade, and had the good effect of putting an end to them.

We were comparatively safe once more,—­for how long no one knew.  I now became very anxious about the men in the trenches at Atlanta who were lying day after day, always under fire.  Suffering from insufficient food, exposed to the scorching sun or equally pitiless rain, sometimes actually knee-deep in water for days.  The bombardment was heavy and incessant, ceasing only for a while at sunset, when carts were hastily loaded with musty meat and poor corn-bread, driven out to the trenches, and the rations dumped there.  Many of my friends were lying in these trenches, among them my husband.  In addition to other ills, the defenders of Atlanta were in instant danger of death from shot or shell.  I could not bear it.  The desire to see my husband once more, and to carry some relief in the shape of provisions to himself and his comrades could not be quelled.  Many things stood in the way of its accomplishment, for, upon giving a hint of my project to my friends at Newnan, a storm of protest broke upon my devoted head.  Not one bade me God-speed, everybody declared I was crazy.  “A woman to go to Atlanta under such circumstances; how utterly absurd, how mad.”  So I was obliged to resort to deception and subterfuge.  My first step was to request leave of absence, that I might forage for provisions to be sent to the front by the first opportunity.

Dr. McAllister very kindly accorded me his permission, placing at my disposal an ambulance and a driver, advising me, however, not to follow the main road or the beaten track which had already been drained by foragers, but to go deep into the piny woods.  Said he, “Only one of our foragers has ever been through that region, and his reports were not very encouraging.  The people want to keep all they have got for home-consumption, and greatly distrust ‘hospital people,’ but if success is possible, you will succeed.”  In anticipation, this ride into deep, odorous pine woods seemed delightful.  When the ambulance with its “captured” mule drove up before my door, I gayly climbed into it, and, waving merry adieux to half-disapproving friends