Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Wednesday, September 10, 1862

Rienzi.  This was another day of idle waiting; most of the boys slept in tents last night, and it was supposed we would have to stay here. I went out foraging in the morning.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 4

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Thursday, September 11, 1862

Rienzi.  I answered the summons of the reveille, but I did not feel very well; had an attack of the ague but got over it by dinner. Nothing to break the monotony of camp life. Reinforced by one regiment of infantry.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 4-5

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Friday, September 12, 1862

Rienzi.  Spent the morning as usual in suspense of leaving, but finally the orders came to send all the baggage train to Clear Creek, a distance of ten miles to the west, and that we were to be stationed as an out-post. Detailed to go a-foraging, brought in two loads of corn from the south. The 1st Section were ordered out to the front. Had the first rain storm in the evening, and ere the morning I had a regular old shake of the ague.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 5

Diary of Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Saturday, September 13, 1862

Rienzi.  The 3rd Section, Lieutenant Hood, went out in front and the first fell back to its old grounds. Foraging party brought in two loads of corn, three neat cattle, one sheep, twelve geese, seven hens, two or three bushels of sweet potatoes.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 5

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 Private Jenkin Lloyd Jones: Monday, September 15, 1862

Rienzi.  To-day we began business in the old way. We had to sweep up for the first time in a week. I stood guard for the second time.

SOURCE: Jenkin Lloyd Jones, An Artilleryman's Diary, p. 5

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 25, 1861

We had a great time to-day, having sent out this morning some six thousand troops, with about one hundred wagons, on a foraging expedition. This evening they returned, loaded with hay, oats, corn, cows, sheep, hogs, and one Irishman—all captured from the enemy. In this deserted and desolated country, where we have for weeks been enjoying (?) rural life without a sign of pig or poultry, without even those indispensable concomitants of civil life-the cries of babies, or the flapping in the wind of confidential garments from clothes lines in the back yard*—the sight of the woolly bleaters called back reminiscences of savory mutton and warm under-dresses, with whispered wishes for the time when we may return to the pleasures of civil life.

_______________

*A something whispers to me that if this should ever be read by housekeeper, it may call up unpleasant reminiscences of "ironing days." I hope not.

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 37

Diary of Dr. Alfred L. Castleman, September 30, 1861

(I shall not, in this book, feel obliged to give the proceedings.and doings of every day. Whilst in camp, sometimes for whole weeks, one day was so like the others that to state the occurrences of each would be but a repetition of words. As most of this fall and winter were spent in one place-Camp Griffin-I shall refer only occasionally to occurrences or events, without feeling the necessity of confining myself accurately to dates.)

During the past week I have been much shocked by the growing tendency to drunkenness amongst the officers of the army. I do not doubt but that if the soldiers could procure spirituous liquors, they would follow the example set them by their much loved officers.

I have been som[e]what amused for a few days by the antics of an officer of high rank, who has been shut up by sickness in his tent, and under my supervision. He entered the army about the time I did, and had for some time been a much esteemed member in good standing of the Good Templars. He had been from camp a few days—I think to Washington—and returned sick. He had been with me but a short time when his vivid imagination began to convert the stains on his tent into "all manner of artistic beauties— figures of beasts and men, and of women walking on the walls of his tent, feet upwards." Fie, fie! Colonel; if I did not know that you were a Good Templar and a married man, I should think such fancies were unbecoming. 'Tis a good thing to be a Templar and a married man, but still "All is not gold that glitters."

SOURCE: Alfred L. Castleman, The Army of the Potomac. Behind the Scenes. A Diary of Unwritten History; From the Organization of the Army, by General George B. McClellan, to the close of the Campaign in Virginia about the First Day January, 1863, p. 38

Daniel Webster to a Committee of Gentlemen from New York, October 1850

[Franklin, N. H., October 1850]

I concur, gentlemen, in all the political principles contained in the resolutions, a copy of which has been sent to me; and I stand pledged to support those principles, publicly and privately, now and always, to the full extent of my influence, and by the exertion of every faculty which I possess.

