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[309] cavalry to the rear, and preparatory to our final attack on that day, General Bragg, who justly felt proud of his day's work, was seen riding alone in front of his victorious lines, and rapidly approaching our front. As he reached us, General Chalmers, who was likewise exultant over the action of his brigade, rose in his stirrups, and waving a flag shouted, ‘Pensacola troops, three cheers for our beloved commander!’ Recognizing the compliment, and feeling that he had troops to follow where he was prepared to lead, he reined up, faced the brigade, and with head uncovered, looked the ‘noblest Roman of them all.’

The white-plumed Henry of Navarre never inspired his fiery Frenchmen with more ardent enthusiasm than did this scene of Bragg's awaken the glow of patriotism in the breasts of his Pensacola boys. They—officers and private soldiers—mutually felt that that day's victory belonged equally to both and all.

Soon after this exhilarating scene, we were again put in motion to attack the enemy's last stronghold, being twenty-two guns massed in a semi-circle on an elongated eminence protecting his centre and left, and which proved a bulwark between us and their destruction or surrender. Amidst the confusion of orders, some to ‘advance,’ some to ‘retreat,’ occasioned by the general order of Beauregard to retire for the night, we were in a fated hour repulsed, never again to enjoy the pleasure of having them so near in our grasp. Time, such as Wellington prayed for on the plains of Waterloo, ‘Oh! for Blucher, or for night,’ was given to them, and they profited thereby. Buell crossed the Tennessee, and the next morning, the 7th, was as disastrous to our arms as the day before had been propitious.

About 11 o'clock A. M. on the 7th, Bragg's line, or at least that part of it in which was Chalmers's brigade, which had been fighting from the firing of the first gun on the 6th till then, fatigued and worn out, was ordered to lie down, whilst Breckinridge, with his brave Kentuckians, passed over them to the front, and in a few moments to fall like sheep in the shambles.

This was the last of my participation in the battle of Shiloh. From that time until our retreat that evening, I enjoyed the safety of being simply an eye-witness of other combatants—a condition in war far more satisfactory and preferable to one who has just had enough, than rushing headlong against minnie-balls and grape-shot.

Though in that battle many a brave and good man was made to bite the dust, others equally brave and good survived to receive

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