in the shade of every hedge and tree, and gossiping in every cabin doorway.
Where they lodge, Heaven only knows, but how they are fed, the state of our orchards and cornfields can testify.
Capt. Cooley hung up two by the thumbs the other day, for robbing father's orchard, but the discipline was of no avail, for we have not gathered a full-grown peach or pear this season.
Roasting-ears are pleasant food, and to be had for the-taking; our early corn gave out before we had used it a week.
Ben Jones shot a negro the other night, for stealing in Mr. Waddey's garden, and it is a miracle that he escaped being put in jail.
Fortunately the negro wasn't hurt.
Negroes may kill white men whenever they please, provided the white man wears not a blue coat, but woe to the white man that touches a negro! . . .
That murder case into which Gen. Wild and Dr. French have been prying for the last week has wrought these apostles up to a state of boundless indignation, and father is afraid it wil
hold all in place.
The third mortar shell fired, I discovered, was coming into the works and I shouted look out, it is coming right into the works.
There was a scampering to get out of the way by the men who were crowded around Hank King and Ben Jones who were issuing a cooked ration.
The shell dropped close beside a sergeant of Company F who lay with his back against the breastwork and his legs sprawled out, fast asleep, unconscious of the danger.
I jumped behind the upright tie and crowdw the shell sizzing away, and the men about it and the sergeant asleep.
It seemed as though it would never burst, as though it were spellbound.
Finally it went off and the sergeant was badly hurt, being hit by many of the balls it contained.
Ben Jones also received a wound in the seat of his pants, and it spoiled our rations which were upset by the rush to cover.
The Rebs continued their mortar practice for some time longer, but did us no more mischief.
Several men were hit by sharpshooter