Near Chattanooga, Tuesday, Dec. 1. Health good and fine appetite for dodgers, which is all we have, minus salt and extras. Warning given in camp to avoid smallpox. Case in the 12th Battery carried out to the woods this morning. Commenced writing to brother Thomas but interrupted to hitch up for review. Most of the mule teams were required to help us out, and moved out “in fine style”. Formed line on the extreme right of the Division under direction of Captain Dillon. He tried to show off a little by ordering a “trot”, but came very nearly showing a failure. The men were ragged, dirty and worn out, so were the beasts, but the fine line of stripes and stars looked as beautiful as ever, intermingled with the blue banners. It is a soldier’s privilege to look at it as a friend and boon companion, “may it ever wave”.
Soon the inspectors came. The first one was Major General Hunter, inspector general, glittering with military pomp and gaudy tassels, etc. I did not like his appearance. He wore a sandy mustache, and looked as though he might be forty-five years old. He was followed by the modest unassuming Grant, dressed in plain blue, no glitter or decorations except the small stars on his deserving shoulders. He looked much poorer and worse than when I last saw him. By his side was General Smith, surly as ever, and General Meigs alongside of the “war dog” Logan, who it is said is now in command of the 15th Corps. The bands sounded the cheers as they passed, which filled the narrow valley with echo. They passed and the line marched to their encampment.
