I remained at General Hood's headquarters in Atlanta, expecting to move with the General into Tennessee. The city was being shelled by the Federals, and some of the shells fell very thickly about the General's headquarters. I thought the locality seemed very unhealthy, but as the General and his staff did not seem in the least disturbed, Bishop Lay and I concluded that everything was going on all right according to the art of war and we stood it with the best of them. On one particular day when more shells were thrown than in all the other days put together, there were, strange to say, no casualties.

On the 10th of August, at headquarters, I presented a class to Bishop Lay for confirmation. It included General Hood and some officers of his staff. In speaking to me the night before his confirmation, the General said: "Doctor, I have two objects in life that engage my supreme regard. One is to do all I can for my country. The other is to be ready and prepared for death whenever God shall call me."

Learning that St. Luke's Church had been injured in the bombardment of the city, Bishop Lay and I made a visit to it. We looked in wonder at the sight that met our eyes upon our entering the sacred edifice. One of the largest shells had torn through the side of the building and struck the prayer desk on which the large Bible happened to be lying. The prayer desk was broken and the Bible fell under it and upon the shell so as apparently to smother it and prevent its exploding. I lifted up the Bible and removed the shell and gathered up all the prayer books I could find for the soldiers in the camps.

Before leaving the church I sat in one of the seats for a few moments and thought of the dear friends who had assisted in the building of the church, and who had offered up the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in that place; of the Bishop who had but a short time before consecrated it; of the Bishop-General over whom I had said the burial service there; of the now scattered flock and the utter desolation of God's house. As I rose to go, I picked up a handkerchief that had been dropped there at the child's funeral, which was the last service held there. I wrote a little story subsequently about "Nellie Peters' Pocket Handkerchief, and What It Saw," and it was published in the columns of the "Church Intelligencer."

This was the last time I visited St. Luke's Church of which I have such tender memories. It was destroyed in the "burning of Atlanta."

On the 6th of September, 1864, a general pass was issued to me by order of General Hood and signed by General F. A. Shoup, his Chief of Staff. This pass is an interesting relic of my early associations with one who subsequent to the war came under my jurisdiction as a priest of the Church when I was Bishop of Tennessee. He married a daughter of Bishop Elliott, took orders in the Church, so distinguished himself in the ministry as to receive the degree of Doctor of Divinity, and was for a long time my neighbor at Sewanee, where he was a Professor in The University of the South.

CHAPTER XI
PERSONAL NARRATIVE—COLUMBUS (GEORGIA) AND THE JOURNEY INTO TENNESSEE

When the fall of Atlanta seemed imminent, General Johnston advised me to remove my family from the city and I decided to go to Columbus, Georgia. The rector of Trinity Church in that town was ill, and the Bishop of Georgia appointed me a Missionary to the Army, at a stipend of $3,000 per year, to be paid as long as the churches in Georgia remained open, and to be continued to me while I was in Columbus and while the Rev. Mr. Hawks, rector of Trinity Church, was ill. My appointment was subsequently made that of Permanent Missionary to the Army.

So in October, 1864, I rented a very comfortable house two miles from town, for which I paid rent in advance for nine months—twenty-five hundred dollars, Confederate money. But everything seemed to be on the same generous scale, for when on the Sunday after my arrival, I preached in Trinity Church, the offerings for the poor amounted to one thousand dollars. We met with great cordiality from all the people of the town, especially from Mr. J. Rhodes Brown, who placed me under great obligations by his kindness.

We met in Columbus the musical prodigy, "Blind Tom," who belonged to one of our neighbors, General Bethune. I had heard him in a public performance two years previously in Richmond. I was calling on the Bethunes one day, and on hearing my voice, Tom came into the parlor and in the most uncouth way paid his respects to the ladies and myself. He was not as much as usual in the humor for playing, having already spent four hours at the piano that day for the amusement of some cavalrymen who had visited him. Nevertheless he cheerfully sat down to the piano and gave us some delightful music, and sang us some French songs, in which his powers of mimicry were wonderfully displayed. His playing was most marvellous. It seemed as though inspired. He was then a lad of fifteen. His musical talents were exhibited in his earliest childhood.