66 CHICKAMAUGA. 



By this time the sun had so doubled its 

 fury that I would not cross the bare Kelly 

 field, and therefore did not go down to look at 

 the " men cut in a rock ; " but after visiting 

 a shell pyramid which marks the spot where 

 Colonel King fell, and near which I saw 

 my first Tennessee flicker, I turned back 

 toward Snodgrass Hill, keeping to the woods 

 as jealously as any soldier can have done on 

 the days of the battle. At the foot of the 

 hill was a well, with a rude bucket and a 

 rope to draw with. Here I drank, having 

 to stand in the sun, I remember, and 

 then sat down in the shelter of large trees 

 near by, with guideboards and index-fingers 

 all about me, while a Bachman finch, who 

 occupied a small brush-heap just beyond the 

 well (he had no fear of sunshine), enter- 

 tained me with music. He was a master. 

 I had never heard his equal of his own kind, 

 and seldom a bird of any kind, that seemed 

 so much at home with his instrument. He 

 sang " like half a dozen birds," to quote my 

 own pencil ; now giving out a brief and sim- 

 ple strain, now running into protracted and 

 intricate warbles ; and all with the most be- 

 witching ardor and sweetness, and without 



