Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Tuesday, February 3, 1863

This morning it is very cold, and a fierce north wind is blowing. The Seventh are aroused early, and having last night received marching orders, we are soon in line with three days rations. The Second Iowa takes the advance, the division and post teams follow, the Twenty-ninth Ohio the center, the Seventh Illinois the rear. We go to the Davenport Mills, about twenty miles away to the south-east in the north Mississippi pineries to get lumber. In the evening we load up in order to get an early start in the morning for Corinth. Loaded up, the troops go into camp; soon the camp fires are blazing; pine boards burn briskly. After making our coffee we lie down by the fire to sleep, but no sleep for the soldiers; the wind blows too coldly, and we find it difficult to keep warm, for we burn on one side and freeze on the other.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 139-40

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Thursday, February 5, 1863

This morning, Oh! how cold! howling winds and drifting snow. It is indeed a fair representation of the sunny south. Nothing unusual occurs to-day. The soldiers hover closely around the camp fires.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 141

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Sunday, October 5, 1862

This morning, Rosecrans with his victorious army is soon in motion, thundering in the rear of the retreating and shattered foe. Early in the morning we pass over the battle-field of Friday. The dead lie everywhere. They have all turned black; the scene is revolting and sickening. The heart sinks within as the eye falls upon the dreadful, gloomy picture. Oh, terrible war! in thy wrath what art thou doing in this land? What sable pictures art thou making for this nation's historic page? The columns move slowly; the roads are blockaded by wagons and artillery—there is impatience in the army; it is eager to dash on in its power and make a charge against the rear of the retreating army. The heat is intense; the water is scarce; the troops suffer. We succeed in getting about eight miles, and go into camp near Chewalla, Tennessee. Rosecrans' victorious army is weary to-night-but it complains not. Its steps are firm, and there is power felt where they fall. Many prisoners have been taken to-day and sent to the rear. This evening Ben Hesket, of the quartermaster's department, ever on the alert, furnishes the regiment with a fine steer, and it is not long until it is served up in the very latest style, and around the blazing camp fires the Seventh sit and satisfy the inner man. By and by the camp fires go out, and the sturdy Seventh sinks to rest upon the bosom of mother earth. No sound breaks the stillness except the measured tramp of the sentry as he paces to and fro upon his solitary beat. We will now pass where these warriors lie sleeping. The beams of the moon as it rides among the stars are resting upon their upturned faces: Something tells us that we see here the impress of nobility. They may be dreaming now; the roaring tempest, the rush of men, the clang of steel, the groans of the vanquished, and the shouts of the triumphant, may be heard by them while the stars over them their nightly vigils keep.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 109-10

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Monday, April 7, 1862

Last night was a doleful night as the soldiers laid in this wilderness by the Tennessee. All night long there was a chilling rain, and the April wind sighed mournfully around the suffering, wounded warriors. Many a wounded soldier died last night. During the weary hours the insatiate archer was making silent steps.

"One quivering motion, one convulsive throe,

And the freed spirits took their upward flight.”

Would that God would roll back the storms of war and temper the hearts of men ere any more human blood flows down like rivulets to crimson the beautiful waters of the Cumberland and Tennessee. But oh! it seems that more blood must flow; that away up yonder, in those cottage homes, where the prairie winds blow, more tears must sparkle, fall and perish; that more hearts must be broken-more hopes dashed down—more doomed

"In their nightly dreams to hear

The bolts of war around them rattle."

Hark! we hear a rumble and a roar. It is a rattle of musketry and the terrible knell from the cannon's mouth. We are marched to the front, where we find Nelson engaged. His hounds of war are let loose. Inroads are being made. The Seventh is filed into position and ordered to lie down. Though the enemy has given ground, they still show stubbornness. We are now in a sharp place; there is some uneasiness here. A cold chill creeps over the soldiers. How uncomfortable it is to be compelled to remain inactive when these whizzing minies come screaming through the air on their mission of death. From such places, under such circumstances, the Seventh would ever wish to be excused, for it grates harshly with the soldier, and is exceedingly distressing when he is prevented from returning compliment for compliment, as the Seventh will testify to-day. But we do not remain here long, for from this place of inactivity, we are moved to a place of action. The battle is raging furiously. The army of the Ohio and the army of the Tennessee are striking hand to hand. The tables are turning; step by step the rebels are being driven. Position after position the Seventh is now taking. The sharp, positive crack of their musketry makes a terrible din along their line. It is apparent that the rebels are retreating. Another day is waning; a day of sacrifice; a day in which has been held a high carnival of blood on Shiloh's plain. Many patriot, loyal soldiers died to-day, and as they died, many of them were seen to smile as they saw the old flag, the pride of their hearts, riding so proudly over the bloody field. Many shed a tear of joy as they beheld the beautiful streams of light falling on the crimson wings of conquest.

