At one point, where the lines of the two armies came close together, and the danger was especially great, a trusty soldier had been posted. As General Alger approached that point, he was surprised at not being halted, and he felt sure that the guard was asleep. “Why do you not challenge me, sir?” he demanded. There was no response. Taking the man by the shoulder, General Alger was shocked to find him dead. Standing against a tree, facing the enemy, that terrible night, with eyes and ears on the strain, intent on doing his duty well, he had frozen to death. At Chattanooga there was great suffering from scarcity of food, and clothing, and lack of proper protection. The railroad had been repaired to Bridgeport only; and it was necessary to haul all the supplies of that great army from Bridgeport to Chattanooga, a distance of twenty-eight miles, and over a rough, stony mountain road. The army had marched over this road to Mission Ridge and Chickamauga, and their shoes had been cut to pieces on the sharp rocks. Many of the men were almost barefooted. They were two hundred and thirty-six miles inland from their base of supplies. Every bridge had been destroyed, and every foot of the long line of railroad had to be guarded. Those of us who ventured to travel over that dangerous route had to take the chances, both of obstructions on the track, and volleys of musketry from ambuscades. When the storm fell upon the army at Chattanooga the troops lacked both food and clothing. At the foot of Lookout Mountain, there was a large “field hospital,” at which were quartered the men who were most severely wounded and sick. The men were sheltered by large tents, and lay on cots. There were no floors in these tents, and no arrangements for heating them. Mrs. Jeremiah Porter of Chicago, a dear little saint, who is now in heaven, had gone to Chattanooga with me; and we were together at the rooms of the Christian Commission when the storm burst upon the place in its terrible fury. Amid the raging of the tempest, which made every timber in the old frame building creak, and threatened to tear away the roof that covered us, our first thought was of the men in the field hospital, who were exposed to its fury. Night, as it was, it was decided that we should go to their relief. While the delegates were getting out the horses and ambulances, everything that would be likely to add to the comfort of the patients was collected from the stores on hand. It was about daybreak when we started. The way was lined with dead mules and horses frozen to death. Half-starved and unsheltered they could not live in such a storm. The muddy roads were now frozen. The wind was in our faces, and the two miles we had to travel seemed a long journey.