Diary of Private John C. West, Sunday, May 31, 1863

This morning about daylight we received orders to be ready to march at 8:30. All is bustle now getting ready. I have been to the spring for water and have just returned; have read the 52nd chapter of Isaiah, and 35th Psalm; am now about to pack up.

Sunday evening at sunset.—We have marched about fourteen miles to-day—a hot dusty march. Nothing of interest occurred. We are now bivouacked in a pine grove twenty miles from Fredericksburg, with our arms stacked with orders to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. The march has not fatigued me anything like as much as many hunts I have taken at home. Some friend of the soldiers has been kind enough to send us a number of religious papers, and I am now enjoying the "Christian Observer," published at Richmond.

SOURCE: John Camden West, A Texan in Search of a Fight: Being the Diary and Letters of a Private Soldier in Hood’s Texas Brigade, pp. 56-7

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, January 2, 1863

Struck out tents early this morning and marched to Colliersville, a distance of seven miles from Lafayette and twenty-four from Memphis. As soon as we had stacked our arms and broken ranks, John Cumbersworth and I went out a mile and a half from camp and got a fine hog. While we were skinning it our orderly-sergeant, Sullivan, Jesse Walker and Mike Walsh were captured not more than a quarter of a mile distant, by a band of rebel cavalry. Sullivan turned and ran and several shots were fired after him, which we heard plainly but we thought it was the boys shooting hogs. When we got into camp Bob Dew and Charlie Berry came in with their paroles, they having been caught by the same company. Five paroled from Co. K in one day. Five such days' work will muster Co. K out of service. The 17th Ill. at present musters about three hundred and fifty men. On guard tonight; storming fearfully.

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. 25

Diary of Private Seth J. Wells, January 12, 1863

We were called up at half past three this morning and were on the road inside an hour, and by sunrise were four miles on the way. We arrived at Germantown about 10 o'clock. It is a village. At five minutes before 12 o'clock we halted for dinner, and started again on our march at 1 o'clock, our regiment in advance. We reached the edge of a town at dusk where we learned that we were selected as guard at the navy yard. As we passed through the town, the little children followed us and hurrahed for Jeff Davis. We moved to the upper end of town and encamped on land adjoining the navy yard. Col. Norton bought five cords of wood for us. He made a speech in which he said Gen. Hamilton ordered McArthur to send his best disciplined regiment here as guard, and he wanted us to be strict, orderly, and diligent. He also said the duty was a kind of secret service (how so I do not understand). The guerillas crossed over last night, cut around and burned a steamer. We are very tired this evening, having made the heavy march of twenty-six miles.

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. 26

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 22, 1863

I had comforted myself with the reflection that when we returned to Kentucky, where communications were uninterrupted by guerillas, and were only separated by twenty-four hours of time, I might be permitted to correspond with my family without such harrowing delays, for I would not have my darling in doubt as to my situation or whereabouts for one single day, knowing, as I do, the uncertainty of suspense is worse than the reality. But 'tis said, "The darkest hour is just before the dawn," and, even as I write, my mind filled with dark thoughts, a ray of light from my Northern home flashes across my vision. The whole current of my thought is changed, and thankfulness takes the place of my repining. Thankfulness that it is as well with my beloved ones as it is. Oh, that I could remove every burden, and make their pathway smooth and flowery. I find most of our trials are imaginary, but none the less real for being SO. For instance, my beloved wife's imagination pictures me on my weary way back to old Virginia's blood-stained fields, subject to every hardship, exposed to every danger, and her suffering could be no greater if it were so. On the contrary, I am still in Kentucky, in a pleasant, shady grove, enjoying a season of welcome quiet and repose, soft bread to eat, plenty of pure, cold water to drink. What more could mortals crave. The newspapers were right, as far as they went, about our being ordered to the Potomac. We did receive such orders, but General Burnside telegraphed the War Department the Ninth Corps had marched, during the year, an average of twenty miles a day; that it had just returned from an exhausting campaign in Mississippi; that the men were worn down by fatigue and sickness, and were unfit for active service, and asked that they be allowed to remain here for a season. His request was granted. One year has passed since I left my pleasant home to serve my country a year big with the fate of millions yet unborn—a year the most eventful in our history; perhaps in the world's history.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 81-2

Diary of Musician David Lane, August 28, 1863

Camp Dick Robinson, Ky. Again we are on the move en route to Crab Orchard, thirty miles from our late camp, where a military post is to be established. I understand there is to be a line of posts from Lexington to Cumberland Gap. Report says these posts are to be held by the Ninth Corps. I hope not. I much prefer active service, with its toil and exposure, to a life of comparative ease in camp. While there is work to be done, and God gives me strength, I want to be doing. When I can be of no more service, then I would go home.

But I see no preparations for field service. We have no artillery or ambulances, which is proof conclusive. I was disappointed in Camp Dick Robinson. I had read so much of it, I expected to find a military station, or fortifications of some kind. Instead, I find a beautiful grove of oak and black walnut trees. It is noted as being the first camping ground occupied by loyal troops in Kentucky. General Nelson, its founder, who was shot last fall by General Davis, is buried here.

