Diary of Musician David Lane, June 16, 1863

At about four o'clock this afternoon we met two of our gunboats near Napoleon, Mississippi, who told us they had just dislodged a Rebel battery planted on the shore, and had burned two small villages. Thinking it not safe to proceed, our fleet was hauled inshore, a strong guard was posted and pickets stationed on shore to prevent surprise. Most of the men threw themselves down, their arms beside them, to rest as best they might. Some few had gone ashore and were enjoying a social chat around their blazing camp fires, while the more restless ones were working off the effects of the bad whisky they had imbibed during the day with boisterous, hilarious merriment. It was half-past ten; feeling wakeful, I had not retired, but sat on the railing of the vessel, talking over past events with a friend from Jackson. Presently two rifle shots rang out, followed by a volley from our pickets. Then was there hurrying to and fro. The men sprang instinctively to arms. Officers rushed from their rooms in dishabille, the timid crouched behind anything that offered the slightest protection. Confusion reigned. But soon our Colonel appeared, cool and collected, calm as a summer eve. "Steady, men, stand by your arms and wait orders." More pickets were sent out and we patiently awaited the attack. But it did not come. It was, probably, an attempt by some cowardly wretches to murder one or two of our pickets and escape under cover of darkness. No one was hurt. We started soon after daylight, convoyed by two gunboats, prepared for any emergency, and expecting fun. One gunboat led the way, the other followed in our rear, their bright little guns portruding from their coalblack sides. They have a jaunty, saucy air, that seems to say: "Just knock this chip off my shoulder, if you dare." We were all excitement for a while, eagerly scanning every tree or log, thinking to see a puff of smoke or a "cracker's" head at every turn. Seeing nothing for so long a time, we began to think it all a hoax, when suddenly, as we rounded a point, running close inshore, the transport in front of us was fired on by a concealed foe. Their fire was instantly returned, and the saucy little gunboats rounded to and gave them a broadside of grape, followed by shell, at short range. Our boys were quickly in line, watching with eager eyes for Rebel heads. Fortunately not a man was injured on either vessel. A sad accident occurred this afternoon. A young man of Company H was standing guard at the head of the stairs. He stood on the upper step, leaning on his gun. It slipped and the hammer struck the step below. The bullet passed through his stomach and lodged near the spine.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 50-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 18, 1863

Haines Bluff, Miss. Once more on land, and glad are we of the change. We arrived at the mouth of the Yazoo at ten o'clock yesterday morning, six miles from Vicksburg, and, turning upstream, came to anchor at this place, fifteen miles from its mouth, at 12 m.

We had a perilous voyage down the river. It would seem, on looking back on the dangers through which we were safely carried, that a power higher than man's had been exerted in our behalf. To say nothing of the guerillas, three times were we in imminent danger of being "blown up." Once nothing but a miracle—men called it luck—saved us from capsizing; once we were driven on shore by a hurricane on the only spot, so said our pilot, where we could by any possibility have escaped being wrecked.

Part of our division, two days in advance of us, has reported at Vicksburg. Two divisions of the Ninth Corps are here, the other—the Third—is at Suffolk, Virginia. The place we now occupy was lately in possession of the Rebels. It is strong by nature, and has been made still stronger by man, but those terrible little gunboats made it too hot for secession, and they left in haste, leaving part of their baggage, a few horses and cattle, and even poultry, which our boys found skulking in the bushes. Of course, they arrested the cowardly creatures and brought them into camp.

The inhabitants have all left, driving their stock with them, and burning what furniture they could not carry.

The face of the country is rough and broken, quite as much so as Maryland and Virginia. Spite of Jeff. Davis' prohibition, I find much cotton planted in this part of Mississippi, but it will not come to much unless Uncle Sam soon gives it in charge of his colored children, who literally throng our camp. I wish I could describe the beauty and grandeur of these forests, but to be appreciated they must be seen. That which gives them their greatest charm is the long, wavy, gray moss which hangs suspended from every limb, from the smallest sapling to the mighty, towering oak. Wild plums and blackberries, large and luscious, abound and are now in season. Figs will soon be ripe. Among other things, good and bad, fleas and woodticks are in evidence.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 52-3

 

