Diary of Musician David Lane, September 9, 1863

Crab Orchard, Ky.     Again has the note of preparation sounded in our camp, and all hands are busy getting ready for another campaign. In all probability we will soon be on our winding way among the Cumberland Mountains, en route for East Tennessee to assist in driving treason from that unhappy State. Orders have not been issued, but our artillery and ambulances have come, clothing has been issued, knapsacks, haversacks, canteens and tents have been distributed, and, more ominous still, forty rounds of cartridges have been dealt out to every man—in fact, we are ready to take the field at a minute's notice, and only await the order.

"Be ready to march tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock," is the order that greets me as I write. It is one hundred forty miles to Knoxville, our objective point, and will take us fourteen days if unopposed.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 90

Diary of Musician David Lane, September 13, 1863

London, Ky.     We broke camp last Thursday morning, the tenth of September, bound for Cumberland Gap, ninety miles distant. The first day we marched eleven miles over a rough, broken country, and encamped for the night. The next morning we started at 5 o'clock and made eighteen miles; yesterday, nine miles — thirty-eight miles in three days, with eight days' rations and our accoutrements. The second day we marched rapidly, making few halts, our business being urgent, for Burnside's left was threatened, and we were hastening to the rescue. But, thanks to a kind Providence, a messenger met us at this place with the intelligence that the Rebels had suddenly left East Tennessee to join Bragg's army at Lafayette, and the Gap was already in possession of our forces. There being no cause for haste, our commander decided to spend the Sabbath here, and give the poor, tired mules a chance to rest. We will probably resume our march in the morning and proceed leisurely to the Gap—perhaps to Knoxville. We have borne the fatigue thus far better than I expected.

It is a long time since I carried a knapsack, but the more I have to do, the more strength I have to do it with.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 90-1

Diary of Musician David Lane, September 24, 1863

Knoxville, Tenn.     We left the Gap on the twenty-first and made twenty miles, climbing up one side of a mountain two or three miles, then down the other side. It was a toilsome march, and, when we halted at night, my feet seemed pounded to a jelly. We reached Morristown the twenty-second, and immediately took cars for Knoxville, as we supposed, but the engine coupled to the wrong end of the train, and away we dashed to Greenville, thirty miles up the valley. We arrived there about sundown, stacked arms, unslung knapsacks, made a dash for rails with which to build our camp fires, but, while we were engaged in making them fly again, the bugle sounded "fall in"—the rails were abandoned, we were ordered on board the cars, and took the back track for Knoxville. We arrived here at 4 o'clock this morning and marched directly to the Fair Ground, three-fourths of a mile from the city, where we are now encamped.

The boys are somewhat worn by heavy marches, and a few days' rest will do them good.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 95

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, Thursday, January 1, 1863

Bright and clear, warm and pleasant. How well do I remember two short years ago today when we took a sleigh ride and made a regular family visit at Uncle Tim's. Since then I have traveled over four thousand miles, five hundred and eighty of which I marched with gun on my shoulder; have seen more vice and drunkenness than I ever supposed existed, yet I hope I am morally no worse than when surrounded by kind relatives and friends. An orderly call beat immediately after reveille this morning at which time we received orders to cook our rations and be ready by half past seven. We cooked our fresh pork and by the appointed time had it in our haversacks, and our knapsacks strapped on our backs, ready for the march. We went eight miles and camped close to a small town called Lafayette, situated on the Memphis and Charleston R. R. As soon as we had pitched our tents, Chas. Berry and myself went out one mile from camp and killed a hog. We are now the first regiment of the first brigade, commanded by Brigadier-General McArthur, of Gen. Hamilton's corps, of the left wing of Gen. Grant's army. We were put in the rear of the brigade today as a special guard to keep up the stragglers.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, pp. 24-5

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, November 2, 1862

Corinth. I walked up to the Battery, the farthest I had walked since my lameness. Saw the boys off; they left their tents standing, their knapsacks etc. under charge of Lieutenant Simpson, and those unfit for the march. The inmates of the hospital were taken to the general hospital under Dr. Arnold, nine in number, viz: Orderly J. G. S. Hayward (fractured ankle), Corporal G. B. Jones (chronic diarrhea; waiting for discharge); W. W. Wyman (waiting for discharge); G. W. Benedict (diarrhea); E. W. Evans (fever); David Evans (convalescent); Alex. Ray (convalescent); E. R. Hungerford (chronic diarrhea); Jenk. L. Jones (bruised ankle), remained in the hospital until [Sunday,November 9, 1862.]

