the enemy; and from that stand, so desperately and fearlessly made, calling on his comrades to "fall in," our lines would, almost as if by magic, be built out to right and left. Those coming back would of their own volition halt and face about, and those who had passed beyond would, as soon as they found the line was reforming, hasten to rejoin it. But words would fail to tell of the many acts of heroism displayed on that field that day. How men fought singly from behind trees, in groops of from two to a dozen, desperately fighting, hoping against hope. The very desperation and fury with which these scattered few would fight--checking the enemy, detaining him, and giving us time to reform our broken lines--surpassed the stories of Napoleon's old guard. Flanked by the enemy, our lines would change front under the murderous fire of a foe greatly superior in numbers, and again confront him in the new direction. From hastily constructed breastworks we fought now on this side, now on that. No man was there who did not realize that we were greatly outnumbered; yet no one thought of ultimate defeat. Chickamauga was a battle where officers and men were all and each alike--heroes of the noblest type. If never before, on that battle field of Chickamauga, men of the North and men of the South, Union and Confederate, learned that no imaginary lines separating North from South, or marking the boundary of States, make any difference in the spirit of courage, bravery, and daring of the American soldier, once he believes he is fighting for a principle, be that principle right or wrong. If one is more impetuous, the other will endure longer; if one is proud of his section, the other loves his whole country more. The two, united as they should be and will be, combine the elements and qualities of an army on whose banners might be emblazoned the one word "Invincible."