An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Nashville, Wednesday, Nov. 16. Slept warm in our wedge tents. One of the batteries that camped here, gone up the Cumberland River with two weeks’ rations to get out lumber for quarters. We would have gone had we had a commissioned officer to take charge of us. On detail this morning. Carried a load of halters to town to draw mules but the “something” failed as usual, and I had to carry back my load. Found mail in camp, a goodly share for me which added greatly to my comfort. Tried to write a hastily written letter home, but my fingers were cold and stiff. Drew soft bread.

Nashville, Tuesday, Nov. 15. It was not yet midnight when the rains fell, and the winds blew. By 2 A. M. I was thoroughly soaked so I had to get up and the police admitted us into the depot. Read from Scott’s Ivanhoe till morning by gaslight, rain-still falling in torrents. After breakfast six post teams came to take us to camp, Cogswell’s horses to take our battery. About noon we were left in an open field on a pretty knoll two miles west of town, with instructions not to touch board, rail or tree under penalty of court-martial. Here we were this cold morning in a muddy field with nothing to strike a light or hardly stake a tent. This was decidedly tough for “old sogers” who had been used to draw comfort from blazing rail heaps in times like this. But they say it is loyal Tennessee, and property must be respected. Very well. But they should provide something for our comfort, if we are privates. We stretched our tents, got a cold grub, no fire to cook coffee. Late in the evening Sergeant Malish came with two loads of cord wood. We drew it at the rate of 1/6 cord to a man per month.

Nashville, Tenn., Monday, Nov. 14. Morning found us on a sidetrack in Nashville, which we reached 4 A. M. Most of the boys were soon off in town, and as every one’s pockets were well filled, the morning was spent feeding at saloons, restaurants, etc., too many indulging too freely in the debasing cup. As we expected to unload soon, I did not leave till after dinner, when I with Griff strolled through town, seeing sights. Nashville is a busy business mart. Mounted the dome of the state capitol. The scene from it is most picturesque, nearly three hundred feet above the silverlike Cumberland, which winds nearly around the city. This is spread over a large tract of ground, five miles long from north to south.

4 P. M. We were drawn up to a platform and by night we were unloaded. Made our beds down as best we could, and retired neath a frowning sky which I fear will drench us before morning.

En route, Sunday, Nov. 13. Griff and I made our bed in the open air, and slept as of old while on the march, warm and cozy though our blankets in the morning were stiff with frost. Had to wait till noon for the wreckers to get the track in repair, when we started on our way rejoicing, as it was very cold. Passed through Bridgeport without stopping. Waited at Stevenson thirty minutes, when we took the Nashville Railroad, 112 miles long. This route being new to me, consequently more interesting. The first thirty miles was through a low swampy country with but few traces of civilization. A few station houses, lightly garrisoned, until we neared the Cumberland Range, which we had to cross. Here on a sidetrack we found small coal-burning engines ready to help us over, small driving wheels but capable of great power. Coupled on behind us with vigorous puffs and dense clouds of coal smoke. It propelled us up a grade of two hundred feet to a mile, through cuts in the solid rock fifty feet high, now running along a narrow shelf hewed in the side of an ancient slope with a deep canon below us and the eternal rocks above us. Finally we entered the tunnel, three-fourths of a mile long, drilled in solid rock. Three ventilating shafts run down from above. We could see nothing, the hot smoky air tending to warm our chilled systems. Daylight found us on the west side of the mountain, having passed over one of the greatest pieces of internal improvement I have ever seen, North or South. Darkness was fast approaching, and we once more crawled into our den to seek rest and warmth in broken slumbers, regretting that it was not yet daylight so I could see the remainder of the line which was wrenched from traitors’ hands by the gallant Rosecrans.

Whiteside, Tenn., Saturday, Nov. 12. Another night spent in our narrow bed, but slept comfortable. Staid in town till 1 P. M. Strolled over the town which showed evidence on every side of the great scale upon which this war is conducted. A wagon bridge has been built, across the Tennessee here, near where we were hid from Bragg about a year ago, a beautiful and expensive piece of mechanism.

D. J. D. and myself visited our old teacher, Professor, now Lieutenant Silsby. Found him looking well and on duty as officer of the day. His regimentals became him well. He received us cordially, but we could not stay long. Ah, what different circumstances did we now meet, to those which existed three years ago. The book and slate are laid aside, and alas! almost forgotten, the bugle and sabre followed instead.

