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
