Shellmond is nothing more than a railroad station, there being only the depot building to give it the name of a place. It is located on the Nashville and Chattanooga railroad, twenty-two miles from Chattanooga, and about sixteen from Stevenson, being on the South bank of Tennessee river. The place had been occupied by the Rebels a short time previous to our arrival, but they had been driven out by Union troops. The depot building, which is of brick, showed rough usage from the effects of cannon balls, shell and bullets—it being pretty well riddled.
About one mile from the depot is a large cavern, called the Knick-a-Jack Cave. Near by, are the salt works, which had been worked by the Rebels, but which were mostly destroyed by our troops, at the time the Rebels were driven out.
We remained in the above camp until the afternoon of September 5th, when, at 2 o’clock, we were once more on the move.
During our stay here, a large number of troops arrived from different points; and it was now plainly evident that our destination was Chattanooga, or its immediate vicinity, and all were in expectation of soon being once more engaged in deadly array with the enemy. The weather was extremely warm and sultry.
The division to which our Battery was attached, proceeded on the direct road to Chattanooga. In many places the road was narrow and rocky, and our progress was necessarily slow. The Tennessee river was frequently in plain view, and the road ran in close proximity to the railroad. We occasionally passed places where the Rebels had made a halt, and had hastily erected breastworks, or slight stockades, no doubt from fear of an attack from our forces.
At dark, all were anxiously awaiting for the order to encamp; but in this were disappointed, for we were still kept on the move. At half-past 9 o’clock we passed the ruins of the railroad bridge at Falling Waters. This bridge was formerly a splendid structure, but was now a complete wreck, having been destroyed by the Rebels. Three miles further, much to our gratification, we filed into a cornfield and camped for the night.
All were weary and well nigh worn out by the protracted march; but fires were soon lighted, and preparations made for supper.
It so happened that there was—to elegantly describe it—a hog pen near by, in which were several fine young “porkers,” and the men—though contrary to orders—were determined to make an inspection of the place. But how to manage the thing, without alarming the guard, was the question. Finally a plan was arranged: Two of the men were to stand sentry, while one, with axe in hand, and another with keen, glittering blade, were to knock on the head, and cut porkers’ throats. This done, they would be thrown out to the sentries, when they would at once drag them off into the field, where the initiated were to be lying in wait to receive them. But, alas! how often are poor mortals’ calculations vain. Owing to some blunder, the pigs took the alarm, and beat a hasty retreat into one corner of the pen, and their outcries soon brought a Major to the scene of action, who at once arrested all those who were in the vicinity of the pen, and all of whom were innocent of any crime. But to the guard-house they were marched, there to dream of pork in all its forms.
At daylight we were again on the move, and shortly after crossed the Georgia line, being the first time we had ever been in that State.
In many places there were evidences of a grand “skedaddle” having been made by the Rebels. The men now anxiously began to enquire along the road the distance to Chattanooga, and what about the enemy. To these questions they received about as intelligent answers as they might expect from a freshly imported Dutchman’s “Nix-cum-erouse,” as all we could learn was, that it was a “right smart distance,” and that Bragg had a “heap” of men, and us Yankees would wish ourselves “done gone.”