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

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 23, 1863

Once more we are on the wing. Yesterday morning we were ordered to be ready to march when called on. Of course, the men do not expect to stay anywhere, but it always comes a little tough to leave a pleasant camp just as they get comfortably settled. But military orders are inexorable, and, in spite of regrets, we "struck tents, slung knapsacks," and started on our winding way among the hills. This part of the country is made up of ranges of high hills separated by ravines down which the water has cut channels from ten to twenty feet deep. We marched about three miles on the road leading to Vicksburg and halted on the top of a high hill just large enough to hold our regiment. It was plowed last spring and planted to cotton. Colonel Luce looked indignant, the company officers grumbled, the men swore. General Welch regretted, but Major General Parks ordered the left to rest here, and it rested. But Colonel Luce could still do something. Ordering us in line, he said: "Men, you need not pitch your tents in line in this open field; go where you can make yourselves most comfortable, only be on hand when the bugle sounds." Three cheers and a tiger for Colonel Luce. then a wild break for trees, brush; anything to shelter us from the fierce rays of a Southern sun. We are now nine miles from Vicksburg by the road, six miles in a direct line. We can distinctly hear musketry at that place, which has been kept up almost incessantly the last three days. At intervals the cannonading is terrific. Our Orderly Sergeant rode over there yesterday, to see his brother. He says Grant's rifle pits are not more than twenty-five rods from the Rebels, and woe to the man on either side who exposes himself to the marksmanship of the other. As near as I can learn, matters remain about as they were three weeks ago. Unless General Grant succeeds in mining some of their works, thus affecting an entrance, he will be compelled to starve them out.

We would think, in Michigan, such land as this utterly unfit for cultivation. But the highest hills are cultivated and planted with corn or cotton. Corn, even on the highest hills, I have never seen excelled in growth of stalk. One would naturally suppose that in this hilly country water of good quality would abound. Such is not the fact. Soon as we broke ranks I started out in quest of water. I followed a ravine about half a mile, then crossed over to another, but found none. Blackberries being plentiful, I filled my cap and returned to camp. Some of the boys had been more successful, and after resting a few minutes I took another direction, for water we must have. This time I followed a ridge about half a mile, then began to descend—down, down, I went, seemingly into the very bowels of the earth, and when I reached the bottom found a stagnant pool of warm, muddy water. Making a virtue of necessity, I filled my canteen, returned to camp, made some coffee, ate my berries, with a very little hardtack, and went to bed to dream of "limpid streams and babbling brooks."

This morning my comrade and I arose with the early dawn and started out in search of berries, which we found in great abundance.

A strange stillness pervades our hitherto noisy and tumultous camp. The men are scattered in every direction, lounging listlessly in the shade, not caring even to play cards, so oppressive is the heat. I am sitting in the shade of a mulberry tree, Collier lying on the ground near by; we alternately write or lounge as the mood takes us. Most assuredly I never felt the heat in Michigan as I feel it here. Yet men can work in this climate, and northern men, too. The Eighth and Twentieth have been throwing up fortifications for several days.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 56-8

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 24, 1863

Haines Bluff. Yesterday, as I was strolling through the ravines, picking berries, I came across a spring of delicious water, cold and pure. It is about half a mile from camp, in a lovely, romantic spot, almost shut out from the light of day by the thick foliage of the magnolia and other evergreens which are thickly interwoven with flowering vines. I wish I could picture the unrivaled beauty of the magnolia. The largest I have seen is about fifty feet in height, leaves from four to six inches in length by two in breadth in the middle, rounding each way to a point, and are of the darkest shade of green. Its chief beauty lies in its blossoms, which are pure white, about six inches in diameter, contrasting strongly with its dark green leaves. It is very fragrant, filling the air with sweet perfume. Nature is indeed prolific in this Southern clime, bestowing her gifts in the greatest variety and profusion, both animate and inanimate, things pleasant to look upon and grateful to the senses, and those that are repulsive and disgusting in the extreme. Insects and reptiles, varying in size from diminutive "chiggers," too small to be seen by the unaided eye, but which burrows in the flesh and breeds there, to the huge alligator that can swallow, a man at a single gulp. I have not seen an alligator yet, but some of our men have seen him to their sorrow. Soon after our arrival some of the men went in to bathe and wash off some of the dust of travel. They had been in the water but a few minutes when one of their number uttered a shriek of terror and disappeared. Two of his comrades who happened to be near by seized him and dragged him to shore. The right arm was frightfully mangled, the flesh literally torn from the bone by an alligator. Since that incident bathing in the Yazoo is not indulged in.

