soft bread.

Nashville, Thursday, Nov. 17. Another cold, wet day. On guard. Rain fell
incessantly. My shoes being bad, feet wet all day. Sergeant Keeler and
boys that were left to bring horses up arrived. Turned over the plugs at
Chattanooga. ---- left the Battery at Whiteside. Went on to Huntsville
to visit his friends there. Returned and was immediately put under
arrest. Will probably be court-martialed. Batteries were still being
brought up, some 165 batteries camped here belonging to the Army of
Tennessee. Major Powell in charge. Detail out this afternoon staking out
the ground to align the batteries.

[Sidenote: 1864 Unnecessary Hardships]

Nashville, Friday, Nov. 18. Lay abed this morning as long as possible.
Last night was a miserable night to stand guard. Cold rain fell very
heavily all the time I was out, feet perfectly wet, in consequence of
which I caught a large amount of cold. Settled in my head in the shape
of catarrh. To-day was not an exception to the general rule, so of
course it rained in doors as well as out, mud unfathomable on all sides,
and we spent the day in the most comical manner. Cheerfulness like a
bright angel, made us forget the disagreeable, and we sung (or rather
bawled), read, talked, laughed and scuffled by turns with an occasional
recess "to rake shoulder straps" in general. And I don't think it is
misplaced. Here we are in Nashville where an abundance of everything is
to be had. Thousands of feet of government lumber lying in the pile,
thousands more of employees at work daily in getting out more, besides
hundreds of vacant houses crumbling to ruin untenanted and unowned,
which we would soon be able to convert into comfortable quarters. But
no, the officers will not permit it, and here we are left to the
inclemencies of the wet season, on the wet ground, wood to warm our
chilled limbs even refused us. I trust that my patriotism is now as
bright as ever, and I am willing and ready to undergo any hardships for
the sake of my bleeding and torn country, but this is unnecessary and
too much. They (the officers) are cozily quartered with some private
family, toast their feet and drink their wines without ever a thought of
us, who are engaged in a common cause with them. The world will do
homage to them, the future historian may paint in glowing pictures their
career, but the private soldier that bears uncomplainingly these abuses,
and seeks naught but to do his duty, deserves as ric