overheard this conversation between two soldiers:-- "Say, John," said
one, "I guess Uncle Billy don't know our corps is goin' north."

"I wonder if he does,'" said John. "If I could only get a sight of them
white socks, I'd know it was all right."

The General rode past without a word, but I heard him telling the story
to Mower the next day.

I can find little if any change in his manner since I knew him first. He
is brusque, but kindly, and he has the same comradeship with officers and
men--and even the negroes who flock to our army. But few dare to take
advantage of it, and they never do so twice. I have been very near to
him, and have tried not to worry him or ask many foolish questions.
Sometimes on the march he will beckon me to close up to him, and we have
a conversation something on this order:-- "There's Kenesaw, Brice."

"Yes, sir."

Pointing with his arm.

"Went beyond lines there with small party. Rebel battery on summit. Had
to git. Fired on. Next day I thought Rebels would leave in the night. Got
up before daylight, fixed telescope on stand, and waited. Watched top of
Kenesaw. No Rebel. Saw one blue man creep up, very cautious, looked
around, waved his hat. Rebels gone. Thought so."

This gives you but a faint idea of the vividness of his talk. When we
make a halt for any time, the general officers and their staffs flock to
headquarters to listen to his stories. When anything goes wrong, his