A Soldier’s Diary, The Story of a Volunteer, David Lane, (17th Mich. Vol. Infantry)

March 19th, 1865.

The pleasant weather of the past week has given way to wind and storm. This morning the sun rose bright and beautiful, as on preceding days, but before noon was nearly obscured by gathering clouds. A little after noon the rain began to fall; gently at first, and continued through the day, so warm and pleasant; but as the sun went down the wind veered to the southwest—all our worst storms come from that direction—gradually increasing in force, until now it is almost a hurricane. And the rain! It comes, now in great, pattering drops; now in solid sheets; an almost resistless flood. My little house rocks and quivers like a ship at sea. I have fastened a rubber blanket over the top to keep the rain from splashing through. With all the wind and rain, it still is warm, and my little house is dry and comfortable. But how about the pickets, without shelter, fire or exercise; anything to protect them from the pelting storm or deepening mud? It is now four months since the Ninth Corps took this position—four winter months—and the men, during all that time, have been on picket as often as every third day, besides doing their other duties; and yet, a more stalwart, healthy-looking lot of men I never saw.

During the past week more vigilance than ever has been exercised along our lines. The men are required to stack arms at dusk, and remain in readiness to fall in, with accoutrements on, until 9 o’clock. They then retire until 1 o’clock, when they again stack arms and watch until morning.

The long-talked-of demonstration on our left has not yet taken place. Correspondents will tell the people this storm has caused the delay. In my opinion, the storms are innocent in that regard. When the proper time comes, or his plans are fully matured, General Grant will strike.

March 17th. 1865.

Military affairs here are approaching a crisis. Everything betokens immediate action. Quartermasters have sent all superfluous baggage to Washington, and have everything packed, ready to move. Officers and men are sending home their “extras,” by orders from Headquarters. The Second and Fifth Corps struck tents at 12 o’clock last night, but had not moved at noon today. The Ninth Corps has been engaged for several days in throwing up breastworks to protect their flank, which shows that we are to hold these lines, while all troops on our left will be cut loose and sent to some other point. Furloughs continue to be granted as freely as last winter, which shows Grant is not short of men.

Mr. Collier started for home yesterday. Mr. Woodin leaves tomorrow morning. Colonel Swift, who went home to recruit, is on detached duty in Detroit.

A flag of truce came inside our lines the fifteenth inst. Rumor says, “Peace Commissioners.”

March 13th, 1865.

I confidently expect another great battle will soon be fought. It must come soon. Sherman must be checked, and that right speedily, or the Confederacy is lost. I believe that Lee will attempt to break our lines at Petersburg, with the hope of joining his forces to Johnson’s to oppose Sherman. I also believe Grant will be able to hold him in his present position.

March 12th, 1865.

Despite the numerous predictions of newspaper correspondents to the contrary, quiet, profound and undisturbed, prevails along our lines. We are not “mud bound,” but are awaiting the movement of the immense force Grant is now concentrating near Hatcher’s Run, ready to seize on any advantage that may offer and to perform their part in the final struggle which cannot be long delayed.

The First and Second Divisions of the Ninth Corps are holding the works around Petersburg, and are stretched to their utmost tension. The most difficult and complex combinations are about to be brought to an issue. If successful, Lee’s army is destroyed; the rebellion crushed; the war terminated. As I read them, “the signs of the times” are full of promise.

February 24th, 1865.

More glorious news from the South. Wilmington is ours. Another salute was fired this afternoon, to which the Rebels feebly responded. It is impossible to describe the effect of these frequent successes upon our troops. The utmost enthusiasm prevails.

The opposite effect is plainly visible across the line. It makes itself apparent by frequent desertions. Another Captain, with his entire company—sixty men —came through the lines of the First Division last night, the second instance of the kind this week. Five men, with equipments on, came to Division Headquarters today. They were on picket and deserted their posts in broad daylight. An early movement of the Rebels is confidently expected. Our men are ready, with knapsacks packed, to move at tap of drum. It is only a precautionary measure, and means, “be ready to fight or to pursue.”

To attack would be madness on their part; to retreat, an act of folly; to remain as they are much longer, is impossible. So, at least it seems to me, “Old Bobby” may think differently. Deserters say he has given out word “he will astonish the world on the fourth of March.”

It seems the draft is about to be enforced in Michigan. I do not wonder the new law is a mystery to men whose only object is to evade it. The present call means men. Paper credits will not avail.

February 20th, 1865.

It has never been so quiet along our lines as the past two weeks, there being strict orders against picket firing. We are eagerly awaiting news from Sherman, and a development of the toils which are being gradually drawn around Lee’s army. Lee has now but one line of communication left open, and that will soon be closed.

