Chattanooga, Friday, April 28. I have just finished treading out another eight hours of this rebellion. Scoured my sabre and turned it over to the orderly so my successor can have it. Most of the boys are on duty, some are white-washing the stables, others policing, and I find more quiet to write than usual. Our quarters are full of boisterous soldiers generally—sixteen makes a great noise. Have written to T. L. and must cease this scribble to enjoy a short space of quiet inaction, for I am in a happy, lazy mood.
By the way, our gallant old leader, General Sherman, has committed a grave mistake in dealing with his crafty foe, Johnston. Already the ravenous editors are pouncing upon him to tear him by piecemeal, but the soldiers are slow to censure one whom they respect so much. I for one doubt not his sincerity for a single moment. But, great in magnanimity himself, he placed far too much confidence in the honor of his enemy. General Grant goes forward. All will soon be right again. Booth has been shot by his pursuers, thereby cheating hemp of its dues.
