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[222] Lee had surrendered, and the poor fellow was saved. Our army encamped around and about Greensboro—our brigade at High Point, N. C., where we stacked our arms for the last time. Sherman and Johnston agreed to a truce on April 18, 1865, and all was over, our pay-rolls were furnished us, and our army paid from the specie saved. It was run out from Richmond under guard, and was through the quartermaster of our regiment paid out to us, each receiving a Mexican silver dollar—officers and men sharing alike. I still have my silver dollar, and prize it as one of the most valued relics of the war.

After having our arms stacked out in the old field in front of us, which we turned over to the soldiers of Uncle Sam, I began to look around for transportation, so as to aid my men to get home once more, if homes they were fortunate enough to have. With one wagon and the old regimental ambulance, we moved out, and in a short time we commenced scattering in different directions; some towards Augusta, and others crossing the river above, and some towards Washington, Ga. Before my separation with the noble men of the Forty-second Georgia, and after calling on the sick and disabled some of whom had been located near Greensboro. I made the best arrangements for their comfort possible, in some instances leaving nurses with them, and passing amongst them shaking hands, and saying something encouraging to all. My last visit to my old friend, Moses Martin, who had followed me through the war. ‘Mose’ had fallen in the charge at Bentonville, and now he was minus one leg, which was buried somewhere in North Carolina soil. He was the same Moses Martin that our fellow-citizens of Gwinnett honored so long, and he filled the position of door-keeper for the Legislature many times. Well, there was ‘Mose’ stretched out on his cot; he knew I was to leave him, and when telling him good-bye, he looked me in the face, and with a faint smile, and yet with tears in his eyes, said: ‘Colonel, if I ever get home, and should have a “boy baby,” I will name him for you,’ and strange as it may seem, there is a nice young man now living in old Gwinnett, Martin's old home, named ‘Lovick Thomas Martin.’

I had two horses, and complimented my major, J. J. McClendon, by giving him one of them, and my bay, a fine, splendid animal, I mounted and departed, sad and alone, for my home, and—my tale is told.

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