General Wilcox is in Michigan on leave of absence. Furloughs are still freely given, which shows no import’ ant move is contemplated here at present. Captain Sudborbugh is Acting Engineer of the division during the temporary absence of the real one. It is his duty to inspect the front line of works every day and report their condition.

Telegraphic dispatches are again in order. Yesterday the troops were drawn up in line, and the glad news of Sherman’s wonderful success was read to them.

A salute was fired today in honor of Washington’s birth. All our batteries were opened, with shot and shell, at precisely 12m., and was briskly returned by the Rebels. The dangerous “practice” was kept up for nearly two hours, and was intensely exciting. Several of our men were killed by bursting shells.

It has rained all day, a mild, warm rain, and still continues. A detail of twenty men from our regiment has been at work the past three weeks to provide a suitable burial place for our dead. All our dead are to be taken up and buried in a proper manner.

February 10th. 1865.

The “great movement by Grant’s army,” so much talked of by correspondents, is still wrapped in mystery. Nothing definite has yet transpired concerning it. It is stated, however, on seemingly good authority, that Meade has advanced his lines about four miles, not across the railroad, but parallel with it, and is fortifying. Sixteen siege guns have gone out today, with which he proposes to “occupy the road.”

I believe this move is simply to keep Lee occupied here, and thereby prevent his interference in other quarters.

Camp before Petersburg, February 7th.

For three days we have held ourselves in readiness to march at a minute’s notice. It seems the Rebels, alarmed at our advance on Dansville, by way of Weldon, have concentrated their forces to oppose this advance. Well may they be alarmed, for, Dansville in our possession, all communication by railroad is cut off, and Lee’s army is shut out of the Confederacy and is thrown back on Virginia for supplies. The whole movement, on our part, consists in being ready to repel attack. We have heard nothing from our left today, except the roar of artillery, which, at times, is terrific. The weather is most uncomfortable for those having no shelter. It began to rain at 5 o’clock this morning, and has continued through the day, freezing as it falls. God pity the wounded who may be exposed tonight.

Through the smoke of battle we are eagerly looking for the “bow of peace.” The Rebels are now fighting for terms, and they cannot long maintain the unequal contest.

Camp near Petersburg, February 4th, 1865.

Once more I find myself in camp, ready to act my humble part in the closing scenes of this great drama. I arrived at my journey’s end last evening; found the regiment where and as I left it; the men in good health and spirits.

I had the good fortune to meet my comrade, Charles Groesbeck, at the depot in Jackson. Our journey to Baltimore was pleasant as circumstances would admit; no accident, which is itself an accident.

At Baltimore our annoyances began. The bay had been closed for nearly a week. My furlough expired that night. Thursday morning I went to the Quartermaster to see if a boat was likely to leave. I learned the mail boat was to make an effort at 3:30 p. m. We were not alone; hundreds of soldiers were there on the same errand; some had been waiting over a week. There was a rush for transportation, and we were forced to leave our furloughs until noon, when they would be returned to us with our transportation papers. Noon came, and with it our furloughs— minus the others. There was a fix. We would not be allowed on board without it; to obtain it that day would be impossible. At the wharf we found a Government shipping agent, whose duty it is to furnish transportation for troops when ordered by the Quartermaster. He informed us that a Government vessel was to leave for Fort Monroe at 3:30, and, transportation or not, he would see us on board, and then we could take the mail for City Point. The time came, but no Government vessel, and the mail was about to leave. The bell rings; again it sounds out a warning peal; in five minutes she is off. Already they are preparing to haul in the planks. A hundred men in blue appeared, maddened by the unnecessary delay; gather around, threateningly. The temptation was irresistible; a charge was made; the guards were swept aside; we are on board. Put us off who can. The effort was not made.

We made slow progress until past Annapolis, stopping often for the ice boat to clear the way. Below Annapolis the Bay was clear of ice, and we made excellent time, reaching Fort Monroe at 8 o’clock next morning. Here another attempt was made to find out who had transportation and who had not.

Five guards were placed at the gangway, with bayonets fixed, and orders to let only one man pass at a time, while an officer stood by to examine our papers. The attempt was vain; again the guards were brushed aside; we rush on shore; make a “straight wake” for the Provost’s office, had our furloughs stamped, rushed again to the Quartermaster, where we succeeded in procuring transportation to City Point. From this time all went smoothly until we reached the Point at 5:30 Friday evening. Here we had our furloughs restamped and boarded a freight train for the front.

I found my comrades all right, and our little house in as good condition as when I left.

The Ninth Corps is under marching orders, and are turning over mules, wagons, etc.

God knows what the future has in store, but the memory of those few days spent with my loved family will ever be cherished as among the happiest of my life.