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 11

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 30, 1863

Crab Orchard, Ky. We arrived at 10 a. m., making ten miles from Lancaster this morning. Crab Orchard is a lovely town of about one thousand inhabitants. We are encamped about one mile south of the village, in a lovely spot, shut in on all sides by high hills and forests. To the south, far in the distance, the Cumberland Mountains raise their blue peaks as landmarks to guide us on our course when next we move.

From what I see and hear of the surrounding country, the boys will have to depend on their rations for food.

Soldiers are strange beings. No sooner were our knapsacks unslung than every man of us went to work as though his very life depended on present exertions. We staked out streets, gathered stakes and poles with which to erect our tents, and now, at 3 p. m., behold! a city has arisen, like a mushroom, from the ground. Everything is done as though it were to be permanent, when no man knows how long we may remain or how soon we may move on.

Part of our route from Camp Parks lay through a country made historic by the chivalric deeds of Daniel Boone. We passed his old log fort, and the high bluff from which he hurled an Indian and dashed him in pieces on the rocks below. At the foot of the bluff is the cave in which he secreted himself when hard pressed by savages. His name is chiseled in the rock above the entrance. The place is now being strongly fortified.

We had a lively skirmish in Company G this morning. About a week ago the Brigade Surgeon ordered quinine and whiskey to be issued to every man in the brigade, twice daily. During our march the quinine had been omitted, but whiskey was dealt out freely.

Solon Crandall—the boy who picked the peaches while under fire at South Mountain—is naturally pugnacious, and whiskey makes him more so. This morning, while under the influence of his "ration," he undertook the difficult task of "running" Company G.

Captain Tyler, hearing the "racket," emerged from his tent and inquired the cause. At this Solon, being a firm believer in "non-intervention," waxed wroth. In reply he told the Captain, "It's none of your business. Understand, I am running this company, and if you don't go back to your tent and mind your own business, I'll have you arrested and sent to the bull pen. At this the Captain "closed" with his rival in a rough-and-tumble fight, in which the Captain, supported by a Sergeant, gained the day.

I have the most comfortable quarters now I have ever had. Our tent is composed of five pieces of canvas, each piece the size of our small tents—two for the top, or roof, the eaves three feet from the ground. The sides and ends are made to open one at a time or all at once, according to the weather. Three of us tent together, and we have plenty of room. We have bunks made of boards, raised two feet from the ground. This, with plenty of straw, makes a voluptuous bed. I received a letter from home last evening, dated August 13th. Oh, these vexatious postal delays; they are the bane of my life. I wonder if postmasters are human beings, with live hearts inside their jackets, beating in sympathetic unison with other hearts. I wonder did they ever watch and wait, day after day, until hope was well-nigh dead, conscious that love had sped its message and was anxiously awaiting a return. A letter from home! What thrilling emotions of pleasure; what unfathomable depths of joy it brings the recipient. It is not altogether the words, be they many or few, but the remembrances they call forth; the recognition of the well-known handwriting; old associations and past scenes are brought forth from the storehouse of the memory and held up to view. The joy of meeting—the agony of parting—all are lived over again.

We are having brigade inspection today, which is suggestive of a move, but our artillery has not turned up yet, and we will not take the field without it.

The health of our men has improved wonderfully since we reached Kentucky. A more rugged, hearty set of men I never saw than the few who are left. But, as I look around upon the noble fellows, now drawn up in line for inspection, a feeling of sadness steals over me. One short year ago nine hundred ninety-eight as brave, true men as ever shouldered gun marched forth to battle in their country's cause. Of all that noble band, only two hundred in line today. Where are the absent ones? Some, it is true, are home on furlough, but not all. They have left a bloody track from South Mountain's gory height through Antietam, Fredericksburg and Vicksburg to Jackson, Mississippi.