Moccasin snakes and other poisonous reptiles abound, and a species of beautifully-tinted, bright-eyed, active little lizards inhabit every tree and bush, creep into and under our blankets and scamper over us as we try to sleep. The nimble little fellows are harmless, but quite annoying.

There has been uninterrupted firing of small arms and artillery at Vicksburg today. We are busily engaged in throwing up breastworks two hundred rods from here. Our regiment was detailed for that purpose today.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 58-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 26, 1863

Haines Bluff, Miss.  We get no news from the outside world. Not even the New York Herald or Detroit Free Press, those blatant organs of secession, can penetrate these lines. But the air is filled with rumors—rumors that are true today and false tomorrow. It is said the Rebels have a battery now where they fired on us when we came down; that they have captured all our mail and destroyed the mail boat. Today they sank the boat in shallow water and one of our gunboats secured the mail. All we are sure of is we are here, felling trees and throwing up breastworks; that General Grant is still knocking for admittance at the "Gates of Jericho." Were I to credit what I hear, and it comes from "reliable sources," I would believe he has already made the seventh circuit of that doomed city with his terrible ram's horn in full blast, and now, covered with sweat and dust, has paused on a "commanding eminence" to witness the final consummation of his plans. But the continuous thundering of his artillery and the occasional rattle of musketry convince me that, in these latter days, the tumbling down of formidable walls is not so easily accomplished as in the olden times when the Almighty seemed to take more interest in the affairs of men. But, although the long-wished for event is delayed until hope is well-nigh dead, still, seeing and knowing what I do, I have entire confidence in Grant's final success.

But hark! What cry is this? Oh, joyful sound. The mail! the mail has come!

Thank God, there is one for me!

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 60-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 27, 1863

A letter from home—the first since April 25th, and written by my beloved wife. On receiving it I sought my tent with eager haste and perused its welcome pages over and over again. Well may my darling say, "God has been better to me than my fears," for we have been spared to each other, and our children to us both.

I do not believe my darling's dream was all a dream. On that same day, the 9th of June, I was on my way from Louisville to Cairo. We went directly north to Seymour, Indiana. Almost home, it seemed to me, where we changed cars for the southwest. I was cast down, discouraged, more so than at any other period of my life. My thoughts and affections were drawn out to my sorrowing wife with an intensity that was agonizing. I had given up hope of her ever becoming reconciled to our fate, and believed she would mourn her life away for him who would gladly have given his own to save his wife. I felt I could do no more. Under the circumstances was I not permitted to visit her, that my spiritual presence might cheer, comfort and encourage her by the assurance that she was not forsaken; that, though far away, her husband was still present, even to her outward senses.

I believe my darling has often visited me, and I love to cherish the fond thought. Every nerve and fiber of my soul has thrilled with joy unspeakable at the familiar touch of her dear hand upon my brow.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 61-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, April 10, 1863

Lebanon, Ky., April 10th, 1863.

We left Bardstown on April second and marched to this place, twenty-eight miles, in two days. How long we may remain here I cannot even conjecture. Kentucky is like a seething volcano, ready to burst into flames at any moment; nothing but the concentration of a large force can prevent an uprising. I think the presence of so many Michigan boys may have a soothing effect.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 38

Diary of Musician David Lane, April 13, 1863

Lebanon, April 13th, 1863.

We have lost our favorite commander, Brigadier General Poe. He is promoted to captain in the regular service, and delivered his farewell address early yesterday morning. He has won the confidence and esteem of every man in the brigade, and they deeply regret his loss. It was his disobedience of orders that saved the First Brigade from slaughter at Fredericksburg. His disobedience led to his promotion. In appearance he is just the man I would select from among a thousand for a bandit chief.

