Referring to these totals, 1754 + 1728 = 3482, killed, General Grant, however, says, in his article on Shiloh: ‘This estimate of the Confederate loss must be incorrect. We buried, by actual count, more of the enemy’s dead in front of the divisions of McClernand and Sherman alone than here reported; and 4000 was the estimate of the burial parties for the whole field.’[9] Nine days after the battle of Shiloh, a conscript law was passed by the Confederate Congress which annulled all previous contracts made with volunteers, and all men between eighteen and thirty-five were to be soldiers during the continuance of the war. General T. C. Hindman, our brigade commander, was appointed, fifty days after Shiloh, commanding general of Arkansas, and enforced the conscript law remorselessly. He collected an army of 20,000 under this law, and such as deserted were shot by scores, until he made himself odious to all by his ruthlessness, violence, and tyranny. While at Atlanta, Georgia, in March, 1891, I received the following letter (which is copied verbatim) from ‘old Slate,’ as we used to call him, owing to a certain quaint, old-mannish humour which characterised him. * * * * * BLUE RIDGE, GA. March 28th, 1891. DEAR SIR,--I am anxious to know if you enlisted in Company E., Dixie Greys, 6th Arkansas Regiment, Col. Lyon commanding, Lieut.-Col. Hawthorn, Capt. Smith commanding Dixie Greys, Co. E. Col. Lyons was accidently killed on the Tennessee River, by riding off Bluff and horse falling on him. On the 6th April, 1862, the Confederates attacked the Yankees at Shiloh. Early in the morning I was wounded, and I never saw our boyish-looking Stanley no more, but understood he was captured, and sent North. I have read everything in newspapers, and your Histories, believing you are the same Great Boy. We all loved you, and regretted the results of that eventful day. This is enough for you to say, in reply, that you are the identical Boyish Soldier. You have wrote many letters for me. Please answer by return mail. Very truly yours, JAMES M. SLATE. Address: J. M. SLATE, BLUE RIDGE. CHAPTER IX PRISONER OF WAR On the 8th of April we were embarked on a steamer, and despatched to St. Louis. We were a sad lot of men. I feel convinced that most of them felt, with myself, that we were ill-starred wretches, and special objects of an unkind Fate. We made no advances to acquaintanceship, for what was the value of any beggarly individual amongst us? All he possessed in the world was a thin, dingy suit of grey, and every man’s thoughts were of his own misfortune, which was as much as he could bear, without being bothered with that of another.