On
the 18th of July, the news reached us that General Johnston had been
relieved from command, and that General Hood had succeeded him. I knew
nothing of the relative merits of the two commanders, and had no means
of judging but by the effect upon the soldiers by whom I was then
surrounded. The whole post seemed as if stricken by some terrible
calamity. Convalescents walked about with lagging steps and gloomy
faces. In every ward lay men who wept bitterly or groaned aloud or,
covering their faces, refused to speak or eat. From that hour the
buoyant, hopeful spirit seemed to die out. I do not think anything was
ever the same again. For, when after the awful sacrifice of human life
which followed the inauguration of the new policy, the decimated army
_still_ were forced to retreat, the shadow of doom began to creep
slowly upon the land. The anchor of _my_ soul was my unbounded
confidence in President Davis; while he was at the helm I felt secure
of ultimate success, and bore present ills and disappointments
patiently, _never doubting_. Meantime, disquieting rumors were flying
about, railroad communication was cut off here and there, and with it
mail facilities.
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