September 25th. Hard work and picket duty continues. There is much kicking by the boys over the hard work. It’s out of our line. We are soldiers and here for that purpose, not laboring men working for a railroad company to help build up the line, doing very dangerous work.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Sunday, 25th—We arrived in Atlanta about 9 o’clock last night. I stayed over night at the Soldiers’ Home, in one of the vacant store buildings. I got my breakfast there and then with my knapsack on started for the headquarters of the Seventeenth Army Corps. From there I went to the headquarters of the Iowa Brigade and about noon joined my company. I was glad to see the boys. I received a large mail, one letter from father with $5.00 enclosed. Atlanta is quite a city, there being some fine buildings, one of the finest being the railroad station. But the town is low and in the timber.
Etowah Bridge, Sunday, Sept. 25. The boys expected to get off early this morning, but the Rebs burned a train near Big Shanty last night, obstructing the road so no train could come up.
12 M. Capt. Zickerick of the 12th Battery came up from Allatoona with about thirty of his boys to bid good-bye to the old 6th boys, and reported a train due in an hour. The wagons were loaded with their baggage, and they immediately started for town. Now came the leave-taking with many. I with others had to bid adieux to our old messmates, beside whom we had marched through many a rough campaign, slept under the same blankets, eaten from the same plate, stood together on many a bloody battle-field, watched and nursed each other while sick. How close had our lives twined together in less than three years’ service. Many a stout heart that had met death with a calm brow, could now hardly choke down the bitter tears, yet they were no cowards, but throbs of a manly heart. They return but a small band of those who started. Many of them have bleached their bones in Southern clime, and thirty-two of them are brave veterans staying behind to complete the work they enlisted for. Friends at home, you can little realize the trial they underwent to-day in bidding good-bye to their original comrades. You should not call their anxiety for their phototypes, autographs or anything as a remembrance foolish. I walked with friend Evie to train, intending to see him off, but the train did not come, and I too had to say goodbye. It was the hardest task I have performed since tearing myself from the arms of a dear mother on the threshold of my old home in Wisconsin. But I took their kind “Take care of yourself” and turned my back. I must say a few tears did fall, but not from any regret at staying behind. I return to camp cheerfully to do my duty. But oh, it did look very lonesome.
Sunday, September 25.— March nine [miles] to Sparta and nine to Harrisonburg — eighteen. A fine town and a fine day. General Early reported [to have] gone over into Luray Valley to go through Blue Ridge. I conjecture he will go to railroad and Lynchburg. This is a splendid day, a fine town.
Sunday, September 25. —Wrote a letter to Father, enclosing it in one to Mr. Kidder. Shall try to have it run the blockade. Finished Hopes and Fears. Weather delightful. More like an autumn day at home than anything we have had yet. Navy officers hear that they are to be exchanged October 1.
Sept. 25th. Were relieved and went into camp in the rear.
25th. Went through the gap to New Market. Clothing and rations. Marched to Harrisonburg. Infantry here.
24th. After breakfast moved on. 1st and 2nd in advance, rebel works strong. Crossed the South Fork and camped in Massanutten Gap. Passed Luray. Captured some prisoners.
by John Beauchamp Jones
SEPTEMBER 25TH.—Clear and cool. Pains in my head, etc.
Hon. Mr. Foote told G. Fitzhugh early this morning that he had learned Gen. Early’s army was scattered to the winds; that the enemy had the Central Railroad (where?) and would soon have all the roads. This is not credited, though it may be so.
There is a mysterious fascination in scenes of death and carnage. As I crossed Franklin Street, going down to the department this morning, I heard on my right the cry of “halt!” and saw a large man in citizen’s clothes running toward me pursued by a soldier—coming from the direction of Gen. Ewell’s headquarters. The man (perhaps a deserter) ran on, and the soldier took deliberate aim with his rifle, and burst a cap. I stood and watched the man, being riveted to the spot by a strange fascination, although I was nearly in a line with the pursuit. An irresistible curiosity seized me to see the immediate effects of the shot. The man turned upNinth Street, the soldier fixing another cap as he ran, and, taking deliberate aim, the cap failed to explode the charge again. I saw several persons crossing the street beyond the flying man, who would have been greatly endangered if the rifle had been discharged. In war the destruction of human life excites no more pity than the slaughter of beeves in peace!