We had a riffle of excitement yesterday in camp. Early in the morning the Eighteenth and Twenty-second Michigan Regiments were ordered to leave for Murfreesboro, Tennessee. The officers of these regiments, in common with others, have employed negroes as servants. Kentucky is violently opposed to the President's Emancipation Proclamation. Here was a fine opportunity for a Kentucky General to show the "Abolitionists" that his state was not included in that pronunciamento. As the Eighteenth was about to board the cars, General Manson, commander of this post, ordered them to halt and deliver up all negroes in the regiment. Upon inquiry it was found that all, except one, were Kentucky negroes, and were given up. This did not satisfy; he must have the free man also. The Sixteenth Kentucky Infantry and the Twelfth Kentucky Cavalry are doing post duty here. These General Manson ordered to form in line of battle, and again demanded the surrender of the negro. But Michigan was not to be intimidated. Colonel Doolittle resolutely refused, formed his men for battle with loaded guns and fixed bayonets, and defiantly bade the Kentuckian to "come and take him." Not caring to attack with only two to one, General Manson sent for the Seventy-ninth New York to come and help him, but the gallant Colonel of that regiment replied: "I am not fighting Michigan men." In the meantime General Burnside had been telegraphed for orders. He replied: "I have nothing to do with it." Colonel Doolittle then telegraphed the War Department, and is now awaiting orders. The Eighteenth lay with their arms beside them all last night, apprehensive of an attack. They kept the negro.

We have a fine camping ground, nearly as good as at Newport News. The brigade is encamped in the form of a square. There is a spring of water in the center. In our front is the City of Lebanon, a place nearly as large as Jackson, and old enough in appearance to have been built in the middle ages. On our right and left are splendid farms, on which negro slaves are busily engaged plowing and planting. In our rear is a piece of timber from which we supply ourselves with fuel. We have thickly planted the borders of our streets with evergreen trees, which not only gives our camp a picturesque appearance, but affords a comfortable shade these hot, sultry days.

Our stay here depends entirely on the movements of the Rebels. We are here to protect the loyal people of Kentucky from guerillas; also to support Rosencrans should his rear be threatened by way of Cumberland Gap. The Ninth Corps is separated into fragments; the Third Division is in Virginia; the First and Second are in Kentucky, a brigade in a place, but so situated they can be quickly concentrated at a given point. Doubtless it is pleasant, this lying in camp with nothing to do but drill and play ball, which is all the rage just now, but it is not satisfying. It may do for regulars, who have so long a time to serve, but for volunteers who enlisted to do a given amount of work, would like to do that work and go home to their families.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 39-41

Diary of Musician David Lane, April 30, 1863

Columbia, Ky., April 30th, 1863.

At the date of my last entry—the 26th inst.—I had seen no indication of a move. We retired that night at the usual hour, and just as I was dropping off to sleep the order came: "Be ready to march tomorrow morning at five o'clock with two days' rations." It came like a "clap of thunder from a cloudless sky," surprising both officers and men. Our officers had formed numerous and pleasant associations with Kentucky's fair daughters, and it was with many regrets they were compelled to leave their agreeable society for the stern duties of the field. But military orders are inexorable as fate, and at precisely a quarter to five the bugle sounded "fall in," and at five we were on the move, bound for Columbia, forty miles away.

The weather is warm and pleasant now, but the burning heat of a Southern summer is close upon us. A forced march was before us, with no teams to carry our luggage. We could not carry all our winter clothing, therefore hundreds of good blankets and overcoats were thrown away. When we had marched three or four miles many of the men found they still had too much load, and then the work of lightening up began in earnest. For miles the road was strewn with blankets, dress coats, blouses, pants, drawers and shirts. In fact enough clothing was thrown away for Rebels to pick up to supply a whole brigade. No wonder so many Rebel regiments are dressed in our uniforms. As for myself, I was determined to stay by my goods, if I could not carry them. As a matter of fact I carried load enough that day to down a mule, and feel none the worse for it. We marched to Campbellville, twenty miles, and camped for the night. We were expected to cover the entire distance in two days, but fully one-half of the brigade were so utterly used up it was found to be impossible. We only made nine miles the second day, and camped at Green River. Here the Eighth Michigan and Seventy-ninth New York were ordered to remain; the Seventeenth was ordered to Columbia and the Twentieth to the Cumberland, forty miles beyond.

Lieutenant Colonel Luce is Provost Marshal of this district, and we are detailed to do provost duty. Colonel Luce's orders are: "Protect government property, keep good order in the town, arrest all disloyal citizens and report to headquarters every day." This part of the state has been much infested by guerillas, and we expect lively times.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 41-3

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 1, 1863

Lebanon, Ky., June 1st, 1863.