One o’clock we started on a heavily-loaded train, four more following. Rounded the august point of Lookout in great haste, when we had about ten miles of up-grade. Our engine was too weak for the load, often like an overloaded team refused to try and stopped still, most of the time going no faster than we would go afoot. Reached Whiteside 4 P. M. where we had to lie over till morning, a train ahead of us having run off the track on the bridge over Running Waters, one hundred thirty feet high. A passenger car and hospital car were saved as by a miracle from going over into the abyss. The sight of a car loaded with men and women leaning over the terrible gulf was terrible. Working train sent for from Chattanooga to repair damages. Whiteside was a small station in a mountain gorge, garrisoned by the sturdy Scandinavians of the 15th Wisconsin. Two companies of them being stationed in a block house on top of the highest peak to be seen. They occupy a decidedly airy situation. Suffered considerably from the cold.

Chattanooga, Friday, Nov. 11. Spent the night in broken slumbers stowed away in the smallest imaginable space under a caisson, very cold. Daylight found us near Dalton. Stopped an hour to await trains. Several more families of refugees stowed their baggage away under our carriages. Boys procured whiskey on Simpson’s order, several becoming gloriously tight. 11 A. M. ran into another train, throwing one car off the tracks and frightening several women. Lots of the boys jumped off, slightly injured, but not seriously. The road along here has evidences of Hood’s depredations, for miles bent rails, etc.

2 P. M. we entered the “Hawk’s Nest”, Chattanooga, busy as ever. Mule teams and refugees so thick we could hardly move. Here we stopped, having no orders to go farther. Simpson telegraphed to Major Stolbrand. Had we the orders we would have gone to Nashville 5 P. M. but as it was we must lay over. Met four recruits at Ringgold, took them along. Two of them brothers to our 1st Sergeant and Quartermaster, four of them together now.

Enroute, Thursday, Nov. 10. A bright and beautiful day. On detail after rations in the morning. Cartersville presenting a very busy appearance, filled with teams. Our troops turning camp and garrison equipage over to be sent. Refugees of every age, color and description are on every corner. Now that a general abandonment of the line is apprehended all are anxious to avoid further misery in the Confederacy. Returned to camp to eat a hearty dinner, and then broke camp and went to town. Did not get loaded till 9 P. M. Everything put up in the smallest space. After we had filled our corner, several families of negroes and refugees stowed themselves away. Horses sent by land in charge of Sergeant Keeler.

Etowah Bridge, Wednesday, Nov. 9. Misty and damp night. Caught a bad cold on guard. 12th Battery took guns to town this morning, leaving them there for us, and took ours off in exchange. All our harness is boxed up. The infantry have struck tents, turned them over and expect to start on the morrow. 14th Corps lay quiet all day. Trains are being loaded with camp and garrison equipage, contrabands and refugees. From all appearances this line is to be abandoned, and Sherman is about to strike a telling blow upon the Confederacy. My knapsack is packed and I await orders.

Etowah Bridge, Tuesday, Nov. 8. To-day is the day granted Americans to exercise their highest rights as members of a republican government, the right of suffrage, each man having a voice in the choice of his ruler. And thanks to the just laws of Wisconsin, this right is not withheld from us while far away from home battling for the right. And the issue is understood in all its momentous importance. Shall this Union be preserved, the war prosecuted to a successful end, with honest Abraham at our head, or shall we resign our object after such a sacrifice already offered to the faction that seek to place McClellan in office. After duly qualifying the judges, Lieutenants Simpson and Jenawein and 1st Sergeant Sweet, and clerks G. Dalrymple and Q. M. Sergeant Sweet, the polls were opened at 9 A. M. and voting was soon over with. I cast my first ballot, a straight through Union ticket. I am seven days too young, but I voted with a clear conscience, thinking I had earned my right. 2 P. M. the polls were closed and votes counted, giving the glorious result of seventy-five for Lincoln with “nary one” for “little Mac”. This made me feel proud of the command to which I belong. It shows the true principles. On guard. Weather raining. 14th Army Corps marched in from Kingston. Camped 2 P. M. to allow the men a chance to vote.