oga, Wednesday, June 14. Another very hot day. No drill of any
kind. The other batteries go out every morning. Our officers are very
easy on the boys at present. 6th Battery has changed commanders again.
Simpson was mustered in this morning as captain and Jenawein as first
lieutenant. This leaves a vacancy for second lieutenant soon to be
filled by ----, I suppose. If he will be appointed it will cause much
dissatisfaction among the men for he is not liked in the least. No
"grape-vine" excitement to-day. What is to happen?

Chattanooga, Thursday, June 15. Breakfast passed as usual. Charlie
Pickard and myself procured a blackberry pass, and armed each with a tin
pail, set out while it was yet cool, and we walked fast. We followed the
old Georgia Railroad out into Chickamauga Valley, passed the vineyard
which we tugged through on the 25th of November, 1863, under the rebel
fire. The scene looked very natural, but the houses used as hospitals
close by are burnt down, fences repaired and crops growing. Here we
conversed with a negro, once a slave but now a free man. When "Massa
run, aha," he staid behind, and has forty acres of good corn planted and
cultivated by himself for his own benefit. We saw many others
industriously engaged for the welfare of self and family. What better
proof need we have than this that the negro will support himself.

[Sidenote: 1865 Religion in the Mountains]

Here we found plenty of berries, but not many of them ripe yet, so we
marched on, struck Chickamauga Creek, followed it about half a mile to
the ferry, when cries and shrieks fell upon our ears, evidently a woman
in great agony. Our minds were readily carried back to the time when
such cries were often extorted from the poor slaves by the cruel hand of
the master. And could it be possible that such a scene was being enacted
in this valley now under the very eye of the power that had abolished
it? It seemed incredible, yet we feared it, and we hastily turned our
steps in the direction of the sound. As we approached, it still became
more hideous and different voices could be discerned. Up high on the
hill we at last discovered the place whence the noise proceeded, from a
rough log negro hut. Passing a neat white house about fifty rods below
the shanty, we were informed of the cause by a woman unconcernedly
smoking her pipe. She "reckoned they were shouting up there". A little
suspecting the cause, yet we were bent on investigation. We met