I have been home on furlough, and am on my way to rejoin my regiment. I reached Louisville last night at midnight, and stayed at the Soldiers' Home until morning. Charles Groesbeck came with me from Detroit, and we found two more of our boys and our Chaplain here, waiting to take cars this morning.

We have a good "drive" on our drum major. He reached Louisville on Friday and reported to the post commander for a pass to his regiment. The Colonel gave him a pass, all right, but to his utter dismay and disgust sent him to the barrack, kept him there until this morning, then sent him to Lebanon under guard. Charlie and I did not report, and came through like free men.

We have a march of sixty miles before us, but a wagon train is going out, and we may get our baggage carried part of the way.

We left Lebanon at three o'clock and walked ten miles. Next morning at three o'clock we were again on the road, intending to make Columbia, but, a heavy rain setting in, we took possession of a barn about four miles out and stayed until morning. We had walked twenty miles and carried our baggage, and were ready to walk eighteen in the afternoon, which is the distance from this place to Jamestown, where we expect to overtake the regiment.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 43

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 6, 1863

Lebanon, Ky., June 6th, 1863.

I did not go to Jamestown, as I intended. I called on the Provost Marshal for a pass and learned the program had been changed, and the Seventeenth was then on its way back to Lebanon. I found the company about nine o'clock in the evening, a half mile from Columbia, tired and worn by a march of twenty six miles. The boys had stretched themselves on the ground, too tired to erect their tents, but when they learned of our arrival, they flocked around us to learn the latest news from home. And such warm greetings I seldom ever witnessed. The Colonel said we were all right on time; he did not expect us to start from home until Monday.

Here I learned the Ninth Corps had received orders to report immediately at Louisville. We started early next morning and marched twenty miles. After supper we threw ourselves upon the ground and forgot our pains and aches in "balmy sleep."

At two o'clock we were aroused by "the shrill bugle's cry," and were told we were to be in Lebanon at 12 m. eighteen miles. We turned out, cooked and ate our breakfasts, and at four o'clock were on the move. The Quartermaster soon overtook us with teams that he had "pressed" to carry our knapsacks for us. With many thanks to Colonel Luce—it was he that ordered the wagons to follow us—we started on our way with light hearts and lighter feet. But eighteen miles in half a day is no easy task, even in light marching order, and soon the men, worn out by repeated forced marches, began to tire, and many were ready to declare they could go no further, when we were met by a wagon train, sent from Lebanon to bring in those not able to walk. The train was soon filled to its utmost capacity. Not being one of the unfortunates, I "hoofed it" the entire distance.

The all-absorbing question with us is, where are we going? The Louisville Journal says we are "going to take a new lesson in geography." Of course, then, we leave the state. Our officers are about equally divided between Washington and Vicksburg. But which? If we are to take a new lesson we will not go east. Then it must be Vicksburg. Our men say it makes but little difference to them, if only we go where work is to be done.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 44-5

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 10, 1863

Cairo, Ill., June 10th, 1863.

We are now three hundred and sixty-six miles from Lebanon, which place we left at 3 p. m. of Sunday, and reached Louisville about seven. The ladies had prepared supper and we partook of it with many thanks to the generous doners. After supper we crossed over to Jefferson and took cars for this place. Here we missed the executive ability of General Poe. In all our journeying from Newport News everything was arranged with care and precision. Here all was disorder and confusion. The cars assigned to our regiment were partly filled with men and baggage of other regiments. Colonel Luce requested the officer who seemed to be in charge to remove them. This he refused to do, swearing they would have a fight first. The Colonel looked in vain for someone to bring order out of this chaos. Finally he assumed the responsibility himself; told the officer in charge if a fight was what he wanted, a fight he should have; ordered us to throw them out, and we did it with a will. About daylight we took possession and were soon under way.

Our trip through Indiana and Illinois caused an ovation. It seemed that the entire population turned out to encourage and cheer us on our way. Women and children, with bright smiles and waving handkerchiefs, thronged the way, and at every station fruit, cakes, bread and butter, newspapers, and, better than all, warm, friendly greetings, were literally showered upon us.

