On the 4th of July, 1864, one of the hottest days of the season, our army arrived at Vining Station, just below Marietta, Ga., where it was formed in line of battle, with orders for each brigade to intrench and throw up breastworks.
I was busily engaged all the morning in superintending the work, which was about completed between 12 and 1 o'clock, when, with my staff, I retired to a large spreading oak tree, about 150 or 200 yards in the rear of my line of works, to rest and to eat my scanty rations. No fighting was going on at this time except an artillery duel between a Federal battery some distance off and a Confederate battery on my line.
After I had eaten up all the rations I had, I concluded I would take a smoke. Matches in those days were very scarce and hard to get; so I always carried with me a small sunglass to light my pipe with when the sun was shining. After tilling my pipe I noticed that the sun was shining through a small opening in the foliage of the tree under which I was sitting, and I remarked to Colonel Dyer, my Inspector-General, that I could light my pipe through the little opening. He replied that he would bet me a drink of pine-top whisky that I could not. I accepted the bet (as I was then not as punctilious about betting as I am now), and just as I was in the act of drawing a focus on my tobacco, a shell from the enemy's battery came whizzing through the air over my line and exploded just as it struck my foot and the ground, tearing off my foot and making a hole almost large enough to bury me in.
My staff were lying around under the shade of the tree, but none of them were struck by the shell or any of its fragments. Col. Dyer, who was standing over me at the time, had nearly all his clothing torn off, not by the shell or its fragments, but by the gravel that was thrown up against him. He received seventeen flesh wounds, none of which proved very serious. As soon as the shell exploded he involuntarily started to run to get behind a tree. A few days before this Col. Dyer and myself, while walking in the rear of our line on Kennesaw Mountain, noticed that a soldier with all the canteens of his company swung around him, was going after water for his company, when a schrapnel shell came over, exploded and riddled him with balls; yet he walked, or rather ran, some little distance before falling, and then fell dead. Col. Dyer told me that he had this man in his mind's eye while running, and he expected every moment to fall dead.
The shock from the explosion of the shell was very severe, yet the tearing away of my leg was accompanied by neither pain nor the loss of much blood. In addition to the loss of my foot I received another wound on my other leg which was rather remarkable. I had a cut below the knee about four inches long and down to the bone, as smooth as if it had been cut with a sharp knife, yet neither my pants nor underclothing were torn. It was so smooth a cut that when pressed together it healed by first intention. None of us were able to conjecture what made this cut. Before I would allow my removal I made my staff find my sunglass and my pipe. The rim of my sunglass was broken.
As soon as it was known that I was wounded, the surgeons of my brigade and division came to my assistance, and bound up my wounds as best they could, and gave me some morphine and whisky. I was then put in an ambulance and started to the field hospital. In going to the hospital I passed by Gen. Cheatham's headquarters, who, hearing that I was wounded, came out to sympathize with me, and suggested that as I was looking very pale he thought that some stimulant would do me good, and gave me a stiff drink. I then began to feel pretty good and proceeded on my way to the hospital. I had not gone very far when I passed Gen. Hardee's headquarters. He had heard of my misfortune and came out to see me. He also said I was looking very pale and that I ought to have some stimulant, and gave me a big drink. I continued to feel better, and again started toward the hospital, and in a short time passed Gen. Joseph E. Johnston's headquarters. He came out to see me and also said that I was looking very pale, and that some stimulant would do me good. He happened to have some very fine apple brandy, and gave me a big drink, and down it went. From this time on I knew nothing until I awoke on the platform at Atlanta at sunrise next morning.
The amputation of my leg at the point selected was an unfortunate one for me. My brigade surgeon, Dr. R. W. Mitchell, was absent at the time of my arrival at the field hospital, and the point of selection for the amputation was determined upon by a consultation of surgeons before he returned. If my leg had been cut off higher up it would have relieved me of the many days of suffering I have since experienced.
From Atlanta I was carried on a freight train in a box car, in the hottest of weather, to Macon, Ga. Dr. Mitchell accompanied me, thinking I would die before I reached the place. My sufferings were intense, but I survived, and was taken to Mrs. Josie, the wife of a quartermaster of my division of the army, who cared for and treated me as kindly as if I had been her own child.