Oh, how I miss familiar faces!

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 86-89

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, February 1, 1863

PLYMOUTH.

Sunday, and another move at last. We left the barracks about seven o'clock this morning, marched through the town and aboard the "Northerner," by far the most commodious steamer we have been on since we came out. There are awful stories of her having been condemned, and, as a last resort, sold to government for transporting troops. There is plenty of room however; so, as we cannot help it, we content ourselves, and hunt around for our stateroom. Our party was lucky enough to get one, seven of us occupying it; and after a good dinner we turned in, as we had seen all there was to be seen on the river before, and did not know how soon we would be called upon to lose sleep. We steamed at a good rate down the Neuse, and at dark were still at sea. We are having a good time so far; not overcrowded, the vessel clean, and plenty of good stuff to eat, as we had just received boxes by the "Fry," chartered by our friends at home. There was a box for every man, and in some cases two, so our knapsacks and haversacks are filled with home-made eatables, instead of government meat and bread. We have our band with us, so many expect some good times. The band takes two good fellows from "E,”—Park and Ramsay; and all the consolation we get for the loss is an extra onion now and then, and perhaps a little less noise in the barracks from Ned.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, pp. 35-6

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel John Beatty, September 23, 1861

This afternoon I rode by a mountain path to a log cabin in which a half dozen wounded Tennesseeans are lying. One poor fellow had his leg amputated yesterday, and was very feeble. One had been struck by a ball on the head and a buckshot in the lungs. Two boys were but slightly wounded, and were in good spirits. To one of these-a jovial, pleasant boy—Dr. Seyes said, good humoredly: "You need have no fears of dying from a gunshot; you are too big a devil, and were born to be hung." Colonel Marrow sought to question this same fellow in regard to the strength of the enemy, when the boy said: "Are you a commissioned officer?" "Yes," replied Marrow. "Then," returned he," you ought to know that a private soldier don't know anything."

In returning to camp, we followed a path which led to a place where a regiment of the rebels had encamped one night. They had evidently become panic-stricken and left in hot haste. The woods were strewn with knapsacks, blankets, and canteens.

The ride was a pleasant one. The path, first wild and rugged, finally led to a charming little valley, through which Beckey's creek hurries down to the river. Leaving this, we traveled up the side of a ravine, through which a little stream fretted and fumed, and dashed into spray against slimy rocks, and then gathered itself up for another charge, and so pushed gallantly on toward the valley and the sunshine.

What a glorious scene! The sky filled with stars; the rising moon; two mountain walls so high, apparently, that one might step from them into heaven; the rapid river, the thousand white tents dotting the valley, the camp fires, the shadowy forms of soldiers; in short, just enough of heaven and earth visible to put one's fancy on the gallop. The boys are in groups about their fires. The voice of the troubadour is heard. It is a pleasant song that he sings, and I catch part of it.

"The minstrel 's returned from the war,

      With spirits as buoyant as air,

 And thus on the tuneful guitar

      He sings in the bower of the fair:

 The noise of the battle is over;

     The bugle no more calls to arms;

A soldier no more, but a lover,

     I kneel to the power of thy charms.

Sweet lady, dear lady, I'm thine;

     I bend to the magic of beauty,

Though the banner and helmet are mine,

     Yet love calls the soldier to duty."

SOURCE: John Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, pp. 68-9

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, March 10, 1862

Marched through Charlestown, and thence to Berryville. On this occasion, something happened that wants mentioning. When leaving Poolesville, Captain J. A. Tompkins ordered the men to carry the knapsacks on the back. This is contrary to regulations. It created a great deal of dissatisfaction. The lot of a soldier is hard enough, without irritating him unreasonably. But, honor to the lamented hero, General Sedgwick, who, riding by our battery, at Charlestown, peremptorily ordered Captain Tompkins to have no more knapsacks carried by any of his men. An engagement was anticipated. Rebels were seen beyond Ripton. By one and a-half o'clock, our left section unlimbered, and fired two shells towards Berryville. Van Allen's, and the Eighth Michigan cavalry, drove the rebel cavalry, two hundred and fifty strong, out of the town. Our battery followed closely—Gorman's brigade in our rear. The stars and bars were lowered from the church steeple, and a substitute furnished in the shape of the colors of the First Minnesota. The pieces of the battery were brought in separate position by sections.