At Washington, Indiana, we halted for supper. It was midnight, but, as usual, the station was thronged with people of both sexes and all ages. Some ladies came to our car—food was served in the cars—and · requested that all who were asleep might be awakened, for, as they had been cooking until that time of night, and had then walked nearly a mile to see us, they would like to see us all. So we aroused the sleepers, and had a lively time during our short stay.

They presented us with bouquets, cards, mottoes, etc., and took their leave with many kind wishes for our success and safe return to our families and friends. God bless the loyal people of America, is the soldier's prayer.

We reached Cairo about twelve o'clock last night, and immediately went on board of transports.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 45-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 11, 1863

We are fairly packed on board a small transport; so thickly are we crowded in, it is almost impossible to stir; yet all will stir. Every man seems to think his very existence depends on movement. As I sit here on my knapsack, my back against the railing, inkstand between my feet to prevent it being kicked over, a continuous stream of restless, uneasy men is pouring around, on and over me, which, added to the motion of the vessel, makes writing difficult. We left Cairo yesterday at five o'clock in the afternoon, and steamed down the river a few miles below Cumberland, Kentucky, and anchored for the night.

The captain dare not run his vessel in the night, it being dark and cloudy, and the Mississippi being the most dangerous river in the world to navigate. We expect to reach Memphis early in the morning, and will then learn our final destination.

Having crossed the Mississippi at Dubuque, some three hundred miles above Cairo, I was somewhat disappointed, as it did not appear to be any wider at Cairo than at Dubuque, but, by close observation, I discovered that what it lacked in width was made up in velocity and depth.

At Dubuque, too, the water is clear as crystal; from St. Louis down it is the color of chocolate. The banks of the river are uninhabited and uninhabitable most of the way. Every spring and fall they overflow from ten to thirty miles, and then this mighty mass of water will not be confined. The river channel is constantly changing. The light, loose soil of the valley cannot withstand the tremendous power of the resistless floods that are hurled from the north upon its yielding bosom. This is one cause of disaster. The sand bars change so often it is impossible to keep track of them.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 47-8

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 14, 1863

We are still in the harbor at Memphis awaiting orders. Eight hundred and fifty wounded men were brought to this place yesterday from Vicksburg. Grant is still hammering away at that seemingly impregnable fortress. The weather is extremely hot, which renders our situation, huddled together as we are, very uncomfortable. Yesterday we steamed up the river about a mile to a fine grove, and all went on shore while the crew gave the old boat a thorough cleaning. This morning our surgeon ordered us all on shore as a "sanitary measure." We marched off by companies, each company going where it chose, but to different points. We went to Court House Square and disbanded. It was like being transferred from a gloomy prison to "smiling fields and shady groves.” The square contains about five acres; is enclosed by an iron fence; is thickly set with trees of different varieties the brave old oak, with its spreading branches and delicious shade; the gorgeous magnolia, the tree of paradise; the orange and lemon, with an almost endless variety of evergreens. Near the center of the square is a bust of General Jackson, cut in marble.

On one side of the pedestal is inscribed those memorable words of that grand old patriot: "The Federal Union; it Must Be Preserved." I noticed the word "Federal" was partly obliterated, and inquired the cause. A citizen told me it was done by a Rebel Colonel at the beginning of the war; that his men, still cherishing some regard for the hero of New Orleans, took him outside the city and shot him. At four o'clock we were marched on board our prison ship.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 48-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, June 15, 1863

Orders have come at last. "Forward to Vicksburg!" is the cry. We are steaming down the grand old river once again, ready to face danger in any form, either by Rebel bullets or the more deadly miasma of the Southern swamps, for "Liberty and Union." The way from Memphis down is not entirely safe for transports. Guerillas have a trick of concealing themselves along the banks and firing on them as they pass. We have a strong guard, with loaded guns, ready to return their greeting should they salute us. As we do not travel nights, it will take us at least two days to make the trip.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 50

Diary of Musician David Lane, January 15, 1863

Our shanties are completed, and we moved in yesterday. They are warm and dry, and cannot but affect the health of the men favorably. I received a letter from home last night, and great was my astonishment to see, on reading it, an indictment against one dearer to me than life, and in whose behalf I plead "Not guilty."