Two of these resolutions were as follows:

Resolved, That we cordially approve of the recent measures of Congress for the adjustment of the dangerous questions arising out of the acquisition of territory under the treaty of Mexico, &c.

Resolved, That the Fugitive-slave Bill is in accordance with the express stipulations of the Constitution of the United States; . . . and that Congress, in passing a law which should be efficient for carrying out the stipulations, &c., acted in full accordance with the letter and spirit of that instrument; and that we will sustain this law and the execution of it by all lawful means.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 340-1

Congressman Horace Mann to Mr. C. Pierce, Esq., November 15, 1850

WASHINGTON, Dec. 14, 1850.

C. PIERCE, Esq.

MY DEAR SIR, —I am glad to hear from you, and that you think of putting on the harness again. I guess the "old clock-work" will go well yet. Whatever I can do for you, I shall do with great alacrity. I doubt the expediency of establishing another Normal school yet a while in Massachusetts. Those already in existence must be filled and crowded before another will prosper. I do not know what sphere you intend to fill: the one you talked of with A would open a noble field for usefulness, though I should struggle against all secondary causes that should threaten to remove you from Massachusetts.

My journey to Washington was in some respects pleasant. I was greeted all along the way by many persons known and unknown to me; and, on arriving here, I found the controversy between myself and Mr. Webster had really assumed a national notoriety and conspicuousness. Whigs and Democrats had a common exultation, though it was probably more for his defeat than for my victory. . . .

Yours very truly,

HORACE MANN.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 341

Congressman Horace Mann to Samuel Downer, December 22, 1850

WASHINGTON, Dec. 22, 1850.

MY DEAR DOWNER, I see by the date of my letter that it is Forefathers' Day; and I cannot but ask myself what the stern old Puritans would say, were they here to witness the degeneracy of their sons. Evil days have surely come upon us. There is a very considerable number here, it is true, who are still faithful to their principles; but they are embarrassed and oppressed with the palpable fact before them that they are in the hands of the Philistines, and that nothing can be done in behalf of the measures they have so steadfastly and earnestly contended for. The Administration has placed itself on open, avowed, proslavery ground. They will be proscriptive of enemies, and bountiful to friends; and I fear that what Mr. Webster once said will prove true,—that he had never known an Administration to set its heart upon any measure which it did not accomplish. There will be a giving-way somewhere; and all effective opposition will be frightened away or bought up.

But to what a pass has Northern recreancy brought us! You see the list of conditions which the South are everywhere laying down, upon compliance with which, in every item, the Union can alone be preserved, no abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia; no imposition of a proviso on any Territory, — which looks to its future acquisition, and is meant to forestall its doom; no objection to the admission of any State, whether from Texas, New Mexico, Utah, or from any new acquisitions, on account of the proslavery constitution, &c. And now the Governor of Virginia, in a special message to the Legislature, has proposed the holding of a national convention, at which the North shall appear as suppliant, shall promise all that the South demands, and shall lie down on her belly, and eat as much dirt as she can hold. It is said there is no end to discoveries; and certainly there is no end to discoveries in humiliation. One would think that even the soulless instigators of Northern Union meetings would recoil on the brink of this abyss of degradation. But such is the progress of things; and, however low they go, a "lower deep" still opens before them. Even the "National Intelligencer," with all its proslavery instincts, shudders at this pit.

What shall we do here? I declare myself ready, for one, to do, to the utmost of my ability, whatever may appear under the circumstances to be advisable. I find it to be true, as I have always said, that there is no more chance of repealing or modifying the Fugitive-slave Law than there is of making a free State out of South Carolina. Still, my own opinion is that we ought to make a demonstration upon it. My belief is that there never was so much need of contending against the slave-power as now. There is far more reason for a rally now than in 1848. Then a great prize was in imminent peril. Had Cass been made President in consequence of a diversion of Whigs into the Free-soil ranks, it is, to my mind, as certain as any unfulfilled event, that California would have been a slave State, and New Mexico and Utah would have had slavery had they desired it. This great interest was put in jeopardy by that movement; though, fortunately, God sent us a deliverance.

