One of his colonels, in his official report, speaks as follows: “On the seventeenth of July the commanding general published an address to the army and announced that he would attack General Sherman’s army so soon as it should cross the Chattahoochee. It was understood that the enemy was crossing at Roswell Factory beyond the right flank of the army and east of Peach Tree Creek.... The order of battle was received with enthusiasm and the most confident spirit prevailed. Next day, the eighteenth, while we were forming to march from our bivouac to the right, a rumour prevailed that General Johnston had been removed from command, and after we had marched some distance on the road to Atlanta a courier handed me a circular order from General Hood, announcing General Johnston’s removal and assuming command. Shortly after, the farewell address of General Johnston was received and read to the regiment. It is due to truth to say that the reception of these orders produced the most despondent feeling in my command. The loss of the commanding general was felt to be irreparable. Continuing the march and passing by his headquarters, Walker’s division passed at the shoulder, the officers saluting, and most of the latter and hundreds of the men taking off their hats. It had been proposed to halt and cheer, but General Johnston, hearing our intention, requested that the troops pass by in silence.” “The news,” said Fighting Joe Hooker,—“the news that General Johnston had been removed from the command of the army opposed to us was received by our officers with universal rejoicing.” “Heretofore,” said Sherman, “the fighting has been as Johnston pleased, but now it shall be as I please.” CHAPTER XXXI THUNDER RUN “Yes, Mr. Cole,” said Christianna, in her soft, drawling voice; “it’s just like you say. Life’s dead.” Sairy, sitting in the toll-house door, threaded her needle. “You an’ Tom, Christianna, air awful young yet! Life ain’t dead. She’s sick, I’ll allow, but, my land! she’s stood a power of sicknesses!” “It seems right dead to me,” said Christianna. She leaned her head against the pillar of the toll-house porch, her sunbonnet fallen back from her fair hair. The wild-rose colour still clung, but her face had a wistfulness. The little ragged garden was gay with bloom, but it was apparent that there had been no gardening for a very long time. The yellow cat slept beneath the white phlox. Thunder Run Mountain hung in sunshine, and Thunder Run’s voice made a steady murmur in the air. Tom, with his trembling old hands, folded a newspaper and put it beneath the empty toll-box. He knew every word of it; there was no use in going over it any more. “They don’t go into details enough,” said Tom; “I want to know how the boys look, and what they’re saying.”