Nashville, Tenn., Feb. 19, 1864.

 

Dear Mother:

                        We arrived in this city yesterday morning, after a trip on the boat of 6 days. We are in a hospital building, awaiting transportation, which we hope to procure some time to-day. All our brigade, with the exception of the 63^d has also arrived to-day. The 63^d will be here probably to-day or to-morrow. The weather is pretty cold here, and we are anxious to get into camp, so that we may fix up and get everything reorganized. To-day however, it is somewhat milder than it has been, and we hope soon to enjoy that mild, delightful weather common to this latitude in the latter part of February and March. But let me give you a little account of our trip up the Cumberland. I mailed a letter to Jerusha at Clarksville, speaking of our trip down the Ohio. Monday morning about 7 o'clock we left / the broad, majestic Ohio, and entered the deep, narrow Cumberland. The morning dawned amidst a drizzling, chilly rain, which however did not long continue. About noon it cleared up, and we had an exceedingly beautiful, mild afternoon and evening. During most of the day I remained on the hurricane roof enjoying the mild air, and gazing upon the sights to be seen along the beautiful river. We passed one or two small towns, which looked rather dilapidated. Judging from their appearance, I should think that Yankee enterprise was much needed. Very few good farm houses were seen along the banks. They are mostly log dwellings, more comfortable than showy, built in the usual Southern style; that is: divided into two parts, between which there is a passage way of from 10 to 12 feet in width, which is roofed over. The chimney is built outside the house almost invariably. The banks of the river are high, and I should / judge that they would be overflowed in but very few places. The scenery is varied; sometimes forests adorn the banks; sometimes it is cleard. Again some huge ledge of rocks juts out to the very water's edge. Sometimes the river glides rapidly along between overhanging bluffs. The river is very narrow; scarcely as wide as the Muskingum, but it is deep and rapid. It is very crooked, and rarely can be seen for more than a mile or two in extent. Frequently it will flow in the same direction but a few hundred yards. Sometimes it alters its course quite abruptly. I recollect one place where it made a complete right angle; and at a little distance off you could not tell which way it turned. The turn was so abrupt, and the river so narrow, and our boat so heavily loaded, that before we the pilot could make the necessary turn we ran into the bank. The boys jokingly remarked that we must have come to the end of the river. Some of the bends / which the stream makes are exceedingly graceful. In fact I know of no more beautiful stream to traf travel upon. The evening was mild, and the moon shone brightly. In company with another, my partner, John Stewart, I paced the hurricane roof, and talked of home scenes, and the "girl I left behind me". Finally we sat down, and were soon joined by Lieut. Rice, and W^m Pfeiffer, and Stricker, and together we quietly hummed over some of the Songs of Zion, thinking the while of the little young people's meeting gathered in the church at home. We were interrupted by the cry of "A Man overboard". The boat was stopped; but it was soon found out that the supposed man was an empty cracker box, and we proceeded onward. But it was now about nine o'clock, and we quietly laid down to slumber. The boat ran until about 11 o'clock, when we reached Fort Donelson. Here we laid up until morning. The next morning about daylight we again started. The weather had grown cool during the night, and a brisk breeze was blowing from the North. Notwithstanding I went out and viewed the fort as we passed. It happened that it was the anniversary of its surrender. Two years before at about the same hour in which we passed the white flag was hoisted, and 15,000 men surrendered to our arms. In my imagination the scene passed before me. I could see the despondent rebels, and without them, upon the outer range of hills the lines of our own exultant forces encircling them. All honor to the gallant troops who suffered so terribly and gained so glorious a victory at Fort Donelson.—The day was chilly and cool. We made but little progress during the day, reaching Clarksville about dusk.

 

            But I must defer farther account until another letter.

 

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Did I leave a white handkerchief at home, which was given to me the day before I came away? I miss it although I intended to thought I brought it along with me. If I did not leave it at home I might have lost it.

 

Direct your letters to Nashville, to follow Regiment.

 

Your aff. Son,

George.

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