Etowah Bridge, Saturday, Oct. 8. Last night was very cold, slept uncomfortable. How the poor, half-naked wounded in the box cars at the foot of the hill could stand it is more than I know. Lay here till 1 P. M., when they were taken to town by land. No engine around. I am on guard. All hands hard at work. It is slow work digging in rocky formation. Pioneers at work taking out the drift in the river to try and save the bridge. Two hundred fifty men of the Construction Corps tarried this evening to repair the bridge. They come from Resaca. That bridge is nearly all out, broken by rafts, supposed to be started by the rebels. No mail.
An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones
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