All this is taking place while the Yankees are fully one thousand yards off. We can see every movement that is made, and we know that Sherman's incendiaries are already hacked. Sherman himself is a coward, and dares not try his strength with old Joe. Sherman never fights; all that he is after is marching to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders: "What a flank movement!" Yes, Sherman is afraid of minnie balls, and tries the flank movement. We are ordered to march somewhere.
"FALLING BACK."
Old Joe knows what he is up to. Every night we change our position. The morrow's sun finds us face to face with the Yankee lines. The troops are in excellent spirits. Youder are our "big guns," our cavalry—Forrest and Wheeler—our sharpshooters, and here is our wagon and supply train, right in our very midst. The private's tread is light—his soul is happy.
Another flank movement. To-morrow finds us face to face. Well, you have come here to fight us; why don't you come on? We are ready; always ready. Everything is working like clockwork; machinery is all in order, Come, give us a tilt, and let us try our metal. You say old Joe has got the brains and you have got the men: you are going to flank us out of the Southern Confederacy. That's your plan, is it? Well, look out; we are going to pick off and decimate your men every day. You will be a picked chicken before you do that.
What? The Yankees are at Resacca, and have captured the bridge across the Oostanaula river. Well, now, that's business; that has the old ring in it. Tell it to us again; we're fond of hearing such things.
The Yankees are tearing up the railroad track between the tank and Resacca. Let's hear it again. The Yankees have opened the attack; we are going to have a battle; we are ordered to strip for the fight. (That is, to take off our knapsacks and blankets, and to detail Bev. White to guard them.) Keep closed up, men. The skirmish line is firing like popping fire-crackers on a Christmas morning. Every now and then the boom of a
