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have a good reputation for piety.
If we had all such officers and men we could not fail to be victorious.
May God help us, for we have but little to hope for from man. Well, God reigns.
He has important results to accomplish; and when they shall be accomplished, we shall have peace on some terms.
I believe we shall ultimately triumph; but I fear our people have yet a bitter cup to drink.
I have, from the beginning, believed that the institution of slavery was to be either destroyed or established on a firmer basis.
This is still my opinion.
My impression is, that, let the struggle terminate as it may, the value of that class of property is to be very greatly affected.
On Sunday, the 20th of September, the fierce
battle of Chickamauga was fought.
The little stream bears an Indian name, which means the
River of Death.
We know not whether, in bygone days, any bloody fight between Indian tribes secured to it this name, but if so, in this dreadful contest it was rebaptized in blood.
The flower of our Western army, with some of the best
Lieutenants and soldiers of
Gen. Lee's invincible army of Northern Virginia, met the
Federals.
It was here that
Gen. Hood lost his leg; it was here that
Gen. Preston Smith and
Gen. Deishler were killed; it was here that thousands of the sons of the
South poured out their blood to swell the “river of death.”
After a most obstinate resistance, the
Federal army was driven from the field and forced to take refuge behind entrenchments near
Chattanooga.
Rev. S. M. Cherry, one of the most faithful laborers among the soldiers of the Western army, gives an account of the blessed scenes that were witnessed among the wounded and dying men. Of the work of the chaplains he says:
Dr. McFerrin was at Cleburne's Division hospital, where his son was, slightly wounded, and his nephew, Rev. John P. McFerrin, severely wounded, working with
