e hundred thirty feet high. A
passenger car and hospital car were saved as by a miracle from going
over into the abyss. The sight of a car loaded with men and women
leaning over the terrible gulf was terrible. Working train sent for from
Chattanooga to repair damages. Whiteside was a small station in a
mountain gorge, garrisoned by the sturdy Scandinavians of the 15th
Wisconsin. Two companies of them being stationed in a block house on top
of the highest peak to be seen. They occupy a decidedly airy situation.
Suffered considerably from the cold.

En route, Sunday, Nov. 13. Griff and I made our bed in the open air, and
slept as of old while on the march, warm and cozy though our blankets in
the morning were stiff with frost. Had to wait till noon for the
wreckers to get the track in repair, when we started on our way
rejoicing, as it was very cold. Passed through Bridgeport without
stopping. Waited at Stevenson thirty minutes, when we took the Nashville
Railroad, 112 miles long. This route being new to me, consequently more
interesting. The first thirty miles was through a low swampy country
with but few traces of civilization. A few station houses, lightly
garrisoned, until we neared the Cumberland Range, which we had to cross.
Here on a sidetrack we found small coal-burning engines ready to help us
over, small driving wheels but capable of great power. Coupled on behind
us with vigorous puffs and dense clouds of coal smoke. It propelled us
up a grade of two hundred feet to a mile, through cuts in the solid rock
fifty feet high, now running along a narrow shelf hewed in the side of
an ancient slope with a deep canon below us and the eternal rocks above
us. Finally we entered the tunnel, three-fourths of a mile long, drilled
in solid rock. Three ventilating shafts run down from above. We could
see nothing, the hot smoky air tending to warm our chilled systems.
Daylight found us on the west side of the mountain, having passed over
one of the greatest pieces of internal improvement I have ever seen,
North or South. Darkness was fast approaching, and we once more crawled
into our den to seek rest and warmth in broken slumbers, regretting that
it was not yet daylight so I could see the remainder of the line which
was wrenched from traitors' hands by the gallant Rosecrans.

Nashville, Tenn., Monday, Nov. 14. Morning found us on a sidetrack in
Nashville, which we reached 4 A. M. Most of the boys were soon off in
town, an