Among the many accounts of the march to the sea, one of the most graphic and accurate was furnished by an army officer to the New York Evening Post. Writing from Atlanta on November 14th, he said:
"On the 12th instant the last train of cars whirled rapidly past the troops moving south, speeding over bridges and into the woods as if they feared they might be left helpless in the deserted land. At Curtisville the last communications with the North were served with the telegraph wire. It bore the message to General Thomas, 'All is well.' And so we have cut adrift from our base of operations, from our line of communications, launching out into uncertainty at the best; on a journey whose projected end only the general in command knows.
"As for the army, they do not stop to ask questions.
"Sherman says 'Come,' and that is the entire vocabulary to them. A most cheerful feature of the situation is the fact that the men are healthful and jolly as men can be, hoping for the best, willing to dare the worst.
"Behind us we leave a track of smoke and flame. Half of Marietta was burned up, not by orders, however; for the command is that proper details shall be made to destroy all property which can ever be of use to the Rebel armies. Stragglers will get into these places, and dwelling houses are leveled to the ground. In nearly all cases these are the deserted habitations formerly owned by Rebels, who are now refugees.
"From Kingston to Atlanta the rails have been taken up on the road, fires built about them, and the iron twisted in all sorts of curves; thus they are left, never to be straightened again. The Secesh inhabitants are in agony of wonder at all this queer manœuvring. It appears as if we intended evacuating Atlanta, but our troops are taking the wrong direction for the hopes and purposes of these people.
"Atlanta is entirely deserted of human beings, excepting a few soldiers here and there. The houses are vacant; there is no trade or traffic of any kind; the streets are empty. Beautiful roses bloom in the gardens of fine houses, but a terrible stillness and solitude covers it all, depressing the hearts even of those who are glad to destroy it. In your peaceful homes at the North you cannot conceive how these people have suffered for their crimes."
The next night he wrote of the burning of Atlanta:
"A grand and awful spectacle is presented to the beholder in this beautiful city, now in flames. By order, the Chief Engineer has destroyed by powder and fire all the store-houses, depot buildings and machine shops. The heaven is one expanse of lurid fire: the air is filled with flying, burning cinders; buildings covering over two hundred acres are in ruins or in flames; every instant there is the sharp detonation or the smothered burning sound of exploding shells and powder concealed in the buildings, and then the sparks and flame shooting away up into the black and red roof, scattering the cinders far and wide.
"These are the machine shops where have been forged and cast Rebel cannon, shot and shell, that have carried death to many a brave defender of our nation's honor. These warehouses have been the receptacle of munitions of war, stored, to be used for our destruction. The city, which next to Richmond, has furnished more material for prosecuting the war than any other in the South, exists no more as a means for the enemies of the Union."