My poor, wounded, suffering wife; what could have put such thoughts into your mind? Have you not always been the most tender, the most loving, of wives? Have you not always been by my side to advise, assist, uphold and sustain me? Have you not watched over me, in sickness and in health, and nursed me with more than a mother's tenderness? Have you not borne poverty without a murmur for my sake; and still, as a wife, you are a failure? Oh, banish such thoughts from your mind, for, I do assure you, they come of an over-sensitive imagination. You say you have always been a clog to my feet. No, no! I have been my own clog. The error was in the start. Youthful ignorance and folly added to the advice of men in whom I confided, but whose council proved a snare started me in the wrong direction, and I have continued to float downward with the tide. But, dear, I have no regrets. My life has been happy beyond the lot of most men, and what, my beloved, has made it so? Certainly not the pleasures of wealth or honors conferred by man. What, then, but the never-failing, self-sacrificing power of love which you have always lavished on your husband that has bound him to you with cords stronger than bands of steel? The only things I craved when I was sick were the tender accents of your voice and your dear hand upon my brow.

There seems to be a bond of sympathy between us that knows no bounds—is not confined by space. Many times since I left home have I visited you, or received your visits, and the impression left was that of reality. Last night, after I retired to rest—before I went to sleep, for the boys were gathered around the fire and I could hear their jests and laughter—I held your hands in both of mine, trying to comfort and console you, and it was real as reality itself. There is so much hollow-heartedness and deceit practiced here by men who, under the false guise of patriotism, seek wealth and position, that, had I all the world can bestow, I would give it all to enjoy with you one hour of social intercourse.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 25-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 2, 1863

Camp Pittman, Va. Our camp has been christened at last. We are building a huge oven, large enough to supply our brigade with soft bread. Furloughs are being granted to a limited number of officers and men. This will entitle our company to eight privates. In our company the lot fell between Wait Wright, of Eaton Rapids, and myself. Our cases were so similar the Colonel would not decide between us. He said we must talk it over and agree which should go first, and that, as soon as one returned, the other should go. I heard Mr. Wright's story and volunteered to remain until his return, which will be fifteen days from the date of his furlough. The past week has been very cold. It has snowed all day, and now—about four o'clock is turning to rain, and bids fair to be a rainy night.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 28

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 8, 1863

We are under marching orders again—ready to move at a minute's notice. The Ninth Army Corps is detached from the Army of the Potomac and is ordered to report to General Dix, at Fortress Monroe. The supposition is we go on an expedition somewhere—rumor says Vicksburg. The first detachment has gone, and we are awaiting the return of the transports. The men are well pleased with the idea of going farther south. For myself, I say any place but this. When we came here the country was a wilderness, covered with a heavy growth of scrub pine. Now it is a desert with scarcely a tree, and not a fence rail for miles in any direction.

It seems that Richmond has lost its strategic importance, and the "decisive blow" which was to have fallen there has been transferred to five other points, viz: Vicksburg, Port Hudson, Rosa's and Foster's expeditions, and Charleston. "If these prove successful," say the Washington papers, "the rebellion will end in thirty days." God grant them all success. When I survey the past history of the war I can see but little in the immediate future to encourage hope. The conviction is forced upon me that if the North subdue the South, the war has but just begun. It can and will be done, but time and persevering effort only will accomplish it. The people are too impatient. They demand important victories now, while fortified some place—Vicksburg, for instance—can only be taken by siege, and siege means weeks and months of waiting.

Government, urged on by the people, acts as if the salvation of the country depends on all this being accomplished before the fourth of March. But I see nothing but failure in haste.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 28-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 15, 1863

