Etowah Bridge, Monday, Oct. 3. Rode Sweet’s horse out this morning to get muscadines. Caught in an awful shower, got thoroughly drenched. Storms are very frequent and come with more vehemence here than any place I have ever seen. The last two weeks past heavy rains every twenty-four hours, deluging camp, sweeping down the hillsides, raising the rippling Etowah into a turbid torrent, even leaping its banks and carrying everything in its way like an infuriated monster. A large body of earth and rock fell from the side of the railroad cut in this, hill, filling the track. Fifty men of the 48th at work most all night clearing it out. Our lower bastion also fell in, in consequence of the heavy rains.
