any
of them, lost on the battle-field. They are scattered through the valley
seeking shelter from friendly cliffs, drawing comfort from glowing
fires, and trusting fate and fortune for rations, as Uncle Sam fails
this time. But hope it will not be so long.

[Sidenote: 1863 The Flag]

Near Chattanooga, Tuesday, Dec. 1. Health good and fine appetite for
dodgers, which is all we have, minus salt and extras. Warning given in
camp to avoid smallpox. Case in the 12th Battery carried out to the
woods this morning. Commenced writing to brother Thomas but interrupted
to hitch up for review. Most of the mule teams were required to help us
out, and moved out "in fine style". Formed line on the extreme right of
the Division under direction of Captain Dillon. He tried to show off a
little by ordering a "trot", but came very nearly showing a failure. The
men were ragged, dirty and worn out, so were the beasts, but the fine
line of stripes and stars looked as beautiful as ever, intermingled with
the blue banners. It is a soldier's privilege to look at it as a friend
and boon companion, "may it ever wave".

Soon the inspectors came. The first one was Major General Hunter,
inspector general, glittering with military pomp and gaudy tassels, etc.
I did not like his appearance. He wore a sandy mustache, and looked as
though he might be forty-five years old. He was followed by the modest
unassuming Grant, dressed in plain blue, no glitter or decorations
except the small stars on his deserving shoulders. He looked much poorer
and worse than when I last saw him. By his side was General Smith, surly
as ever, and General Meigs alongside of the "war dog" Logan, who it is
said is now in command of the 15th Corps. The bands sounded the cheers
as they passed, which filled the narrow valley with echo. They passed
and the line marched to their encampment.

Near Chattanooga, Wednesday, Dec. 2. Horses fed, cleaned, etc. I
commenced writing on letter commenced yesterday, but was again disturbed
with orders to hitch up as we were to turn the battery over, horses,
harness and all to Chattanooga. Very good news, and therefore promptly
obeyed. Took the six pieces and caissons, leaving the battery wagon and
forge. The town was farther than I expected, about three miles. Crossed
the river on the pontoon bridge (simple but invaluable invention, this
pontoon), a "flying ferry" running right above it and well used. It is a
novel arrangement, in which the