We are now on the “heaving sea and the bounding wave.” We were aroused yesterday morning at four o'clock, ordered to prepare breakfast and be ready to march at a minute's notice. At five-thirty the bugle sounded "fall in." We slung our accoutrements, the first time since the battle of Fredericksburg, and in fifteen minutes were en route to the depot, distance about two miles. After some delay we took cars for Aquia Creek, where we arrived at 10 o'clock a. m., and were immediately transferred to transports, bound for Fortress Monroe. The Seventy-ninth New York and Seventeenth Michigan were crowded on the North America, an old Hudson River propeller. There was hardly standing room, much less room to walk about. The day is fine, and the bay, unruffled by a breeze, presents a lively and picturesque appearance. Steamers are continually arriving and departing, sailboats of all sorts and sizes spread their white wings and glide leisurely through the still waters, while the active little tugs go whisking and snorting here and there, assisting larger and more unwieldly vessels. We left Aquia Creek at 10:30 o'clock a. m., expecting to reach the Fortress by nine o'clock next morning. I love the sea in all its forms and phases, and it was with a thrill of joy I took my seat on deck, prepared to enjoy whatever of interest might present itself. The Potomac, at Aquia Creek, is truly a noble stream, if stream it may be called, for there is no perceptible current, being, I judge, one and one-half miles wide, gradually broadening out as it nears the bay, until at its mouth it is nine miles wide. There is a striking contrast between the Maryland and Virginia shores. The Virginia side, nearly the entire distance, presents a rugged, mountainous aspect, with very few buildings in view, while the Maryland shore is level, dotted with farm buildings, and, at frequent intervals a village with its church spires glittering in the sun. In contemplating these peaceful scenes of rural life, the quiet farm houses surrounded by groves of trees, the well-tilled fields, outbuildings and fences undisturbed by war's desolating hand, the genial air of quiet repose that pervades the scene calls up emotions that have long lain dormant. For many long months, which seems as many years, my eyes have become inured to scenes of blood, of desolation and of ruin; to cities and villages laid waste and pillaged; private residences destroyed; homes made desolate; in fact, the whole country through which we have passed, except part of Maryland, has become through war's desolating touch, a desert waste. As I gazed on these peaceful scenes and my thirsty soul drank in their beauty, how hateful did war appear, and I prayed the time might soon come when “Nations shall learn war no more.”

Gradually the wind freshened, increasing in force as we neared the bay, until it became so rough the captain thought it unsafe to venture out, and cast anchor about five miles from the mouth of the river to await the coming of day. I spread my blanket on the floor of one of the little cabins and slept soundly until morning. When I awoke in the morning the first gray streaks of early dawn were illuminating the eastern horizon.

The gale having subsided, we were soon under way, and in about half an hour entered the broad Chesapeake. And here a most grand and imposing scene met my enraptured gaze. Not a breath of air disturbed its unruffled surface. Numerous vessels, floating upon its bosom, were reflected as by a mirror. A delegation of porpoises met us at the entrance to welcome us to their domain; they were twenty-two in number, were from six to eight feet in length; in color, dark brown. It was truly amusing to witness their sportive antics as they seemed to roll themselves along. They would throw themselves head foremost from the water half their length, turning as on a pivot, perform what seemed to be a somersault, and disappear.

A flock of sea gulls fell into our wake, sagely picking up any crumbs of bread that might be thrown them. They are a strange bird, a little larger than a dove, closely resembling them in color and gracefulness of motion. They followed us the whole distance, and as I watched their continuous, ceaseless flight, the effect on the mind was a sense of weariness at thought of the long-continued exertion.

Soon after we entered the bay I observed what I thought to be a light fog arising in the southeast. We had not proceeded far, however, before I discovered my mistake, for that which seemed to be a fog was a shower of rain. I was taken wholly by surprise, for I had been accustomed to see some preparation and ceremony on similar occasions. But now no gathering clouds darkened the distant sky, warning me of its approach, but the very storm itself seemed to float upon the waves and become part of it, and before I was aware, enfolded us in its watery embrace. The storm soon passed, but the wind continued through the day, and, as we neared the old Atlantic and met his heavy swells, they produced a feeling of buoyancy that was, to me, truly exhilerating.

Some of the boys were seasick, and a number "cast up their accounts" in earnest. We entered the harbor about sundown and cast anchor for the night under the frowning guns of Fortress Monroe.

Vessels of war of every class, monitors included, and sailing vessels of all sizes, crowded the harbor. It was a magnificent scene, and one on which I had always longed to gaze.

In the morning we learned our destination was Newport News, distant about five miles. We arrived about eight o'clock, marched two miles to Hampton Roads, our camping ground, pitched tents and, at noon, were ready for our dinner of coffee and hardtack.

We have a pleasant camping ground, lying on the beach, where we can watch the vessels as they pass and can pick up oysters by the bushel when the tide is out.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 30-3