Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 1, 1863

We have spent three days in front of the enemy, and, notwithstanding the fact that we have been under the fire of one of their batteries and of their sharp-shooters all of the time, the Forty-first has not lost a single man. Yesterday we were out on picket, and were compelled to lie behind logs to prevent the enemy's sharp-shooters from picking us off. We lay in this position for twenty-four hours. Half of the time the rain was pouring down in torrents, but at day-light the rain closed, and the weather changed to freezing cold. We certainly passed a very disagreeable time during this day, for if we attempted to straighten our frozen and cramped limbs by rising to the erect position, the instant bang and whiz of a minnie-bullet about our ears proved the experiment was dangerous. [Donelson repeated.] I noticed that some of our fighting men at home were the first to get behind some convenient log and the last to leave its friendly shelter. As for myself, I make no pretensions to bravery at home or abroad, and I freely acknowledge that I laid very close to my log. The fact is, a bullet, which whistles like it had a shuck tied to it, does not give out a very musical sound to my ears.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 16-7

Diary of Private W. J. Davidson, January 4, 1863

At 4 o'clock yesterday we were moved from our old position to a bridge. We had stood out in the rain since the evening before, and were completely soaked with wet, and had to climb the steepest and slickest hills a man ever lives to stand upon. Half of the time we were down in the mud, and the balance in water up to our waist, while the darkness was so thick that we couldn't see our file-leaders; but I never heard a single murmur from the cold, wet and hungry men. Lieutenant-Colonel Tillman, who has command of the regiment, led the way on foot, and was as deep in the mud as we were in the mire; and, after we arrived at the bridge which we were sent to guard, the officers "stood and took it" as cheerfully as though they were basking in the sunshine of an April morning. One of the boys, who was up to his knees in mud, and over whose face the rain was streaming from a narrow brim cap, said to Major Miller, who was leaning against the side of a house and under the drip, "I say, Major, you look like a man trying to hide behind a ladder." The Major took the joke quite good humoredly, and did not appear more discomposed by the loud laugh which greeted the sally, than he was a few days before, when the Yankee sharp-shooters were making the minnie bullets sing around his ears. At 10 o'clock, the enemy having failed to come to time, we were allowed to drag our weary limbs out to our camps. There being only one tent to the company, we had to stand out in the wet all day and part of the night, when, to our great relief, the wind changed to the north, and the rain, which had been falling for forty-eight hours, ceased.

SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 17-8

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Saturday, May 10, 1862

It is raining this morning. It is rumored that the rebels will come out from Corinth to-day. The echoes from Pope's guns are again heard coming from the left. Before noon we commence throwing up breastworks, and before night we have a strong, defensive line. It is remarkable how men will work to shield themselves from minies and shells. The most indolent all at once become active and go to work with a rush.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 70

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 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: May 23, 1863

Minnie-balls fired at Vicksburg.

Our regiment lay in the rifle pits to-day, watching the enemy. For hours we were unable to see the motion of a man or beast on their side, all was so exceedingly quiet throughout the day. After dark we were relieved, and as we returned to the camp the enemy got range of us, and for a few minutes their bullets flew about us quite freely. However, we bent our heads as low as we could and double-quicked to quarters. One shot flew very close to my head, and I could distinctly recognize the familiar zip and whiz of quite a number of others at a safer distance. The rebels seemed to fire without any definite direction. If our sharpshooters were not on the alert, the rebels could peep over their works and take good aim; but as they were so closely watched they had to be content with random shooting.

If this siege is to last a month there will be a whole army of trained sharpshooters, for the practice we are getting is making us skilled marksmen. I have gathered quite a collection of balls, which I mean to send home as relics of the siege. They are in a variety of shapes, and were a thousand brought together there could not be found two alike. I have picked up some that fell at my feet-others were taken from trees. I am the only known collector of such souvenirs, and have many odd and rare specimens. Rebel bullets are very common about here now—too much so to be valuable; and as a general thing the boys are quite willing to let them lie where they drop. I think, however, should I survive, I would like to look at them again in after years.

Shovel and pick are more in use to-day, which seems to be a sign that digging is to take the place of charging at the enemy. We think Grant's head is level, anyhow. The weather is getting hotter, and I fear sickness; and water is growing scarce, which is very annoying. If we can but keep well, the future has no fears for us.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 32-4