That “ truth is stranger than fiction” is an axiom as correct as it is trite. Thus I claim for these pages of history a strict adherence to truthfulness in recording actual occurrences, facts garnered from the great and bloody drama of the late war, around which lingers the halo of imperishable glory, possessing all the fascination and interest of romance. This record has been dotted down on the long and weary march, in the quiet camp, within breastworks and besieged strongholds, before and after the fierce conflict of deadly strife—a correct record of events as they actually occurred, they are presented to the public. I have indulged in few fancies of the imagination, nor do I claim for this work any peculiar literary excellence. Simple in construction of sentences, unpretending in style of composition, it is given to the public for perusal as one of the many bloody chapters in the history of the late Revolution, when Southerners endeavored, by force of arms, to establish their independence and preserve untarnished the principles of constitutional liberty bequeathed to them by their ancestors, and baptized and consecrated with their best blood, from the despotic domination of Radicalism. The attempt ...