led to draw but one load of forage, so a
vacant wagon was left and the knapsacks packed in, much to the
satisfaction of all. Hitched up at 6 A. M. Marched on to the hill where
the infantry were encamped. The 2nd and 3rd Brigades had started,
leaving tents standing. We were in the rear and compelled to lie in the
road until 2 P. M. In the meantime a large mail was distributed. I
received four letters, all from home, which of course were very
acceptable. Moved down to the river where our Division had been crossing
all day on the pontoon. No more than four wagons allowed on at a time,
hence a tedious job. 4 P. M. we moved on to it. It consists of a firm
scow boat anchored every sixteen feet and stringers laid across, over
which were laid twelve-foot plank. It was narrow and shaky, but a tight
rein and careful driving brought us over all safe. Had to cross two of
them, an island occupied by Hooker's men in the middle of the river. Men
busy at work on R. R. bridge, but not near finished. Came to a halt two
miles from the river and lay there over an hour to wait for the train to
cross. Large fires were built and the infantry cooked their coffee in
their little cans. It was quite dark before the bugle sounded and we
marched on at a brisk rate till 9 P. M. Our road lay through the
Sequatchie Valley, which was pretty well under cultivation, watered by a
large stream coming out of the solid rock a few yards above us, one
spring furnishing water enough to run a flouring mill. A large cave was
close by, which is reported to be a curiosity, thirteen miles long, out
of which saltpetre is dug, but I could not visit it. Unhitched our weary
and hungry horses having had nothing but two quarts of corn all day, and
but a scant feed last night. Made our bed in the open air and piled in
supperless.

[Sidenote: 1863 Under Lookout]

Lookout Mountain, Tenn., Thursday, Nov. 19. Reveille woke us at 4 A. M.
Slept cold. A heavy frost covers the ground this morning. Marched before
the cooks got breakfast ready, so we had to take dry grub. Took the
Chattanooga road and marched leisurely down, coming to the end of the
valley; the mountains and the river coming together. Our road lay along
the bank, and the R. R. several hundred feet above us, sometimes running
over a precipice and then over stilty-like bridges. An engine ran by us
here. We next left the river and soon entered the hills, winding through
the valleys and crossing stony points, which w