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, 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.
Nashville, Friday, Feb. 17. Very stormy night, and this morning was blowing and raining, but military orders must be obeyed. The teams commenced early with their work, hauling down the guns, boxes, etc. After dinner “strike tents” was given and we were soon out of doors. We have boxed our stove and keg of pickled onions, expect to take them along. We are now lying in the Chattanooga Depot, 3 P. M., awaiting transportation, expect to get off 6 P. M. A night’s journey is ahead of us. I am far from hearty, but feel confident that I can weather it through.
While we were busily preparing to go to the front, M. Tennant and our tent-mate Milt. Hungerford started home on a furlough. May they have a happy visit of it.
Nashville, Thursday, Feb. 16. Cleared up and the day closed very beautifully. Harness and saddles, etc. drawn. Captain Hood reported ready to go, and sure enough, a little after dusk the word came to move early in the morning, report at Chattanooga Depot for transportation. All hands are packing up, getting ready for the morrow. I wrote a letter to T. L. Visited smallpox hospital again to-day. Found poor Dan in bed yet. Our fears are many in regard to him. He is apt to get discouraged. Griff and Dave have gone with his knapsack to the Soldiers’ Home to keep it there until he comes out. R. Randolph has been taken with the same disease. I must now close and retire to rest for to-morrow’s work.
Nashville, Wednesday, Feb. 15. A damp, rainy day. On guard, third relief. Very busy all day turning over condemned stores, and drew new equipments. Ten pair spurs, whips, scarlet blankets, and to-morrow we draw harness and sixty-four McElellar’s saddles for cannon. General Barry, chief of artillery of Military Division of Mississippi is in town. Very anxious to get us started. Promised Captain to give him plenty of men from infantry regiments when needed. Good! New life and animation seems to be infused into camp with the prospect of once more being a Battery, worthy the name of one, ready to fight or to march. All anxious for the spring campaign. But great dissatisfaction exists because the paymaster stays off so long. Officers and men are all without money. D. Evans and I visited smallpox hospital. Were sorry to find Dan abed yet. Saw his nurse who said Dan had had a “back set.” I fear he grows disheartened and lonesome, and when the spirit sinks it is hard for nature to do her healing work.
Nashville, Tuesday, Feb. 14. Day commenced cold and gray. About noon it commenced raining very heavy and continued till night. All quiet in camp. We are to draw full equipment here except horses. Report to Chattanooga for them, where we are to be held in the active reserve. No mail. Wrote a letter in the afternoon. I am steadily improving. Have a ravenous appetite, which I find difficult to control. Have plenty of the good bread and butter with the onion pickles from home. I eat no meat and feel better for it. Thankful should I be for a home that sends me such things.
Nashville, Sunday, Feb. 12. Very cold to-day again. Had inspection of arms at 8:30. On supernumerary guard again. Wrote John. No mail. Another report afloat that we are to march or prepare for the field. Hope it is so.
Nashville, Monday, Feb. 13. Quite a cold night, fair day. Mounted the usual number of guards for town, but were agreeably surprised in about an hour to see them return, having been relieved by infantry guards. Bully news for us. It is known now that we are to equip for the field as horse artillery. Drilled two hours after dinner with muskets, then carried them up to headquarters and turned them over without a sigh. So they are gone. Gone to those that delight to use them, and we are once more in our natural element, “walking musket company” no more.
Nashville, Saturday, Feb. 11. Felt very well this morning. Heard yesterday that Benj. Hughes formerly of Spring Green, was a member of Co. E., 44th Wisconsin Infantry. Sergeant Hutchinson going there on pass, David Evans and I went along. Found the camp on College Hill three miles off. With little difficulty I spied him building a chimney. When last I saw him he was just big enough for a cow boy, but in the last four years he had goaded nature along to satisfy his patriotism so as to serve his country. Yet he was very small, but round, tough, seventeen years old. He looked much pleased to meet us, and returned with us to camp to see the rest of the boys. After dinner Griff and I visited smallpox hospital. Heard from D. J. D. but could not see him. He is yet in bed.
Nashville, Friday, Feb. 10. Last night I had another visit from that evil genius that seems to hover over my very existence, the ague: I shook briskly for about an hour and a half, but it was not followed by a very heavy fever. Got up to breakfast. Found that Keeler had called my name for supernumerary guard. I did not feel able for duty, but as the boys have such heavy duty on every other day, I could not refuse to do all I could, so I went and drew me a musket and turned out to guard-mount. Oh! how ferocious I did look with my brass plates and fixed bayonet. Griff gone to town on guard. The mail has just brought me a letter from John which says Mother is improving, but yet suffering severely.
