October 1 — This morning we were ordered back to Charlottesville. We loaded our horses on the cars as quickly as possible, but the train was tired before we started and moved very slowly all day; it was after dark when we arrived at Charlottesville. We fooled around the depot in Charlottesville an hour or two waiting for something so inscrutable that a private can never fathom the what for, but at last we got orders to pet aboard the train once more, and we moved up to Ivy Depot, the first station above Charlottesville, where we are now unloading our horses. The mud here in the railroad yard is about six inches deep and well stirred up. It is now midnight and we are still unloading horses, which seems to be a slow and tedious business in dark and rainy weather. The night is as dark as pitch, and the rain is coming down steadily, as it has been doing all day, which renders horse shipping a glorious business, especially when they have to be unloaded at midnight.
The falling rain is putting the mud in first-class condition to run in a fellow’s shoes. I am wet, hungry, and sleepy, my shoes are full of mud inside and out, and I feel anything but comfortable. If the Yankees do not shoot me I will remember all the contents of this dreary night, many days hence.
