| KILLED. | WOUNDED. | |||
| Company F | 1 | Company A | 1 | |
| Company I | 1 | Company B | 1 | |
| Total | 2 | Company D | 2 | |
| Company G | 4 | |||
| Company I | 1 | |||
| Company H | 5 | |||
| Company E | 1 | |||
| Company K | 1 | |||
| Total | 16 | |||
The night after the battle of Jonesboro an explosion of a tremendous character was heard in the direction of Atlanta, for the enemy were evacuating it and burning their magazines.
The disheartened and disorganized forces of the enemy now exerted all their energies to complete a successful withdrawal, and save themselves from utter annihilation. One wing of Hood's army fled precipitately down the Macon railroad, and the other retreated along the Augusta road.
Thus was Atlanta evacuated on the night of the 1st of September, after so long a period of time. Remaining a few days in the vicinity of Jonesboro, the 3rd brigade was put in charge of the prisoners and sent with them to Atlanta on the 4th. It kept a jealous eye to its charge, conducting them to the desired place with undue rapidity. The day was hot and water scarce. Many of the boys under their heavy loads gave out and laid down to rest. Rebel and Yank laid down together, and as best they could followed up after they had become rested.
The blame of this unmasterly march was laid to Colonel Langley, who was then in command of the brigade, Colonel Dillworth having been wounded in the late battle. When the command arrived in Atlanta, not more than one-half the men were with it, being left tired and worn out along the wayside. Many of the prisoners might have made their escape, for all were huddled and mixed up in all manner of ways.
There was much sympathy expressed by the citizens of Atlanta towards these prisoners as they were marched and counter-marched through several of the principal streets of the city. Weeping and moaning and lamentation was the principal order of the occasion. The prisoners were finally put in the "bull-pen," and the brigade permitted to go into camp. We were now in the great city for the first time, that place for which we had so long fought and labored to possess. It had been much impaired by the bombardment, the effects of our heavy guns being discernible in various parts. Thus ended the great campaign against Atlanta—the Gate City of the South—after one hundred and twenty days of the most trying scenes through which an army ever passed. During this time we were under the almost continual fire of the enemy, amounting to little else than an incessant battle. The Eighty-sixth Regiment was in eight regular engagements of the most desperate and trying nature. Our dear comrades were daily falling around us and by us, but still we pressed on and finished the work in which they were so ardently enlisted.
At the fall of Atlanta the hopes of the nation revived and the cause of the Union was materially aided. The great anaconda of secession was palsied and made to fade! A new-born nation rejoiced in the beginning dawn of peace and liberty! The heart of a free, loyal people was made to leap for joy!
There were many thrilling and exciting incidents connected with this campaign, among which we will narrate the one respecting Captain Jo. Major. In the charge on Kenesaw, on the 27th of June, while only a few feet from the enemy's works, Captain Major was struck in the breast with a stone thrown by a rebel, which knocked him senseless for a time, and during this state the lines had fallen back, leaving him alone among the dead and dying. Regaining himself, by and by he ascertained his condition, but determining not to be a prisoner, he resolved to play the dying man. He lay, therefore, in a seemingly helpless state, closing his eyes and gasping as if the next breath was to be his last. Finally, a rebel came to where he lay, and took his sword and other valuables. The dying man made signs for water, and the rebel held a canteen to his mouth, but, poor man! he could not drink. After this, other rebels from their works shot at him, but he did not budge, and believing him really in the throes of death, they did not bother him any more. The day was extremely hot; it was one of those warm summer days peculiar to the South. He lay on his back in the burning sun—an impossible thing under other circumstances. Flies and ants swarmed his face, and bit and stung him, but he dared not move.
He was kept in this position from 9 o'clock a.m. until after dark; but night coming on, he took leg-bail for our works, reaching them without further adventure. He came to his company hatless, swordless, moneyless, but sound as ever—the same old Jo.