I have borne the march well today. My feet were somewhat tired, and what wonder? Two hundred twenty pounds the weight of myself and load is quite a load to carry ten miles over a macadamized road in half a day.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, pp. 85-6

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 8, 1863

Then Lieut. Newell told us to "go," and we went, as well as we could, for quarters. Arriving at the granary, and having left our chickens at a negro shanty to be cooked, we turned in, all booted and muddy, and slept through everything till nearly noon. When we started up for breakfast it was a comical sight. Nearly all had turned in their wet clothes, and of course were about as wet when they got up, and very stiff. We found our chickens and ate them. While eating, the 27th guard called us, saying the regiment was under orders and we were to leave immediately. The way those chickens disappeared made those darkies laugh. We went back happy, as we knew when once on board the steamer we could sleep for a while and get rested; for after being on an all-night march of twenty-five miles at least, we were tired out, and felt we would be safer from another trip, for a day or two, than if on shore. We were all on board by half-past four o'clock, and soon after dropped down stream, leaving Plymouth and the 27th in all their glory. The boys who had bunks coming up are forbidden that pleasure now, so a dozen of us congregated together on the deck, outside the cabin, with shelter tents tacked up as roofs ; and we think we are having a better time than those inside, and no "sour grapes" in the mess either.

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. 38

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 1, 1862

Left Louisville camp and marched to South Fork, and encamped for the night, making a march of 20 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 2, 1862

Left South Fork camp, marched to Taylorsville, and went three miles out on picket the same night, making a march of 23 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 4, 1862

Left Taylorsville camp, remaining the 3d on picket and marched the 4th to Bloomington, and encamped for the night, making a march of 10 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 6, 1862

Left Bloomington and marched over Chaplin creek on the hill the same day, having remained in the above mentioned camp two days, and encamped for the night, making a march of 11 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 7, 1862

Left Chaplin creek camp and marched to McMinnville, Ky., the same day, and encamped for the night, making a march of 15 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 22

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 8, 1862

Left McMinnville camp in the morning, the colonel telling us, ''Boys, you have longed to meet the enemy on the battle-field, and you will have a chance to-day, or do without water, as the enemy holds the spring that we will have to encamp at." The shout went up from every son of Uncle Sam's family, ,, [sic]     A fight and water we will have." The cannons were already booming, and had been all night, so at fifteen minutes past two o'clock we became engaged, and in one hour and three-quarters we lost two hundred and eleven men out of our regiment (the 79th Pa. Vol. Infantry). We went into the fight with forty-three men in our company (D) and came out with eighteen, having had twenty-five wounded and killed; two killed dead and two dying the next day. I myself was unfortunate enough to be shot through the left leg, about two inches below the knee, the ball glancing off the bone and passing through and out at the fleshy part or calf of the leg, injuring the muscle so that I was unfit for fight, and was sent to the rear after the fifteenth fire. This is my first and last wound received in the battle of Chaplin Hill or Chaplin Heights, so called, and fought on the 8th day of October. 1862. in Boyle county, Ky. Making a march of 8 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, pp. 22-3

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 9, 1862

Was hauled from off the battle-ground in an ambulance wagon at half past two in the morning. for fear of the enemy opening fire on our hospital or old house in which we remained all night from the day of the fight; having our batteries planted close by, if another engagement would ensue, they would draw the enemy's fire on our building. So we, four in number, were hauled five miles this morning to Antioch church, Boyle county, and thrown out in a pile like wood, for they had been removing wounded off the battle-ground all night until the church was perfectly filled, and under every shade tree nigh at hand. I rolled over and over, as I was so disabled that I could not walk, until I got to a fence, and with loss of blood and pain and fatigue, became sleepy in a short time after being left in this condition, I went to sleep and slept until after the sun was up, and on awaking I found myself completely tight against the above mentioned fence, on account of another wounded soldier dying while I was asleep, with his feet tight down the hill against me and his head up the hill, the ground being somewhat rolling, I called to a citizen close by, that had come to see the wounded soldiers, to come to me and remove the dead man, that I might help myself up by the fence. He removed the person, and throwed a blanket over the body to protect it until better attended to. I lay for six days out under a white oak tree, with my wound dressed once. Making a march of 5 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, pp. 23-4

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 15, 1862

Left or was taken from Antioch church to Perryville to a hospital fitted up for our reception. The first time away from my regiment and company from the time I left for the seat of war, or the first roll call missed, or stacking of arms, or march missed for over a year; and was well cared for in this hospital by the surgeon in charge of us wounded Union soldiers. We were well supplied with food calculated to suit our weak and delicate appetites, from the Union citizens, women and men, of Boyle county, and got along as well as could be expected for the time of our stay in this hospital, remaining eight days in it. Making a march of 6 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 24

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 23, 1862

Left Pcrryville. Orders came for us to be removed to Lebanon hospital; so the same day we were shipped aboard our army wagon train and arrived in Lebanon about 4 o'clock in the evening, and were happily received and met by our General Starkweather, who came to see us for the first time from the front, and sympathized with us for our wounds, and thanked us kindly for our good behavior in the battle. This will show that we remained in the hospital above mentioned eight days, and in this one four days. Making a march of 20 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, pp. 24-5

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, October 27, 1862

Left Lebanon hospital, or was ordered to be sent to Louisville No. 12 hospital, and arrived there the same evening, and was conveyed to the hospital and well cared for. Making a march of 84 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 25

Diary of Private Adam S. Johnston, November 6, 1862

Left Louisville, and was sent by orders to New Albany, Indiana, hospital No. 6, and a nice place too and well cared for, remaining nine days in this hospital, and making a march of 4 miles.

SOURCE: Adam S. Johnston, The Soldier Boy's Diary Book, p. 25

Diary of Major Joseph Stockton, April 23, 1863

Left Milliken's Bend and had one of the hardest marches on account of heat we have ever had. The distance was only twelve miles, yet it was across a country devoid of trees, and in the middle of the day the heat was dreadful; water scarce—more straggling than ever before, except on one occasion. Reached Richmond, La., about dark. I was posted at the entrance of the town to post the men, as they came straggling in, where the camp was.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 13

Diary of 4th Corporal Bartlett Yancey Malone: July 4, 1862

we marched down on James River about 25 miles from Richmond

SOURCE: Bartlett Yancey Malone, The Diary of Bartlett Yancey Malone, p. 23