An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

En route, Thursday, Dec. 24. Lay waiting for orders to move till 10 A. M., when it came—”to strike tents” and march out. Marched through town which was once an active place from appearances. Followed the Nashville road for one mile then turned east through a low swampy bottom, and o(?) course progressed very slowly through mud holes and over corduroys, having to halt frequently to allow trains to close up. Made coffee. Camped at 4 P. M. Pitched our tents at will in a thicket of oak and pine on a side hill. Rails plenty out of which we made large fires and gathered large piles of leaves for “downy beds.” The evening was calm and still, the thick growth above giving our camp a picturesque appearance like a mammoth hall. It was Christmas eve, and many were the loving wishes that “we were home”. Game of cards whiled away the hours pleasantly to many. I was suffering with a severe toothache. The very thing to relieve it—lay down early and contrasted past scenes with present, trying to pry into the future, until weary nature lulled pain and homesickness, and I slept to dream of home.