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!
September 24th. This morning details were made for picket duty and working on the railroad and the telegraph lines, doing the work laboring men ought to have done. The enemy destroyed about everything connected with the railroad. I was detailed, with twenty men, to report at the station to the road-master. Our equipments were left at the station, while we loaded telegraph poles on flat cars, distributed them along the road, and helped to set them. We were obliged to throw the poles off from the slowly moving train. It was hard and very dangerous work for inexperienced men who were so near used up from hard service during the year. We were thankful when night came and we could return to our camp to rest and sleep.
September 24.—Newnan is now the head-quarters of the army. Hood is moving West. No one can tell what will be done next. Sherman is still in Atlanta. Every thing is quiet.
I have received a letter from my friend, Dr. Burt, who is now at Cuthbert, twenty miles below this place. The way the hospitals move from place to place puts me in mind of the contra-dance, where the head couple are always taking a jump to the foot. Some time ago I wished to go to the hospital which Dr. B. is in, because it was so near the army, but now he is way below me. He gives an account of two raids which visited Oxford, near Covington, while he was there. He says the enemy infested the place twice; but, thanks to high weeds and green grass, he was not captured. He also says he is completely demoralized with what he has gone through and the fear of other raids, and that any thing blue, even the blue of heaven, gives him an unpleasant feeling.
We are getting the hospital put to rights again. On the square where the fire was new buildings are being erected. The latter is one of the things I do not like to see; for, like Dr. B. and the blue, the sight of new lumber gives me an unpleasant feeling, as it is always a sure sign of our exodus. We are having a fine bakery built—I believe the eighth one our baker has had to put up since the war.
September 24th.—These stories of our defeats in the valley fall like blows upon a dead body. Since Atlanta fell I have felt as if all were dead within me forever. Captain Ogden, of General Chesnut’s staff, dined here to-day. Had ever brigadier, with little or no brigade, so magnificent a staff? The reserves, as somebody said, have been secured only by robbing the cradle and the grave—the men too old, the boys too young. Isaac Hayne, Edward Barnwell, Bacon, Ogden, Richardson, Miles are the picked men of the agreeable world.