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, pp. 34-5

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, December 18, 1862

We arrived at the Tallahatchie Bottoms about noon. Bissell's engineer regiment is encamped here. It has just finished the railroad bridge over the river and the cars now pass on to Oxford in advance. There was a clearing with two redoubts which we passed before entering the woody bottoms of the Tallahatchie. The teams were halted and we slung our knapsacks and carried them over the marshy bottoms. We had advanced but a short distance when the formidable earthworks which the Rebs had erected, loomed up before our eyes. When we once more struck terra firma we were halted, unslung our knaps, and when the teams came up, packed them on the wagons. I started on and entered the camp of the 12th Ind. Volunteers. Found the old members of Co. E. divided among two companies—F and I, both gotten up at Warsaw. We arrived at Abbyville in the middle of the forenoon. The country between LaGrange and Abbyville is rough and hilly.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 18-9

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, December 26, 1862

Warm and raining. We were astir early, cooked our breakfasts, filled our haversacks with meat and what little bread we had, and fell in about 7 o'clock. It began to rain and we had gone but a mile or two when we were wet through. We secured two ox teams, one of six oxen, and one of four, which hauled our knapsacks. The 12th Ind. is still camped on the Tallahatchie. Saw Lieut. E. Webster and Tom Anderson, they are living on quarter rations. Capt. Williams, now Colonel of the regiment, was at Holly Springs at the time it was captured and he was taken for the third time. We marched to the Yazoo Bottoms and camped on the opposite side. It rained and we were completely soaked. The ground was muddy and I looked around, found a stack of corn, dug down to the dry stalks, husked out a lot and made a bed for myself. We are, within seven miles of Holly Springs.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 22

Diary of Private Theodore Reichardt, Monday, February 24, 1862

Orders came in the afternoon to get ready to march the coming day. New knapsacks were issued, and rations kept ready for three days. Great times in camp, especially in the sixth detachment, all the rations on hand being sold to Benson's for whiskey. Who would not remember S. that evening, the stove, and O! Su!

SOURCE: Theodore Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 33

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells: December 15, 1862

We struck tents early, packed our effects as snugly as possible, and as on the preceding morning, shouldered our knaps. It rained during our entire march to Holly Springs, the flower city of the South, and on our arrival there the flood gates of heaven opened and the rain poured down on our defenseless heads in torrents. We stood it about two hours before the Colonel culd secure quarters. Three-fourths of a mile up the railroad track we found a very large rebel arsenal, but were wet to the skin long before we reached this shelter. It continued to rain all day without intermission.

SOURCE: Seth James Wells, The Siege of Vicksburg: From the Diary of Seth J. Wells, Including Weeks of Preparation and of Occupation After the Surrender, p. 17-8

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Sunday, September 14, 1862

Rienzi.  Was begun with another of the "strategic moves". We were told to hitch up with the greatest speed—all our baggage, knapsacks, etc. were put in a wagon, nothing was left to encumber us from a rapid and a desperate fight [in] which we were expected to share. The 3d Section, two regiments of infantry, one of cavalry, started at 3 A. M. But all rumors of the enemy's presence proved false, and after lying in the shade, horses hitched, for an hour, we returned, unharnessed and lay quiet all day. The 3rd Section returned at 4 P. M. without seeing any enemy.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 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 Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: Tuesday, October 28, 1862

CAMP MILLINGTON, BALTIMORE. From the time of our home-coming and the royal welcome given us by the 150th, I have only made notes which I will try now to write out. Nothing out of the ordinary routine of a soldier's life in camp has transpired. I am getting more and more used to this, and the trifling occurrences that at first made such deep impressions are soon forgotten now. Still, as some one may read this who will never know of the details of a soldier's life in any other way, I shall try and keep to my promise to tell the whole story.

