Since the close of the war between the States, from 1861 to 1865, I have noticed and read with a great deal of interest letters and articles in books and newspapers about the cause and results of that long and bloody struggle. As I took part in the conflict, I have though for a long time that I would answer some of those letters, as I might be able to give some account of friends and relatives lost and almost forgotten. But it has been so long that many of the incidents are almost like a dream to me now. I am not well enough versed in the art of literature to write a book or for a newspaper. I have heard it thunder too often, have lost the use of my right arm, and I am generally out of fix. Then, I never professed to know much, for I was a private most of the time in the regiment of infantry and had no opportunity of knowing anything except what happened near me.

I was born in Green county, Missouri, five miles east of Springfield, in the year 1838. My father was a native of Maury county, Tennessee. I enlisted in the Confederate army in July, 1861, in Captain Winkler's company at Corsicana, Texas. From there I went to Virginia, and was attached to the fourth Texas Infantry, Hood's Brigade, General Lee's army. My first introduction on a battlefield was at Seven Pines. This satisfied me that war was not what it had been pictured in books and newspapers, and that if we accomplished what we started out to do, it would be a dearly bought victory; but I supposed I would stay as long as any of them....

We traveled on and stopped at Greencastle, Pa. General Lee issued orders to the men not to leave their commands, as they were now in the enemy's country, and not to depredate on the citizens. We traveled on through Chambersburg; the houses were all closed and the women waved the Stars and Stripes at us. We moved on a short distance and then stopped and struck camp. The people here were all Dunkards. They seemed to think more of their stock than they did of themselves; they had a very fine barn, but lived in a very ordinary looking house. I was put on guard at one of these houses, and stood at the gate all day to keep the men from depredating on them. A woman called me in to dinner, which was one of the finest meals I ever sat down to. The old lady remarked: "Oh, this cruel war! I just wish you men with your muskets could get them big fellows in a ring and stick your bayonets in them and make them fight it out. You could settle it in a few minutes." I was young then and had never given the subject a sober thought, but since, I have often thought of that old woman's remarks. Of course, we all know now, for we have some experience in war, that if all the leaders and men who make war speeches and excite the people, knew that in case of war they would have to pick up their gun and help to fight the battles and take their chances along with the men, there would not be many wars. They would adopt Dr. Franklin's plan--raise the money and pay for the territory or property in question rather than go to war.

