During the whole operations of Saturday and Sunday, while forcing General Johnston from his intrenchments, General Beatty’s brigade, of Wood’s division, was in reserve. The boys did not relish their position, and, while the battle raged with great fury, they showed unmistakable signs of uneasiness. One fellow, more daring than his companions, quietly sauntered out and made for the front. Meeting a wounded soldier returning from the front, the “Buckeye” borrowed his “fixins” and entered Hazen’s brigade, where he fought bravely until shot in the jaw. Retiring to the rear, he met a staff-officer, who inquired the number of his regiment, and, learning it was not under fire, asked how he came to be wounded. “Well,” replied the soldier, “you see I don’t like to be back in the rear, so I came out to take a shot at the Johnnies, and I be dogged if they haven’t peppered me.” At nine on Saturday night the Nineteenth Alabama was lying in line, with a rebel battery separating it from another regiment. The battery was withdrawn, and the colonel of the Nineteenth went down to fill the gap with his regiment; he was accompanied by four hundred men. Arriving at the gap they found it filled with pickets, who quietly “took them in out of the wet,” and brought them in. Our boys had crawled up unobserved, and filled the gap in the enemy’s line, captured Colonel McSpadden and companions, and retired without receiving a shot. The rebel colonel himself highly praised the strategy of his captors. Onward through forest, across streams, and over heights, the nobly proud and confidant columns pressed toward Atlanta. The song and joke—the sacred page and prayer—the inexcusable oath—all marked the long marches, the night encampment, and the morning hour of preparation to renew the tramp of embattled legions toward the interior of the Confederate Territory. How sublime the music, rising over that moving host, which a listener thus describes: “At early dawn one morning, ere the troops were fully awakened from their slumbers, the melodious notes of ‘Old Hundred,’ given forth by one of the brigade bands, rang out upon the air, and were echoed by the green-capped hills beyond. Soldiers intently occupied in preparing the morning meal stood still and listened to the melody, and instinctively joined in it. It flew from regiment to regiment; brigade after brigade took it up, and, ere the notes of the band ceased to reverberate, five thousand voices were raised in ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow.’ A moment later all was still. Breakfast was taken; and so silently did the veterans of many battle-fields break camp and fall into line that everybody remarked it, and complimented them for their conduct. I have heard ‘Old Hundred’ often, when the lungs of the organ seemed inspired with life, and a congregation joined their melodious voices, but never until to-day did I hear it sung with the full inspiration of the soul.”