The advance is now passing our regiment. It falls to our lot to be in the rear to-day. Soon we are all in the saddle and on the road. At noon we halt on one of Tennessee's large plantations to feed and eat our dinners. The corn pens are now mounted, the garden fence is scaled, the smoke-house entered; the hams are going, the turkeys are running and chickens squalling. Passing through the yard, a fair one approaches us and enquires for the chief commander. Of course we didn't know, and no one could be found who did; but when she discovered the corn pen rapidly diminishing for the benefit of Rowett's two thousand mules, that the boys in blue were stern and determined, and that her artful persuasion proved of no avail, she seemed to resign calmly to the "fates," and commenced to talk quietly to the soldiers. She said she loved the South, her heart was with it in its struggle; that she had two brothers who were officers in the Confederate army, and that she was glad of it. But she could not bear to be called a rebel. Says she: “Call me not a rebel, but a confederate.” After dinner we proceed on our way, cross the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, and camp on the road leading to Lexington.
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