But now there is no such immediate and magnificent stake to be lost or won. We cannot lose any thing now, because we have lost Our dangers are prospective. Cuba, Mexico, Nicaragua, are the game now afoot. We must be prepared for the time when these shall be the subject of contest. We must see that we have Congresses that will stand their ground; and therefore the antislavery principle must not be suffered to sleep. . . .

Yours as ever,

H. M.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 341-3

George E. Baker to Mrs. Mary Peabody Mann, Undated, before December 14, 1850

DEAR MRS. MANN, I send herewith a copy of the letter alluded to in my note to W. W. & Co. The original I have bound with other valuable letters and autographs, and I cannot detach it without injury.

Your husband's memory is very dear to me. I was very early impressed by his character, and you know how durable early impressions are. While the admonitions of the other "committee men”—many of them able men—have faded away, the counsels he gave nearly forty years ago in the old schoolhouse are still alive with me. And then it was easy and natural for me, little boy as I was, to see whom my father esteemed above all other men, although Mr. Mann was then but a young lawyer, without any official position save that of "school-committee man." I remember well when he was first elected to the Legislature. About that time, the Tremont House was opened, and was the wonder of the people; and it was among the small-talk of our neighborhood, including several young ladies, that Horace Mann boarded there. My vivid recollection of this illustrates the adage, "Little pitchers have great ears." I think it was after I was a few years older that he astonished and captivated me by a most eloquent (volunteer) defence of a prisoner in court charged with theft. These words ring in my ears while I write: “I consider it as much my duty to defend this man as it would be to reach out my arm to a man floating down a stream and in danger of drowning." The prisoner was acquitted; the jury not even leaving their seats. Even the unrelenting prosecuting attorney confessed to the effect of Mr. Mann's argument.

Pardon me; but it is a delight to me thus to dwell on the recollections of my boyhood, and of so great and good a man.

Very respectfully,

George E. Baker.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 343-4

Congressman Horace Mann to George E. Baker, Esq., December 14, 1850

WASHINGTON, Dec. 14, 1850

GEO. E. BAKER, Esq., Member of Assembly, Albany, N. Y.

DEAR SIR, — I remember you well as one of the littlest boys on one of the lowest seats in the old schoolhouse at "Connecticut Corner," in Dedham.

I have a vivid recollection of how my heart used to exult in hope as I saw the “little fellows" in jacket and trousers, out of whom my imagination used to make good and true men for the country and the world. And if you can conceive how it must delight me to have those visions realized in a single case, then you may compute the pleasure which I enjoy in the receipt of many, many such remembrances as yours. Your father* was one of my best friends, and I have great respect for his memory. I am glad you are to go among the men who make laws, and, what is more efficacious than laws, public opinion, for the community. Nor am I less delighted to hear, that, in your political convictions, you are attracted towards Mr. Seward. I say attracted towards Mr. Seward; for I do not quite agree with him on some views which I consider ultra: and yet, in the main, he holds sound doctrines, and certainly supports them with ability.

As to your course of action, allow me to express the hope that you will connect yourself with educational, charitable, and philanthropic spheres of action, rather than with party combinations and schemes. As soon as it is understood in what direction your taste and predilections lead you, you will find yourself placed in those positions, or falling into them naturally, and as if by gravitation.

Two years ago, I revised the whole system of Massachusetts common schools; and if you have any desire to see my work, and will address our Secretary of State, asking for a copy of my revised Tenth Report, I doubt not he will send it to you.

May I suggest to you to purchase and read and study two volumes, just published, of Charles Sumner's orations? You will find them full of the most noble views and inspiring sentiments. I could wish a young man, just entering political life, to do nothing better than to form his conduct after the high models there presented.

Excuse the haste of this letter, written, as most of my correspondence is, in the midst of constant interruptions; and believe me very truly yours,

HORACE MANN.

_______________

* John Baker, Sheriff of Norfolk County.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 344-5

 

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