We traveled on and soon heard cannonading and knew that the ball had opened. Late in the afternoon we heard that our column had had a fight with the Federals. This was the first day's fight at Gettysburg. I always thought it was on the 2d of July, but in order to agree with everybody else I will call it the 1st of July, 1863. By sun-up the next day we passed over the battle-ground and saw the dead and wounded, and we could see our artillery in front of us, all unlimbered and in battle array; flags flying and men going in every direction. About 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I understand, we were on the right of General Lee's army; the line of battle was seven miles long. Sam Miller and I left the ranks to get canteens of water for our company, and I never saw Sam any more until the war was over; he was captured and sent to Fort Delaware. Mat Beasley was ordered to take Captain Porter's old company, from Huntsville, into the fight. They had never gone into a fight and came out with a captain or lieutenant. We all gathered around Mat and said to him, "Good-bye, you are gone now." Bob Crawford said: "I am sorry for you, but I can't help you any." He was the only captain that ever came out alive with that company. Moving slowly we entered a valley in a wheat field. We could see the Federals on the hills to our left, and the Stars and Stripes waving at us. About this time a shell from the Federal batteries came along through our lines and cut a man's head off; his name was Floyd, from San Antonio; I was within about forty steps of him. Just then the command was given to "forward!" It was 300 or 400 yards to the foot of the hill, on which bordered a rock fence. When we were forty or fifty steps from this fence, the Federal batteries on the hill turned loose at the fence with solid shot, and rocks were flying in every direction. This scattered our men; many of them were killed, wounded and captured. We were right in front of the battery. No time for shining shoes. So great was the confusion that I have no recollection of passing over the fence. I can remember when I was about half way up the hill I stopped behind a big rock to load my gun; I could see Captain Reilly's battery a little to our right, and he was cleaning off the top of that hill. There was a solid blaze of fire in front of his battery. Right here, as well as I can remember, Bill Smith fell; he was a son of Tom I. Smith, an old pioneer, after whom Smith county, Texas, was named. He left his wife with her father, W. H. Mitchell, at the head of Richland and Chamber's creek, ten miles west of Millford, Ellis county, Texas, and never saw her any more, and I doubt if she ever knew what became of him. When we reached the battery at the top of the hill, the men had all left. Some dead were lying around, I don't remember how many. Harris of our company was in front of me. He put his hand on the cannon and was looking over the hill. The cannon was lying on a rock, I think, and the wheels behind the rock. I could hear the minnie balls going over our heads. I said to him: "Hold on, Harris, we are by ourselves; wait till the balance come up." "Oh, I want to see where they have gone," replied Harris, "they are not far off." About that time a shell burst in front of us and a piece of it went through his breast, and it seemed to me that I could run my arm through that man's body. His face turned as white as cotton, and strange to say, he turned around and tried to walk in that condition, but fell over and was dead in less than five minutes. His people lived somewhere in Virginia, but I don't know their address. Now I could see the Third Arkansas to our left, and could hear Colonel Manning's voice; then I saw three or four hundred Federals throw down their guns and surrender to them. I saw General Hood walking down the hill holding his arm. I understood his arm was broken above the elbow and four inches of the bone taken out. By daylight the next morning we had a line of battle on top of that hill; we lay there all day. About 12 o'clock in the day, I heard firing in our rear. I saw a house on fire, and thought we were surrounded and would be captured, but I soon learned that a regiment of Federal cavalry was trying to destroy General Lee's ammunition train, which was protected by two regiments of infantry. The Federals succeeded until they were right in among the wagons, then the infantry closed in on them, and I don't think a man escaped; the colonel refused to surrender, and shot himself. Then commenced an artillery duel. General Lee had two hundred and twenty-five pieces of artillery, and he turned all of it loose on the Federal lines, and I suppose the Federals had as many or more to reply with. Just imagine what a thundering noise all these cannon made, all firing, you might say at once, to say nothing about the loss of life and property! I never did believe that any man knew the number of armed men engaged on both sides at the Battle of Gettysburg, but I will give it as my opinion, form what I could see and hear, there must have been, all told, Federals and Confederates, at least 175,000 men, and the number of killed, wounded and captured, on both sides, between 40,000 and 45,000 men. It has been forty years now, and I don't remember the names of my own company that were lost, much less the army. We lost our lieutenant colonel, Carter, of the Fourth Texas, and I heard that Hood's Brigade lost 500 or 600 men. About 3 or 4 o'clock in the evening of the third day at Gettysburg we were still in line of battle on the hills; I don't know enough about the country to say whether it was Cemetery Ridge, Little Round Top or what it was. The Federals made a charge and our left gave way. We fell back in the valley and formed in line of battle. I heard calvary horses and the horns. "Look out, boys!" some one shouted; "get ready for a calvary charge." But for some reason they never came. I suppose their prudence and judgment got the best of them. I know nothing about the calvary service, but I know it's a hard matter to get a lot of calvary to charge a line of infantry. They know it's a serious matter, for many of them will go to their long homes when they try it. It began to get dark and commenced raining. The sergeant ordered me to go back on the side of the mountain on picket; Lieutenant Mills of our company was with us. Lieutenant Pugh Fuller, Fifth Texas, from Houston, and I sat down on a big rock. We were compelled to keep up a strong picket line all night. Dead men were all around us, and it rained all night. It was as dark as a nigger's pocket. I was sleepy, hungry and tired. I could feel the gray-backs moving around. I knew it would take a dose of red pepper occasionally and somebody to stick pins in me all night to keep me awake, but it would not do to go to sleep here. Between midnight and day I was nearly dead, completely exhausted. I lost all feeling of fear or duty and began to nod a little. Lieutenant Mills came along and tapped me on the shoulder and said: "Don't go to sleep here." But if I had known that I would be shot the next minute, it would have been all the same with me. But Mills was an old neighbor and friend, and he said nothing about it, but it would have been a serious matter with me if he had reported me. At daylight General Lee's army moved off and left the battlefield of Gettysburg.... the men began to wave their hats and cheer him. He simply raised his hat, rode along, and said nothing. He was plain, simple and unassuming in his manners, and never encouraged anything of this kind. We all wanted to show to him that we had not lost confidence in him, and he understood it that way. General Lee was a man who had but little to say to anybody. He always looked to me like he was grieving about the want of men and means to carry out his plans. Patrick Henry defines it as "the illusions of hope, looking for something that we have lost and hope for, but may never find."...