commissary at my headquarters, and his appearance with the staff
would have been unpleasant to himself as well as a possible cause of
excitement in the Kentucky regiment. To solve the difficulty without
making a significant exception, I ordered only the personal staff
and the adjutant-general with the chief surgeon to accompany me,
leaving out the administrative officers of both quartermaster's and
commissary's departments.

When the parade was formed, I took my place with my staff at the
right of the line, and, as upon a review, rode slowly down the whole
line, on the inside of the square. In going along the front of the
First Kentucky, I took especial pains to meet the eyes of the men as
they were turned to me in passing, desirous of impressing them with
my own feeling that it was a solemn but inevitable duty. Immediately
after we returned to our places, the music of the dead-march was
heard, and an ambulance was seen approaching from the camp, escorted
by the provost-marshal and the execution party with the music. The
solemn strains, the slow funereal step of the soldiers, the closed
ambulance, the statue-like stillness of the paraded troops made an
impression deeper and more awful than a battle scene, because the
excitement was hushed and repressed. The ambulance stopped, the man
was helped out at the back, and led by the provost-marshal to his
place upon the coffin, where he was blindfolded. The firing party
silently took its place. The muskets were cocked and aimed, while
the noise of the retiring ambulance covered the sound. The
provost-marshal, with a merciful deception, told the prisoner he
must wait a moment and he would return to him before the final
order, but stepping quickly out of the range of the muskets, he gave
the signal with his handkerchief, and the man fell dead at the
volley, which sounded like a single discharge. The detail of