Next to me on my right was a boy of seventeen, Henry Parker.

I remember it because while we stood at ease, he drew my attention to some violet to

his feet and said, it would be a good idea to put a few into my cap.

Perhaps the yanks won't shoot me if they see me wearing such flowers, for they are a

sign of peace.

The capitals said, I, I will do the same.

We plucked a bunch and arranged the violets in our caps.

The men in the ranks laughed at our proceedings and had not the enemy been so near, their

merry mood might have been communicated to the army.

We loaded our muskets and arranged our cartridge pouches ready for use.

Our weapons were the obsolete flint locks and the ammunition was rolled in cartridge paper,

which contained powder, a round ball, and three buckshot.

When we loaded, we had to tear the paper with our teeth, empty a little powder into the

pan, lock it, empty the rest of the powder into the barrel, press paper and ball into

the muzzle and ram home.

Then the orderly sergeant called the role and we knew that the Dixie Graves were present

to a man.

Soon after there was a commotion and we dressed up smartly.

A young aide galloped along our front, gave in some instructions to the Brigadier

Heinman who confided the same to his kernels and presently we swayed forward in line with

shoulder arms.

Newton's story, big broad and straight, bore our company banner of gay silk at which the

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