It was the "pomp and circumstance of
glorious war."

Frequent stoppages were made, giving us a chance to run ashore. About
the thirteenth we reached the landing-place, which soon afterwards
became famous. The river was very high, and at first there seemed to be
doubts as to where a landing should be effected, but in a few days the
question was settled. Our boat was moored as near the shore as
possible, and we joined the immense throng painfully making their way
through the unfathomable mud to camps in the dense woods. The first
things I observed after reaching the high bluff, were trees that had
been torn and shattered by shells from our gunboats, which, it seems,
had dislodged a company of Confederates, who had dug rifle-pits on the
bluff, from whence they had fired on our steamboats.

We first camped on the bluff near the landing, but shortly moved back
about a mile from the river, and camped on the edge of a small cotton
field with dense forests all around. The Hamburg road ran past the left
of our line, between us and the Forty-first Illinois; while on the
right was a small ravine, which ran into a little creek, and that into
Snake Creek.

The mud--well, it was indescribable. Though we were only a mile from
our base of supplies, the greatest difficulty was experienced in
getting camp equipage and provisions. We found that other divisions of
the army had landed before us, moving farther out to the front towards
Corinth, and had so cut up the roads that they were quagmires their
whole length. Teams were stalled in the mud in every direction. The
principal features of the landscape were trees, mud, wagons buried to
the hub, and struggling, plunging mule teams. The shouts of teamsters
and resounding whacks filled the air; and as to profanity--well, you
could see the air about an enraged teamster turn blue as he exhorted
his impenitent mules. And the rain! how it did come down! As I recall
it, the spring of 1862 did not measure its rainfall in Western
Tennessee by inches, but by feet.

But in time our camp was fairly established. Sibley tents were
distributed, one for fourteen men. They protected us from the rain, but
they had their drawbacks. Several of us were schoolmates from a Western
college, and, of course, in some respects, constituted a little
aristocracy. We had had a small tent to ourselves, and the socialistic
grayback, as yet, had not crawled therein. Now, we were required to
share our tent with others,