Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 12.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[218] moving off. At nine o'clock in the evening we reached Chattanooga, having executed a flank movement wonderful in its conception, rapid in its execution, and pregnant with great results. We have changed our base of operations, right-wheeled around the flank of the enemy, and transferred the theatre of war from Mississippi to Tennessee. We are after Buell, and may expect the ‘tug of war’ before many days.

Sunday, August 3d.—Walked up to the top of Lookout Mountain and gathered some pebbles from the point of the rock. Enjoyed the walk very much; the morning was clear and the view magnificent. Saw the names of some friends carved in the rocks. At the hotel, where brave men and fair women were wont to congregate at this season of the year, patriotic soldiers from all parts of the South were languishing on beds of sickness and pain. What a revolutionizer is ‘grim-visaged war’! Hotels, watering places, pleasure and health resorts, and even holy sanctuaries, are changed into hospitals for sick, wounded and dying soldiers. Church bells are melted into cannon and ploughshares beaten into swords. How long shall our fair land be deluged in blood and cursed with the ravages of war? But we must fight on until our independence is won.

August 4th.—Was most agreeably surprised this morning by a visit from my most intimate friend and kinsman, Gus. Gordon. He is Major of the Sixth Alabama regiment, and was severely wounded at the battle of Seven Pines. He is now convalescent and is on his way to rejoin his regiment in Virginia. Gus is a noble fellow, and I love him as tenderly as Jonathan loved David.

August 5th.—Walked into Chattanooga this morning with Gus. and spent the day with him. He left this evening for Columbus, Georgia, en route for Virginia. The dear fellow was thoughtful enough to bring me a bag of vegetables from Sand Mountain.

August 6th.—On guard to-day; fortunately at a farmer's house guarding his peach trees. Nothing to do but to sit in my chair, otium cum dignitate, eat as much fruit as my appetite calls for, and see that nobody else touches a peach. The old man is a curiosity. He has been living here nine years and has never seen the town of Chattanooga. His house is at the foot of Lookout Mountain, and he has never been on the top of the mountain.

August 8th.—Left Chattanooga at 2 o'clock. Dined at the Crutchfield House, and jumped on the train as it was moving off. At Cleveland while Rembert Trezevant and I were filling canteens