Diary of Musician David Lane, June 21, 1863

The sky is overcast with clouds, a cool breeze comes from the west, which makes the temperature delightful. I have been out berrying, and have succeeded admirably. On my way in I found some short pieces of board, of which I have made a comfortable seat, with a desk in front, on which I am now writing. I feel quite like an aristocrat. In my ramble across the field I discovered a flowering vine, the most bewitchingly beautiful thing I ever saw. I searched in vain for seed sufficiently matured to germinate. I wish I could describe its matchless beauty, but words are feeble.

We are still lying here waiting for Johnson, of course, to come to us, although no one seems to know where Johnson is—whether on the Yazoo, the Big Black or the little one. I suspect it is not definitely known whether his "large army" is a myth or a reality. But, doubtless, these hidden, secret, mysterious "strategic movements" and original plans will, some time, be made apparent, and then I, at least, will make one desperate attempt to appreciate and admire the wisdom and energy which could see, plan and execute with such unerring certainty and success. But Vicksburg, the center of gravity at present, is really a very stubborn fact. I do not understand it, cannot comprehend it, but I believe Grant will investigate it to the satisfaction of all loyal people. All the reliable information I can get at present is brought on the wings of the wind. This is not Grant's official report, but the report of his artillery. Last night his cannons' sullen roar reverberated from cliff to cliff and shook the hills. There are all sorts of rumors which it is folly to repeat, for they are replaced by new ones every hour. I believe I will record the latest, so here goes:

Last night Pemberton conceived the brilliant idea of turning loose four or five hundred horses and mules, creating a stampede among them, and, when Grant's lines open to let them through, as certainly would be done, if he suspected nothing, why, out they would rush, artillery, infantry and all, before the lines could close again, and thus escape. But Grant was wide awake, fell back a mile or two to give himself room to work, opened his lines for the horses to pass through and the Rebels to pass in, then closed on them and had them trapped.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 53-5