On picket four miles south of Marietta, October 8th.
We occupy the old Johnny skirmish pits. It was outrageously cold last night. I elected myself fireman and did not neglect my duties. I have men from every regiment in the brigade (seven). There are an abundance of chestnuts here, and at every post the boys have worked pretty steadily all day roasting and eating. All sit on their knapsacks before the fire, every fellow with a stick to take out the nuts. It is right interesting to hear the men talk. Nearly all have been in the service three years or over, and almost every battlefield in the West has been seen by some of the brigade. We move. The Rebels have crossed the Etawah.
