An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

On the Mississippi, Monday, Sept. 14. ‘Tis evening, and I am seated on the guard of the boat all alone, with no noise save the heavy breathing of the steam horse. The sun has just set in the stern of the boat like a ball of fire, throwing its long rays over the waters, giving it the appearance of a golden pathway. The soldiers are all mute, gazing out on the glorious scene, save here and there a group indulging in a quiet game of cards. All day the boat has kept on its slow but steady headway, passed Napoleon at 9 A. M. and yet we are many miles from Helena. You will not wonder then that I have been day dreaming. Behind us lies the parched city of Vicksburg, for which we underwent many weeks of weary toil to capture, after which two short months of rest. And now we are off again, we know not where, but we know it is for war, marching, fatigues, battles and perhaps wounds and suffering, and that, while the anxious heart of an invalid mother, an aged father, sisters and brothers dear, are waiting my return. And I am comparatively alone, and the only happiness I derive is in the indulgence of hope of the realization of the good time coming.