The sun, on the morning of the 20th, rose in unusual splendor, and cast its rays and shadows in sparkling brilliancy over the mountains and plains of North Georgia.  The leaves of the trees and shrubbery, in their golden garb of yellow, shown out bright and beautiful in their early autumnal dress—­quite in contrast with the bloody scenes to be enacted before the close of day.  My older brother, a private in my company, spoke warmly of the beautiful Indian summer morning and the sublime scenery round about, and wondered if all of us would ever see the golden orb of day rise again in its magnificence.  Little did he think that even then the hour hand on the dial plate of destiny was pointing to the minute of “high noon,” when fate was to take him by the hand and lead him away.  It was his turn in the detail to go to the rear during the night to cook rations for the company, and had he done so, he would have missed the battle, as the details did not return in time to become participants in the engagement that commenced early in the morning.  He had asked permission to exchange duties with a comrade, as he wished to be near me should a battle ensue during the time.  Contrary to regulations, I granted the request.  Now the question naturally arises, had he gone on his regular duties would the circumstances have been different?  The soldier is generally a believer in the doctrine of predestination in the abstract, and it is well he is so, for otherwise many soldiers would run away from battle.  But as it is, he consoles himself with the theories of the old doggerel quartet, which reads something like this:—­

  “He who fights and runs away,
  May live to fight another day;
  But he who is in battle slain,
  Will ne’er live to fight again.”

Longstreet’s troops had recently been newly uniformed, consisting of a dark-blue round jacket, closely fitting, with light-blue trousers, which made a line of Confederates resemble that of the enemy, the only difference being the “cut” of the garments—­the Federals wearing a loose blouse instead of a tight-fitting jacket.  The uniforms of the Eastern troops made quite a contrast with the tattered and torn homemade jeans of their Western brethren.

General Bragg had divided his army into two wings—­the right commanded by Lieutenant General Leonidas Polk (a Bishop of the M.E.  Church, and afterwards killed in the battles around Atlanta.) and the left commanded by that grand chieftain (Lee’s “Old War Horse” and commander of his right), Lieutenant General James Longstreet.  Under his guidance were Preston’s Division on extreme left, Hindman’s next, with Stewart’s on extreme right of left wing, all of Major General Buckner’s corps.  Between Hindman and Stewart was Bushrod Johnson’s new formed division.  In reserve were Hood’s three brigades, with Kershaw’s and Humphries’, all under Major General Hood, standing near the center and in rear of the wing.