The rebels are now flying. Nelson is making a terrible wreck in the rear of the retreating army. Kind reader, stand with me now where the Seventh stands; look away yonder! Your eye never beheld a grander sight. It is the northwest's positive tread. They move firmly; there is harmony in their steps. Ten thousand bayonets flash in the blazing sunlight. They are moving in columns on the bloody plain. Their tramp sounds like a death knell. The band is playing “Hail to the chief.” Its martial anthems seem to float as it were on golden chords through air, and as they fall around the weary soldier their hopes of glory beat high. They are retreating now; the rear of the rebel army is fast fading from Shiloh's. field. Before the north west's mighty power how they dwindle into littleness, as turrets and spires beneath the stars. They are far away now, and the great battle of Shiloh is over; the fierce wild drama is ended; the curtain falls; the sun is hid, and night has come. The Seventh goes into camp on the battle-field; their camp fires are soon burning, and those noble ones, who have fought so well, lie down, worn and weary, to rest themselves. They have passed through two days of fearful battle; amid thunder, smoke and perils they bore their tattered flag, and when the storm-king was making his most wrathful strides, it still waved in the wind and never went down, for strong arms were there and they held it up. But how painful it is to know that some comrades who were with us in the morning, are not with us now. They have fallen and died-died in the early morning of life. And why did they die? A royal herald will answer, for a country, for a home, for a name. Come walk with me now while the tired soldiers are sleeping. Who is this who lays here beneath this oak, in such agony, such convulsive throes? It is a soldier in gray; a wounded rebel who fought against the old flag to-day. But he is dying; his life is almost gone; he is dead now. Oh! how sad it makes one feel to see a soldier die, and how we pity him who has just died; pity him because he has fallen in such a desperate cause; pity him because no royal herald will ever write his name on the sacred scroll of fame.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 54-7

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Saturday, March 22, 1862

The fires are burning brightly in our camp this morning. All seem to have more genial looking faces than when on the steamboat. This evening we have dress parade, and as usual a large number of officers and soldiers from the surrounding camps assemble on our parade ground. What is the attraction? Why so many congregated here? inquires a general officer riding by. Those of the army of the Tennessee assembled tell him it is because the Seventh can drill.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 47

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Thursday, February 13, 1862

This is a beautiful still morning, though its stillness is occasionally interrupted by the heavy cannonading on the Cumberland. After hastily eating our breakfast, we are ordered into line.

Soon Colonel Babcock gives the command “forward !” Going a short distance we are ordered to “halt !” “unsling knapsacks!” “draw overcoats !" We throw them in the fence corners, and move forward on double-quick time. Soon we are in the fray. While marching over a hill and down towards a ravine, the Seventh encounters a masked battery. It is our first encounter-our initiation. But oh, how fierce! we are only seventy-five yards from the battery's wrathful front. Grape and canister fall thick and fast. There is a little hesitation, but with their gallant Colonel and enthusiastic Major, the men stand the tempest. Colonel Babcock, with his quick perception, discovers at once the situation of his regiment, and with the ready aid of Major Rowett, succeeds in making a flank movement, passing from the rebel battery's immediate front to a more congenial locality. In this, our first engagement, one noble soldier has fallen. It seems almost a miracle that more did not fall. But only one went down—the gallant Captain Noah E. Mendell, of company I.

The principal fighting to-day has been done by the sharp-shooters. There is a lull now. Nothing is heard save an occasional shot from the gunboats. Darkness has come and we bivouac for the night; soon it commences to rain; then changes from a cold rain to sleet and snow. Oh! how cold the winter winds blow. We dare not build any camp fires, for Grant's edict has wisely gone forth, forbidding it. The soldiers suffer to-night. Some of them have no blankets. During the latter part of the night, Colonel Babcock, with his men, could have been seen pacing up and down a hill to keep from freezing. Oh! what a long cheerless night; and with what anxiousness the soldiers wait for the morning's dawn.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 31-2

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Thursday, February 6, 1862

It is raining this morning; has been all night. There may be poetry in war, but there is no poetry in Camp Halleck (the name given to this camp by general orders). Mud predominates and the camp fires burn dimly. Soon the rain ceases and the clouds vanish; the sky becomes clear, and the sun sheds forth refreshing light, which is very welcome to the wet Seventh. But ere it is noon we have marching orders. The gun-boats, terrible looking monsters, are now steaming up towards Fort Henry. The army is put in motion. We look away; and around the hills and up the ravines we see the beautiful starry banners flying. It is our fate to be one of the rear regiments, and while waiting for the assembly to beat, the regiment ascends a hill close by, from where we first behold a rebel camp. We see the ensign of treason floating defiantly over the Fort. Mad, mad, men! that they would thus insult the mother that gave them birth. But ah! they are now being circumvented. The gunboats still keep steaming up towards the Fort. We predict that ere the sun sinks to rest, that banner, the representative of a wicked people, will be struck down, and that upon her staff the old Union's flag will flutter in the wind, and cast around Fort Henry her flashing light. Up a winding ravine we pass, over the hills we climb. The troops are aiming to get to the rear of the Fort, ere the bombardment commences. The roads are cut up terribly. The artillery mires down upon the hills; the Seventh lifts them out. We are now away on the Tennessee bluffs. Looking up the river we see a smoke; we hear a sullen roar. What means it all? It is a smoke and a roar from the gun-boat Essex. The ball is now open. In quick succession the mad machines of war give vent to their death-dealing elements. The troops seem eager for the fray, but it is evident the way the artillery is miring down, that it will only be a naval battle. Shot and shell, like living monsters, are now flying over and into Fort Henry. Moving on, the imposing scene is lost to our view; but like the rumble and roar of distant thunder, the echoes roll over the bluffs and cliffs of the Tennessee. All day we keep winding around through the woods, seeking to get to the rear of the Fort. Towards evening a messenger comes riding back and his voice rings out, “Fort Henry's flag is down and the rebels are flying.” It being imposible for the advanced troops to get to the rear in time to cut off the retreat, they now move up and take possession of the works. We go into camp in the woods one mile from the rebel works. Having been ordered to leave our knapsacks with the wagons this morning, we have in consequence no blankets nor overcoats to-night. It is cold. The soldiers are suffering; a bleak winter wind is blowing around them, but a rebel flag went down to-day, and the soldiers' hearts are glad, glad because in its stead floats the old Union's loved banner.

SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 26-7