Garrisoning Chattanooga
Chattanooga, Saturday, Feb. 18. About 4 P. M. yesterday afternoon our cars were brought up at Nashville and the depot hands set to work. They loaded on all our things in a short time, and we got aboard for a ride of 150 miles on open cars between the guns. But a soldier is full of expedients. We cleared off a small space, made down our beds, and then spread the tarpaulin over the pole of the limber, making a traveling shebang in no time, and now ready to start. After the usual amount of switching and hooting by the boys (the whiskey being at work in the brains of several of the boys in spite of no money) we started off in the second Section of the 6 P. M. train. We took a farewell look at Nashville by twilight, then crawled into our house to avoid the chilly air that was growing cold fast, to take all the sleep possible, tucked in snugly, three in a bed. And we were soon warm as toast, but I will not attempt to describe how we rattled and bumped like corn in a popper on that old flat car, running over the roughest road in America without any brakesmen.
In spite of the reported bumping I slept much of the time. Passed through the big tunnel, over the mountains without my knowing it. But I was glad to crawl out at the first dawn. Found us at Bass, 105 miles from Nashville. Seven more and we stopped thirty minutes at Stevenson. It was very cold. Washed at the Soldiers' Home and luckily went in with a squad under Sergeant Proctor to take breakfast, which did me a power of good, especially the hot coffee (getting old fogy). The remainder of the journey without event.
Rounded the point of Old Lookout handsomely 12 M. and soon found ourselves once more in the Hawk's Nest 3 P. M. Got to the "dumping off" place, and by dark we were in camp on a pretty knoll east of town. Stove up, fire in it and all hands merry as a lark. How jolly a life does the soldier lead.
Chattanooga, Sunday, Feb. 19. A most beautiful day has passed. It seems as though we have been suddenly transferred from midwinter to beautiful summer. The sun shone in its softest mood, everybody outdoors to bask in its rays, content to enjoy it alone. We are camped opposite the old city cemetery. Many of both sexes have been paying their visit to the dead, some to satisfy idle curiosity, others to view once more the spot where lies some home idol. It is in a shocking state of repair, and bore sad evidence of the ravage of war, fences all gone, graves overrun, marble slabs misplaced and marble monuments broken. The soldiers have even been carrying off the tombstones of the dead to be used in their quarters. Thoughtless sacrilege. We have had a guard on all day to prevent such proceedings by order of the pro[vost] marshal.
The soft twilight was too pleasant to lie still, so D. Evans, who has come to stay with us, Griff, and myself started off for a walk. On our way the peal of the church bell fell on our ears, calling us thither, but we found the house overflowing. Returned to camp. Boys sang sweet home music till taps, and lights put out.
Chattanooga, Monday, Feb. 20. Another enchanting day and great exuberance of spirits is to be seen in camp, ball and other active outdoor amusements being the order of the day. On guard. Do not have to stand till night, watching mules, etc. We are surrounded by artillery camps, batteries that have laid here all winter. Have beautiful camps and excellent houses (not shebangs) to live in. Much more attention is paid to the soldiers than at Nashville, all seem happy at the change. The fever of example is wonderful. Our officers have already absorbed the spirit of other batteries, and require everything done according to "military", or in camp slang, "put on style". Right, a good sign of discipline. Lieutenant Silsby, formerly my old teacher, came to see us. Looking well, glad to see him.