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.