The box of good things that was mentioned in the letter I received while we lay in the street at Baltimore, waiting for a train to take us to Gettysburg, came a few days after our return to camp. In it was a great big package for me. I opened it and there lay the roasted body of our old Shanghai rooster. He was minus head, feet and feathers, but I knew him the minute I laid eyes on him.

I at once began to figure how many stomachs like ours he would fill, and then gave out that many invitations. All came, and brought their plates. With mouths watering, they stood about as I prepared to carve.

At the first cut I thought I smelled something, and at the next was sure I did. The old fellow, tough as he was, was not able to stand close confinement in such hot weather, and had taken on an odor that took away all appetite for roast chicken. Terribly disappointed, we wrapped him up again, and taking him out of camp, gave him as near a military funeral as we knew how. He was a brave old bird. I have seen him whip Cuff, mother's little guardian of the garden patch. "He sleeps his last sleep. He has fought his last battle. No sound shall awake him to glory again."

Requests for passes to visit the camp of the 150th are the pests of the commanding officers of our regiment, and the same can be said of the 150th. As soon as guard-mount is over, and the other details for camp duty made, the old guard (those who were on duty the day before, and who are excused from all duty except dress parade for the next twenty-four hours) try for a pass to visit the city or the 150th, the two attractions now. John Van Alstyne often visits me, as well as others with him with whom I am well acquainted. These visits I return as often as I can get away. Our camp ground has been laid out in regular order and the company streets graded and made to look very respectable. There is a broad street, along one side of which are the officers' tents, the colonel's in the center. Back of these are the quartermaster's and the commissary's stores, the sutler's tent and the mules and horses. In front of the colonel's tent is the flag-staff, and running out from the street are ten shorter streets, one for each company, with cook-houses or tents at the bottom. Men are detailed every day to clean up and keep in order all these and are called supernumeraries. When it rains we that are not on duty lie in our tents and amuse ourselves in any way we can, or visit from tent to tent as the fancy takes us. In fair weather we have either company-drill or battalion-drill, and every now and then the regiments are put together for brigade-drill. Any of it is hard work, but it is what we are here for, and we find little fault. The weather is chilly. I notice but little difference in the weather here and as we usually have it at home. There we expect it, while here we do not and that I suppose makes it seem harder to put up with.

One of our company, Elmer Anderson, deserted and enlisted in an artillery regiment a few days ago. He came into camp showing his papers and was arrested and put in the guard-house. What the outcome will be I don't know, but it seems as if there should be some way of preventing such things. Sunday mornings we have what we call knapsack-drill. Why they save this for Sunday I don't know, but I suppose there is some reason for it. We pack our knapsacks, brush up our guns, clothes, shoes, etc., and march to the drill ground and form in columns by companies. Company A on the right and B on the left. This brings Company A in front and the first company to be inspected, after which they march back to camp and are through for the day. Company B being the last, it is something like an hour we stand there with our knapsacks open before us on the ground, everything in them exposed to view of the passer-by, who is the inspection officer and the captain whose company he is inspecting. With his sword tip he pokes over our belongings, and if any dirty socks or handkerchief or any other article a soldier ought not to have is found, a lesson is read to him on the spot and repeated in plainer terms by the captain afterwards. As we must take everything we own or have it stolen while we are away, we take a great many chances. I shall never forget the first inspection. We knew nothing of what was coming, and such an outfit as that inspection officer saw I don't think any other one ever did. Little by little we learn the lesson, learn to put the best on top, for not all knapsacks have their contents stirred up. A great deal of allowance was made for us at first, but as we go along the screws of discipline are slowly but surely turned on, and finally I suppose it will be easy to obey. That one word, "obey," seems to be all that is required of us. No matter how unreasonable an order seems to us, we have only to obey it or get in trouble for not doing it.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 54-7

Diary of Private Bartlett Yancey Malone: May 2, 1862

a beautyful one And we had orders to leave Yorktown And soon in the morning the wagons was loded and everything sent off but our knapsacks and about 12 o'clock the Artillery was all plast (placed) in a line of battle acrost the field and about dark we was all marched out behind it and Colonel Pender told ous that they expected a large fight

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 18

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 Private John J. Wyeth, December 11, 1862

