Grant and Sherman were getting their forces together, and making preparations for the great march to Atlanta. Burnside arrived at Red Clay and marched out to what is called Buzzard’s Roost and attacked the enemy, but they were too strongly fortified. We fell back, and Sherman commenced for the first time with his “flanking machine,” as the rebels called it. We marched around through Snake Creek Gap and formed in line of battle about a half mile from the rebel breastworks, our Division being in front. We marched down through a piece of woodland and up a hill about two hundred yards from the rebel works. The grape and canister would cut through our ranks, and we would close up the gaps. It was said that there were about five hundred pieces of artillery playing at the same time. It seemed that the earth was tottering to the center. We were ordered to lie down within about one hundred yards of the rebel breastworks. A line of battle passed over us, a Colonel being mounted. His horse was shot from under him, but he never halted. The horse fell and rolled down the hill, about ten steps from our line. General Sherman, knowing our condition and that we were losing hundreds of men, moved around on our extreme right and, getting the range of the rebel breastworks, turned loose his artillery and plowed the rebels out of the works. They retreated, and the day was ours. When the battle was going on the cannon balls cut off the tops of the trees, and they fell in our ranks and killed many of our men. After the smoke of the battle had cleared away, I could see the rebel sharpshooters hanging in the trees. They had tied themselves to keep from falling if wounded, but some were dead. It was reported that the rebels obtained from some foreign country the long-range guns then used by the Southern sharpshooters, which seemed to be superior to the rifles in possession of our forces. This little account is not intended to give the history of the War or the exciting campaign through Georgia, but only to give an insight into my personal experiences. I will here relate one little occurrence at Cartersville, Ga., after we had driven the rebels across the Etowah River. I was detailed with about fifty men to go around a mountain and down to a large flour mill on the river, if we could, and burn it up with all its contents. We arrived on the side of a mountain just above the mill and halted. On the opposite side of the river was a high bluff, from which we were fired upon by the rebels, but we sheltered ourselves behind trees.