Dickson Station, Ala., Friday, Oct. 23. Reveille before daylight. Raining very heavy. Orders to march at 7 A. M. We were on the advance of the column, and an order came to hitch up and strike tents before the cooks had breakfast started. The rain was very cold and my fingers were numb before I got my team harnessed and hitched. It was very disagreeable work. “Stand to Horse” was sounded before we were fairly hitched up, and we started out on a trot to pass the regiments as we were behindhand. The road was muddy and rough, the horses all trembling from cold, and the drivers with wet clothes and cold hands, shivering and wishing they could go to the stove and warm—(that is, in Wisconsin). But we moved on lively passing over several ridges, then the valley widened into a very pretty cultivated country. Our road lay along the railroad, the track of which was badly destroyed. All the trestle work burned, and a fire built at the end of each rail crooking it so as to destroy it. The column halted at Dickson Station, a tiny depot building with a fine farming country on each side and extensive buildings. The fence was torn down, and we came into battery in a field of clover. A large fire of rails was started, and we warmed while the General looked for camping ground and water. In half an hour Dillon’s orderly came back and we moved to the right half a mile, and came into camp nearly on the bluffs, unharnessed, tied our horses to the trees and stuck up our tents in the mud, but found boards to floor it and plenty of rye straw to lie on. We built a fire in front of it, and got partly warmed by 1 P. M. I was soon called on guard and I suffered very much from the cold.
