Camp near Bridgeport, Ala., Sunday, Nov. 15. Moved out in park this morning. Kept along the bank of Battle Creek under the sunlit brink of the mountain. 10 A. M. the Tennessee River appeared before us and we entered the Sequatchie Valley. Followed it down stream. This was the ford that Bragg retreated over, and where Rosecrans’s small Division were picked off from across the river. Extensive fortification; erected here but vacant. Telegraph line up here which communicates with Chattanooga. The valley is narrow but apparently fertile. Neat houses here, but the fences all gone and fields open. After passing through a very bad swamp we came into ”Camp Proper.” At this point it is a mile and a half from what is called Bridgeport. Good water, no rails. Put up harness racks, tents in line, etc. Drew oats for the horses tonight, but scant. A large mail arrived and to see the eagerness with which all pressed around the pile would have convinced everyone that although roughened by usage and inured to hardship, and mayhap contracted that which is not befitting, yet their hearts are filled with the love of home and friends. I was jubilant over the receipt of three letters, one from my ever faithful correspondent John, the other from my sister Ellen and the rest from an old schoolmate.
An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones
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