ryan grant jersey

Our camp was in the heart of Copiah County, Mississippi, a mile or so west of Gallatin and about six miles east of that once robber-haunted road, the Natchez Trace. Austin's brigade, we were, a detached body of mixed Louisiana and Mississippi cavalry, getting our breath again after two weeks' hard fighting of Grant. Grierson's raid had lately gone the entire length of the State, and we had had a hard, vain chase after him, also.

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"What do you see?" His frown scared me to my finger-tips.

"Too tired?"

Lit with foolish hope to hear thy fondling sighs, Like yon twilight dove's, breathe, Return, return!

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