It was an ordeal that no other army ever passed through successfully.  The steadiest troops in Europe would think it foolhardiness to attempt to withstand an assault in force in front and rear at the same time.  The finest legions that follow any flag to-day must almost inevitably succumb to such a mode of attack.  But the seasoned veterans of the Army of the Tennessee encountered the shock with an obstinacy which showed that the finest material for soldiery this planet holds was that in which undaunted hearts beat beneath blue blouses.  Springing over the front of their breastworks, they drove back with a withering fire the force assailing them in the rear.  This beaten off, they jumped back to their proper places, and repulsed the assault in front.  This was the way the battle was waged until night compelled a cessation of operations.  Our boys were alternately behind the breastworks firing at Rebels advancing upon the front, and in front of the works firing upon those coming up in the rear.  Sometimes part of our line would be on one side of the works, and part on the other.

In the prison we were greatly excited over the result of the engagement, of which we were uncertain for many days.  A host of new prisoners perhaps two thousand—­was brought in from there, but as they were captured during the progress of the fight, they could not speak definitely as to its issue.  The Rebel papers exulted without stint over what they termed “a glorious victory.”  They were particularly jubilant over the death of McPherson, who, they claimed, was the brain and guiding hand of Sherman’s army.  One paper likened him to the pilot-fish, which guides the shark to his prey.  Now that he was gone, said the paper, Sherman’s army becomes a great lumbering hulk, with no one in it capable of directing it, and it must soon fall to utter ruin under the skilfully delivered strokes of the gallant Hood.

We also knew that great numbers of wounded had been brought to the prison hospital, and this seemed to confirm the Rebel claim of a victory, as it showed they retained possession of the battle field.

About the 1st of August a large squad of Sherman’s men, captured in one of the engagements subsequent to the 22d, came in.  We gathered around them eagerly.  Among them I noticed a bright, curly-haired, blue-eyed infantryman—­or boy, rather, as he was yet beardless.  His cap was marked “68th O. Y. Y. L,” his sleeves were garnished with re-enlistment stripes, and on the breast of his blouse was a silver arrow.  To the eye of the soldier this said that he was a veteran member of the Sixty-Eighth Regiment of Ohio Infantry (that is, having already served three years, he had re-enlisted for the war), and that he belonged to the Third Division of the Seventeenth Army Corps.  He was so young and fresh looking that one could hardly believe him to be a veteran, but if his stripes had not said this, the soldierly arrangement of clothing and accouterments,