On the 19th of October, 1863, General Rosecrans, in General Orders, No. 242, turned over the command of the Army of the Cumberland, to Major General George H. Thomas, by order of the President. He had commanded us for nearly one year. The last words in his farewell address to the army, were: "Companions in arms, officers and soldiers, farewell, and may God bless you." We all liked "Old Rosy," as we used to call him, and very sorry to part with him, but we also knew the grand qualities of General Thomas as a commander, and we received him with open arms. And here also we received General Order, No. 1, notifying us that Major General W. T. Sherman assumed command of the Military Division of the Mississippi, embracing the Departments of the Ohio, of the Cumberland and of the Tennessee. Chattanooga was made as near impregnable as it was possible to make it. Three strong lines of defence were constructed and all the fords of the Tennessee river were closely guarded. But we were destined to have a hard time of it. The army would have to be thoroughly reorganized, and refitted. The brigade to which we belonged was ordered up to Caldwell's Ford on the Tennessee River, opposite the mouth of North Chickamauga Creek. There we remained until the battle of Missionary Ridge. Still the army was in a critical situation. The rebels had taken position on Look Out Mountain and Missionary Ridge in front of us, and were doing what they could to bombard Chattanooga, but the shells generally fell short; and on our extended and exposed line of communication, their cavalry were making frequent raids, and near a place called Anderson, in the Sequatchie Valley, they destroyed between two and three hundred wagons, about thirty of which were loaded with ammunition, and the remainder with clothing and supplies; the mules, which they could not run off, were shot, to the number of several hundred.

Our regiment was now detached, as it were, from the rest of the brigade, and the principal duty imposed upon us was guarding Caldwell's Ford. But as all the supplies for the army had to be hauled over one line of rail road to Bridgeport, and from there carried by pack mules to Chattanooga, and as the rebel cavalry were constantly interrupting this line of communication, supplies of all kinds soon began to fall very short. The boys got irritable and peevish, they could stand a good deal of hardship, but now their rations were cut short, and they often felt hungry. There was still a little corn for the horses and mules of the regiment, but it had to be guarded with an eagle eye or it would disappear very suddenly. The boys were hungry, and were constantly appropriating the forage of the animals whenever they could find it. This matter at last became monotonous, especially to the field officers of the regiment, who saw their horses day by day assuming architectural proportions, and they ordered their colored servants to guard the feed more closely. Colonel Harmon gave his boy orders to carry the feed for his horse into his, the colonel's, tent, and put it under his bunk. "They can't get it there," said the colonel with a chuckle, "without my knowing it, you may depend, I would just like to see them try it," and he rubbed his hands with glee, thinking that at last he had solved the problem, and that the feed of his charger would be secure. In accordance with his orders the darkey carried the corn into the colonel's tent, and carefully piled it up under his bunk. The next morning when he went to get the breakfast for the horse, what was his surprise to find that the last vestige of corn was gone. Hurrying to the colonel, with the whites of his eyes glistening, and his face drawn out of all shape with wonder, he quickly stated the case: "Why, kurnel, dar aint a grain of dat ar corn lef fur de hoss, de las grain done stole by by some one, sah—shah!" For a moment the colonel was puzzled, and hardly knew what to say; but the corn was gone for a fact, and it was useless to try and find it, so turning away he carelessly remarked: "I thought I heard something fumbling around under my bunk last night when I went to bed, but supposed it was a mouse." This circumstance afforded us much amusement. It seems that some fellow who had overhead the orders given by the colonel to his servant, had gone to the colonel's tent that night, and slyly lifting one corner of it, had thrust in his hand and quietly stolen, right from under his bed, the colonel lying on it at the time, the last "nubbin." There was no use trying to hide anything, it would surely be found by some one. But the boys thought a good deal of the colonel, and in all probability had stolen the corn just to show him that nothing was sure in war, for from this on they did not bother him, and the colonel's horse got all of his allowance.

The headquarters of the brigade was a short distance above our camp, and nearly every day Colonel McCook, or some of his staff, would go riding past, bound for Chattanooga. They would not get by the regiment, however, without their ears being saluted with such shouts as "hard tack," "sow belly," "give us our rations," etc., etc.; this annoyed Colonel McCook greatly, for the comfort of his men was always uppermost in his thoughts, and he was not at all to blame for the scarcity of rations. We knew this, but out of a pure spirit of deviltry would salute him every time he went by, with phrases like these. One afternoon he came riding up from Chattanooga, returning to his headquarters, and as he passed he was saluted with a most vigorous chorus of "hard tack," "sow belly," etc. Stopping his horse, aggravated sorely, as he properly was, and perhaps at that very time thinking of the condition of his men, he shouted back: "You may be glad to eat rubber blankets, yet." That seemed for a moment to quiet them, but directly some fellow shouted back: "If we do, you'll have to furnish 'em." This was too much, and the colonel proceeded on his way; this last remark of the boys settled him. That Colonel McCook arrived safely at his headquarters, we were soon made aware, by the receipt of an order forbidding any more such salutations, under penalty of severe punishment.