On the morning of the 20th of August, 1864, while our army was besieging Atlanta, General James D. Morgan's division was ordered on a raid to cut the Montgomery and Atlanta Railroad. Our brigade, the 3rd, left its baggage in the rifle pits, leaving a sufficient guard with it. The skirmishers were also left on duty under the command of Capt. Burkhalter, the subject of our narrative.
Sometime after the division had gone, the Captain became lonesome and anxious to know what the division was doing, so he attempted to follow and see the fun. He followed it very well until within three or four miles of the railroad, when a heavy rain overtook him; he stopped under the shelter of a large tree until the storm had somewhat subsided, then mounting his horse pursued what he supposed to be the right road, but the pelting rain had obliterated every vestige of our course, and he in consequence was in a dilemma as to what was best. It did not seem well to turn back after having gone so far, so he determined to follow in the probable course of the column until he found more evidence one way or the other. On he went in a musing mood, doubting as he went.
Having now gone a long distance without any favorable signs, he had about concluded to return, when on a sudden a stalwart reb, armed to the teeth, stepped out from behind a tree and commanded the unwary Captain to surrender. A complete surprise. What could he do; he had left his sword and pistol in camp, not dreaming of this adventure.
He stopped instanter, obeying the summons of his captor, for there was no other alternative; he was powerless. The next demand made of him was his watch and pocket book.
The rebel, for a short distance, marched the Captain a few paces in front, following close in the rear with a cocked gun, and leading the horse by the reins; but this was not getting along fast enough, for the horse would not lead good. He now ordered the Captain on horseback, still walking close behind and directing the course of the prisoner by proper military commands.
They had thus traveled about two miles when a horseman was heard to approach on a keen trot from the direction of their front. This horseman was supposed to be a rebel cavalryman, but on coming closer he was discovered to be a Yankee. The rebel leveled his gun on him and commanded his surrender; but saying nothing, the Yankee threw the reins loose on the horse's neck and approached to the rebel's gun as if to give up, but seizing it thrust it to one side, when off it went, hurting no one.
The rebel was now at their mercy, if they could catch him, for he took leg-bail. Both the Yankees pursued and finally captured him. The Orderly—for the last character was the Captain's Orderly—tried to shoot the fugitive, but his pistol would not go off.
Having captured the rebel, the Captain loaded his gun and demanded back all that had been taken from him. The Captain soon after found the column, bringing his captive with him, rejoicing—the rebel fighting mad.
SOLDIERS' LETTERS.
Letters are the soldier's tonic. They will strengthen and restore when army grub and other restoratives, duly proportioned, wholly fail. The blues and all kinds of contagious diseases to which mortals are heir, caused by idleness and the lack of proper diversion of the mind, are soon uprooted by a good interesting letter from a fellow's most affectionate. Give soldiers full rations and regular mail, then there can nowhere be found a more rational set of men than they. But letters are sometimes like our crackers and pork, unfit for use. Such letters do no good—they are no good. There is a sheet full of writing, to be sure, but it is about something that neither interests nor concerns us. Those letters that tell us about the little things of home; the farm, the horses, the cattle, the dogs and cats, their quality and disposition; also the parties and frolics, who is going to see who, and what people say about it, are the very letters that do all this good I have been telling about.