The guard was relieved early, and at seven A.M. we fell into line with the regiment, marching across the town to Fort Totten, where we joined our brigade. We made little progress till nearly noon, when, as we thought, we started, but there were continued hitches somewhere, and we had many chances to stretch ourselves on the ground. We were loaded down this time, carrying blankets and knapsacks, and most of us a change of clothes. About four o'clock we passed the pickets on the Trent road, apparently about a regiment, having a prettily situated entrenched camp, on a small elevation; their posts being about an eighth of a mile farther up the road. Soon after leaving them we encountered the first “obstacle" of the expedition. We kept halting, and then starting a little, and soon found we would probably have to sleep in wet clothes. We had to cross quite a long and deep run of water, but, for a change, were allowed to struggle with the plank at the side of the road; but those who succeeded in keeping their feet on the narrow, slippery timber, were few, but dry, and consequently happy. We saw lights ahead, and supposed we were close to camp, but had to march three miles or so before we turned into a cornfield on the left of the road, having marched about fourteen miles. A self-imposed detail of two went back to get water for the mess, and what wood we could find; then made our fire, had supper, and turned in. No good bunks now, but plenty of soft dirt to be tucked up in. 

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 23-4

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, December 14, 1862

Sunday morning opened finely; and after a quiet night we were up bright and early, starting at half-past seven for another day's tramp, which we are in good condition to do, having rested well yesterday. This is our fourth day from New Berne, and by the road we marched it is a considerably longer distance than by the Neuse Road, which, it is rumored, is heavily barricaded, and would have delayed us much.

We marched pretty steadily till about nine o'clock, when we heard firing ahead; and the artillery of our brigade went through the lines at double quick. Then we were drawn up in line in a field at the right of the road, piling up our knapsacks and leaving a man or two to guard them. We had an idea there was fighting ahead of us, but thought it quite a way off, until a few shells whistled unpleasantly near. Soon we had orders, "Forward!" We entered a swamp where we saw a number of the 45th M. V. wounded and many dead. Guns, knapsacks, and accoutrements scattered in all directions. It almost beggared description. Col. Lee was leading the way: our duty was to follow. We would have preferred going round that swamp. And such a place to drop in! Anyone shot there, took a chance of being drowned also. Up to our hips in water; strangled or tripped up by the grape-vines. Sometimes two would jump for the same hummock, and, striking midway, both would drop into the water. It was our “Slough of Despond;” and we were expecting each minute to receive a volley, and be served as the other regiments had been, but we were agreeably disappointed. There was plenty of shot and shell which went over our heads. When we were clear of the swamp we could see a building on top of the hill. It turned out to be a church. We arrived there just in time to see two or three hundred rebels being led to the rear, and another lot just coming in with a flag of truce. Our forces also captured a battery which the rebels could not carry off. We went back on the road to get our knapsacks, and then took our position in line. While waiting to move on, we saw a lot of muskets and rifles piled up beside the road. A splendid double-barrel gun took the eye of many, but it looked heavy, so it was left.

The enemy did not succeed in burning the bridge, although it was loaded with tar and cotton. The man detailed for this work started the fire, but probably his clothes, becoming saturated with spirits, took fire, as when we crossed we saw him lying in the mud under the bridge, badly burned and dead. The cotton was thrown overboard and the bridge saved.

We crossed about two o'clock P.M. After passing a formidable looking water-battery, just at the right of the bridge, we marched about two miles to Kinston, which was deserted, except by the darkies and occasionally a poor white. At the junction of the streets cotton was piled up and on fire,—a great waste of batting, but they probably thought it would impede our progress. If it had been the cause of the destruction of the place, Gen. Foster probably would have been blamed. We marched across the town, and while we saw most of the regiments bivouacking and getting their supper, we kept on about a mile, to drive the rebels from a hill from which they could shell the place. After losing two hours, we countermarched, camping close to the railroad station and a large corn elevator, where we had a good supper; after which, instead of turning in, some of us started on a "lark." We went through the post-office and other buildings, but were finally driven back by the cavalry. After visiting the corn elevator, which was on fire, and filling our canteens with water for morning, we tore down a fence back of the station, making some very nice beds, and turned in.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 25-6