An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones

Fort Gillem, Sunday, Dee. 18. Rained all night last night, very warm and oppressive. We lay in our new bunk, a decided improvement on lying on the wet ground. Griff and I visited a squad of 2,800 prisoners this morning, of which Nashville is nearly full. They look as well as any I have ever seen, clothing not as bad as I expected to see. Could not converse with them for the guards. Our little boy with Unions sold out before he reached us, so we have not the details of yesterday’s work. Our headquarters are at Franklin. They must be skedaddling very fast. Moved the picket rope as our horses were fast disappearing in the mud, which is beyond grammatical comparison. This morning everybody is all mud from head to foot. We eat it and drink it, and the air we breathe is muddy.