that we were marching for Richmond, and that there we should end
the war, but how and when they seemed to care not; nor did they
measure the distance, or count the cost in life, or bother their
brains about the great rivers to be crossed, and the food required
for man and beast, that had to be gathered by the way. There was a
"devil-may-care" feeling pervading officers and men, that made me
feel the full load of responsibility, for success would be accepted
as a matter of course, whereas, should we fail, this "march" would
be adjudged the wild adventure of a crazy fool. I had no purpose
to march direct for Richmond by way of Augusta and Charlotte, but
always designed to reach the sea-coast first at Savannah or Port
Royal, South Carolina, and even kept in mind the alternative of
Pensacola.

The first night out we camped by the road-side near Lithonia.
Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view, cut out in
clear outline against the blue sky; the whole horizon was lurid
with the bonfires of rail-ties, and groups of men all night were
carrying the heated rails to the nearest trees, and bending them
around the trunks. Colonel Poe had provided tools for ripping up
the rails and twisting them when hot; but the best and easiest way
is the one I have described, of heating the middle of the
iron-rails on bonfires made of the cross-ties, and then winding
them around a telegraph-pole or the trunk of some convenient
sapling. I attached much importance to this destruction of the
railroad, gave it my own personal attention, and made reiterated
orders to others on the subject.

The next day we passed through the handsome town of Covington, the
soldiers closing up their ranks, the color-bearers unfurling their